http://www.nytimes.com/2012/
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
The Truth About Obama and Israel
I'm
not sure I agree a 100% with the following article. If anything, I
don't think Obama did enough to curb settlement expansion in the
occupied territories. But really, beyond this point or that, I don't
think there's much difference between any past (and present) American presidents
in their treatment of Israel. I have seen now several American presidents both from the receiving side (when I lived in Israel) as well as the tax payer that I'm now. Everybody talk this and that prior to
any elections, but when they're in the office there's no much difference
between them. And in truth, it's not all their fault. America, with
all its might, cannot change decades of reality in the middle-east just
like that. Well, for a matter of fact it can - by shutting the free
money flow to Israel - but America won't do that and it's really a topic for separate post some day. Having said all of the above, the
following article is still "good enough". At the least, it's factual
and therefore tells the truth.
http://www.nytimes.com/2012/
http://www.nytimes.com/2012/
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Second Anniversary
 |
| Liam at 5 years old, standing and loving life |
Today is my Liami 2nd anniversary. We visited the cemetery last night. As expected, nothing changed there. All graves were exactly where we left them last time....duh...
Despite the significance of this date, I went to the office as usual today. I rather be around people, do my everyday stuff, laugh, and think about work - rather than sit at home and be locked with sad thoughts. To me sadness comes when it comes, it's not by appointment.
=============
Extra, extra bitter beer (warning: a specially dark and inappropriate nonsense is straight ahead....this is your chance to bail out)
So there we were - standing between the tombstones as we discussed the shape of the stones and different traditions (mostly Jewish, as we were standing in that section of the cemetery). I never liked cemeteries. Especially not the division to sections by religion. Like what - when a person dies, why would that be a good time to link them with a religion (which is a set of beliefs)? In other words, it seems that religions, which can't force you to follow the when you're alive, take ownership of you when you die. Hence, I reminded to the presents: when I go, please don't bury me. I'm not gonna give any religion the pleasure to harness me in when I'm not in the position to argue against it. Please donate my good part, give the rest to science, and cremate the rest of me.
Fair enough, but what shall be done with the ashes? And then came this brilliant idea (not by me, but I'm taking ownership): Mix some barley, a generous amount of quality hops, and a few spoons of me-ashes to create the first ever Asher IPA. You may wanna sign up today. This will be a rare, once in a lifetime (well, not exactly...) brew. Who's up for a taste?
And since there's plenty of time - not only it's the longest "brewing" beer ever, it's also the only beer "made" by the use of other beers (those I drink today, eh?) - let's try a few other names. Unfortunately, Dead Guy Ale is already taken. Let's try other options:
Asher Ashes Smoked Ale
Oh so dirty, no, really, stout
Bare Bone Strong Brown Ale
Way down under non-Australian real beer
Sunday, August 26, 2012
My first ever piece of art (or, how to combine beer and power tools)
It
was a weekend afternoon and I was busy doing some important work
(translation: I was slumped on the couch being a potato and watching
surely some sporting event) when I thought I heard the words "the brick
store pub" and "free beer" traveling through the air. My eyes, which
rarely miss any action on the screen, stayed focused. One ear, however,
moved towards the voice. Beer? Pub? So why the question mark? Yeah,
you better believe it...I'm in. And that's pretty much how it all
started.
Ok, so free beer is surely the motivation, but can you remind me again what's the official reason we go there? Skater-what? Skateraid, she replied. When we stepped through the door of the Brick Store Pub, I was stunned to see these unbelievable creative pieces (click on each to see the actual decks). Unfortunately, I paid little attention to all of that as free beer awaited me upstairs.
And how/why did I get in? I'm just the somewhat-significant-other of Rachel, who donated one piece. The short story is that beside the talented artists I met a wonderful group of people, all of whom donated their time, effort, creativity, care (and let's not forget - beer) to the worthy cause of Skateraid.
Chapter 2-ish
It was a weekend afternoon and I was busy doing some important work (translation: I was slumped on the couch being a potato and...) when . . . wait, am I repeating myself again? Anyway . . . when I heard the words "why don't you create something for Skateraid?" Are you crazy, woman? Don't you see I'm in the middle of something? (there's a 25-foot birdie attempt on the screen...) "So what do you say?", she insisted. Ok ok, I'll do it - I said in a moment of weakness (or maybe I was trying to blackmail a free snack for my beer). Because what do I know about art? If I happen to join a visit to an art museum you'd probably be wise to look for me at the snack shop rather than at the exhibition.
You might be surprised to hear it, but I started working on it right away. WOWA, what do you mean "right away"? Well you see, when I take on a project, almost any project, I spend a whole lot of time thinking about it, planning, researching, etc. It takes me a while before I start to actually cut and shape and screw. Measure twice cut once, a wise man once told me. If that is true, logic dictates that measuring ten times is even better, no? All this time on the couch in front of golf, football, soccer, or whatever is not wasted. It's all used for planning (hmm, that's an important sentence I have to store away for hard times - i.e., the next time I'm being asked to get my ass off the couch). Ok, where were we? Oh yeah, so for the next several months I watched a lot of sports and drank a lot of beer - all in the name of the planning, of course.
Finally the moment of truth came when I had to ask myself 'how the hell do I do that? where to start from?' I'm not a carpenter and I'm not an artist. So I called my friend Jim and used the magic words "free beer". Jim understood instantly. He's not a carpenter or an artist either, but he owns a few essential tools. Oh yeah, and his beer is right next to the table saw. We found the winning formula!! No, but really, where should we start from?
When I was in elementary school in the kibbutz we received a monthly kids magazine, which we waited for with great anticipation. This magazine had a section where kids just like me were the contributors. They published short stories, poems, drawings, etc. I always envied those kids who's names were printed under their postings. I wanted my name there too. But I had no talent whatsoever. So I cheated. With the help of my resourceful mom (who was probably oblivious to the literary theft committed right in front of her and must have thought this was a school project), on a top of a broken piece of glass with light underneath, I copied a picture of horses in the pasture out of some American magazine. Now you have to understand: not only I didn't know how to draw horses, I never even saw a horse in the pasture in real life. The kibbutz didn't own horses and in northern Israel every piece of land was used for agriculture. Nobody could afford pasture land for luxury like horses. Anyway, to make a long story short, I sent my stolen creation and . . . they published it!! I remember that when I saw it in the magazine I didn't know whether to feel pride or shame.
So this is where we started. We found something similar on the internet. The difference is that this time we didn't copy anything. We just learned from it - specifically the angle. (And while we're on the subject of angles, maybe it's a good time to describe my trigonometry skills. I don't remember the sinus/cosines and all that jazz, but I can tell you that while trig class was taking place, I found myself facing two defenders; I passed them and from a very difficult angle I placed the ball in the upper right corner of the goal (which is in itself a 90-degree angle)). So here's the final product Jim and I produced (click on the photo to enlarge the image):
Now, before you say 'what's the big deal? only three boards and a few screws', keep in mind that the entire piece depends on the center of gravity and balance. And since neither one of us is a professional carpenter (or even an amateur one), we spent many hours measuring, changing angles, calculating, trying, trying, trying. For a matter of fact, before we built the real thing we built a prototype - which in itself took several hours to produce. And when we were finally done (with the prototype) and it held perfect balance, we high-fived each other and sighed. It was a huge relief since until that point it was just a theory, a hope, much like NASA's Mars Discovery mission.... Plus, it was really time for a beer.
