It’s been a long time since I laughed so hard. The Nobel Committee has awarded the Peace Prize to Barack Obama for – absolutely nothing. In one stroke they have turned a once-venerable political award into vaudevillian slapstick. The Norwegians are such comedians! Who knew?
Usually I stay well away from politics in this space. But I cannot let this pass. A Nobel Prize has been awarded to a man who has not accomplished anything other than getting elected apparently for making a few speeches. And he didn’t even write those. Of course, Obama does know how to read a teleprompter. That’s worthy of an award. Plus he did manage single handedly to stop the peace talks in our part of the world. By loudly demanding that Israel stop building houses in all “settlements” including Jerusalem, something no self-respecting Israeli government would ever submit to, he caused the Palestinian Authority to refuse to negotiate until this demand was met. Nice going, Barack. No wonder they adore you in Oslo.
Who was passed over so that Obama could be rewarded? Only some people who actually risked their lives to do a bit of good in the world. People like Dr. Sima Samar who fought for women’s rights in Afghanistan against the Taliban and who really ought to try to find a way to sue the Nobel Committee for malpractice. It is here that the Norwegian joke falls a little flat.
Still, those wild and crazy Norwegians – who can resist them? The Committee might find itself winning a Tony for Best Performance in a Farce. In any case, I invite speculation on next year’s winner. Paris Hilton? Hugo Chavez? I’ve got it: Homer Simpson!
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Sunday, September 27, 2009
A-tone Deaf, Not Quite
Once again we are about to slide into Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. It’s a lovely, peaceful day, all local television and radio stations are off the air and everything just stops for about 30 hours. Its main feature is a 25-hour fast which is why it’s the most dreaded day of the year.
The logic for the fast is that it frees you to concentrate on spiritual matters, reflect on a yearful of misdeeds and consider atoning for them. Right. Except there’s a flaw in the argument: deny human beings food and water for more than, oh, I don’t know, 7 or 8 hours, 12 tops, and all they will be able to think about is food and water. It’s how we’re wired. Our animal needs have to be met first and then when we’re comfortable we can contemplate loftier subjects.
Rabbis are smart people. Very smart, and educated. So how they came up with this, I can’t imagine. And then, how did they convince an entire people to go along with it? Today if somebody got up and said, “Hey, let’s all fast for a day and pray about our sins,” a solid “Get lost” is probably the politest thing he would hear as he was pelted with apple cores. But somehow, long ago our forefathers thought it was a good idea, and now we’re stuck with it.
I won’t be fasting, I guess that’s pretty much clear. Most people on the kibbutz don’t.
I will enjoy the quiet day without the roar of traffic in the background. And just maybe I will reflect on matters of the spirit. But when I do, I will be well fed and hydrated, and comfortable.
The logic for the fast is that it frees you to concentrate on spiritual matters, reflect on a yearful of misdeeds and consider atoning for them. Right. Except there’s a flaw in the argument: deny human beings food and water for more than, oh, I don’t know, 7 or 8 hours, 12 tops, and all they will be able to think about is food and water. It’s how we’re wired. Our animal needs have to be met first and then when we’re comfortable we can contemplate loftier subjects.
Rabbis are smart people. Very smart, and educated. So how they came up with this, I can’t imagine. And then, how did they convince an entire people to go along with it? Today if somebody got up and said, “Hey, let’s all fast for a day and pray about our sins,” a solid “Get lost” is probably the politest thing he would hear as he was pelted with apple cores. But somehow, long ago our forefathers thought it was a good idea, and now we’re stuck with it.
I won’t be fasting, I guess that’s pretty much clear. Most people on the kibbutz don’t.
I will enjoy the quiet day without the roar of traffic in the background. And just maybe I will reflect on matters of the spirit. But when I do, I will be well fed and hydrated, and comfortable.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Rosh Hashana Redux
The high holy days have come again. Rosh Hashana, a two-day festival of honey and apples, is well underway and rain has arrived on cue. Everything about it is entirely predictable which, after all, is how people like their holidays.
