The opening night party for the Tel Aviv – Los Angeles Master Class was in full swing when I arrived. The organizers chose the trendy, miamiesque, seaside restaurant Shalvata as the scene for the media covered event. The Tel Aviv evening smelled of gasoline, tobacco smoke, and sea air tainted with floral accents of perfume. My contribution to the medley included my new cologne of the hour, a heady mix of Pomegranate and Anise tones. Eat your heart out Tel Aviv. Shalvata’s pristine white bar balanced dozens of plates overflowing with Middle Eastern yummies. By the time I made my appearance Tahina, a flavorful paste of sesame seeds-garlic-parsley-lemon, lie smeared and congealed like wallpaper glue drying in the sun. Grape leaves hung over their porcelain plates, raped of their dignity, with their warm rice centers viciously eviscerated. I made my way to the pre-poured Israeli wine, which reminded me of the stuff in those unlabeled bottles you get charged by the glass for at Italian restaurants. It would do the trick, loosening the vocal chords and lubricating the conversation gland. As far as I was concerned the evening would be a success if I could get to speak with Edward Goldman. Goldman, the host of NPR’s Art Talk, seemed the epitome of culture, a “Google”-man of all things art. Goldman was at the party, he was also a guest of the Jewish Federation with another visiting group, he was Russian, and a dozen other art fanatics vying for a moment of his Russian accented charm were swarming him. I made my way to him, stopping for a moment to appreciate the Rattan hat he was wearing with its colorful sash. “Mr. Goldman, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m a huge fan of yours.” I could hear the voice in my head yelling “brown-noser, ass-kissers, could I dust your hat sir or perhaps offer you the shirt off my back.” Good god! I stopped and waited for his reply. Suddenly, that voice emerged from his lips, that voice I had heard so often over the radio waves, that deep European graceful tone with the powerful inflections of his Mother Russian tongue. We talked for a few and then he asked if I had been to Jerusalem yet. I had not but told him that I would be there for a few hours that week. He replied that visiting Jerusalem for a few hours was akin to visiting one of the wonders of the world for a few hours, more masturbation then actual visitation. The visit with Goldman marked the first half of the opening night of the master class. The rest of the night would prove wildly more complicated bordering on the surreal. Most of us in the class had heard that there would be a special event as part of the Tel Aviv International Student Film Festival. On one of the nights of the festival, teams would be created from the visiting filmmakers to create short films in the course of a single night. Six teams would be formed comprised of six or seven directors each (Oy Vey!) and given 24 hours to develop, write, shoot, and edit a film. There was but one instruction, the theme must be “One night in Tel Aviv”. The prospect to actually create something while in Israel seemed enticing but since we were not part of the film festival it seemed out of the question. In addition, the teams had already been formed and had been preparing the whole day, the official start time was 8PM and it was now 11:30P. The film was due the next day by 8P. A few of the crazier master class attendees huddled together. Justin, a fellow filmmaker from L.A. had spoken to someone high up and we would be allowed to join if we could put together a team and find a camera. Luckily I had my Panasonic 24p mini-DV camera and there were a few of us with a wild and adventurous streak. We separated ourselves from the group of revelers and found a quiet corner of Shalvata. Justin, Uval, Brad, Anaya, Myself as well as Sharon (the assistant to Michael Kuhn and an actress) and another actress friend of hers decided to go for it. The sea threw off a damp coolness that cut the heat of the night. Concepts were thrown into the air and we soon realized what a difficult predicament we had signed up for. Each of us had powerful motivations and aesthetic inclinations; each in turn tried to do what he/she does best, direct. Too many cooks undoubtedly spoil the soup. By the time we had come up with a suitable concept it was nearly 1:00A and we knew that we would be up all night. Faces seemed twisted, eyes drooped and energy levels waned. I popped a caffeine pill and took a few more with me in case I felt sleep stalking me. By this point it became clear that there would be no way to get everyone on the same page, the process of artistic elimination had begun. We split into two groups: I would go and get my camera and stuff I would need for the night. The girls would go to pickup costumes and make-up. Uval went to search out a location. We would meet in 45 minutes at the Sheraton Tel Aviv to begin shooting. Our concept was simple – a young man was coming to Tel Aviv on a mission to visit and protest the newly built dividing wall near Tel Aviv but do to language and other comedic barriers he would constantly be derailed from accomplishing his mission. Ultimately, he would find himself beaten and robbed on the outskirts of the city near the very wall he was looking for but not recognize it as any different from any other wall he had ever seen. We had even gotten directions through Uval’s friend or relative as to an area by the main road only 60 meters from the Dividing wall where we could film. We intended to shoot the closing scene in the beauty light of the Israeli sunrise. By the time we arrived at the Sheraton and lied our way through the guards, we had lost one of our directors do to irreconcilable differences. It seemed every minute of this night had been stretched out; we were in the moment, energized on a lack of sleep and fueled by an artistic fervor. As the night pushed on, plans had to be changed, emotions erupted and subsided, visions were recast to fit specific desires. From 2AM and until 6AM we shot across the landscape of a sleepless Tel Aviv. For those brief hours we lived under the tainted neon lights of Dizengoff Street, we roamed the mosquito-ridden outskirts of Northern Tel Aviv; our actresses were taken for actual whores and propositioned by men driving SMART cars and mopeds. We fought but remained civil, we battled with the light as do all filmmakers irrespective of the continent, we shaped out of a patchwork of ideas a coherent plot and we learned that passion is greater then ego. We never made it out to that dividing wall. It didn’t really matter. The day was fast approaching and we had already taxed our bodies and our actresses to the breaking point. Finally, as the sun cracked over the horizon and the film was “in the can” as we say, each of us in stunned silence pondered exactly what had transpired over the course of these few hours. When we began the night, we had pledged no matter what happened, this task would not undermine us, would not unravel the fragile thread that had brought us together in the master class. The night’s intentions were not as noble and certainly each of us stood before the abyss at least once in those hours. Now though, we were like brothers, having just reached the peak of Kilimanjaro. Weak, bleary-eyed and with hours of editing and class to attend to, we found strength in our accomplishment. It seemed now that the dividing wall in our film was never the actual goal but a metaphor; it was our characters journey that was so important for him and for us. Indeed, it was not the film that mattered so much in the long run, it was the ability to uncover and see the contours of our individual spirits that remained long after that magical night. That's how it happened, that's what i saw.