That summarized the carpentry part. We still had the artistic part to solve. For most Skateraid folks the art is easy; that's what they do. Not for Jim and I. We scratched our heads and even though it's a known fact that drinking beer in front of the TV is the remedy to solving problems - we still had no good idea what to do or how to do it. We were somewhat concerned that after overcoming the engineering hurdles we would deliver a sub-par piece just because we lack imagination, talent and inspiration. This art world is completely unfair. Once again we found ourselves part of the 99%. The bail out came unexpectedly. As we peeled, sanded and cleaned the deck, a beautiful color emerged. Then we heard the words we love to hear the most: "do nothing", said Rachel, "it's pretty the way it is". We can do that - yes we can! And of course we immediately opened another beer to celebrate the completion of "doing nothing". A few more paint and stain layers later our creation was truly complete.
And there you have it. The motivation may have been a free beer (ain't it always???), but at the end we donated something for a good cause, learned something about ourselves (never roam too far from the beer fridge), and even had fun with it.
And here is where you can place a bid and buy it - in a silent auction.
(And a final disclaimer: If you think that we're artists now and that you can discuss Picasso or Warhol with us in a French accent, all while sipping red wine and smoking thin cigarettes, think again. If, on the other hand, you've got a respectable IPA with you, hell yeah, we will discuss any subject...)
Ok, so free beer is surely the motivation, but can you remind me again what's the official reason we go there? Skater-what? Skateraid, she replied. When we stepped through the door of the Brick Store Pub, I was stunned to see these unbelievable creative pieces (click on each to see the actual decks). Unfortunately, I paid little attention to all of that as free beer awaited me upstairs.
And how/why did I get in? I'm just the somewhat-significant-other of Rachel, who donated one piece. The short story is that beside the talented artists I met a wonderful group of people, all of whom donated their time, effort, creativity, care (and let's not forget - beer) to the worthy cause of Skateraid.
Chapter 2-ish
It was a weekend afternoon and I was busy doing some important work (translation: I was slumped on the couch being a potato and...) when . . . wait, am I repeating myself again? Anyway . . . when I heard the words "why don't you create something for Skateraid?" Are you crazy, woman? Don't you see I'm in the middle of something? (there's a 25-foot birdie attempt on the screen...) "So what do you say?", she insisted. Ok ok, I'll do it - I said in a moment of weakness (or maybe I was trying to blackmail a free snack for my beer). Because what do I know about art? If I happen to join a visit to an art museum you'd probably be wise to look for me at the snack shop rather than at the exhibition.
You might be surprised to hear it, but I started working on it right away. WOWA, what do you mean "right away"? Well you see, when I take on a project, almost any project, I spend a whole lot of time thinking about it, planning, researching, etc. It takes me a while before I start to actually cut and shape and screw. Measure twice cut once, a wise man once told me. If that is true, logic dictates that measuring ten times is even better, no? All this time on the couch in front of golf, football, soccer, or whatever is not wasted. It's all used for planning (hmm, that's an important sentence I have to store away for hard times - i.e., the next time I'm being asked to get my ass off the couch). Ok, where were we? Oh yeah, so for the next several months I watched a lot of sports and drank a lot of beer - all in the name of the planning, of course.
Finally the moment of truth came when I had to ask myself 'how the hell do I do that? where to start from?' I'm not a carpenter and I'm not an artist. So I called my friend Jim and used the magic words "free beer". Jim understood instantly. He's not a carpenter or an artist either, but he owns a few essential tools. Oh yeah, and his beer is right next to the table saw. We found the winning formula!! No, but really, where should we start from?
When I was in elementary school in the kibbutz we received a monthly kids magazine, which we waited for with great anticipation. This magazine had a section where kids just like me were the contributors. They published short stories, poems, drawings, etc. I always envied those kids who's names were printed under their postings. I wanted my name there too. But I had no talent whatsoever. So I cheated. With the help of my resourceful mom (who was probably oblivious to the literary theft committed right in front of her and must have thought this was a school project), on a top of a broken piece of glass with light underneath, I copied a picture of horses in the pasture out of some American magazine. Now you have to understand: not only I didn't know how to draw horses, I never even saw a horse in the pasture in real life. The kibbutz didn't own horses and in northern Israel every piece of land was used for agriculture. Nobody could afford pasture land for luxury like horses. Anyway, to make a long story short, I sent my stolen creation and . . . they published it!! I remember that when I saw it in the magazine I didn't know whether to feel pride or shame.
So this is where we started. We found something similar on the internet. The difference is that this time we didn't copy anything. We just learned from it - specifically the angle. (And while we're on the subject of angles, maybe it's a good time to describe my trigonometry skills. I don't remember the sinus/cosines and all that jazz, but I can tell you that while trig class was taking place, I found myself facing two defenders; I passed them and from a very difficult angle I placed the ball in the upper right corner of the goal (which is in itself a 90-degree angle)). So here's the final product Jim and I produced (click on the photo to enlarge the image):
Now, before you say 'what's the big deal? only three boards and a few screws', keep in mind that the entire piece depends on the center of gravity and balance. And since neither one of us is a professional carpenter (or even an amateur one), we spent many hours measuring, changing angles, calculating, trying, trying, trying. For a matter of fact, before we built the real thing we built a prototype - which in itself took several hours to produce. And when we were finally done (with the prototype) and it held perfect balance, we high-fived each other and sighed. It was a huge relief since until that point it was just a theory, a hope, much like NASA's Mars Discovery mission.... Plus, it was really time for a beer.
That summarized the carpentry part. We still had the artistic part to solve. For most Skateraid folks the art is easy; that's what they do. Not for Jim and I. We scratched our heads and even though it's a known fact that drinking beer in front of the TV is the remedy to solving problems - we still had no good idea what to do or how to do it. We were somewhat concerned that after overcoming the engineering hurdles we would deliver a sub-par piece just because we lack imagination, talent and inspiration. This art world is completely unfair. Once again we found ourselves part of the 99%. The bail out came unexpectedly. As we peeled, sanded and cleaned the deck, a beautiful color emerged. Then we heard the words we love to hear the most: "do nothing", said Rachel, "it's pretty the way it is". We can do that - yes we can! And of course we immediately opened another beer to celebrate the completion of "doing nothing". A few more paint and stain layers later our creation was truly complete.
And there you have it. The motivation may have been a free beer (ain't it always???), but at the end we donated something for a good cause, learned something about ourselves (never roam too far from the beer fridge), and even had fun with it.
And here is where you can place a bid and buy it - in a silent auction.
(And a final disclaimer: If you think that we're artists now and that you can discuss Picasso or Warhol with us in a French accent, all while sipping red wine and smoking thin cigarettes, think again. If, on the other hand, you've got a respectable IPA with you, hell yeah, we will discuss any subject...)
