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July 04 Who Knows Where the Time Goes? - Part 2On Wednesday (July 1st) I attended my eldest nephew's high school graduation ceremony. I don't know what such ceremonies are like at other high schools - Eitan attends the Experimental High School, which has a very open and unstructured attitude to education - but this was a lovely ceremony, conducted, for the most part, by the graduating students themselves. Tables were set out in the school courtyard, refreshments (of a very high quality) were prepared by the parents and the students put on an artistic programme which started with a belly-dance performed by one of the girls (I jokingly remarked that her father must be having an apoplexy, but it was really all very innocent), progressed to songs performed by a student band and included (how not?) some wickedly funny impersonations of teachers and other staff members. There was also a sketch performed by some of the parents.
Since my sister (Eitan's Mum) has been holding Open House on the eve of Independence Day for Eitan and Tamir's classmates and their parents, for almost as far back as I can remember, you could say I've watched these kids grow up. How amazing then, to find I couldn't seem to recognise them. The boys in shirts and ties (in some cases, even in suits), the girls in makeup and clingy, revealing dresses - why, only yesterday it seemed they would, on principle, wear nothing but torn jeans and scruffy tee-shirts!
Where did eighteen years vanish so quickly? Last month, Eitan got his driving licence (at his first attempt too. Grrrr!) Later this summer, most of his classmates will be starting their military service. Eitan himself has volunteered for a year's National Service as a counsellor in his youth movement before going into the army - this, at a time when more and more young people are draft-dodging. I am so proud of him. We all are. But I feel, somehow, as if I've missed something. It's not that I wasn't there. It's just that I didn't savour each moment of his childhood and adolescence sufficiently. It's like the difference between hearing background music and actually sitting down and listening to, and appreciating, each rich level of harmony. And - I can't deny it - watching those kids on the threshold of their adult lives made me feel so - well, middle-aged.
I went home Wednesday night and cried.
Not for their vanished years.
For my own. Who Knows Where the Time Goes? - Part 1Okay, everybody. Paws up, who knows what day it is today?  That's right! It's the 4th of July!
And who can tell me what is the significance of that momentous date? Right again! It's My Birthday!
 Yes! Today, I am fourteen years old. How Time flies!
My Human saw fit to mark The Event by waking me before 8 o'clock in the morning to sing to me "Happy Birthday To You".
Don't get me wrong. She has quite a nice voice - for a Human, (actually, she has a very nice voice, but it wouldn't do for me to let her get too puffed up in her own esteem by telling her that) - but at my age, one doesn't want to be woken up at such an ungodly hour on a Saturday morning to be sung to. And then, to make matters worse, Pixie was sick on the bed. It's lucky our Human witnessed that, she usually attributes all the vomiting in inconvenient places to Yours Truly.
However, she made up for her faux pas (the Human, I mean) by letting me choose my own breakfast. There was quite a dizzying array of delicacies to choose from. She set out all the tins in a row and asked me which I preferred. How was I to decide? Should I go for the salmon and shrimp? Or maybe the rabbit and turkey? Then, again, would not liver and duck make a suitable Birthday Breakfast? But that would mean foregoing the chicken and turkey... Oh dear, it was enough to make a poor kitty's head spin! In the end, I went for the tuna and cod. I'm not sure that was the best choice and given a little longer, I might have plumped for something else, but as soon as she saw me go back three times to the same tin, she concluded that I had made my choice.
Well, I had, of course...
After breakfast, I curled up next to her, while she stroked and petted me and told me what a beautiful pussycat I am.
She's right.
  Looking in that silver glass thingy that stretches from wall to wall in her bedroom, I have to admit, I am a Fine Figure of a Cat. However, when you get to be my age, it's nice to be reassured about that sometimes. And to know that She still loves me, as much as I love her and that in her eyes, I am - and always will be -
Possum the MagnifiCat.
