Today, I participated in a political voting system for first the time in my life. This may be slightly irresponsible for a 25-year old to have not yet made a political stand, however minuscule an impact voting may have. Political decision-making has, up until now, never seemed a relevant part to my role of citizenship. British politics never bothered me, however relevant to my income and taxation levels. I never cared for what toffee-nosed elitists would have to say in Parliament, as I distant from such articulation. Political currents relating to the nature of being part of an Israeli society that I am now surrounded by, have awakened my conscience. Issues discussed on the news and in the K’nesset (Israeli government) are part of a citizenship identity to which I hold strong ties, being a Jew within a world dominated by non-Jews. When walking into the school near to my apartment to post my vote, a tingle of excitement overcame my emotions with the thought that I was playing a part of a history of struggle and Jewish living, however minuscule this impact would be. These politics play a part in shaping Jewish identity and residency within the world, which is something I actually give a damn about.
Living Politics
I can remember the month of my arrival to Israel being filled with political dynamics. An atmosphere of tension existed as events leading towards the disengagement of Jewish communities in the Gaza strip drew closer. Streets were filled with strips over orange and blue, as people and cars were tied with coloured ribbons representing their stand. Orange ribbons represented opposition to the disengagment and blue for support of the disengagement. The land was being evacuated for Palestinian control. Israeli television buzzed with excitement over its coverage of the events across the country. Boys and girls lined the traffic lights, handing ribbons and fliers. Every conversation resulted in a discussion of whether I supported the disengagement or not. I felt overwhelmed by this passion and awareness of national issues. This political current was real as it played a part in all Israeli lives. During the actual disengagement, I joined Effy’s family in front of the television, to witness the pain of the Jewish settlers, as they were evacuated taken from their homes. The (Israeli) coverage represented conflicting emotions of anger and unity. Grown men crying in pain from the struggle to leave their homes, mothers screamed in the face of Israeli soldiers and displayed anger of betrayal, as they held their children up in the soldiers' faces. The news reported the unity of a rabbi and a sergeant who were together as youths in the army, and now hugged in unity and pity. The sergeant walked the Rabbi out of his home in Gaza. For the first time, Jews came face to face with each other, conflicted by their differing needs, in front of the world who sat glaring. Israelis, those on the television and those watching it, had eyes filled with tears. I sat in disbelief from the feelings that overcame me and those around. My political conscience never felt more alive and government activity never had felt more relevant to living. These are the issues that we voted over today, conflicting stands over matters of safety, territory and religion.
Politics Laid Out on the Table
Identity and politics are regular features of discussions amongst Jews of all nationalities. It is something that I have always lived amongst, whether during Shabbat dinner with my family, or over shwarma in the local kosher restaurant with friends in London. Israeli and Jewish matters would be a topic of debate, something that didn’t seem to exist amongst my other (non-Jewish) friends. Tony Blair and the British government would rarely, or rather never pay a visit to conversations over a pint in the pub.
At work, a discussion concerning the recent film ‘Munich’ arose … fireworks were ignited. Politics and identity became the centre of the debate, ready on the table for thrashing. Munich is an American production ‘inspired by historical accounts’ of the kidnapping and murdering of 11 Israeli athletes and officials during the Munich Olympics in 1972. The movie portrays the events following the kidnap, with the 'events' surrounding a group of Israeli Mossad agents ( Mossad being the Israeli secret service) who are sent to assassinate those responsible for the kidnapping and eventual deaths of the athletes. Despite the fact the movie is a depiction of a specific historical account, its ‘representation’ is one of inaccuracy and misrepresentation. The film is based on a single account of the Munich games, hence the title, yet Hollywood, or more precisely Speilberg, decides to retell the story as such that it is more appetizing to the viewer, and consequently becomes a distorted account. Will the general public across the world be able to distinguish between the movie simply as a Hollywood blockbuster or as a history lesson?
Effy and I decided to see what the drama and hype in Israeli media surrounding the movie was all about, and satisfied our curiosity with a visit to the cinema. We left feeling drained, having gone through the emotional rollercoaster of this national tragedy, having identified with the raised issues relating to Jewish identity and Israeli-Arab political tensions. Indeed, the acting was brilliant, the ‘plot’ was superb; yet due to the fact I was so moved, or more accurately, insulted by its portrayal, meant I became tangled up with what I was absorbing. I couldn’t decipher what the film was trying to achieve.