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Egypt and Syria - a somewhat personal perspective
Like
everybody else, I too am listening to the recent news from Egypt and
Syria. Unlike everybody else (in America, at least), I have a very
personal perspective of both situations. I was seven years old during
the six days war; I was 13 during the Yom Kippur war. Both wars were
against both Syria and Egypt. Like most Israelis of my generation, I
grew up in fear of those two war - and possibly more to come. Unlike
most Israelis, I came in direct contact with both Egyptians and
[ex-]Syrian (and still Syrian in heart). I don't know if such exposure
makes the following writing any better from any analyst you listened
too; it's just different, personal, direct, and straight forward. As
usual, people are welcome to post comments. (And a small disclaimer:
This post was written a while ago, but sports, beer, and laziness got in
the way of posting it...on the most part it's still very valid, I
think.)
Egypt
By far it was Israel's biggest threat from the very beginning of Israel's existence up to the surprising peace agreement of 1979. But wait, there's more. Egypt lead the Arab world in its quest for the elimination of Israel. Today, after I personally experienced several wars - and peace treaties - I'm wiser and know how to differentiate between real threats and empty talks. But when I was growing up, that was not the case. And, despite the 1973 Israeli win, the Egyptians had impressive successes that started the war. It was scary indeed.
Well anyway, I was lucky that by the time I joined the army, there was already peace agreement signed. Interestingly, the day I was discharged from the mandatory 3 years, minutes after I returned my gear and boarded a bus to civilian life, I heard the news that president Sa'adat was assassinated. Wow, talking about a race to the finish line. Had I was still a soldier, no question we would have been put on high alert.
2-3 years later Rachel and I visited Egypt. We did not go on an organized tour. We traveled by bus and train with only backpacks on our backs. The reason I mention that is because it gave us an opportunity to meet the simple, every day folks on the street. To be honest, I wasn't too crazy about going there in the first place. Despite the peace agreement, 1984 was politically a bad time between Israel and Egypt. Simply put, I was scared. But once we got there and met the people, all my fears dissipated away. We found the Egyptians to be the nicest people and the country to be most fascinating. It was a great trip. In short, I turned old fears into deep fondness and new appreciation for the Egyptian people. Growing up in the only true democracy in the middle-east, I felt for them that they're leaving under autocracy. I wished for their freedom.
Fast forward to now:
During the "Arab Spring", the US and much of the free world supported the people's quest for freedom and supported the overthrown of Mubarak (the guy who took over from Sa'adat 30-something years ago). Mubarak kept the peace agreement with Israel (and even enhanced it); he stayed an ally of the US; he kept Egypt secular. He was good for everybody. There was only one problem: he was a dictator. So now he's gone, there were democratic elections, the the Muslim Brotherhood took power. Is that what the free world really wished for? As an Israeli, some old fear of a possible war are popping up again. (Oh, BTW, forgive me for saying the following, but Mubarak, for his part, made a fatal mistake. He did not crush the demonstrations; he took an indecisive stance. Well, in the Muslim/Arab world you can't do that. You either crush the opposition or you're getting crushed - as he himself found out the hard way. But all of that is water under the bridge now. Other Arab rulers, however, took notes.)
What is it with middle-eastern oppressed people that they are always making the wrong choice?
(In a footnote, in 2003, just before the US invaded Iraq, I said to the guys at the lunch table "don't do it". Don't do it not because Saddam Husein was such a great guy. I recognized, like everybody else, that he was a ruthless son of a bitch. And I didn't have any intelligence about the weapons of mass destruction. But I knew something bigger than both point which was a "DUH!" and I still can't believe that the Bush administration ignored it completely: Saddam kept Iran in check. It is really that simple. By removing him the US opened the door for Shiite Islam to move further west - towards Israel. I mean, how much of a genius do you have to be to foresee that? Really..... And that's the reason why I said to my buddies "don't do it". But Bush and company did it anyway, and the rest is history. Talking about making wishes.)
So what, am I justifying autocracy over free choice of the people? Of course not. I'm supporting the US decision to stay out of it and not support Mubarak. My heart goes to the Egyptian people for what they got instead (so far). Anybody who listens to the media coverage knows well that this is not what the majority of Egyptians wished for. The fear is, of course, that the Muslim Brotherhood would capture power for decades to come, that it would suppress democracy the way it was done in Iran and in the Gaza Strip.
Just like the best analysts out there, I too don't have a clue what will the future be. But I do know this:
Syria
Unlike my above take on Egypt, which was mostly analytical the following is much more personal. It contains both analysis, but feelings too. You see, I grew up under Syrian guns - literally - up to age 7. While my community was not attacked directly, we were close enough. Even though I was only 7 years old, I remember the euphoria of the Six Days war win. But I also remember the damp, moldy, and cold bomb shelter we slept in right next to the kindergarten. I also remember the pinch in the heart when we learned about those who went to war and never returned - a felling we got to experience so many more over the following decades.
It was Saturday, Yom Kippur, October 6, 1973. We were sitting in the swimming pool, which was overlooking the northern Israeli border with Lebanon and Syria. Suddenly we saw a few fighter jets over our heads. Now you have to understand the scene. In Israel, nothing is moving on Yom Kippur. Nothing. The entire country is dead. No radio, no TV, no traveling - nothing. So the instant we saw the jets we knew something is going on. Also, by age 13 I was able to identify all jets - whether American made (Israeli) or Soviets (Syrians). We easily identified the Syrian Mig flying right over our heads. The war has started.
Syrian tanks took back the Golan Heights (which Israel occupied 6 years earlier) and got as close as 5-6 miles from our kibbutz. We laid awake at night listening to the fights, hoping for an Israeli win, worried about our own existence. It was scary, very scary. The day times were better - since our help was needed either on the farm or helping spotting enemy jets from the top of the silo.
Israel occupied the Golan Heights and Mt Hermon during the Six Days war and re-occupied them at the Yom Kippur war. Included in those areas were several Druze and Arab villages. It wasn't their choice - these villages got annexed by Israel in an act of war. Overnight these folks were separated from their relatives on the other side of the new border. On the positive side (or at least that's the way we thought of it), their quality of life changed dramatically. They discovered lifestyle like they never had before under Syrian regime. They discovered Israeli commerce. They worked for us, they opened tourist services, they enrolled in Israeli universities, they enjoyed healthcare like never before - etc. In short, our lives mingled in all aspects.
But that is not all. Northern Israel, where I come from, is an area where Jews, Arabs (Muslims, Christians, and a few other flavors), Druze (non-Arab Muslims), and a few other people of different ethnic origins - all live together in harmony (well, at least not in hostility). That mingle of ethnics extends throughout the middle-east. But, unlike northern Israel, in Lebanon and Syria (and beyond) such groups don't get along that well. It's hard to explain to an outsider, but in the middle-east you usually hate and fight those who are not of your own people. That's how was always the case throughout history. And now is no different.
Bashar Al-Asad's dad, Hafez, came to power via a coup. I'm not going to spell out Syria's history here; I just want to point out that the Asad family does not belong to the majority Suni, but to a small faction of Islam - Alawite. Why is this significant? Well, read the previous paragraph again: In the traditional middle-east if you're not like me, you're my enemy. The media still goes back-and-forth if it's a full blown civil war in Syria or if it's just a strive for democracy. Let me assure you this: It's the former one. Do you know when it became a full blown civil war? In the first week of demonstrations. The minute Asad did not crush the opposition, the civil war started and his fate was determined. Now it's just a matter of time (and a few more thousands of dead Syrians) until the Suni majority overthrows him. I'm not trying to be a prophet; I'm not trying to say "you heard it here first"; it's just too plain simple and straight forward.