PS. To my millions of friends and admirers in the United States who are celebrating My Birthday with me, I want to say Thank You and have a wonderful day yourselves. I understand you also have something to celebrate.  June 13 The Hour of the MusesOkay, I did more or less hint that my next blog entry would be about the Obama visit, the so-called "Roadmap to Peace", the Arab-Israel Conflict, etc. but you know what? My blood pressure needs a break and if I start on that subject now, the readings will shoot off the scale
 ! Besides which, I need to do some more research, so as to be sure of all my facts before I go sounding off. And finally - I have much pleasanter things to write about this week, so I'm going to chicken out (only temporarily) and tell you all, instead, about the exceedingly cultural week I have been having. Well, actually, it's been a bit more than a week, because it started last Thursday (June 4th) with a trip to the opera. As some of you may know, I have a subscription to the Israeli Opera in Tel Aviv, that takes me to Israel's second-largest city (which is this year celebrating its 100th anniversary) about once every six weeks during the Season. Last week, we greatly enjoyed Bizet's Carmen - a New York Metropolitan production, staged by Franco Zeffirelli. This was, of course, by no means the first time we have seen Carmen. However, whereas the last time, we were "treated" to a ghastly, modern staging, which presented the eponymous heroine more or less as a common prostitute, and culminated in her murder by Micaela rather than by Don José (!!!), Zeffirelli gave us a lovely, traditional staging, with colourful costumes, realistic sets and (mercifully) an unchanged ending. The only disappointment was that, as often happens to the subscribers of the Thursday series, we didn't get to see the "first string" cast - Neil Shicoff and our very own Rinat Shaham. However, Tea Demurashvilly filled the shoes of the fiery gypsy heroine admirably, with a rich, dramatic mezzo voice.Taking pictures during the performance is, of course, not permitted but I snatched a shot at the end, during the prolonged curtain calls.
 The following day, Friday, was the day of our first rehearsal with David Shemer's Jerusalem Baroque Orchestra, and Dr Myrna Herzog's Phoenix Early Music Ensemble, for the two concerts planned for this week. I always enjoy first rehearsals with an orchestra, because that's when everything starts to come together. The previous rehearsals had all been only with piano accompaniment. Of course, one also had to get used to David Shemer's conducting - especially since we are used to a conductor who conducts from the podium. With the Jerusalem Baroque Orchestra, however, as with many early music ensembles, David conducts from the keyboard - like Ton Koopman and Emmanuelle Haim.
 As I remarked to my fellow soprano, Noga, this is how I like to spend my Friday mornings - rather than cleaning and cooking.
The programme was entitled "War and Peace - Music in the Wake of the Thirty Years War" and comprised two of the Symphoniae Sacrae by Heinrich Schütz (1585 - 1672), a couple of instrumental pieces by Johann Rosenmüller (1619 - 1684), Nisi Dominus by Franz Tunder (1614 - 1667) - of whom I had never heard before (one of the things I love about choir is that I'm always discovering something new) and a motet by Dietrich Buxtehude (1637 - 1707). Have I mentioned before - I adore Baroque music.
The following Sunday and Tuesday evenings were also given over to rehearsals and, since I like to come relaxed to our concerts and I have a great deal of accumulated leave, I took Wednesday and Thursday off work, so as to be able to immerse myself completely in the music (bliss).
Wednesday's concert took place in the auditorium of Jerusalem's International YMCA, a lovely, richly-decorated hall of eclectic style, with marvellous acoustics for the audience, but very dry acoustics for the performers on stage. In addition, the stage is relatively small, so, what with the choir and the instrumentalists, it was rather cramped. A lot of the pre-concert rehearsal time was wasted on trying to figure out where to place the choir and soloists so all could be heard to best advantage. The concert went well, although I felt, personally, that the choir's first entrance was rather hesitant.
Thursday's concert was in the auditorium of the Tel Aviv Museum of the Arts, right next door to the Tel Aviv Performing Arts Centre (home of the Israeli Opera, where we have also performed in the past). I always enjoy the drive from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv, because the scenery is so spectacular and I can never resist the temptation to whip out my mobile phone and take a few pictures.