Do movie producers not have a responsibility to the viewer? And if it is to portray the beliefs of other religions, why should that representation fall into the hands of Hollywood narratives. I was further upset by the blurred boundaries between the identity the Mossad agents were meant to be representing … ‘Israeli’ or ‘Jewish’. The director himself couldn’t seem to distinguish this in the movie, despite being Jewish himself. I myself am a Jew, something specific that defines my character and beliefs. Living in Israel and, therefore, being 'Israeli' is something totally different, it represents a whole new range of views and beliefs.
The discussion at work continued with a comment from a colleague who claimed that it annoys her when every time Jews are not represented in a favourable light (despite the fact she is'nt Jewish), we (Jews) bite back with the claim that it is ‘anti-Semitic’.
… Is this really wrong? Across Western society, political correctness has suffocated communication, with the drive to clamp down on racism on the premise of colour. Why can’t such political correctness extend to the Jewish race? As with many other minority communities, Jewish people have experienced racism throughout all generations, yet some still claim that we 'whine' about our misrepresentation … And another thought, should minorities be subjected to the impressionism of others? Should their beliefs be spelt out by those of other religions in the entertainment sphere? Haven' t there been enough mishaps in history that have allowed for misrepresentation? These questions ran marathons through my mind during the viewing of Munich.
With regards to the initial comment, I do not believe this is totally fair in light of recent public comments. In particular, Jewish communities across the world sat in silence to hear an Iranian leader openly state that he would like to see Israel ‘wiped off the face of the planet’ ... 'whining' from them did not exactly resound throughout the media.
I could go on about my qualms about the movie, but I feel this territory has had plentiful coverage by Jewish commentators and critics. My questions may seem harsh and I don’t mean to offend, but stating one's opinion is part of the political process, debate. This is something that needs to be fostered by the next generation, the ability to decipher what media and politicians are trying to portray, understand the core to their messages, and to play a part in deciding who will actually voice these messages.
N.B. If people do decide to comment on my blog, please refrain from rude name-calling, as did the previous comments that I have now deleted. And, if people would like to debate with me, at least you can leave your name so I can respond to the rude name-calling.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Sunday, March 19, 2006
1:9 Human Nature and Jelly Beans
One life observation is that human beings treat each other like jelly beans. Jelly beans come in an assortment of flavours and colours inside a jar. We will always dig our fingers in to pick out our favourite flavours, bubblegum, tropical fruit and strawberry beans; flavours we have previously tasted and know will provide us with satisfaction.
In Israel, I noticed how similar this behaviour is in humans. However hard politics and anthropological currents set in to scatter people around the world; we all seem to find our way back to a comfort zone, locating and residing in places amongst those of the same colour and flavourings. The dynamics of the population here seems to take a similar accord. In particular, I observed how Anglo-Jews flock together, how Ethiopian Jews build communities with each other, and how the French Jews and Russian immigrants come to build homes with other French or Russians.
This observation may be a slight generalisation … redesigning ‘facts’ to establish a point … many ‘new’ Israelis come here to set up a life independent of their origins, especially in central Tel Aviv where all Jewish origins blend into a colourful mix. For instance, Effy and I come from polar cultures, yet we are united on the basis of common ground, our love and respect for each other. Our similarities and differences are a constant battlefield, antagonism between culture and identity as a Jew. Yet I do hope the reasoning behind our unity ultimately triumphs.
My environment, although heavily dominated by an intense ‘Israeli’ culture, additionally coincides with my Jelly bean culture. Take note, ‘Israeli’ culture is, arguably, in itself non-existent, but rather a culmination of histories of Jews, from all corners of the world, who come to reside in Israel. This includes, Sephardic, Ashkenazi, Mizrachi and Western cultures. I came to Israel to be stimulated by people of a foreign language and culture, yet have recently found myself in the company of the same ‘types’ that I grew up amongst and left behind. These types speak English with the ‘north London Jewish’ accent and have come to Israel, planting themselves in an environment that mirrors their derivation. They have picked out all the other ‘north London Jewish’ types in this multi-cultural jelly bean pot, choosing to establish their life with others of the same definition. I have slowly succumbed to this comfort zone and feel irritated. The same issues, the same bickering that was a pinnacle to my previous frustration, have come to haunt.