While Egypt had two elections already where the people have spoken, the situation in Syria is a lot more foggy. The future is unknown. Asad will be killed - I can guarantee you that. The question what will be after Asad. If I had to guess, I would say that something similar to the power sharing in Lebanon is a possibility.
If you read the longer blog about Liam etc., you know by now that I'm an optimist. In the darkest situations I always find the crack in which light comes through. What good shall come of the Syrian mess, you may ask. Well, for one thing, once Asad is removed the Suni majority is likely to take over. In such case, ties with Iran are likely to be broken. Influence from moderated Suni regimes might show - especially if financial aid is on the line. In short, the fall of Asad may be a good thing for the entire region.
--------------------
Bottom line:At the end of the day, nobody really knows what the future may hold. Remember that only a year and a half ago all the above was completely imaginary. In Egypt, despite two democratic elections, the situation is still foggy. In Syria, on the other hand, despite it being a much more complex country to begin with and despite the current mess, the long term situation (after one or two civil wars) might be pretty clear.
Lastly, me the optimist again (I never left): When Muammar Gaddafi was on the ropes in Libya, all the experts predicted a civil was since it's a tribal society. And today it's a secular democracy-on-the-way. So anything is possible. I believe in regular people. It goes back to the above - all the Egyptians and Syrian people I met during the years. All good people who just want to live in peace, provide for their families, educate their children. These are the real forces I believe will eventually prevail.
Egypt
By far it was Israel's biggest threat from the very beginning of Israel's existence up to the surprising peace agreement of 1979. But wait, there's more. Egypt lead the Arab world in its quest for the elimination of Israel. Today, after I personally experienced several wars - and peace treaties - I'm wiser and know how to differentiate between real threats and empty talks. But when I was growing up, that was not the case. And, despite the 1973 Israeli win, the Egyptians had impressive successes that started the war. It was scary indeed.
Well anyway, I was lucky that by the time I joined the army, there was already peace agreement signed. Interestingly, the day I was discharged from the mandatory 3 years, minutes after I returned my gear and boarded a bus to civilian life, I heard the news that president Sa'adat was assassinated. Wow, talking about a race to the finish line. Had I was still a soldier, no question we would have been put on high alert.
2-3 years later Rachel and I visited Egypt. We did not go on an organized tour. We traveled by bus and train with only backpacks on our backs. The reason I mention that is because it gave us an opportunity to meet the simple, every day folks on the street. To be honest, I wasn't too crazy about going there in the first place. Despite the peace agreement, 1984 was politically a bad time between Israel and Egypt. Simply put, I was scared. But once we got there and met the people, all my fears dissipated away. We found the Egyptians to be the nicest people and the country to be most fascinating. It was a great trip. In short, I turned old fears into deep fondness and new appreciation for the Egyptian people. Growing up in the only true democracy in the middle-east, I felt for them that they're leaving under autocracy. I wished for their freedom.
Fast forward to now:
During the "Arab Spring", the US and much of the free world supported the people's quest for freedom and supported the overthrown of Mubarak (the guy who took over from Sa'adat 30-something years ago). Mubarak kept the peace agreement with Israel (and even enhanced it); he stayed an ally of the US; he kept Egypt secular. He was good for everybody. There was only one problem: he was a dictator. So now he's gone, there were democratic elections, the the Muslim Brotherhood took power. Is that what the free world really wished for? As an Israeli, some old fear of a possible war are popping up again. (Oh, BTW, forgive me for saying the following, but Mubarak, for his part, made a fatal mistake. He did not crush the demonstrations; he took an indecisive stance. Well, in the Muslim/Arab world you can't do that. You either crush the opposition or you're getting crushed - as he himself found out the hard way. But all of that is water under the bridge now. Other Arab rulers, however, took notes.)
What is it with middle-eastern oppressed people that they are always making the wrong choice?
- In 1979 the Iranian people overthrew the west-friendly Shah for the current extremely conservative regime.
- The people of Lebanon (less oppressed) elected Hezbollah into power.
- The Palestinians in the Gaza Strip elected Hamas.
(In a footnote, in 2003, just before the US invaded Iraq, I said to the guys at the lunch table "don't do it". Don't do it not because Saddam Husein was such a great guy. I recognized, like everybody else, that he was a ruthless son of a bitch. And I didn't have any intelligence about the weapons of mass destruction. But I knew something bigger than both point which was a "DUH!" and I still can't believe that the Bush administration ignored it completely: Saddam kept Iran in check. It is really that simple. By removing him the US opened the door for Shiite Islam to move further west - towards Israel. I mean, how much of a genius do you have to be to foresee that? Really..... And that's the reason why I said to my buddies "don't do it". But Bush and company did it anyway, and the rest is history. Talking about making wishes.)
So what, am I justifying autocracy over free choice of the people? Of course not. I'm supporting the US decision to stay out of it and not support Mubarak. My heart goes to the Egyptian people for what they got instead (so far). Anybody who listens to the media coverage knows well that this is not what the majority of Egyptians wished for. The fear is, of course, that the Muslim Brotherhood would capture power for decades to come, that it would suppress democracy the way it was done in Iran and in the Gaza Strip.
Just like the best analysts out there, I too don't have a clue what will the future be. But I do know this:
- Mohamed Morsi (the new president) is not Mubarak. He will not be a dictator. Why? Because the military still governs Egypt - at least in the near term. I know, I know. What do you mean "the military is in power? Weren't there just free elections?" Yes, there were. Twice. Once for the parliament; a second for the presidency. Don't try to understand it `cause it doesn't make sense to the 'democratic thinking mind'. For now just remember this: It would take a lot for any elected Egyptian president to weaken the military and get it obeying a democratically elected executive branch.
- Contrary to [mostly] Israeli fears, I don't think Egypt would turn to fundamental Islam - like Iran. The reason is that unlike Iran, Egypt doesn't have any exports (i.e., no oil). It's a poor country of 80-90 millions, who depends heavily both on tourism and financial aid from the US.
- Also unlike Iran, the Egyptian people discovered their own strength. They already overthrew one dictator; they know how to do it. Women [who with to] already walk in jeans, shirts, and no head cover. It'd take a lot to put the secular jinni back into the bottle - if the Muslim Brotherhood would wish to do so (which I don't think they would).
- Also
keep in mind that most Egyptians did not elect Morsi. From all the
candidates that were left, there was a runoff between him and the old
regime guy. In this runoff, only 24% of Egyptians voted - because the
majority of Egyptians didn't want either of them so they simply didn't
vote. In other words, most of Egypt is not happy with the post-Mubarak
development. Expect to hear the Egyptian street again.