Rosh Hashana and Passover, not Hanukkah, are the gift-giving holidays in Israel. You get small gifts from your workplace and from the kibbutz. This year the kibbutz gave us a package containing a cookbook of recipes from kibbutz members – I’ll look at that later – a jar of honey, some chocolate, a calendar featuring pictures of factory departments – jeez, these people have got to get lives, this is Socialist Realism run amok – and a choice of potted plants.
I chose a pretty myrtle plant which had been trimmed into a topiary ball. Since I have absolutely zero experience with myrtle I’m just hoping I can keep it alive, unlike last Passover’s begonia. I thought I understood begonias. I kept it in the kitchen window and it thrived through April, May, and June. Then in July it started to contract. This is never good. Leaves started to wither, branches rot and fall over. By the end of August there was nothing to do but pull the sheet up over its head. I don’t understand what happened.
So, in the triumph of hope over experience, I have installed the myrtle in the begonia’s vacated place. What worries me is the carpet of little fallen leaves – all the myrtles on offer had this – at the base. Is it supposed to do this? It doesn’t seem very economical, botanically speaking. Still, it’s showing some signs of actual growth, so I’m hopeful. But then, I’m always hopeful.
Rosh Hashana and Passover, not Hanukkah, are the gift-giving holidays in Israel. You get small gifts from your workplace and from the kibbutz. This year the kibbutz gave us a package containing a cookbook of recipes from kibbutz members – I’ll look at that later – a jar of honey, some chocolate, a calendar featuring pictures of factory departments – jeez, these people have got to get lives, this is Socialist Realism run amok – and a choice of potted plants.
I chose a pretty myrtle plant which had been trimmed into a topiary ball. Since I have absolutely zero experience with myrtle I’m just hoping I can keep it alive, unlike last Passover’s begonia. I thought I understood begonias. I kept it in the kitchen window and it thrived through April, May, and June. Then in July it started to contract. This is never good. Leaves started to wither, branches rot and fall over. By the end of August there was nothing to do but pull the sheet up over its head. I don’t understand what happened.
So, in the triumph of hope over experience, I have installed the myrtle in the begonia’s vacated place. What worries me is the carpet of little fallen leaves – all the myrtles on offer had this – at the base. Is it supposed to do this? It doesn’t seem very economical, botanically speaking. Still, it’s showing some signs of actual growth, so I’m hopeful. But then, I’m always hopeful.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Saturday, September 5, 2009
First the Retail, Then the Therapy
When I first came to Israel I thought shopping here was a blood sport. You could walk into a department store, and despite the evidence of personnel milling around, you could not get one of them to wait on you and take your money. Sometimes you could throw an object – this is the blood sport part – and hit one of them hard enough to draw attention, then you’d get down on your knees and spread your money out before you and maybe, maybe you’d leave the store with the desired purchase.
After all that, heaven alone could help you if there was a problem with the object and you wanted to return it. Not only would the store not take it back and not give you your money, it would deny ever selling it to you. But I have a receipt! “Anybody can forge a piece of paper.”
The commercial culture did a 180 about a decade or so ago. Now you cannot walk from one end of a store to the other without having to stop every few yards to scrape off the accumulated sales clerks you have clinging to you. The cosmetics departments are the worst. If you’re caught giving even a passing glance at any of the displays, an eager Russian woman will tackle you to the floor and won’t let you up until you hear all the things that are on sale. “Buy one concealer, get 10 free!” I still have 10 from last year, I plead.
Of course, the modern world has provided the perfect solution when something really needs to be bought: online shopping. It’s hassle-free, or relatively so, your purchase arrives at your door and you don’t get battered in the process. The only thing you have to worry about is identity theft.
After all that, heaven alone could help you if there was a problem with the object and you wanted to return it. Not only would the store not take it back and not give you your money, it would deny ever selling it to you. But I have a receipt! “Anybody can forge a piece of paper.”