This brings me to my next point; why do we bother getting on a plane to the holy land in the Middle-East just to recreate what we came from? What is our reasoning and/or justification for making Aliyah? Jerusalem and northern areas of Tel Aviv are dominated by communities of English and American Jews. They all talk the same language as they did back home; they eat all the same food that they have grown up eating and they all participate in the same ‘community’ activities that would have taken place back in their local gatherings in Anglo-land. Surely being Jewish is something that is in our souls, wherever we are based. So, if we (Jews) are to flock to Israel, shouldn’t we all be rejoicing in unity with existing communities together on the basis that we are all Jewish, and here to create the united nation that we have been fighting for, for thousands of years? It is incredible to be walking on Jewish soil, to have a home amongst other Jewish homes and to be in the land we read constantly about in synagogue every Shabbat.
“Do you think many of these people would be making Aliyah if Israel was based in Iceland,” a friend once asked. This may sound blunt, or even quite absurd, but I do wonder. Although, of course Zionism has a place in the hearts of all that make Aliyah. The fact that one chooses to reside in a place subject to overt hate and disacknowledgment is an act in itself to strengthen the legitimisation for Israel’s existence as a Jewish state. We can’t simply sit on our couches viewing Israel via the television set on the news and claim we support Israel. Using our feet to make a global stand is fundamental. And, the Aliyah movement is preferable even if segregation continues to exist, rather than having a lack of movement, with Jews remaining ‘bechuz la-Aretz’ (outside Israel) unpicked from the jelly bean jar.
Back to jelly beans, Mr Effy is definitely caramel flavour and I would say mine is orange blossom, if there was ever an orange blossom jelly bean.
In Israel, I noticed how similar this behaviour is in humans. However hard politics and anthropological currents set in to scatter people around the world; we all seem to find our way back to a comfort zone, locating and residing in places amongst those of the same colour and flavourings. The dynamics of the population here seems to take a similar accord. In particular, I observed how Anglo-Jews flock together, how Ethiopian Jews build communities with each other, and how the French Jews and Russian immigrants come to build homes with other French or Russians.
This observation may be a slight generalisation … redesigning ‘facts’ to establish a point … many ‘new’ Israelis come here to set up a life independent of their origins, especially in central Tel Aviv where all Jewish origins blend into a colourful mix. For instance, Effy and I come from polar cultures, yet we are united on the basis of common ground, our love and respect for each other. Our similarities and differences are a constant battlefield, antagonism between culture and identity as a Jew. Yet I do hope the reasoning behind our unity ultimately triumphs.
My environment, although heavily dominated by an intense ‘Israeli’ culture, additionally coincides with my Jelly bean culture. Take note, ‘Israeli’ culture is, arguably, in itself non-existent, but rather a culmination of histories of Jews, from all corners of the world, who come to reside in Israel. This includes, Sephardic, Ashkenazi, Mizrachi and Western cultures. I came to Israel to be stimulated by people of a foreign language and culture, yet have recently found myself in the company of the same ‘types’ that I grew up amongst and left behind. These types speak English with the ‘north London Jewish’ accent and have come to Israel, planting themselves in an environment that mirrors their derivation. They have picked out all the other ‘north London Jewish’ types in this multi-cultural jelly bean pot, choosing to establish their life with others of the same definition. I have slowly succumbed to this comfort zone and feel irritated. The same issues, the same bickering that was a pinnacle to my previous frustration, have come to haunt.
This brings me to my next point; why do we bother getting on a plane to the holy land in the Middle-East just to recreate what we came from? What is our reasoning and/or justification for making Aliyah? Jerusalem and northern areas of Tel Aviv are dominated by communities of English and American Jews. They all talk the same language as they did back home; they eat all the same food that they have grown up eating and they all participate in the same ‘community’ activities that would have taken place back in their local gatherings in Anglo-land. Surely being Jewish is something that is in our souls, wherever we are based. So, if we (Jews) are to flock to Israel, shouldn’t we all be rejoicing in unity with existing communities together on the basis that we are all Jewish, and here to create the united nation that we have been fighting for, for thousands of years? It is incredible to be walking on Jewish soil, to have a home amongst other Jewish homes and to be in the land we read constantly about in synagogue every Shabbat.
“Do you think many of these people would be making Aliyah if Israel was based in Iceland,” a friend once asked. This may sound blunt, or even quite absurd, but I do wonder. Although, of course Zionism has a place in the hearts of all that make Aliyah. The fact that one chooses to reside in a place subject to overt hate and disacknowledgment is an act in itself to strengthen the legitimisation for Israel’s existence as a Jewish state. We can’t simply sit on our couches viewing Israel via the television set on the news and claim we support Israel. Using our feet to make a global stand is fundamental. And, the Aliyah movement is preferable even if segregation continues to exist, rather than having a lack of movement, with Jews remaining ‘bechuz la-Aretz’ (outside Israel) unpicked from the jelly bean jar.