Syria
Unlike my above take on Egypt, which was mostly analytical the following is much more personal. It contains both analysis, but feelings too. You see, I grew up under Syrian guns - literally - up to age 7. While my community was not attacked directly, we were close enough. Even though I was only 7 years old, I remember the euphoria of the Six Days war win. But I also remember the damp, moldy, and cold bomb shelter we slept in right next to the kindergarten. I also remember the pinch in the heart when we learned about those who went to war and never returned - a felling we got to experience so many more over the following decades.
It was Saturday, Yom Kippur, October 6, 1973. We were sitting in the swimming pool, which was overlooking the northern Israeli border with Lebanon and Syria. Suddenly we saw a few fighter jets over our heads. Now you have to understand the scene. In Israel, nothing is moving on Yom Kippur. Nothing. The entire country is dead. No radio, no TV, no traveling - nothing. So the instant we saw the jets we knew something is going on. Also, by age 13 I was able to identify all jets - whether American made (Israeli) or Soviets (Syrians). We easily identified the Syrian Mig flying right over our heads. The war has started.
Syrian tanks took back the Golan Heights (which Israel occupied 6 years earlier) and got as close as 5-6 miles from our kibbutz. We laid awake at night listening to the fights, hoping for an Israeli win, worried about our own existence. It was scary, very scary. The day times were better - since our help was needed either on the farm or helping spotting enemy jets from the top of the silo.
Israel occupied the Golan Heights and Mt Hermon during the Six Days war and re-occupied them at the Yom Kippur war. Included in those areas were several Druze and Arab villages. It wasn't their choice - these villages got annexed by Israel in an act of war. Overnight these folks were separated from their relatives on the other side of the new border. On the positive side (or at least that's the way we thought of it), their quality of life changed dramatically. They discovered lifestyle like they never had before under Syrian regime. They discovered Israeli commerce. They worked for us, they opened tourist services, they enrolled in Israeli universities, they enjoyed healthcare like never before - etc. In short, our lives mingled in all aspects.
But that is not all. Northern Israel, where I come from, is an area where Jews, Arabs (Muslims, Christians, and a few other flavors), Druze (non-Arab Muslims), and a few other people of different ethnic origins - all live together in harmony (well, at least not in hostility). That mingle of ethnics extends throughout the middle-east. But, unlike northern Israel, in Lebanon and Syria (and beyond) such groups don't get along that well. It's hard to explain to an outsider, but in the middle-east you usually hate and fight those who are not of your own people. That's how was always the case throughout history. And now is no different.
Bashar Al-Asad's dad, Hafez, came to power via a coup. I'm not going to spell out Syria's history here; I just want to point out that the Asad family does not belong to the majority Suni, but to a small faction of Islam - Alawite. Why is this significant? Well, read the previous paragraph again: In the traditional middle-east if you're not like me, you're my enemy. The media still goes back-and-forth if it's a full blown civil war in Syria or if it's just a strive for democracy. Let me assure you this: It's the former one. Do you know when it became a full blown civil war? In the first week of demonstrations. The minute Asad did not crush the opposition, the civil war started and his fate was determined. Now it's just a matter of time (and a few more thousands of dead Syrians) until the Suni majority overthrows him. I'm not trying to be a prophet; I'm not trying to say "you heard it here first"; it's just too plain simple and straight forward.
While Egypt had two elections already where the people have spoken, the situation in Syria is a lot more foggy. The future is unknown. Asad will be killed - I can guarantee you that. The question what will be after Asad. If I had to guess, I would say that something similar to the power sharing in Lebanon is a possibility.
If you read the longer blog about Liam etc., you know by now that I'm an optimist. In the darkest situations I always find the crack in which light comes through. What good shall come of the Syrian mess, you may ask. Well, for one thing, once Asad is removed the Suni majority is likely to take over. In such case, ties with Iran are likely to be broken. Influence from moderated Suni regimes might show - especially if financial aid is on the line. In short, the fall of Asad may be a good thing for the entire region.
--------------------
Bottom line:At the end of the day, nobody really knows what the future may hold. Remember that only a year and a half ago all the above was completely imaginary. In Egypt, despite two democratic elections, the situation is still foggy. In Syria, on the other hand, despite it being a much more complex country to begin with and despite the current mess, the long term situation (after one or two civil wars) might be pretty clear.
Lastly, me the optimist again (I never left): When Muammar Gaddafi was on the ropes in Libya, all the experts predicted a civil was since it's a tribal society. And today it's a secular democracy-on-the-way. So anything is possible. I believe in regular people. It goes back to the above - all the Egyptians and Syrian people I met during the years. All good people who just want to live in peace, provide for their families, educate their children. These are the real forces I believe will eventually prevail.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
The Cure For Everything (referral)
Here's something that low-boiled in my head for a while now. I love it when somebody else says the same thing I do. Saves me some work (these are the days of Euro 2012 and the US Open, mind you).
I don't agree with everything this guy is saying and there might be issues that he left out. Well, at least in the podcast there were no mentions of the brain or the immune system - two of the main reasons for my lifestyle. Maybe his book does. I also disagree with him about dairy and meat. However, I find these to be minor details. In the big scheme of things I agree with 90%-something of what he says and a 100% of his message. I find this issue too important not to share. So I'm doing my part. If, as a result of this referral, even just one person changes their lifestyle, I'd feel like I did my job.
Here it is. Listen to the podcast.
I don't agree with everything this guy is saying and there might be issues that he left out. Well, at least in the podcast there were no mentions of the brain or the immune system - two of the main reasons for my lifestyle. Maybe his book does. I also disagree with him about dairy and meat. However, I find these to be minor details. In the big scheme of things I agree with 90%-something of what he says and a 100% of his message. I find this issue too important not to share. So I'm doing my part. If, as a result of this referral, even just one person changes their lifestyle, I'd feel like I did my job.
Here it is. Listen to the podcast.
Sunday, May 20, 2012
In the savannah
As I
was surfing through the channels one night I landed on a nature
program. It was about a lion family in the African savannah - two
sister lionesses and their cubs. The camera followed them from birth to
adulthood. In the savannah, you know, even if you're the lion king's
son, life is fragile. Hyenas and crocodiles and other predators wants
to eat you; a kick from a threatened giraffe can kill you; a snake bite
can....well, you get the idea. But the biggest danger of them all is
from a male lion who wants your mom's full attention. He'd kill you for
that. Anyway, we will not tire you with the entire two years the
program covered. Let's just fast forward to when the cubs were
adolescent, just a hair shy of being full and independent adults. On
that night the clouds hid the moon, the music went dramatic, and the
voice of the narrator was hinting of trouble to come. And come they
did.
When the sun rose over the savannah, the family was licking its wounds and counting survivors. One cub was missing from the kisses & hugs session. He laid a few meters away under a bush. He was fatally wounded. He, as well as his family, knew that he would not survive. Sitting on the couch I could feel the drama growing by the minute. It wasn't very hard thanks to the excellent editing - music, camera angles, changing colors, etc. But even the best video editing could not produce what nature itself provided without any sophisticated technology: the I'm-going-to-die desperate look on the nearly-a-lion-now cub; the moans of his mom, laying just meters away; the look in her eyes, knowing that her son is dying while she's unable to help him.