The commercial culture did a 180 about a decade or so ago. Now you cannot walk from one end of a store to the other without having to stop every few yards to scrape off the accumulated sales clerks you have clinging to you. The cosmetics departments are the worst. If you’re caught giving even a passing glance at any of the displays, an eager Russian woman will tackle you to the floor and won’t let you up until you hear all the things that are on sale. “Buy one concealer, get 10 free!” I still have 10 from last year, I plead.
Of course, the modern world has provided the perfect solution when something really needs to be bought: online shopping. It’s hassle-free, or relatively so, your purchase arrives at your door and you don’t get battered in the process. The only thing you have to worry about is identity theft.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
That Funny Green Powder
One of the miracles of Israeli life is zaatar. It’s an herb blend with some sesame seeds thrown in – everything in Israel has sesame seeds thrown in – but the main ingredient is hyssop.
My first experience of it was when I learning Hebrew and working on Kibbutz Ramat Rachel in Jerusalem. Our teacher took our class on a nighttime tour of the city, buying us beigelei – rings of bread that have nothing in common with bagels – and encouraging us to put the zaatar on them. We looked at each other and at the funny green powder with doubt and suspicion. Then one brave soul (not me) tried it and pronounced it really good. We all munched happily.
But the real initiation came a few years later when my husband and I lunched at a restaurant in a small village and were served humus topped with olive oil and zaatar. It was a revelation. I had never liked olive oil before but when mixed with zaatar it was heavenly and I was hooked.
The odd thing is that zaatar doesn’t really work on vegetables. Put it on your average green salad and the result is a big so what. But on bread with a drizzle of olive oil it is fabulous. A note to potential exporters: I think zaatar could be a hit in America, but you’d have to give it a new, pronounceable name.
My first experience of it was when I learning Hebrew and working on Kibbutz Ramat Rachel in Jerusalem. Our teacher took our class on a nighttime tour of the city, buying us beigelei – rings of bread that have nothing in common with bagels – and encouraging us to put the zaatar on them. We looked at each other and at the funny green powder with doubt and suspicion. Then one brave soul (not me) tried it and pronounced it really good. We all munched happily.
But the real initiation came a few years later when my husband and I lunched at a restaurant in a small village and were served humus topped with olive oil and zaatar. It was a revelation. I had never liked olive oil before but when mixed with zaatar it was heavenly and I was hooked.
The odd thing is that zaatar doesn’t really work on vegetables. Put it on your average green salad and the result is a big so what. But on bread with a drizzle of olive oil it is fabulous. A note to potential exporters: I think zaatar could be a hit in America, but you’d have to give it a new, pronounceable name.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Nahal Alexander
To call the Alexander a river is somewhat overstating it. The part of it that forms the northern border of Kibbutz Maabarot is little more than a drainage ditch with delusions of grandeur. In the summer, the slow-running, nearly stagnant water becomes choked with algae and is a putrid green.
This wasn’t always so. People my age tell me they remember when they were children riding on inner tubes in it all the way to the sea. While that sounds like gobs of fun, the thought of actually touching that water now not only makes my skin crawl, it makes it scamper back home to a safe corner and assume the fetal position.
Yesterday a woman’s dismembered body was found in the river, where exactly I don’t know. It’s horrific. I have watched endless “CSI” episodes and I’m a great fan of murder mysteries. But never before has it come to the stream where I live, and I am outraged.
The victim has not yet been identified, at least not to the media. But whoever she was, I want to extend my heartfelt condolences to her family and friends. I pray you will have justice.
This wasn’t always so. People my age tell me they remember when they were children riding on inner tubes in it all the way to the sea. While that sounds like gobs of fun, the thought of actually touching that water now not only makes my skin crawl, it makes it scamper back home to a safe corner and assume the fetal position.
Yesterday a woman’s dismembered body was found in the river, where exactly I don’t know. It’s horrific. I have watched endless “CSI” episodes and I’m a great fan of murder mysteries. But never before has it come to the stream where I live, and I am outraged.
The victim has not yet been identified, at least not to the media. But whoever she was, I want to extend my heartfelt condolences to her family and friends. I pray you will have justice.
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