Back to jelly beans, Mr Effy is definitely caramel flavour and I would say mine is orange blossom, if there was ever an orange blossom jelly bean.
Sunday, March 05, 2006
1:8 Reminiscing in Rothschild
I am sitting in a coffee shop on a street called Rothschild, waiting for the caffeine to seep into my blood stream. It is already 2.30 in the afternoon and I have just got my hands on my daily supply of coffee. Maybe I am addicted, I never did drugs, but aren’t we all entitled to a daily substance-induced buzz of some sort. Anyway, my excuse of course is that is my parents fault. It was they who taught me the appreciation of good coffee, that being fresh espresso rather than instant Nescafe.
The sky is partially cloudy, yet I can’t complain; I have just spent the weekend on the beach. It was amazing, the end of February brought sunshine and blue skies … This type of weather will not take a great deal of getting use to, it just fazed me to be able feel the heat of the sun on my skin at this time of year. It radiated inside me, no longer winter stiffness, but rather a feeling of energy and tranquility. London is approximately 2 degrees, there is no sunshine, no blue sky, simply a sheet of white suffocates the sky … I definitely will not be missing that.
I have spent the day in a hypynotic state of reminiscing. So, with this in mind, I have decided to take my blog to the next level and elaborate on these thoughts. I want to spell out how I feel, rather than simply note my observations in Israel. A friend mentioned that she did indeed enjoy my writing, but more so, she would like to know what exactly was going on inside this complicated head of mine. So, I will try to attempt emotional elaboration.
…. So, back to Rothschild. I chose to sit in Café Hillel, a coffee shop situated on the corner of a junction on this beautiful boulevard. Rothschild is a favourite place of mine to sit and observe the world go by. It is a wide road with a centre piece of walkway, grass, trees and coffee shops running down the middle. It is the ‘Tel Avivian’ catwalk for dog walkers, joggers, coffee sippers and trendy designer mums with their designer buggies. It is here I have chosen to sit and reminisce.
Yesterday I experienced my one of many emotional rollercoaster moments. I have experienced one too many of these since moving to Israel, when at times one minute I feel on top of the world, and the next, I couldn’t be more miserable. I was told by my ‘Aliyah’ representative that this is the process of dealing with culture shock. I did believe it was getting easier. However, yesterday I was overwhelmed by a feeling of missing and loneliness. I do have companionship in Israel, I am fortunate to have made great friends and, in addition, I receive tremendous love and comfort from my boyfriend. Despite all this, nothing could ease the feeling of totally emptiness that possessed me. Yesterday, around 7 in the evening, I cooked dinner for Effy and I, chorizo sausages and sweet potato mash. We ate, he cleared up, I sat on the couch, switched on the television, and then suddenly, when all was done, when the realization that Effy would soon be off home hit me, I felt this sudden rush of emptiness, which hit the pit of my stomach and press against my heart. I hadn’t yet experience such ‘home sicknesses’, such a sense of emptiness from being away from my family and my friends.
Left Behind – The Irreplaceable
The last eight months of living in Israel seemed like a dream, the reality that I had left home as it was, to set off to establish a life in another country, hadn’t totally hit me. It was at this point the feelings of missing my loved ones came to haunt me. Once every person I know, the ones that I have relied on in more ways that are realised, are no longer around, I now have come to truly appreciate their existence in my life. Coming to Israel has made me clearly realise how amazing the people who have been blessed in my life are. Yesterday, I yearned for these people. I craved to experience the presence of my friends from home, to be around those that understand me, with those who I can breathe easily. It is around these people I do not need to taper my character, to polish up any undesirable facets, and to simply be my neurotic self without any judgement!
Yesterday, I yearned for my family. My mother and father, who may turn every screw inside me, are undoubtedly my best friends and I miss them greatly. My mother and father are chalk and cheese; they drive me crazy, they drive each other crazy. However, when these two individuals come together, they seem to fit like coffee and milk and nothing else seems more perfect. My brothers … energetic, charming yet ‘real’ young men … I wish I could be around them, to have the moment of behaving like the children we were when united together and bonded by our joint memories of innocence and childhood. These people will always play a part in the epicentre of my happiness. It is now that I have realised this.
Mike’s Place
I was too fragile to be left alone last night. I had planned to meet my friends, but couldn’t face returning to a potentially empty flat. So Effy decided that after I met with my friends, he would pick me up and we would go back to Ashdod together. With my fears settled, I was ready for some light relief in the form of a pint. It was around 8 in the evening when I joined my friends at Mike’s Place, an English speaking pub that faces Tel Aviv beach front.