  The museum auditorium was much larger than I expected although I have a feeling we have appeared there before (fellow choir-members assure me I am mistaken). At any rate, this time, there was plenty of room for choir, orchestra and soloists, so the pre-concert rehearsal could be devoted to ironing-out musical problems and correcting any shortcomings that had revealed themselves the previous evening. I even managed to take a few pictures as the orchestra was tuning up.
   Here too, the concert went well, and we returned home, tired but happy (I was, anyway), and ready to start on our next project, another Baroque programme, this time with Myrna Herzog and the Phoenix Early Music Ensemble at the Abu Ghosh Vocal Music Festival in October. This time, it's to be a programme of South American Baroque music. Our next rehearsal won't be till Thursday. Haggi says we have worked hard on this project, so we can rest this Sunday, instead of having our usual rehearsal. On Thursday, we shall receive the music for the new project. I always feel a special kind of excitement when receiving new music. It's like a new adventure in the offing - all those little black notes on the stave, struggling to get off the page, needing our voices to give them life and let them soar. It's much akin to the feeling I get when I open a new book, bursting with new characters and stories, waiting to transport me to new worlds.
And while we're on the subject of books, Wednesday saw the start of the annual Hebrew Book Week, which takes place every year in June, after Shavuot and which sees hundreds of thousands visiting a nationwide trade fair with a difference. Yes, despite the recession, despite the rival claims of television, despite the frequently-heard complaint that kids today prefer computer games to reading, "the People of the Book", both young and old, still flock to the open air stands and bookshops all over the country to celebrate the written word.
And that's another reason why I'm proud to be Israeli.
June 05 A Series of Unfortunate EventsWell, Shavuot came and went, and I survived - just about. I had invited all the family round for a buffet lunch on Shavuot - twelve people in all, including yours truly. Living in a small flat, I don't go in for entertaining much, but I really wanted to repay the hospitality of the rest of the clan, as both my sisters and my father and stepmother frequently host big family gatherings. Dad had remarked in the past that I'm not very adventurous in the kitchen, and I was determined to prove him wrong. So I had a complete menu planned - some of it shop-bought, such as the bourekas and mini-pizzas (for my little nieces, who practically don't eat anything else, at least when they eat "out"), but mostly prepared and cooked by me - a couple of quiches, baked salmon, served chilled with potato salad, coleslaw, garden vegetable salad, avocado salad, pasta salad and, for desert, cheesecake (baked to my mother's recipe) and (a last-minute brainwave!), apricots in apricot jelly (yes, I admit it, the jelly was from a packet
 ).I did most of my shopping at the beginning of the week, so that on Thursday morning, the eve of Shavuot, all I had to do was nip down to the corner grocery to buy a few last minute items. On my return, I had just opened the door of the refrigerator in order to store my purchases, when my ears caught an ominous bubbling sound. I looked up and to my horror, saw my sink filling up with murky black water, welling up from the plughole.
Have you ever tried getting a plumber on the eve of Shabbat or a festival? My usual plumber wasn't available. Both his regular phone and his mobile phone seemed to be disconnected. I called Arye, my Jack-of-all-trades, who promised to send me someone, an Arab (who, presumably, wouldn't mind coming out to deal with an emergency on the eve of a festival). Minutes later, one of the neighbours informed me that the chairman of the Residents' Committee (I live in a condo) had resigned, following a stroke, and dumped everything on his (silent) partner, so that if the problem turned out to be in the main pipe of the building, there would be no-one from whom to claim the money back. Of course, it did turn out to be in the main pipe. The cost - 500 shekels. Fortunately, I owed 360 shekels to the Residents' Committee, so I offset the one against the other. Now they owe me money and I'm unlikely to see a single shekel of it.
The blocked pipe having been fixed, I did a speedy (and rather haphazard) cleaning job and began cooking, two hours behind schedule. I had already decided that, time being so short, I would make only one quiche. I was just preparing the pastry when, lo and behold, black water again swirled up and filled my nice clean sink. In fact, it was even higher than before. Back came Salah, the plumber and this time, attacked the blockage from the main manhole, down in the garden. He was apparently more successful this time because, so far, the problem has not returned (touch wood).
