maandag, maart 26, 2007
No more hunger and thirst
But first be a person who needs people
People, People who need people
Are the luckiest people in the world.
I've reconsidered: people who need people are NOT the luckiest people in the world.....
vrijdag, maart 23, 2007
Speaking as a mum......
When I speak as a mum, I'm not speaking as a Palestinian....
Article in Hebrew of interview with the family who's three young children were purposely murdered in front of their eyes while 276 bullets were fired on them.... :-(
There's also the videoclip to watch.
What makes me really sick to my stomach are the comments underneath that article. GRRRRRRR. People have become monsters :-(
Sleeping with the enemy
During my visit to Drima's blog (the Sudanese Thinker) I got to surf 'around' for 'real-life' stories, as these are the ONLY things ever that matter for me (I'm just sick and completely tired and nauseous of the hi-jacked 'stories' that serve one goal only and alone and that is to make one-another look bad in the eye of whichever 'side' you're against).
Therefore, I will try and bring to 'you' these stories from 'real-life' rather than propaganda tools, in order to get as much as possible a picture of PEOPLE in the middle east in this very region without trying to blacken someone -but to improve on things that have not yet caught up in the modern way of thinking, even if there are people who don't want to think 'modern' and find it is sinful, but in everyday life (and I'm truly speaking experience here) - can be and are the best of friends with the subjects they seem to condemn.....
Happy reading, here's a part of the accounts of the people living it:
Almost 2 years of bitter fighting, trust between Israelis and Palestinians has never been lower. But in a packed, smoky nightclub on the edge of Jerusalem’s ultra-Orthodox Mea Shearim district, the gay communities from both sides still bridge the growing divide, breaking down racial and political barriers as Jews and Arabs defy traditional stereotypes and threats of suicide bombers.
woensdag, maart 14, 2007
For who are reading here and haven't had the pleasure of these wisdoms yet, here follows an example with warmest recommendations to read more:
The dervish Nasrudin entered a formal reception area and seated himself at the foremost elegant chair. The Chief of the Guard approached and said: "Sir, those places are reserved for guests of honor."
"Oh, I am more than a mere guest," replied Nasrudin confidently.
"Oh, so are you a diplomat?"
"Far more than that!"
"Really? So you are a minister, perhaps?"
"No, bigger than that too."
"Oho! So you must be the King himself, sir," said the Chief sarcastically.
"Higher than that!"
"What?! Are you higher than the King?! Nobody is higher than the King in this village!"
"Now you have it. I am nobody!" said Nasrudin.
Nasruddin used to take his donkey across a frontier every day, with the panniers loaded with straw. Since he admitted to being a smuggler when he trudged home every night, the frontier guards searched him again and again. They searched his person, sifted the straw, steeped it in water, even burned it from time to time. Meanwhile he was visibly more and more prosperous.
Then he retired and went to live in another country. Here one of the customs officers met him, years later.
"You can tell me now, Nasruddin," he said. "Whatever was it that you were smuggling, when we could never catch you out?"
"Donkeys," said Nasruddin.
Read about him:
zondag, maart 11, 2007
Well......... this woman was almost all the time on the stairs, or outside and I saw a lot of her, had talks with her and she showed me her bathroom in which she had raised chickens (not for fun, for eating). She told me about her immigration from Iraq to Israel, about her time in Pardess Katz -where I also had lived for a period of time- and I really liked her. Her sons liked me, I liked them - one of her sons even found a solution for my mentally ill dog when I had to give him away. That was a terrible ordeal because accompanied with a lot of heartache and also almost impossible. I mean: nobody wanted a seven-year old dog, everybody wanted a puppy - let alone a seven-year old mentally ill dog. I'll be forever grateful to Simcha's son who I still see from time to time.
