This Means War!

Okay call me silly but when I read Reuters reporter Nidal-al-Mughrabi's story this morning stating that Hamas views Israel's suspension of formal security ties as a "declaration of war" I mused.. Wait. Did we have a noon coffee date together and now we just screwed it up? Wait, Wait. Does this mean you won't be picking up the lunch tab?

Well I guess not seeing as the EU and U.S. cut off direct aid over the weekend.

I just don't get it but again, I'm far from a political analyst. When an entity won't recognize a country, won't renounce violence and its judicial branch proudly and publicly declares Jihad and "death for the sake of God" as its new government is being formed ...that seems a tad "troublesome" in more than just a roguish, drank a few-too-many-beers-last-night kinda way. But shucks..What would I know?

I know this: No money + declaration of war = No Good.

This feels like that kid at school who is determined to punch no matter what you do or say. Heck, you could declare your undying love and offer up a year's lunch money and the kid would still bloody your nose.

Israel is BY NO MEANS whatsoever the impish, cowering kid in the corner so let's rub out that implication from the get-go so as to give this posting's comment section a break. Hamas, however, isn't that cowering kid either.

I'm concerned over what may go down during Passover holiday.

The Rendezvous Complex

Lately I've been ruminating over something my mother said a few years back. Recounting her 40th high school reunion, she commented that had attendees not been wearing name badges she would have recognized ne'ery a soul. People change as years scroll by and time does not necessarily glide by favorably for all.

This has recently been brought painfully to the fore in my own life. As mentioned in a previous post, a benefit of living here in HLC (Holy Land Central) is re-convening with old friends as they return home for holidays from assorted world enclaves. In the past week I have literally re-connected with 6 pals from days of yore.

Actual face-to-face meetings, however, are strategically spaced in order to keep anxiety levels at bay. Rendezvouses after a decade are stressful; those who have been through it know what I mean.

Unless you've been in regular contact with the other party via webphone or video-conferencing, the Polaroid of that person in your mind's eye is frozen. And outdated. So the initial greeting can be a tad startling. A few pounds, some gray hair, forehead wrinkles..But that's okay. You can live with seeing changes in the other person. And if the repor is good, you quickly move past the physical.

The uncomfortability lies in coming to terms with the reverse shattered freeze-frame i.e. YOURSELF. The dazed look of complete incomprehension on the other person's face - "My God! He doesn't even recognize me" - is particularly unsettling. You've spent the last ten years with yourself so the waistline inner tube acquired post-partem is now an old friend accommodated gingerly with drawstring, cotton sweats and low-rise, Spandex-waist trousers.

Your friend across the table, however, remembers midriff shirts and that belly-button piercing you used to unabashedly display. It's the blank stare on HIS face that sends you unwittingly to the Shelved Memories Department where all-nighters, clubs, dancing and a flatter-tummied you are stored. Instinctively, you take a deep breath, sit up a bit straighter and suck in the mid-section and then attempt to sit through the entire meeting uncomfortably holding that pose while smiling and sipping wine.

Yes, it can bring on bouts of melancholy coupled with wistful longings; the days of platform thigh-high boots, mini-skirts and barely there, transparent tops are pretty much over (unless a complete overhaul aka Cher or Madonna is off in the future somewhere).

Stressful indeed. I am beginning to appreciate hermitage.

Hope, however, lies on the horizon: In another 40 years or so I (hopefully) won't give a damn. I'll tap young boys' behinds with my cane "by accident", ask the particularly attractive ones for help crossing the street or wheeling me up the ramp and I'll shamelessly lift my knit sweater in public to show off "war scars". See here, young man! I used to have a belly piercing right here, I'll have you know!

Ahhh the glory of getting on...

Passover Countdown

A few notes as we head into Passover...

As mentioned in a previous post, things are speeding up here in HLC (Holy Land Central) as holiday preps go into the final leg. It's sorta like Christmas frenzy without baby Jesus, mall Santas, fake snow or tacky roof decor.

Tourists are beginning to arrive which is a good thing because the industry took a beating starting in 2000 and finally appears to be recovering. For me, the American visitors are easiest to spot in their Reebok walking shoes and neat coifs strolling the grimy open-air markets, gazing up at street signs with confused imprinted on their foreheads and strolling contentedly along Tel Aviv's beach promenade in highly audible groups.

A funny Passover ism is the supermarket "changeover". Rather than remove yeast-laden products for the holiday, paper sheeting is taped over shelves to cover "offensive" products. So if I reach behind the sheeting during holiday week, grab a bag of pasta and bring it to the register will the Elite Matzoh Unit haul me away?