Meanwhile, I had come to the realisation that the baking dish I had intended to use (which I last used about a year ago, or more) was smaller than I remembered so, as soon as Salah had finished, I dashed down once again to the grocery store to buy a disposable baking dish. Unfortunately, it turned out that this one was rather too large. I didn't feel like preparing any more ingredients, so the pastry and filling were spread rather thinly. I thought it looked rather more like a pizza than a quiche - had I invented a quizza? Or possibly a piche
 ?While the quiche/pizza was cooking, it was time to prepare the pasta salad. I had just tipped a packet of fusilli into a saucepan of boiling water and was about to throw away the packet when I noticed that it was past its expiry date - by about six years!!! Okay, a month or two I'm ready to risk, but six years?
Scrap the pasta salad...
By now, I was beginning to feel like the heroine of "Pieces of April ". However, the salmon at least, presented no special problems, except for the fact that I had to use separate baking dishes, as the fish were too large to get two in one dish, but, in the end, this proved to be an advantage, as I was able to prepare each one differently and serve one hot (for my nephews, who don't like cold fish) and one chilled, as planned.
The cheesecake turned out just perfect - exactly as I like it. Which is to say, "like mother used to make". Just as well, because the surprise dessert failed to materialise on time. The jelly, which I prepared the next day, just wouldn't gel, probably because I had added too much liquid. (Actually, by the evening, it had finally "jellified" but that was too late, of course.)
So, how did my rare attempt at large-scale entertaining turn out in the end? Believe it or not, it was a resounding success. I won an (unsollicited) encomium from my nephews (18 and 15) for the salmon, praise from my sisters for the quiche (pizza?) and (as usually happens after such gatherings, because we are all afflicted with the "Jewish Mother Syndrome" and prepare twice as much food as necessary), there was plenty of food left over so I didn't have to cook for the next three or four days,
So, I have proved I can do it. I can be an adventurous cook, I can cope with large-scale entertaining and - I can survive...
Maybe, after all, I should have given this blog entry a different title: That which does not destroy me, makes me stronger.
May 27 ShavuotThe festival of Shavuot (Pentecost) starts tomorrow evening. Unlike all the other festivals mentioned in the Torah, the date of Shavuot is not specified. Instead, the Children of Israel were commanded to count a period of seven weeks from the day following the Pessach (Passover) festival (hence the name Shavuot,meaning "weeks"). Like Pessach, Shavuot is a harvest festival. Thus, it is also known as Chag Hakatzir ("The Festival of the Harvest") and as Yom Habikkurim ("The Day of the First Ripe Fruits"), when it was customary to bring a thanksgiving offering to G-d for His bounty. But most importantly, Shavuot is Zman Matan Torateinu ("The Season of the Giving of our Torah").
Pessach is a spring festival, marked by the blossoming of flowers, but while the flowers are beautiful, it is only when the fruits ripen that they have a use and a purpose beyond mere beauty. In the same way, the Exodus from Egypt brought freedom to the Children of Israel, but it was a freedom without use or purpose - anarchy, in fact. Only when the Children of Israel accepted the Torah, and adopted a set of rules and a morality by which to live, did the flowers of freedom ripen into the fruits of nationhood.
You might ask yourself, why is Shavuot called "The Season of the Giving of our Torah" rather than "The Season of the Receiving of our Torah". The reason for this is that whereas we make the decision, daily, to accept the Torah and live by it (or not, as is, unfortunately, too often the case) the Torah was given by G-d once, and once only, on Mount Sinai, on the 6th day of the month of Sivan - a specific time and place.
In the Book of Exodus, Chapter 19, we read how the Children of Israel prepared to receive the Torah by purifying themselves for three days. Since then, it is the custom to spend the eve of Shavuot in all-night prayer and study - Tikkun Leil Shavuot. In modern Israel, outside ultra-orthodox circles, this often takes the form of lectures and symposia on the application of Torah and Halakha (Jewish Law) to topical questions arising from the problems presented by modern lifestyles and technology. For example, I noticed that tomorrow night, Jerusalem's Yeshurun Synagogue will host a number of lectures on subjects ranging from how to determine the moment of death according to Halakha (vitally important in an age when organ transplants are an accepted fact of life) to the Halakhic aspects of Operation Cast Lead.