We used to discuss the atmosphere of our block of flats in Ramat Gan and the difference between here and Pardess Katz. She missed it. She missed walking outside and meeting half the neighborhood having always time to chat to eachother. She missed the people... (although Pardess Katz is a 15 minute walk from Ramat Gan). I told her about my experiences there: how - after my daughter was born and I (having no family or friends that could help me) came home from the hospital with a baby in my arms I just had to take care of all by myself I was met by the neighbors of my block soon as I stepped out of the taxi with throwing candies at me, and a lot lulululu calls (for me, a person that had just moved in there and they hardly knew) and compliments on the sweet baby together with wishes for 'bli ayin ha-ra' etc. and how, one morning a neighbor knocked on my door and said 'I'm here to show you how to bath the baby' since she had picked up somewhere that I was afraid to do it for the first time and confidently stripped daughter off her clothes, set up the bath and showed and taught me how to do it. I told her about how a few evenings a week different neighbors would just knock on the door and walk in to visit. How I never ever had to look for a babysitter since if one neighbor would be busy accidently there were another 10 orso in my block who would exit their doors and offer to do it before I could utter even one word. The friendliness and the warmth that that people carry with them and that shone out over everybody that was taken up in their midst. Pardess Katz is looked down upon - soon as you say you're from Pardess Katz you called off a stigma on yourself. I was proud to carry that stigma although it -as is almost always- is intended to do exactly the opposite. I've lived there only for 1 year of which 3 months were spent abroad, but I'll never forget that special togetherness I experienced there. Eventhough my whole house (which didn't contain that much) was robbed empty while being abroad ;-)
Simcha told her stories about Pardess Katz and we agreed: there's nothing like it.
Simcha liked to complain. O boy did she complain: about her neighbors, about her 'poor' existence, about the difficult times, about how she felt not understood, about everything. But - she never cursed and always complained with a laugh, making it a joke. It's that 'typical' trade many Iraqi ladies have btw. If there was a celebration of some kind, you could count on Simcha - she would sit and sway and clap her hands like a child totally in extasa from joy and she knew all the old arabic songs.
Anyway, today I heard she passed away. I hadn't seen her around for quite a long time already, and wondered - but didn't want to intrude. And then, I saw her last week a few days before she died, as if to say goodbye: half of her that is. She just seemed to have faded away into a shadow of herself. We met, how can it be else LOL, on the stairs and we spoke but not too much because she had trouble climbing up and her son was waiting upstairs and he always is a big talker so I spoke more with him - But, for one moment when we talked about the nice weather there was that wonderful happy glimpse that made her face shine again as in old times when she confided in me that she'd been to the moadon (club).
I thought long about her afterwards and also that unfortunately she looked like she was not going to make it very long anymore, but who could have imagined that it would come so soon?
The death of people still has a big impact on me, no matter she was an old woman, no matter how many people I knew passed away - it keeps on having this imminence of never again. That's a tough, almost incomprehensible, thing... so I just had to write this eventhough it's not bloggerstuff and eventhough she was 'just' an old neighbor.
Simcha, yihie zichronech baroech.
ps - I don't know why - but this is the song that came directly up in me when I heard about Simcha...
zondag, maart 04, 2007
Last week I had to go there and came back walking a route that simply lifted my spirits in such manner that I thought I had to do it over again one time with camera. But, I know that a second time around is never as good as the first... However,
today was even more cheerful and alive and certainly, although differently, spirit-lifting. I took photos (just a pity that I'm too shy to ask people if I can take a picture of them - cause there were so many nice outfits for Purim walking around, and most of them worn by adults LOL ) and those photos can be seen on my photolink at flickr (link underneath this posting).
One of the bastot at the Carmel sjouk sold cd's and stuff and the sales lady was dancing away behind the counter. Obviously, as a music freak I was most attracted by all the different sounds blaring out of every separate basta -going through arabic, mizrachi, salsa, reggae and sentimental old english songs- but I just had to buy a cd at the dancing lady's basta (also tried to take her picture but she just bent) - so, don't ask me how, I just clicked on everything 'yes' 'yes' 'yes' and I had the songs copied on the computer. Therefore, three songs of this cd I've upped for whoever feels like mizrachi-dance indulgence :)
Btw: did anybody know that in Shinkin there's a basta on the pavewalk that sells designer shirts for dogs? One of them I especially liked: "wanted, bitch for long-term relationship" ;)
Anyway just wanted to post these photos and music to give a SLIGHT impression of Tel-Aviv this morning for people not able to be there.
zaterdag, maart 03, 2007
Go meet my internet friends there:
Purim Sameach everyone!