All this is very dramatic, of course. That's how the documentary was made; that's what it intended to do. It was just unclear if the director had any awareness of humans who experienced just that - who sat next to their dying child, unable to help them. Who saw Death itself, close and in person, comes closer and closer and without asking anybody for any permission reached and took what's not his - and now is - and leaves without anybody able to challenge him. (Sort of like a leopard who worked so hard at killing a deer, and just as he's getting ready to enjoy his prey, a much bigger lion comes by, casually takes what's not his - and now is. - and bites into "his" free dinner. And all the leopard can do is watch in frustration.
In those 5 seconds that the camera caught the lioness' sad and desperate look, when we looked into each other eyes, I felt that I knew how she felt. We never met personally, we live on two different continents, she's a wild animal and I'm human (although some might contest that). Yet, at that very moment we shared exactly the same feeling. The lioness does not speak our language, but even if she did, we would have understood each other perfectly even without any spoken words. I wanted to reach in and pet her, whisper in her ear that I know the feeling (as if it would have made any difference). But as I was reaching into the screen, the camera shifted toward the sky again.
Then she and her remaining twin cub got up, passed next to the dead boy to say their final goodbye - much like us - and moved on. In the savannah you must move on, kill and hope not to be killed. Life must go on. And Death, who pretends to stay behind, is surely ambushing just around the corner.
When the sun rose over the savannah, the family was licking its wounds and counting survivors. One cub was missing from the kisses & hugs session. He laid a few meters away under a bush. He was fatally wounded. He, as well as his family, knew that he would not survive. Sitting on the couch I could feel the drama growing by the minute. It wasn't very hard thanks to the excellent editing - music, camera angles, changing colors, etc. But even the best video editing could not produce what nature itself provided without any sophisticated technology: the I'm-going-to-die desperate look on the nearly-a-lion-now cub; the moans of his mom, laying just meters away; the look in her eyes, knowing that her son is dying while she's unable to help him.
All this is very dramatic, of course. That's how the documentary was made; that's what it intended to do. It was just unclear if the director had any awareness of humans who experienced just that - who sat next to their dying child, unable to help them. Who saw Death itself, close and in person, comes closer and closer and without asking anybody for any permission reached and took what's not his - and now is - and leaves without anybody able to challenge him. (Sort of like a leopard who worked so hard at killing a deer, and just as he's getting ready to enjoy his prey, a much bigger lion comes by, casually takes what's not his - and now is. - and bites into "his" free dinner. And all the leopard can do is watch in frustration.
In those 5 seconds that the camera caught the lioness' sad and desperate look, when we looked into each other eyes, I felt that I knew how she felt. We never met personally, we live on two different continents, she's a wild animal and I'm human (although some might contest that). Yet, at that very moment we shared exactly the same feeling. The lioness does not speak our language, but even if she did, we would have understood each other perfectly even without any spoken words. I wanted to reach in and pet her, whisper in her ear that I know the feeling (as if it would have made any difference). But as I was reaching into the screen, the camera shifted toward the sky again.
Then she and her remaining twin cub got up, passed next to the dead boy to say their final goodbye - much like us - and moved on. In the savannah you must move on, kill and hope not to be killed. Life must go on. And Death, who pretends to stay behind, is surely ambushing just around the corner.
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Saturday, February 25, 2012
Hey Liam, move aside
A quick and not very thoughtful posting.
Today, like we're doing every so often, a bunch of us had a bunch of beers together with a bunch of munchies (while a bunch of guys played golf on the teevee surrounded by a bunch of cacti). Liam used to love these get-togethers. She loved a bunch of [old and balding] men drinking beer with her dad; she loved the food, especially the spinach & artichoke dip; she loved the company; she loved the attention; she loved the golf on the teevee. I don't think about Liam every minute of my life, but it was difficult not to think about her today. But with all due respect, Liama, move aside please. It is not your day today.
Tonight, a day in advance, Meitav celebrated her 15th birthday. Only a year and a half ago Meitav's life were pretty fragile. As if having a sister that was suffering for months and eventually dying is not enough, she didn't have her mom at home; life at her previous school was not easy; plus all her dedication to dance. For us, adults, who have some life experience, all this might be easier to cope with. But for a 13 years old, it's 1000 fold more difficult.
Yet, here we are only a year and a half later, and Meitav is surrounded by her [new] school friends and there's nothing on her face but joy and happiness. It's not only because the 10 teenagers who are messing the house (even as we speak) are having fun together. It's mostly because all of the many things which just come (came?) together for her now. This evening symbolizes this amazing change for the better.
I'm happy that Liam "visited" me today. But I'm even happier that Meitav enjoys the moment regardless of Liam. There would be many more chances to remember Liam - whether we want it or not. Tonight is not one of them. Today is Meitav - all the way. I'm so happy that Meitav can enjoy the present. In other words, to lose a sister (or a daughter) is not the end of the world. Life goes on. One can remember (and cry) at the appropriate times (or when it catches you unprepared). But it's also ok to let go and forget, yes, forget I said, if/when happiness and joy are calling. It's that simple. I'm glad Meitav knows how to implement this. There's no reason to be wrapped in self pity your entire life.
Today, like we're doing every so often, a bunch of us had a bunch of beers together with a bunch of munchies (while a bunch of guys played golf on the teevee surrounded by a bunch of cacti). Liam used to love these get-togethers. She loved a bunch of [old and balding] men drinking beer with her dad; she loved the food, especially the spinach & artichoke dip; she loved the company; she loved the attention; she loved the golf on the teevee. I don't think about Liam every minute of my life, but it was difficult not to think about her today. But with all due respect, Liama, move aside please. It is not your day today.
Tonight, a day in advance, Meitav celebrated her 15th birthday. Only a year and a half ago Meitav's life were pretty fragile. As if having a sister that was suffering for months and eventually dying is not enough, she didn't have her mom at home; life at her previous school was not easy; plus all her dedication to dance. For us, adults, who have some life experience, all this might be easier to cope with. But for a 13 years old, it's 1000 fold more difficult.
Yet, here we are only a year and a half later, and Meitav is surrounded by her [new] school friends and there's nothing on her face but joy and happiness. It's not only because the 10 teenagers who are messing the house (even as we speak) are having fun together. It's mostly because all of the many things which just come (came?) together for her now. This evening symbolizes this amazing change for the better.
I'm happy that Liam "visited" me today. But I'm even happier that Meitav enjoys the moment regardless of Liam. There would be many more chances to remember Liam - whether we want it or not. Tonight is not one of them. Today is Meitav - all the way. I'm so happy that Meitav can enjoy the present. In other words, to lose a sister (or a daughter) is not the end of the world. Life goes on. One can remember (and cry) at the appropriate times (or when it catches you unprepared). But it's also ok to let go and forget, yes, forget I said, if/when happiness and joy are calling. It's that simple. I'm glad Meitav knows how to implement this. There's no reason to be wrapped in self pity your entire life.
Friday, February 3, 2012
The Nutcracker (version 0.000000001)
(When
Meitav reads this post, she's likely to kill me. The Nutcracker is HER
thing in the family. How dare I steal it from her? But, since I love
getting killed by her, I'm pushing forward....)