Shavuot is when we read the Book of Ruth, the story of the most famous convert to Judaism in history. Her story takes place round about the time of the wheat harvest. We read about her gathering corn in the field of Boaz - for in Jewish law, the corners of the field, the fallen and forgotten sheaves, the gleanings, were to be left for the poor. Ruth, as we know, was the great-grandmother of King David. Thus, a foreign woman, a convert, was the ancestress of the most famous of the kings of Israel, the mother of the line from whom the Messiah will one day come. Furthermore, Shavuot, according to Jewish tradition, is the birthday of King David. It is also the day of his death.
One of the most beautiful of Shavuot customs is that of decorating the synagogue with flowers. In our synagogue in London, if my memory doesn't deceive me, they were always white flowers - lilies and so on. Here in Israel, I have seen this custom extended even to the extent that the supermarket was decorated with flowers and ears of wheat!
As with any Jewish festival worthy of the name
, Shavuot too has its special foods. There doesn't seem to be any single authorised reason for the tradition of eating dairy foods on Shavuot but just as Purim wouldn't be Purim without Hamantaschen, Shavuot wouldn't be the same without cheesecake. Some claim that it is because light, dairy foods are more suited to the hot weather usual at the time of this early summer festival. Another explanation is that until the Torah was given, the Children of Israel did not have to abide by any special dietary laws. They did not, in short, have to "keep kosher" and so they ate meat even of animals which were later deemed "unclean". In consequence, their meat dishes were unfit, not kosher. Therefore, from the moment the Torah was given, they could no longer use those utensils until they had been ritually purified. But this they could not do on Shabbat or on a festival, so they had to make do with eating only dairy products until the festival ended. Whatever the reason - I just love cheesecake .When I was a child, I was entranced by an ancient Jewish legend, according to which, at midnight on the eve of Shavuot, the heavens split wide open and one may see the Almighty and all the heavenly host. At that moment, any wish one makes will be granted. Year after year, I struggled to keep awake, in vain. When I grew older, staying awake was no longer a problem, but I still never saw anything but a black night sky. In cloudy, rainy England, I couldn't even see stars. I realised then that to see this miracle, one had to be in Israel. But alas, when I came to Israel, I was again disappointed. Each year at Shavuot, midnight came and went - and still, nothing. I understood then that this vision was only given to those who spent the night studying and praying. Year after year, I have tried to approach midnight on Shavuot able to say, honestly, that I have been studying Torah, even if it's just a few verses.
I still haven't seen the heavens split open.
I don't despair.
Maybe this year... May 22 If I Forget Thee, O JerusalemYesterday we celebrated Yom Yerushalayim, Jerusalem Liberation Day, the anniversary of the Liberation and Reunification of the Holy City by the Israel Defence Forces in the 1967 Six Day War. According to the Jewish (lunar) calendar, the actual day of the Reunification falls on the 28th day of the month of Iyar (today, in fact) but when that date falls on a Friday, as it does this year, the celebrations are brought forward to Thursday, as they continue into the night, with fireworks and other activities which are forbidden on the Sabbath. Therefore, so as not to curtail the festivities (as well as to allow observant Jews to prepare for Shabbat), the festivities take place a day earlier. However, since it was actually 42 years ago today that the whole of Jerusalem was reunited under Jewish sovereignty for the first time in almost 2000 years, I bring you a gift in honour of the festival - a performance by the Jerusalem Oratorio Chamber Choir of Zvi Avni's setting of Psalm 48, verses 2-4: "Beautiful of vista, the joy of all the earth, is Mount Zion".
Enjoy!
Shabbat Shalom and a pleasant weekend to you all.