Around three months into moving to Israel, Susi, my close friend, and I went to Mike’s Place for a few drinks. Whilst sitting at the bar, we strung up a conversation with a young American barman, Josh. We came to discover that he is a successful documentary producer. His most recent production was a documentary relating to the suicide bombing of Mike’s Place a few years back. This piece was an initial idea of an American director, who came to this pub in Israel to document an aspect of Israeli cultural diversity that takes place here. Some would say Mike’s Place represents Israeli Utopia, the unity of all cultures and religion in one place, with one thing dominating people’s thoughts, peace.
During his filming, a young British man approached the entrance of this pub, with explosives tied round his body and blew himself up, killing three and injuring many others. Some would say the attention the American director had given to the pub led to evil karma being cast upon it. Josh had assisted the director with this piece and was present during the explosion. The director was badly injured, and so Josh took it upon himself to continue with the filming.
Susi and I sat together to watch the documentary. Needless to say, it was unsettling and horrific to watch, leaving us both tearful and in shock. The documentation begins with insight of the lives of those who work at the pub; like characters in a film, you become involved, you feel empathy towards them like they are friends of your own. When it was revealed that some of these ‘characters’ actually died, we felt the real loss that had occurred that day.
Last night, the BBC was recreating the suicide bombing at Mike’s Place for an additional documentation. Friends of Josh were to be extras. Susi and I were given the role to cross the path of the suicide bomber on his entrance to Mike’s Place. The memories of terror and tragedy being played out dissolved and were taken over by the excitement and glamour of cameras, director’s calls for ‘action!’ and free beer.
Rollercoaster Ride
After leaving Mike’s Place, Effy and I returned to Ashdod to meet with his best friend who had returned from the US after a year. The evening ended in a triumph of contentment. It would be so simple if all moments of madness and sadness could return to equilibrium like this evening. After tragedy, such as the bombing of Mike’s Place; after moments of loneliness and depression; following any bout of downturn, it would much easier to deal the journey if it was simply like a rollercoaster ride. If at anytime, we get on the ride and deal with the emotions of life and the realities of war amongst humans, that once the ride had finished, once the dust settles, we would merely step off the ride, and continue with life. How simply life could be … we can only dream.
Other things I Reminisce About:
Tesco Metro
Marks and Spencer’s Mushroom Pate
Marmite
Cheese and Onion Walkers Crisps
London Underground (surprisingly)
London cabbies
Cobbled streets
Pubs
Pizza Express
Spring Blossom
The sky is partially cloudy, yet I can’t complain; I have just spent the weekend on the beach. It was amazing, the end of February brought sunshine and blue skies … This type of weather will not take a great deal of getting use to, it just fazed me to be able feel the heat of the sun on my skin at this time of year. It radiated inside me, no longer winter stiffness, but rather a feeling of energy and tranquility. London is approximately 2 degrees, there is no sunshine, no blue sky, simply a sheet of white suffocates the sky … I definitely will not be missing that.
I have spent the day in a hypynotic state of reminiscing. So, with this in mind, I have decided to take my blog to the next level and elaborate on these thoughts. I want to spell out how I feel, rather than simply note my observations in Israel. A friend mentioned that she did indeed enjoy my writing, but more so, she would like to know what exactly was going on inside this complicated head of mine. So, I will try to attempt emotional elaboration.
…. So, back to Rothschild. I chose to sit in Café Hillel, a coffee shop situated on the corner of a junction on this beautiful boulevard. Rothschild is a favourite place of mine to sit and observe the world go by. It is a wide road with a centre piece of walkway, grass, trees and coffee shops running down the middle. It is the ‘Tel Avivian’ catwalk for dog walkers, joggers, coffee sippers and trendy designer mums with their designer buggies. It is here I have chosen to sit and reminisce.
Yesterday I experienced my one of many emotional rollercoaster moments. I have experienced one too many of these since moving to Israel, when at times one minute I feel on top of the world, and the next, I couldn’t be more miserable. I was told by my ‘Aliyah’ representative that this is the process of dealing with culture shock. I did believe it was getting easier. However, yesterday I was overwhelmed by a feeling of missing and loneliness. I do have companionship in Israel, I am fortunate to have made great friends and, in addition, I receive tremendous love and comfort from my boyfriend. Despite all this, nothing could ease the feeling of totally emptiness that possessed me. Yesterday, around 7 in the evening, I cooked dinner for Effy and I, chorizo sausages and sweet potato mash. We ate, he cleared up, I sat on the couch, switched on the television, and then suddenly, when all was done, when the realization that Effy would soon be off home hit me, I felt this sudden rush of emptiness, which hit the pit of my stomach and press against my heart. I hadn’t yet experience such ‘home sicknesses’, such a sense of emptiness from being away from my family and my friends.