Hi Eema (Mom),
Here I am addressing the dead. I guess I can no longer say "you know I never speak to the dead". But you left me no choice, right? You would never have forgiven me if I didn't, right? And even though you're no longer in position to forgive anybody and even though I don't seek your forgiveness any more, what do i know about the dead? Maybe you turned from the angel that you were during your life time to a witch? Why take the risk, eh? So here we go.
It was cold and it threatened to rain as I sat on my bike and headed home, trying to beat the rain coming from the west. Right after I crossed Piedmont Park, I got off the bike to cross at a pedestrian light. A dirty looking guy, probably a homeless, teethes for sure, approached me and asked about my bike: how many gears do they have, when did I get them, how much did they cost (I'm guessing he was preparing his budget for the new fiscal year). We engaged in a short conversation. Then he showed me the Target plastic back he was holding and said "$5". And to prove to me that his offering is good, he took one out and with his no-teeth cracked it open and showed me the "meat".
Is it possible that God indeed exists and that he really does give nuts to those with no teeth? As you know, Eema, I'm not really strong in this whole God business, but here I am finding a toothless guy cracking pecan nuts and here I am writing a letter to a dead person (and if that's not enough, Tim Tebow bit Pittsburgh in a playoff game). I don't know, something is spooky here.
------------
In short, Eema, if you were here today you would have been very proud of me. Not only I engaged in a conversation with a total stranger, one of your traits, but I also brought home some 5 or 10 I-really-forgot-what-an-
We arrived at the pecan grove after we left our bikes somewhere in the orchard and made the rest of the way by foot, since it was too muddy (and those who're familiar with the Kfar Blum mud know that you put put your foot down and take a step, but your boot probably got left behind, stuck in the deep, sticky mud). Or, we rode our bike on the road to the neighboring kibbutz and came into the pecan grove through the hole in the fence. Even when I returned to the same spot years later as an adult-wannabe - this time before the harvest, the fence was still broken just the same and provided for a quick escape route in case the orchard "police" arrived. (You wouldn't believe it, Eema, but there's much easier way to do all that. It turns out that they store the pecan nuts in the packing facility. The bounty is right there. Just reach in and grab them. No need to drown in the mud or to break or back or get caught by the rain. 10 minutes of bravery in the darkness and it's all over. But, SHHHHHH.....)
Truth is, I loved some parts of this adventure and of course I loved the taste of the pecans. But I didn't like looking through the tall grass for the scarce pecans. It was too boring for a young boy. And while we're on the subject, I didn't always enjoy the many other adventures of yours you pulled me into behind you: butchering a live chicken, cleaning carp fish you caught in the Jordan river, fishing with you, learning how to throw a cricket ball, visiting Bethlehem on Christmas night . . . and a few others that I forgot over the years. They were scary, boring, disgusting . . . But, looking back after all these years and being the dad that I'm now, how can I not be proud of the way you brought me up? You did with me such unique things which most moms never do with their sons. You opened me to the world.
----------------
Where did you get them? Did you steal them? I asked the homeless-teethless guy in an authoritative tone of a middle age man who is till working and is likely to work for the rest of his life on achieving the American Dream. He looked at me with his innocent eyes. "Of course not, there", he said, pointing to, well, somewhere in midtown (and I did believe him for some reason). We were in the heart of midtown, where there are plenty of houses and office buildings and asphalt and concrete and even a few parks, but I can't remember any pecan grove anywhere. I didn't reveal to him that I'm a semi-pro pecan petty-thief and that you can rarely find such quantity as he carried under a single tree. But I didn't like his negative answer. My virtual buzzer immediately sounded his alarm -- eeeeeeeeeh. What and idiot, I thought to myself. Wrong answer. If you told me they were stolen I may have given you $10 instead of $5 (for the bravery, camaraderie, or simply my own stupidity). What are you gonna do with the money, I tried to push him into a corner. "Oh, I'll go to Crystal's and get me a nice meal", he squeezed between his noteeth. That was actually a good answer (the virtual buzzer stayed silent). You see, as a matter of principle I don't give money to any beggar. But this guy worked for it and he looked too thin. I thought maybe the saturated fats of the fast food would do him some good. Why don't you eat some of these nuts? Put on some fats maybe.
In other words, Eema, some of your adventurous spirit got into me. I gladly gave the guy the $5 for the pecans. Hmm, where am I gonna put them, I wondered, as if it's any of his problem. And what if the bag breaks on the way? But my new friend was a creative guy, it turns out. He quickly reached into an adjacent dumpster and pull out another plastic bag - just like the one I was holding with the nuts in it. No thanks, I'll be ok. And the wheels were already churning, trying to figure out how I will disinfect all these nuts from who the hell knows what kind of germs.
And, just like the old days, I got on my bike, improvising space for my new load, and resumed the trip home. The rain already reached me by now and it got cold in a hurry . . . And Monya, which meanwhile listened to the weather forecast and looked with worried eyes toward the west and the darkening skies would probably holler at you 'why are you taking him to these adventures of yours? And what if you got caught in the rain?' But deep inside he might have been happy that his son is getting trained for the steeplechase marathon life is.
Then I sat at home, just like Monya, and with a hammer cracked open the entire 5-10 kilos, one nut at a time. Nostalgia was in the air. And just FYI, the city pecans are not like their kibbutznick relatives. The kibbutznicks, just like the guys who grow them, are big, tanned, their shell is strong, it's hard to crack them open. They're proud and full of ego. The city pecans, on the other hand, are small and poor looking. They were not irrigated. Relied on the scarce rain. Their shell is thin. They cry a small ooowwww as soon as the hammer just touches them. Their "meat" is thin and small. But Eema, these are tough times for the world economy. You got to be happy with anything you can get your hands on.
And then, to the oven. I remembered: 20-30 minutes in a 350 degrees oven. Check them often, you said. I did not forget. Take them out a bit early, you taught me, as the pecans keep baking themselves while cooling down. I remembered. We sat, we talked, we ate - dammit, the pecans are in the oven. I totally forgot!!! But, it turns out that forgetting is maybe part of the secret recipe. Without forgetting they would not have come out that good, eh?
Eema, you know I'm a very modest guy, but they came out really good. Just like back in the days. Kudos to the chef. You used to say that there's nothing like the taste of roasted pecans - the crunch, the surprising sweetness that the roast is able to bring out. You were almost right. Only one thing tastes better: stolen roasted pecans. And today, as I cracked a few and watched Meitav's surprised face as she tasted them, I felt some of you and your spirit within me. Somehow passing on the tradition.
So here's to you, Eema, a virtual glass of beer.
Hi Eema (Mom),
Here I am addressing the dead. I guess I can no longer say "you know I never speak to the dead". But you left me no choice, right? You would never have forgiven me if I didn't, right? And even though you're no longer in position to forgive anybody and even though I don't seek your forgiveness any more, what do i know about the dead? Maybe you turned from the angel that you were during your life time to a witch? Why take the risk, eh? So here we go.
It was cold and it threatened to rain as I sat on my bike and headed home, trying to beat the rain coming from the west. Right after I crossed Piedmont Park, I got off the bike to cross at a pedestrian light. A dirty looking guy, probably a homeless, teethes for sure, approached me and asked about my bike: how many gears do they have, when did I get them, how much did they cost (I'm guessing he was preparing his budget for the new fiscal year). We engaged in a short conversation. Then he showed me the Target plastic back he was holding and said "$5". And to prove to me that his offering is good, he took one out and with his no-teeth cracked it open and showed me the "meat".