May 20 The Call of the SouthYesterday (Tuesday) I returned to Jerusalem from a three-day trip to Eilat with "the Gang" from work - our annual outing, designed to enhance social bonding within the Department. As I mentioned in a previous blog, we alternate between trips to the north (to a variety of destinations) and trips to Eilat, Israel's southernmost town,on the Red Sea. Eilat enjoys (if that's the right word), very hot, dry weather, even in winter
 , while as for the summer, it can often reach the mid 40s (Celsius) in the shade. On Sunday, when we travelled down there, it was 28 degrees in Jerusalem, 38 degrees in Eilat. We were supposed to set out at 7.30 AM, but, as usual, when you tell our lot to be there and ready to leave at 7.30 AM, they view that as a suggestion only  . In fact, it was almost 8.15 AM before we hit the road. In years gone by, before the first intifada, and long before the establishment of the Palestinian Authority, we used to stop off for brunch in Jericho, but that, alas, is no longer possible. In the event, we had a late (and pretty substantial) breakfast in Moshav Hatzeva in the Arava. The moshav specialises in desert agriculture and we were treated to a banquet of fresh, locally produced vegetables, cheeses, omelettes, cakes and - I'm getting hungry just writing about it
!The original plan had actually included a guided tour of the moshav, but the sweltering heat made that impractical so we returned to our air-conditioned bus and pressed on to Eilat, which we reached by about 2 pm (an hour later than planned). Unfortunately, we had to wait almost an hour and a half for our rooms - half the country having seemingly descended on Eilat in general and on our hotel in particular! That left just about enough time for a shower and a rest before supper, at seven, followed by an evening of drinks, snacks and party games (social bonding, remember?), rounded off with a traditional Israeli singalong to the accompaniment of Yair on the guitar and Miriam on the flute.
By the following day, it was 43 degrees in the shade and we were all set for a day at the beach. Foolhardy, some might say, but the beaches in Eilat are well equipped with sunshades and straw-topped booths (public toilets are a much rarer commodity!), and by dint of slathering on suntan lotion with a Sun Protection Factor of 30, I managed to avoid both UVA and UVB rays so successfully that not only did I escape sunburn, I didn't even tan!!! The day was given over to water sports - pedal boats, kayaks, "banana boats" (to be avoided like the plague in my opinion) and outboard motor boats. The latter I did enjoy. Though the motorboats are designed for 6 passengers, we were only three. A few hundred metres from the shore, we formed a circle with the other boats and some intrepid members of our gallant band decided to dive in for a swim. On the way back, my two companions suggested I take the wheel. Mindful of my brush with near disaster at the Go-Karting track last year, I ventured to suggest that this might not be quite the best idea. However, my friends would not take no for an answer so I gave it a try. I did suspect that my steering left something to be desired but apart from helpfully pointing out that I seemed to be headed in the direction of Aqaba, on the Jordanian side of the bay, they left me to my own devices, until it was time to dock.
In the evening, after supper, I went to Eilat's biggest shopping mall. Eilat, you see, is a Tax Free Zone and therefore, many upmarket retail chains have branches there, where one can purchase the latest fashions, swimwear, sports gear, shoes and jewellery, for far less than in the rest of Israel. Earlier in the day, I had spotted a few items that I fancied but couldn't try on, as I was wearing a wet swimsuit under my clothes, so now , I returned, to see if they looked as good on me as they did on the hangers. Alas. The black trousers by Zara I had thought would be great for courtroom appearances, or even for concerts with the choir, looked really odd on me and of the two dresses that had caught my eye, finding one in my size proved harder than I had expected. The salesgirl thought (as I did!) that Medium would be right for me (I take a UK size 12/14, and a continental 40/42) , but evidently Zara's sizes are on the small side. I needed Extra Large!!! The only dress of the two I had liked available in that size was in a red I could not possibly wear. I gave up and proceeded to Renuar. There, I found another red dress (in a more flattering shade) and in the right size but - it made me look fat! (Considering the lavish supper I had consumed, this was, perhaps, not so surprising after all...)