Rapha (small child) and I spent the day in Jaffa yesterday tooling around the flea market, eating cheese-filled pocket dough at Aboulafia Bakery, checking out the narrow stone passageway galleries and hanging out on benches adjacent to the Crusader era breakfront. As we sat relaxing, a slightly hunched graying man in a tattered black suit and kippah approached the breakfront wall, turned to face the sea and began mumbling silently. My knee-jerk, initial thought was: Nutter.


Hands jammed in pockets he abruptly withdrew a small white sack from his trousers and tossed it into the crashing waves below. Tsk tsk. Not environmentally friendly went another knee-jerk notion. But wait. Was he performing the pre-holiday ritual of ridding himself either of bread products or of sins? The latter - tashlich - is generally reserved for the Jewish New Year. Maybe he does this every Friday because he has so many sins that the sack can't wait a year? Or maybe he got his holidays confused. Who knows? But it was interesting to observe.

Another interesting experience was our First Playground Scuffle. En route home from Jaffa we stopped for fun. Inside a climbing structure obscured from my view a teenager lifted Raphael up and pretended he would throw him.
Sobbing and calling for me, Raphael made his way down the slide. As he sputtered out the story in jags, the offending teen remained hidden inside the structure. A combined lack of Arabic, English or Hebrew on all our parts rendered significant communication with the teen's peers impossible. He ultimately descended, however, and was apologetic (he spoke a smattering of Hebrew) and sheepish when confronted by moi.

I was reminded of a similar situation in San Francisco. The teens there, however, were tossing a basketball back and forth over the heads of a dozen playground toddlers. When requested to refrain, one charming young girl threatened to "whoop" my backside and rearrange my face. Ultimately the police were summoned. Hmmm.

4 more days...

Priorities

I like viewing art. Photography, oil on canvass, mixed medium, massive Burning Man installations, Pop, Cubism, Realism, Asian, South American, Japanese street chic, sculpture, architecture, design...I'm not choosy. Give me a viewing and I'm content for at least a few weeks.

I'd love to become a collector and connoisseur, just like I want to play the stock market. The latter I'm motivated to do after lunching with my retired Aunt Babe yesterday who shared her investment portfolio tips while confessing she's self-taught. How does she know what to buy or trade? She watches investment programming, keeps an eye on relevant stock activity and buys or trades performance dependent. She says all it takes is studying and reading. I like reading.

As for art, my impressions in that realm have been formed by second-hand exposure to my mother's auction purchases, museum visits and some study. Oh yeah! And also by the unremarkable San Francisco erotica art opening I attended where hors d'oeuvres and wine were served up by quite remarkable nude men.

Red or white? Mr. Absent Clothing asked alternately holding up each bottle-clutching hand. His intonation implied: Excuse me but, like, where have you been? Nobody who's anybody in the service industry wears tired black and white these days. Oh honey, why don't YOU pour ME some wine? Breeders. Sheesh.

Until that point I had neglected to notice the hired help. "Uh, uh, uh" I stammered, forcing my gaze to remain level. "Want me to come back?" he playfully toyed. I vigorously nodded yes.

So where was I going with this monologue? Nowhere special. Just wanted to share some art with ya'll. Went to visit an artist's loft the other night - Eyal Dobinsky's his name and he's based in Tel Aviv's Montefiore neighborhood - sort of like an up & coming SOMA or Meat Packing District loft, artist warehouse-ish space area. Here's a link to his site. I have my eye on the oil painting up yonder top of page...

A Quickie

I prostrate deeply for I have not faithfully updated...It's NOT that I don't have ideas and it's NOT that I don't think about writing. It's just that:

1) We're headed into Passover & kids are off school (read: no time for self, no time for self, no time for self)

2) We're headed into Passover so friends are popping up each day (read: people who moved abroad are here for the holidays so the coffee, dinner and social calendar is FILLING!!!)

3) We're headed into Passover so shopping is a high priority (read: picking up chatchkes for relatives is essential as is stocking bread & pita in the freezer - for this heathen, anyways - since it won't be available at the supermarket for an entire week)

4) Our sweetheart, Golden Retriever has a bone infection in her foot. (read: X-rays, doctors, compresses 3 times a day, an antibiotic and pain killer regimen twice daily, dressing and bandaging a swollen, oozing foot the size of a smallish grapefruit at least twice per day. Will wonders never cease?)

5) I have so many deadlines I'm treading water (read: I have so many deadlines I'm treading water)

However, I will take this moment to share...

