elinor אלינור
 |
The Bullet in the
Washing Machine
or How Can You Live in
that Country?
My back gets up every
time I’m asked that question; every country has its problems. Israel is simply
smaller and much more intense. However, we’re more than ever
surrounded with hostiles lately, so I suppose I should give house room to a
proper answer. Some thoughts:
·
It’s chocolate season
in Israel, which produces some pretty tasty stuff. But in the
spring the chocolate reaches a perfect consistency and even people who don’t
like dark chocolate make yummy noises over it. It’s not messy as
it is in summer; it’s not brittle and ungiving as it can be in winter, it’s just
perfect. Chocolate season ends as June begins and begins again in
time for Rosh Hashana. I've loved chocolate all my life and never noticed the
season until I began to live in Israel.
·
One day, accompanied by
my American daughter, I bought an eye shadow in ‘her’ country.
Garage-door blue, she sniffed. I liked it, so what.
I told my Israeli daughter what her sister had said. No
worries, said she, there are no garage doors in Israel. Perhaps
the importance of that exchange has escaped you. It hasn’t escaped
me.
·
Many years ago I was
walking in Jerusalem with a native Israeli. We were chatting away
in English when some people passed by, speaking French. A few
second
s later some Russian speakers drew close. Gee, he lamented
(in English), doesn’t anyone speak Hebrew in Israel
anymore?
·
Street scenes:
Russians
everywhere. The women well groomed, hair tinted, manicured to the
elbow, shiny red pedicures, well dressed—one could even say overdressed—in
skirts and high heels. The men are clad in shorts and
sandals. After all, it’s spring, and compared to Russia…
Couples engaged in
earnest conversation in Russian, of course. She’s speaking, her
voice higher than that of most other immigrants in town. She
either gesticulates wildly or not at all. He walks alongside,
nodding nodding nodding.
Israelis.
Two women, wishing each other well with the same words, same gestures at
the same moment. It’s a wonder they don’t hurt each other with
their long, polished nails. It's quite a ballet.
One man, three
women. The women all talk at once. The man is
totally silent, head to the side, sweetly bored.
I found these scenes
touching. Different. Interesting. And I was just passing
by.
·
Met a neighbour on the
street. What’s new? He replied: Obama is still
landlord. In just four words, he got it.
I know that all the
surrounding countries would love to annihilate us. I’m sure we can
win a moderately difficult fight but if any country is all-out determined to
blast any other out of existence, it certainly can, these days.
I’ve always felt that we live—as individuals—by the grace of others, so I
see no reason to change my perception.
Oh—about the bullet in
the washing machine. You've met my grandson, the naval gunnery
instructor. Every time he comes home his mother devotes herself to
getting him back to base on time with all his laundry washed, dried and
sorted. This time she heard a constant clatter in the washer and
of course feared the worst: trying to find a repair man on the
weekend. But no, a shell casing had been hiding in one of the
sailor’s pockets and is now perfectly clean.
Has that ever
happened to you?
Life in
Israel.
cross post Israel Thrives
ps
ps
Returning home from
the mall, approaching the bus stop. Two middle-ish ladies occupy the whole
4-seat bus bench, sitting at the ends with their bags and baskets between them,
sharing a bag of salty treats. I stand a beseeching distance from them, as I am
North American and do not barge. One looks up at me and with a half-chewed
pretzel in her mouth, asks if I wish to sit down. I nod, hoping that Yes is the
right answer. Busily they gather up their bundles and the pretzel-eater
encourages me to Sit sit sit. I cannot stop laughing. She finally realises that
she’s invited me right into their snack-sharing midst and moves
over.
No comments:
Post a Comment