Little Luxuries and a Phenomenal Article

Image via Wikipedia Maybe this post would be more appropriate on my other blog, because it talks about one of my luxuries, something I cannot live without and that is a newspaper subscription.
As a former journalist, I have to know what happens in Israel and the world and because I don't exactly read in Hebrew, I have a subscription to the English edition of "Ha'aretz" (it comes together with "International Herald Tribune", so two newspapers at the price of one, it's a deal, isn't it?). I like "Ha'aretz" very much (and no, they didn't pay me to say this), they are always spot on and also more left than right and not that religious.
Usually reading an Israeli newspaper it is not something to make you smile, but this morning Bradley Burston's "When the Messiah comes, Israel will deport him" made me laugh, actually...
Please read the article HERE. The article sums up with lots of humor the atmosphere of the Israeli society at the beginning of this new year (era?).

Indeed, Why Do I Read Newspapers?

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As a former journalist, I cannot imagine my existence without newspapers...Here, in Israel I've been reading "Haaretz"'s English edition for some time now and I like the newspaper and I generally tend to agree with their policy. But, usually Israeli newspaper articles give me nightmares or better, insomnias. When, at midnight I wake up my sleeping husband with the phrase :"I am really concerned about...", he sighs and asks :"Have you been reading your newspapers again?"
But THIS TIME I am trully and deeply concerned. It is about the declaration made recenlty by justice minister Yaakov Neeman that says - "Step by step , we shall confer the laws of the Torah on the citizens of israel and make halakha the binding law of the state". I am not going to comment this lunacy because the editorial in today's "Haaretz" is better that anything I could write on the subject.
Please read the article here:
http://www.haaretz.com/hasen/spages/1134049.html

At least, as a minority here in Israel I think I can sleep a bit better knowing that there are normal people who think like me (irrespective of our beliefs).

The First Rain

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Yes, we had it! The first rain of the autumn was here...Well now, don't expect a down pour, a deluge. It was a short rain, nothing spectacular, but enough to leave some puddles for the kids to jump in, and definitely enough to make it one of the main events of the week. Because only in Israel, where the drought left us parched and dry, could the first rain be making headlines...
Of course all the signs of the rain are gone by now (mid-morning) but at seven o'clock this morning I closed my eyes and inhaled the fresh air, and for a few moments, I was back home, in Romania...
It was a good start for the week and I hope this feeling of freshness will stay with me for a while...

Luckily, I Don't Write With An Accent

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Here, in Israel, everything is about accents. If you roll your "r"s in a certain way you'll be catalogued as Spanish, otherwise you can be French or tzabar (Israel - born). A certain softness in your consonants will make you Russian (oh, that and the fairness of your skin).

People form here synagogues, brotherhoods, sisterhoods, book clubs, gangs, schools and other institutions based on their accents. Sometimes, even according to the color of their skin (you know, fair - European -born, dark skin - north African and black, Ethiopian).

People here say they fight against prejudice and militate for all Israelis to stand together, but, on the other hand, if you are not able to present the right accent at a certain moment, well, you'll be shown the door...

It happened to me recently and it made me bitter, as if I needed this again...I wanted to apply for a certain job as an English teacher, but from the begining I was showed off, because my spoken English doesn't have the right accent. Here, in Israel, the highest praise for an English teacher is to be told he is an " English native speaker". The lady that rejected me so abruptly (via telephone) had every right to do so. The franchise she's got is a private one, I think, so she'll hire who ever she pleases. She doesn't work in the Ministry of Education's framework. That's fine with me. Just, for Heaven's sake, don't tell me directly to my face. It is a bit of stereotype, don't you think... In the school where I taught before I had Maya none of the English teachers were "native speakers" and their English was fluent, correct, clean. And one of the best teachers, with the best results was Irena, from Russia., and her kids were crazy about her. Yeah, I agree it is nicer to hear English spoken with that American tinge to it, but that doesn't make the teacher a good one. When I studied for my teaching certificate I had a friend from Scotland, a very nice lady and she was dyslectic. I used to help her with her papers.

Don't get me wrong! I have loads of "native speakers" as friends and they didn't express their wish to teach English, even if it is their mother tongue. They are nice ladies and gentlemen, and I love them all. It is just somebody created a false problem here...It is like my husband, who is an University graduate, would want to teach Romanian or Hungarian, just because he spoke them at home. Knowing a language doesn't make you a teacher of it. I studied for many-many years languages. If I wanted to teach Romanian in Romania, I had to got a B.A. in Romanian Language and Literature. And by the way, I have a Masters degree in Romanian and English as well. And I studied to become a teacher, as well . But that's not important, What I don't get here is the lady's attitude...The way she spoke to me made me fell, I don't know, not worthy. She didn't ask for my qualifications or references, she didn't even see me in front of a class or interacting with kids. She simply dismissed me as "not right". Well, her loss. I really wanted to try that venture because I like to teach and I like kids. I once thought in a kindergarten and had results beyond expectations. I think that is partially because I know how to lower myself to the kids' level...And I don't say the other teachers that "work for her" as she put it are not good teachers. God forbid. I am sure they are great ones. I just wanted a chance to show her who I am...All this thing made me feel like Cindarella, left outside the ballroom just because she didn't have the right clothes...