Empty handed, I walked back along the seashore promenade, with its booths and stands selling all the rather tacky paraphernalia of a seaside holiday (of the sort I remember from childhood vacations in Bournemouth and Brighton), and then along the Lagoon (in reality, a man-made Marina) to the hotel. Some of the others had gone to a club specialising in eastern-style music. From what I heard at breakfast the following morning, most of them hadn't enjoyed it much except for what one of them described as "the anthropological research". In short, I think I had a lucky escape...
At breakfast, too, it was suddenly decided to set out for home at 11.30 AM instead of at 1 PM, as called for in the original programme. Dutifully, I presented myself in the lobby at the appointed hour. I found precisely two of my workmates there. As you have probably guessed, we didn't actually leave till 12.15. You see, nobody had thought to inform the bus driver of the change in plan.
Today, it was back to the grindstone once more. This is unusual, as we generally take our annual trip during the second half of the week, from Tuesday to Thursday which, I think, is preferable, as we can then benefit from the extended absence from work to wind down from the long and rather tiring bus journey home. Still, we are not yet completely back to normality (whatever that may be) as tomorrow, we celebrate Jerusalem Liberation Day - 42 years since the liberation and reunification of Jerusalem in the Six Day War.
But that, my friends, is another story... May 16 There Must Be Another WayIn my last blog, I more or less promised to write about the role of the Roman Catholic Church in promoting antisemitism, and this would probably have been an appropriate time to do it, in the wake of the Pope's visit to Israel earlier this week. However, I don't feel in the mood for polemics at the moment, so instead, I would like to bring you Israel's entry for the Eurovision Song Contest which takes place in Moscow tonight, together with a translation of the words. The song Your Eyes (There Must be Another Way) is performed by Achinoam Nini, (better known in Europe as Noa), who is of Yemenite Jewish origin and Mira Awad, an Israeli Arab who enjoys huge success in Israel on stage and on TV (she played Eliza Doolittle in the recent Israeli production of "My Fair Lady").
Oddly enough, despite the song's message of peace, the duo have come under fire both from the Israeli Left and from Palestinian supporters in Europe, who claim they are covering up Israeli "atrocities" in Gaza.
There's no satisfying some people, it seems. The song, which was chosen by an open poll of TV viewers, days after the end of Operation Cast Lead, is sung in Hebrew, Arabic and English. The translation below is a literal one, and therefore does not rhyme. I ask you, how can anyone interpret this as anything but a heartfelt prayer for peace?
There must be another way!
Your eyes, sister, say all that my heart asks for.
We have come such a long, hard way together, hand in hand.
And the tears fall and flow in vain, a nameless pain.
We are only waiting for the day after.
There must be another way!
Your eyes say, a day will come
When all the fear vanishes.
In your eyes there is a determination
That it is possible to continue the road,
However long it may take,
Because Sorrow has no single address.
I cry to the wide spaces, to the stubborn skies -
There must be another way!
It's a long road we will travel,
Such a hard road, together, to the Light.
Your eyes say, all the fear will vanish.
And when I cry, I cry for both of us.
My pain has no name.
And when I cry, I cry to the merciless sky and say:
There must be another way.
There must be another way!
Your eyes, sister, say all that my heart asks for.
We have come such a long, hard way together, hand in hand.
And the tears fall and flow in vain, a nameless pain.
We are only waiting for the day after.
There must be another way!
Truly, for all our sakes, there MUST be another way!
April 19 A Hatred As Old As TimeSixty-six years ago today, on April 19, 1943, the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising began. Coincidentally, that year, April 19 was the eve of Pessach (Passover).
Three weeks separate the start of Pessach and Israel's Independence Day. Three weeks between the festival that marks our emergence on the stage of History as a people rather than as a desert tribe, and the festival that marks our renaissance, after two millenia of exile, as a sovereign nation in our own land. Between them, eight days before Independence Day, we commemorate one of the most traumatic events in a history replete with traumatic events - Holocaust and Heroism Remembrance Day, which falls this year on Tuesday, April 21.