Is it possible that God indeed exists and that he really does give nuts to those with no teeth? As you know, Eema, I'm not really strong in this whole God business, but here I am finding a toothless guy cracking pecan nuts and here I am writing a letter to a dead person (and if that's not enough, Tim Tebow bit Pittsburgh in a playoff game). I don't know, something is spooky here.
------------
In short, Eema, if you were here today you would have been very proud of me. Not only I engaged in a conversation with a total stranger, one of your traits, but I also brought home some 5 or 10 I-really-forgot-what-an-
We arrived at the pecan grove after we left our bikes somewhere in the orchard and made the rest of the way by foot, since it was too muddy (and those who're familiar with the Kfar Blum mud know that you put put your foot down and take a step, but your boot probably got left behind, stuck in the deep, sticky mud). Or, we rode our bike on the road to the neighboring kibbutz and came into the pecan grove through the hole in the fence. Even when I returned to the same spot years later as an adult-wannabe - this time before the harvest, the fence was still broken just the same and provided for a quick escape route in case the orchard "police" arrived. (You wouldn't believe it, Eema, but there's much easier way to do all that. It turns out that they store the pecan nuts in the packing facility. The bounty is right there. Just reach in and grab them. No need to drown in the mud or to break or back or get caught by the rain. 10 minutes of bravery in the darkness and it's all over. But, SHHHHHH.....)
Truth is, I loved some parts of this adventure and of course I loved the taste of the pecans. But I didn't like looking through the tall grass for the scarce pecans. It was too boring for a young boy. And while we're on the subject, I didn't always enjoy the many other adventures of yours you pulled me into behind you: butchering a live chicken, cleaning carp fish you caught in the Jordan river, fishing with you, learning how to throw a cricket ball, visiting Bethlehem on Christmas night . . . and a few others that I forgot over the years. They were scary, boring, disgusting . . . But, looking back after all these years and being the dad that I'm now, how can I not be proud of the way you brought me up? You did with me such unique things which most moms never do with their sons. You opened me to the world.
----------------
Where did you get them? Did you steal them? I asked the homeless-teethless guy in an authoritative tone of a middle age man who is till working and is likely to work for the rest of his life on achieving the American Dream. He looked at me with his innocent eyes. "Of course not, there", he said, pointing to, well, somewhere in midtown (and I did believe him for some reason). We were in the heart of midtown, where there are plenty of houses and office buildings and asphalt and concrete and even a few parks, but I can't remember any pecan grove anywhere. I didn't reveal to him that I'm a semi-pro pecan petty-thief and that you can rarely find such quantity as he carried under a single tree. But I didn't like his negative answer. My virtual buzzer immediately sounded his alarm -- eeeeeeeeeh. What and idiot, I thought to myself. Wrong answer. If you told me they were stolen I may have given you $10 instead of $5 (for the bravery, camaraderie, or simply my own stupidity). What are you gonna do with the money, I tried to push him into a corner. "Oh, I'll go to Crystal's and get me a nice meal", he squeezed between his noteeth. That was actually a good answer (the virtual buzzer stayed silent). You see, as a matter of principle I don't give money to any beggar. But this guy worked for it and he looked too thin. I thought maybe the saturated fats of the fast food would do him some good. Why don't you eat some of these nuts? Put on some fats maybe.
In other words, Eema, some of your adventurous spirit got into me. I gladly gave the guy the $5 for the pecans. Hmm, where am I gonna put them, I wondered, as if it's any of his problem. And what if the bag breaks on the way? But my new friend was a creative guy, it turns out. He quickly reached into an adjacent dumpster and pull out another plastic bag - just like the one I was holding with the nuts in it. No thanks, I'll be ok. And the wheels were already churning, trying to figure out how I will disinfect all these nuts from who the hell knows what kind of germs.
And, just like the old days, I got on my bike, improvising space for my new load, and resumed the trip home. The rain already reached me by now and it got cold in a hurry . . . And Monya, which meanwhile listened to the weather forecast and looked with worried eyes toward the west and the darkening skies would probably holler at you 'why are you taking him to these adventures of yours? And what if you got caught in the rain?' But deep inside he might have been happy that his son is getting trained for the steeplechase marathon life is.
Then I sat at home, just like Monya, and with a hammer cracked open the entire 5-10 kilos, one nut at a time. Nostalgia was in the air. And just FYI, the city pecans are not like their kibbutznick relatives. The kibbutznicks, just like the guys who grow them, are big, tanned, their shell is strong, it's hard to crack them open. They're proud and full of ego. The city pecans, on the other hand, are small and poor looking. They were not irrigated. Relied on the scarce rain. Their shell is thin. They cry a small ooowwww as soon as the hammer just touches them. Their "meat" is thin and small. But Eema, these are tough times for the world economy. You got to be happy with anything you can get your hands on.
And then, to the oven. I remembered: 20-30 minutes in a 350 degrees oven. Check them often, you said. I did not forget. Take them out a bit early, you taught me, as the pecans keep baking themselves while cooling down. I remembered. We sat, we talked, we ate - dammit, the pecans are in the oven. I totally forgot!!! But, it turns out that forgetting is maybe part of the secret recipe. Without forgetting they would not have come out that good, eh?
Eema, you know I'm a very modest guy, but they came out really good. Just like back in the days. Kudos to the chef. You used to say that there's nothing like the taste of roasted pecans - the crunch, the surprising sweetness that the roast is able to bring out. You were almost right. Only one thing tastes better: stolen roasted pecans. And today, as I cracked a few and watched Meitav's surprised face as she tasted them, I felt some of you and your spirit within me. Somehow passing on the tradition.
So here's to you, Eema, a virtual glass of beer.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
NJ parents: Disabled girl was denied transplant
Liam was never a candidate for a transplant (and if you followed the blog that describes all her suffering during the last year, you already know the reasons why). But, what if she did? What would have waited for us?
Monday, January 9, 2012
Like a candle in the wind
Yesterday
I was watching the candle - which Rachel placed next to Laimi's picture
- as it was burning out. In case you don't remember, when a candle is
burning down, the flame is already gone but the wick is still red and
the room is filled with the annoying and unusual smoke. The candle
itself is not strong enough to revive the flame, but on the other hand
not weak enough to be completely out. It gradually and almost painfully
fades away, away, away . . . until it's distinguished. It was
difficult not to make any parallelism between this candle dying and that dying, especially since this candle
posed so shamelessly right there, next to Liam. And a few of Elton's are
too accurate not to mention here:
Ain't that right? Liam was so lively and bright like a candle, so warm. But every "gust" or medical issues threatened her well being. Still . . .
For some odd reason a few tears are coming for a visit as I'm singing this to myself.
And it seems to me you lived your life
Like a candle in the wind
Like a candle in the wind
Ain't that right? Liam was so lively and bright like a candle, so warm. But every "gust" or medical issues threatened her well being. Still . . .
Your candle burned out long before
Your legend ever did
Your legend ever did
For some odd reason a few tears are coming for a visit as I'm singing this to myself.
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