But, I'm not going to kill myself over what happened... One thing is for sure, I wouldn't want her to teach my baby English...Oh, and I am really lucky that in the blogosphere nobody can "hear" my accent...

Don't Tell Me About Being Different

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Sometimes you just don't want to hear bad news. You are happy and you want everybody to feel the same. I was so pleased with the way the things went on, my sister was finally here, we've put behind us what happend upon her arrival, so when I opened the newspaper this morning and I read "Two killed in shooting at gay-lesbian event in Tel Aviv" , I was like "What?" And all the happiness just went "pouf" and dissapeared...
This kind of events remind me of different places and different times.
I know how it is to be and to feel different. When I came to live here I wasn't prepared for what awaited me, all the questions, all the glances and the explanations and the suspicion, especially not the suspicion. I came here with an open heart and mind, full of love for this Land and its people, and in the end I was regarded like an allien, almost a freak, an impossibility. I always had to explain myself, the colour of my ID card, the reasons...
I am a very tolerant person. This way I was taught at home, this way I was educated. It is my core, to be tolerant and to love people. I always tried to find excuses to certain behaviour, certain people. But not anymore. Ignorance, intolerance and hate are not on my list.
I remember one incident that left me with a bitter taste in my mouth...I was studying at the time at a college for my teaching certificate. One of the courses I took was "Judaism and Islam", taught by two nice guys, an Arab and a Jew. It was very informative and I learned a lot of interesting things about the two religions and about the similarities and differences between them. The second half of the year they run out of teaching material and decided to try an experiment. We, the students awere going to tell about the importance of religion in our lives, about personal experiences. As far as I knew I was the only Christian in the group and I wasn't prepared to talk about my beliefs. Not in front of a bunch of biased kids, anyway. I remember the way one girl talked about her trip to Thailand and the way she said, nasally and affected: "I don't understand how people believe in more Gods and why they build temples for them, and especially why do they pray to them..."
So, I approached the Jewish teacher and told him about my fears, about the fact that I am a Christian and not prepared to talk openly about it. Of course I immediately regretted it, after I saw the glee in his eyes and heard his words:"But why, you must talk about it, it would be very interesting..." I bet it would... I insisted I didn't want to, but he was unmovable...To cut a long story short, in the end of course I didn't talk about my faith or religion, I told them that I believe faith and God are personal issues, and instead I told them about my love for the Land of Israel and I read them my poem "perfumes, colours" You can read it in one of my previous posts, and showed them my book about Israel... I remember that after the lesson one girl approached me and told me how impressed she was and that I am her role model now...
So, as you can see, sometimes the important thing is not the problem itself, but the way you approach it or the way you solve it...
Of course I've met people and people during this journey of mine, especially since I've been here, in Israel. And I must say some of the people I've met are simply brilliant and I love them dearly. But it is only myself and my choice, if I want to be bothered by some people or their attitude.And if I am, it means they won...
The Israeli society is sinply divided in two: the ones that cling to the old ways and the ones that are open to new, to being modern, to be commited to growing up. I don't know yet wich one will win in the end, but I am with the "open" ones, the ones that are not reluctant to embrace the differences between us human beings, the ones that doesn't see only eneies, but also friends...

If you want to read an article about the Tel Aviv shooting, this site has very good articles and updates in English:
http://www.ynetnews.com/articles/0,7340,L-3755985,00.html

Frustrated, Furious and Humiliated

I am so furious I can barely type, my body is shaking and I cannot control my fingers...Do you remember I told you my sister is coming from Romania, to visit us? Well, an hour ago my husband called me from the airport to tell me my sister is been retained at the airport, together with other fellow passengers from the same flight from Romania and that they are questioned by the Interior Ministry. Not long ago, an entry to Israel was possible only if you had a visa (I am talking about Romanian citizens, of course). My mother came here three years ago from Germany and nodoby asked her anything when she got off the plane. My mother was married to a German citizen and she has German citizenship. Clever lady!

It is already 10.00 o'clock in the evening, the plane from Bucharest landed at 8.15 and I still don't know anything about my sister and her son.