The rest of the world commemorates the Holocaust on January 27, the day of the liberation of Auschwitz, but this commemoration has in many places been watered-down by turning it into a commemoration of other acts of genocide - or so-called genocide - thus downplaying the uniqueness of the Jewish experience.
The symbolic connection between the Holocaust and Israel's rebirth might be obvious to some. Indeed, Israel has frequently been accused of exploiting European guilt feelings about the Holocaust, first, to garner support for the establishment of the Jewish State and thereafter, to stifle criticism of Israel. Less obvious, perhaps, is the connection between Pessach and the Holocaust. Yet, to my mind, the connection between these last two is clear. In the Haggadah, which we read at the eve of Pessach meal, the Seder, we are told how Pharaoh planned the extermination of the Children of Israel. Quoting from the Book of Exodus, chapter I, the Haggadah tells us how a new Pharaoh arose "who knew not Joseph", who tried first to suppress the growth of the Children of Israel by enslavement and forced labour, and the breaking of family ties and then, when that failed, by ordering the destruction of all newborn male babies among the Hebrews. Thus, the story of Pessach incorporates the first recorded case in history of attempted genocide. Then, as so many times thereafter, it was directed at the Jews.
Why?
If we look for a reason for the deep-rooted antisemitism in Europe, which was the breeding-ground for the Holocaust, we can see that the doctrine of the Roman Catholic and Russian Orthodox Churches and later, of Martin Luther, according to which the Jews were collectively guilty of the murder of Jesus, proved to be fertile soil for this most ancient hatred. I could (and probably shall) write a whole blog about this alone, but it does not wholly answer the question. As we have seen, hatred of the Jews (or, as they were then known, the Children of Israel or the Hebrews) predates Christianity by almost fifteen centuries. It is the oldest recorded form of racism - and the most persistent. It sheds its form and takes on new guises with each generation. Since the end of World War II, with the revulsion against Nazi atrocities, it has become "politically incorrect" to be antisemitic, so now, our detractors claim to be anti-Zionist rather than anti-Jewish. Hatred of the Jewish State has "replaced" hatred of the Jewish People, but in most cases, if you scratch the surface, dig a little deeper and engage in Socratic dialogue with the "anti-Zionists", they will soon show their true colours.
Another form of antisemitism can be seen in the attempt to deny the very existence of a Jewish People. "You are not true descendants of the Children of Israel", it is claimed. "You are Khazars, with no claim whatsoever to the land you have stolen from the Palestinians." Thus, having failed physically to eradicate us, they attempt to negate our very being as Jews, by the revision of history. If we are Khazars ( a Central Asian people who more or less disappeared as a separate national and cultural entity in the 10th century C.E.), then the Jews don't exist any more and "the Jewish Problem" is solved. This too is a subject for an entire blog and I shall no doubt return to it in the not-too-distant future.
My friends - I don't have an answer to the age-old question "Why us?". In my forthcoming blogs, I shall endeavour to explore further some of the points I have raised, in the hope of provoking (civilised) discussion. Your comments (as long as they are polite) will be welcome. As they say on the talkback shows - "The lines are now open". Feel free to respond. April 11 For behold, the winter is past......the rain is over and gone.
Well, not exactly. It was hardly there to begin with and we are, in fact, facing a severe drought. However, as it is traditional at Pessach to read the Song of Songs and since, for the past few days, as I walk around the neighbourhood and see flowers peeping out from almost every crack in the pavement (not to mention in gardens and window-boxes), I've been whipping out my camera phone and snapping away at the least provocation, I thought I'd add a photo album to show my readers what spring is like in Jerusalem. I've given captions to all the photos but I find that Live Spaces has a mind of its own and, once the photos are uploaded, changes the order so that the captions don't really make sense. In order to view the photos in the order in which I intended, please click on "Slideshow". Otherwise, the captions will make no sense, especially as there aren't any pictures of fig trees or turtle doves (though I may add some later, if I get lucky with my camera
 ).Meanwhile, enjoy!
חג שמח
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Thanks for visiting my space. Please let me know what you think of it. Shimona
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