- The country is rapidly heading towards that pre-holiday frenzy: supermarket over-crowd, shopping mall herding, general impulse buying, frenetic spring cleaning and idle youth on Spring break hanging out in public areas looking for excitement and action

- Matzoh (feh!) is stocked to the gills. Come and get it at your local supermarket, corner convenience store, favorite drinking establishment and in vending machines wherever snacks are sold. No supply shortage here.

- The weather is vascillating between wanting to be warm and sunny yet sinking into rainy chill glum. Could we please get that one in order? We have company that travelled quite a distance to bare skin, for god's sake!

Remind me to write about the security guard who is obsessed with Maccabi Tel Aviv and a cool young artist whose Asian inspired oil paintings are colorful and hip.

To bed. Over & out.

Tagged

Last Thursday, an uber cool collaborative exhibit opened up at New York's Bronfman Center Gallery: Beyond Graffiti, Fresh Visions from Tel Aviv, Jerusalem and New York City.

I wrote about it which led to the fortunate circumstance of interviewing some of the artists.

I spoke with Rami Meiri whose colorful depictions of Israeli life brighten up public spaces throughout the country; He is the father of Israel's public art/mural scene.

And with Nir Aharon, a promising young graphic designer/artist whose first foray into the graffiti world was spray painting his Beersheva high school in protest of teachers and the school itself.

"There was a police investigation and everything but we didn't get caught. It was in the local paper, though, so we got artistic exposure"...

And with Dan "Mobius" Sieradski, a New York transplant who d.j.'s, runs a non-profit, blogs, organizes Palestinian-Israeli hip-hop events and creates graffiti. Dan is into street art rather than the gallery type because he says it puts the art where it should be: back into the hands of the people.


Graffiti has come a long ways, my friends. Tagging with a can's one thing; Some of these artists use wood, metal, canvass, oil & graphics.

Follow the links and pretend you've gone gallery hopping for the day...

Dreams & visions

In the late 90's I was living in San Francisco after a ten-year stretch in good 'ole HLC (Holy Land Central). Despite my Americana background, the culture shock associated with the transition back was literally painful at times.

One early summer afternoon feeling acute pangs of longing due to dear friend Malcolm's departure to England earlier that day, I sat on the stoop of the Victorian I shared with Israeli roommate Vavi sinking into my sadness. Rounding the street corner and clearly searching for a specific address, a lanky fellow wearing tight drain pipes approached and asked in heavily Hebrew accented English: Is Vavi here? He had watery, gray-blue eyes.

She wasn't due back for several hours but he sat down anyway, unwittingly commencing "The Summer of Nikko".

An early 20's aspiring chef looking to make his mark, Nikko had been advised by mutual Tel Aviv friends to contact Vavi for professional leads. He hoped she might help him get a foothold. She didn't. But he and I became inseparable. We shared movies, dinners, museums, drawn out telephone talks, cafes, platonic sleepovers, parties, shopping, walks in the park, city scouting and mostly talking.

Nikko verbalized the isms of American life that made us both squirm.

I'm calling you from the street corner. A little girl holding a junkie's hand was just led down the street sobbing, I had to step over a collapsed homeless person to get to the ATM machine and someone just vomited on the sidewalk and then carried on walking. This is normal life here?!?!?

And he coined the phrase "parva" as in: American life is not milchik or fleishik. It's parva. Something's missing.

Mostly Nikko talked about dreams. Flamboyant & colorful dreams for his future. To be a successful chef, author books, find lasting love, own a restaurant and host a cooking program he would star in. He even had a local artist draw sketches of the would-be television set of his dreams.


He didn't have the patience to sling hummus at a Berkeley dive while waiting to realize his ambitions so he cut out after two months and headed to Paris for an externship. He then returned to Israel and we've been in contact on and off since. I've stayed with him on holiday visits, phoned on occasion, sent postcards and yesterday, we sat together over coffee - our first rendezvous in 5 years.

Nikko is more reserved these days and seems tired. He doesn't laugh as readily nor does he yelp with delight as was his habit in the past. But chasing dreams can do that to a person, especially if he ends up catching them.

Nikko realized every last one. He opened not one but three successful Jaffa establishments, authored three cookbooks, travels the world as a lecturing "Israeli Ambassador d'Cuisine", found a life partner and his t.v show has garnered him HLC celebrity status.

Israelis know him as Nir Tzuk. To me he's still Nikko. Nikko who helped me get through the summer of longing and who illustrated by example how vision can actualize into reality.

"That and damned hard work!" he said yesterday.

Salut