Half an hour ago somebody from the Interior Ministry called me to ask me if I am waiting for somebody...duh...I said yes and she started asking me all kind of "tricky" questions in order to find out if the lady sitting near her in an office at the Ben Gurion airport is my sister. After a few questions she said that I am responsible for my sister to return to Romania on the date that it is written on her plane ticket, otherwise there will be consequences. I said of course my sister will return to Romania (who wants to stay in a coutry that welcomes this way its visitor?) and I am prepared to take full responsibility for her. She couldn't help herself and added: "You also, are not of Israeli origin, you married here..." I pretended I didn't understand the hidden meaning of the words and I said: "Yes, I was born in Romania if this is what you're asking...I 've lived here for 10 years and I am an English teacher"...I am not going to linger on this subject because I was humiliated enough in the ten years since I came here, with an open heart...I tried to forget everything and move on and I thought I did that, but this stupid incident reopened old wounds.
And all this because she comes from Romania...Tell me please, how many America, French, English citizens are retained at the Ben Gurion airport and interogated and humiliated? And I mean like regular guys, not terrorists or relatives of Osama bin Laden or serial killers. Only my sister, a piano teacher from Romania that came to visit her sister. Some mata Hari in disguise or... I am really pissed of, so pissed of that I am about to write all about my odyssey to be accpeted here, in Israel.

Update
They let her enter Israel. I talked to her on the phone...She said she never felt so humiliated in her entire life. You know, my sister, teaches piano at the Music Academy in Timisoara, studies for her Ph.D. came to visit her sister in Israel. Stupid me!

O.K. I need to calm down...she'll be here any minute now and I want her to forget the ugly incident and to have fun...After she'll return home, to Romania, I'll tell you a story...

Sweet Sunday...part I - Carnival Of Blogs, I am IN!!!!!

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I am going to split this post into two parts, because I have trouble posting some pictures, and I don't want to mess it up.
So, part one:
I am in the Haveil Havalim - the "Welcome New Israelis" Edition that is hosted this week by Maya at "How To Be Israeli". Check out the carnival and Maya's blog, I guarantee you won't be dissapointed!
http://howtobeisraeli.blogspot.com/2009/07/haveil-havalim-224-welcome-new-israelis.html
My featured post is the one with my beloved poem of Israel: "perfumes, colors".

Thank you Maya!

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Today is Sunday and I really have to gather my strenght for the week to come. I don't usually blog on Saturdays because, as I said, Saturday is family time, but also because I don't have time to! Maya is crazed with the fact that her daddy is at home so she is simply unstoppable.

Yesterday morning I sent them to the park, for some special father-daughter time (read- for Tibi to run after Maya and play with her in the sand). After they went, I sat on the couch and stared into space...I didn't know what to do...I am not used to the silence of an empty house, or to be by myself. For the last three years even when I go to the toilet I have one small follower...

Anyhow, yesterday because my son Darie was also at home, I was able to snatch some photos of him and Maya...You'll see them in the nex post...don't ask...had problems with the upload...

See you in a sec, then...

Perfumes, Colors

Image by Denis Collette...!!! via Flickr

Some time ago, in another life, I used to write. Poems, newspaper articles, a book. Yes, I did write a book. It is about Israel, about its past and present. I also published a book with poems, mainly about Israel.
Some time ago...
This is one of the poems that was published.




perfumes, colors...

israel.
that's all.
israel. here. inside me.
for ever


love. sprouting in my soul
as feeble blades of grass after the first rain of winter.

flowers. growing crazily
on the road's side
yellow, like the eyes of the judeean lion.

oranges. hidden in tress
and kibbutznicks
playing side and seek with them.


love

perfumes. colors. noises
the music
in mahane iehuda market in jerusalem
the beduins' white kaffiahs
the arabs' burning eyes
the smile of israeli kids.


love

jesus's grave
jordan's water
mount of olives
and the nice bus driver
that takes me to the sion gate


the sky. always blue
and an unexpected quick autumn rain.
the waves of the sea
a ship's long cry waiting to enter
the harbour.

love
hidden in a silvery shell


the fish market in jaffo
the greyish shinny bellies
of the fish tossing on the pavement.


the tower of a minaret
the mosque with its golden dome
the bones of some ancestors
Mount Hertzl
and the burning candles in Rabin Square.

explosion
the young dead
the old ones begging
at street corners - lonely trumpets


love. worthy more than twelve shekels

the silence growing on streets
shabat
the candels of Hanuka
the tents for Succot
the old rabbi
the prayer shawls over the eyes
that couldn't watch naked shoulders.

the wailing wall
carressing the corners of polished stones
by other caresses

love.