Left Behind – The Irreplaceable
The last eight months of living in Israel seemed like a dream, the reality that I had left home as it was, to set off to establish a life in another country, hadn’t totally hit me. It was at this point the feelings of missing my loved ones came to haunt me. Once every person I know, the ones that I have relied on in more ways that are realised, are no longer around, I now have come to truly appreciate their existence in my life. Coming to Israel has made me clearly realise how amazing the people who have been blessed in my life are. Yesterday, I yearned for these people. I craved to experience the presence of my friends from home, to be around those that understand me, with those who I can breathe easily. It is around these people I do not need to taper my character, to polish up any undesirable facets, and to simply be my neurotic self without any judgement!
Yesterday, I yearned for my family. My mother and father, who may turn every screw inside me, are undoubtedly my best friends and I miss them greatly. My mother and father are chalk and cheese; they drive me crazy, they drive each other crazy. However, when these two individuals come together, they seem to fit like coffee and milk and nothing else seems more perfect. My brothers … energetic, charming yet ‘real’ young men … I wish I could be around them, to have the moment of behaving like the children we were when united together and bonded by our joint memories of innocence and childhood. These people will always play a part in the epicentre of my happiness. It is now that I have realised this.
Mike’s Place
I was too fragile to be left alone last night. I had planned to meet my friends, but couldn’t face returning to a potentially empty flat. So Effy decided that after I met with my friends, he would pick me up and we would go back to Ashdod together. With my fears settled, I was ready for some light relief in the form of a pint. It was around 8 in the evening when I joined my friends at Mike’s Place, an English speaking pub that faces Tel Aviv beach front.
Around three months into moving to Israel, Susi, my close friend, and I went to Mike’s Place for a few drinks. Whilst sitting at the bar, we strung up a conversation with a young American barman, Josh. We came to discover that he is a successful documentary producer. His most recent production was a documentary relating to the suicide bombing of Mike’s Place a few years back. This piece was an initial idea of an American director, who came to this pub in Israel to document an aspect of Israeli cultural diversity that takes place here. Some would say Mike’s Place represents Israeli Utopia, the unity of all cultures and religion in one place, with one thing dominating people’s thoughts, peace.
During his filming, a young British man approached the entrance of this pub, with explosives tied round his body and blew himself up, killing three and injuring many others. Some would say the attention the American director had given to the pub led to evil karma being cast upon it. Josh had assisted the director with this piece and was present during the explosion. The director was badly injured, and so Josh took it upon himself to continue with the filming.
Susi and I sat together to watch the documentary. Needless to say, it was unsettling and horrific to watch, leaving us both tearful and in shock. The documentation begins with insight of the lives of those who work at the pub; like characters in a film, you become involved, you feel empathy towards them like they are friends of your own. When it was revealed that some of these ‘characters’ actually died, we felt the real loss that had occurred that day.
Last night, the BBC was recreating the suicide bombing at Mike’s Place for an additional documentation. Friends of Josh were to be extras. Susi and I were given the role to cross the path of the suicide bomber on his entrance to Mike’s Place. The memories of terror and tragedy being played out dissolved and were taken over by the excitement and glamour of cameras, director’s calls for ‘action!’ and free beer.
Rollercoaster Ride
After leaving Mike’s Place, Effy and I returned to Ashdod to meet with his best friend who had returned from the US after a year. The evening ended in a triumph of contentment. It would be so simple if all moments of madness and sadness could return to equilibrium like this evening. After tragedy, such as the bombing of Mike’s Place; after moments of loneliness and depression; following any bout of downturn, it would much easier to deal the journey if it was simply like a rollercoaster ride. If at anytime, we get on the ride and deal with the emotions of life and the realities of war amongst humans, that once the ride had finished, once the dust settles, we would merely step off the ride, and continue with life. How simply life could be … we can only dream.
Other things I Reminisce About:
Tesco Metro
Marks and Spencer’s Mushroom Pate
Marmite
Cheese and Onion Walkers Crisps
London Underground (surprisingly)
London cabbies
Cobbled streets
Pubs
Pizza Express
Spring Blossom
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