the hot sand over the soul
during chamsin
the prayer in betlehem
rachel's tomb
the red thread worn to protect


museums
where steps walk between past and present
people like statues
or the other way round
love.


ethiopian jews
dark mosaics
sephards chanting in ladino
all the languages in this
babel tower of broken promises


the green leaves of trees
the fruit of the cacti
hard on the outside and soft - in.


love
on the crowded streets of tel aviv
lost between narrow alleys in mea shearim
floating on dead's sea salted water
drinking from a waterfall in ein ghedi
walking on the desert's red rocks
whispering a prayer at king david's tomb
wandering through the corals in eilat
crying, forgotten in a mezuza on the door's frame
lost in a verse from the bible.

It is not me....

Image by h.koppdelaney via Flickr

Before coming to live in Israel, I was pretty content with my life in Romania. I had the chance to do what I always wanted to - I was a journalist, I had friends. I know, sometimes it was difficult too, and the only reason I left my homeland was LOVE. I fell in love with the guy that I call now my husband, so I left everything, I packed my bags and my son and ...Israel, here I come...
I don't regret the fact that I married him. He is a good husband (well, most of the time), he is an excellent father for our daughter.
I tried hard to fit in. I went to a teacher's college and studied to become a teacher. I went to the ulpan (Hebrew-learning school for the new-comers). I tried to make frieds, I smiled a lot, I started working as an English teacher, I suffered like crazy, I did yoga, meditation, aerobics, anything to help me cope. It didn't work. I got pregnant and had Maya (actually, the only good thing that came out of this) , left teaching and finally got to antidepressants. That is what this whole process got me.
Well, I managed to kick the habit and I'm now clean of Cipralex, and I know I am supposed to learn my lesson, but I just haven't gotten it by now.
This woman that is now walking on the face of the Earth is not me, Ramona Lazar, she's a fraud. I write in English, but it is not my native language, I speak in Hebrew but it is not my mother tongue, I read in English...but my dreams are still in Romanian. The lullabies that I sing to my daughter are in Romanian and I say to her "Te iubesc, comoara mea" - "I love you, my precious" , because only this way the words have the right meaning for me.
In Romanian I am funny, and witty with a bubbling personality and it is easy to me to connect. In Hebrew...well, somethimes I now that people think I am stupid because it takes me longer to answer a question. People ussualy usually think I am Russian, but after they realize I don't understand the language...well, they assume I am slightly retarded.
I know that if you'd asked Romanians, they would happily swap places and lives with me ( the moaning bitch), but this is just me. I long for my Romanian-ness in a way I didn't think possible. It is difficult for me to explain exactly how it feels, living in two languages and having inside me, inside myself another one, that eats me from inside. Sometimes, I feel I have to write in Romanian, or read some books, just to feel the words coming out or getting in, healing me.
In a sense, it fells like Eva Hoffman's "Lost in Translation: A Life in a New Language" , but at a different age, when the process of losing one's linguistic identity is even painful. She says in her book: "Linguistic dispossession is close to the dispossession of one's self". And she is damn right!

I have to finish now. It is late in this part of the world and tomorrow we're going to Tel Aviv and I am going to buy me some good books to read...

Night night whoever you are...

Where is My Shanti?

Maya always wakes me up in the morning by asking me what's the time, and then where's her daddy. But before that, at about 5.00 in the morning my son's alarm clock goes off, then the busses start their day, then the cars and finally the workers from the building site across the road...

I grew up in a small town in Romania, and on our street there hardly was any traffic, at all. Then, when I moved to Cluj, in the beginning I stayed in all kinds of crazy places, blocks of flats with crazy people that kept shouting at night, drinking to much and beating their wives, or having parties. When I finally bought an apartment, I thought it was in a pretty normal area, where normal people leave...How wrong I was! Above me, I had a couple that trew huge parties almost every week-end, and on my floor two apartments with party lovers. Once we had to call the police because they were making such a racket we thought the building was going to collapse...O.K, then I came here in Israel, and in the beginning we lived in an apartment in a small building and of course, above us was living a guy thet kept shuffling his furniture at night, making a terrible noise. Near him, we had a drug dealer and sometimes junkies came to beg him for a fix, shouting his name...He went to gail at some point. Now, we live in a decent neighborhood, nice neighbors (well, with the occeasional party, what do you want?) BUT, our bedroom is facing the busy and NOISY road, I cannot open the windows because of the traffic, and we have a building site where the workers start shouting at 7.00 o'clock in the morning...

I really need some peace and quiet here!

And we cannot move again. That's it. I want my shanti. I cannot bear this noise anymore!!!!!!!!!!!!!