P.S. Our film screened in competition with six other short films at midnight the following night to a crowd of 700 people (the largest of any of the festivals screenings). Their laughter and appreciation were worth the tribulations.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Sunday, June 04, 2006
A Tale of Two Cities
I’ve been building up over these last two days because Israel continues to bombard me with sights, sounds and smells which occupy every resource my jet lagged body can spare. In the evenings I find myself unable to sleep, instead I roam with my new friends to pubs and beachside hangouts where the popular topic of conversation remains politics and the condition of the world. I can’t help but be amazed by how charged these people are, they are profoundly aware not only of their own predicament but the dangerous nature of the world at large. Two specific conversations are paraphrased below and so as I promised I am slipping into politics, if only a few times, in this place that truly deserves a little critical analysis.
Each of us, the Israelis, feels guilt in his heart because he knows that he is sitting on occupied lands. Ultimately, we know that in order to regain what we have lost we must return to the Palestinians what we took. Even if it means that we have to return East Jerusalem (but not the Western Wall), we will eventually understand that we are on the wrong side of the argument. I am Jewish and I am happy that I have this piece of land in the world in which I am safe to be a Jew. Unfortunately, if we assume that we can build a barrier around our neighbors then we are simply resolving to build a barrier around ourselves. Don’t get me wrong; the Arabs will never accept us, they will never be happy even if we return what is dearest to us. We must not set our goal to make the Arabs love us. Me must be content to live without shame. We must try to make the best world we can for our children. Each of us here without exception knows someone victimized by our condition, whether it be by bomb, by bullet or by knife. Let us do what we can to show the world that we are not the enemy, that we are civilized that we are human, that we love our children more then we love some abstract agenda. I know our history, I have served in our army and I know the dangers of compromising with our neighbors but what will be the alternative? We cannot approach diplomacy by telling someone what we will give them because this is not compromise. We must for the first time sit down and make a plan of mutual understanding and cooperation. This may take 25 years to accomplish but we can both be assured that without this plan we will spend the next 25 years slowly destroying (as we are already doing) the fiber of our own humanity.
Dan, 34, Modern-Orthodox, Co-creator of art installation (3 Cities Against the Wall)
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
No one likes Jews. Where in the world can they make their home? Where in the world will the Jew be anything but the Jew? Look at Europe where we thrived, where we were the doctors, the artists, and the philosophers for hundreds of years living in a quiet but uneasy peace with our “civilized” neighbors. Look at those countries that so readily invited us in to make our homes and raise generations of our families. How quickly they escorted us into the ovens, how quickly they forgot that we had bled on their soil in defense of their great ideals. Where is the Jew safe? We are only safe here. We have made paradise, where for thousands of years the Arabs made a wasteland. I will no longer bow to the decisions, feelings or agendas of our former oppressors. I answer to no one anymore. Europe has proven to me that I matter little outside of its own selfish plans. My children know nothing of anti-Semitism. They will never come home crying as I did with my sister, when they here the word Yid (kyke) thrown for the first time in their faces. They will be proud, they will walk upright and they will be safe. No one can tell us what we should do because no one has walked in the thorn-filled shoes our people have had to endure. Our plight today stems perhaps from our own making; look at this slice of sand that we live on and ask yourself, did we have a choice but to protect ourselves from a sea of sworn enemies. “Give them an inch,” you Americans tell us. When really what they want are all the inches that lead to the sea. I am not religious but in the Bible God told Hagar the mother of Ishmael not to cry as she crossed the desert searching for water for her infant son whom Abraham had banished from their own home. He told her that her son would survive and that a nation would be born of him, to live in perpetual conflict with the house that had betrayed them. This is the burden we will always bare; we will bare it together as one people and in this ONE nation.
Hillel, 67, Secular, Holocaust Survivor from Poland living in Israel since 1957
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You probably thought I was just tanning, drinking and eating here but as you can see I am fitting a little enlightenment into the program. Last night, we walked down to the NAMAL, the harbor of Tel-Aviv. At the water’s edge, 40 beachside cafes and restaurants catered to a sea of families, young couples and soldiers coming together to relish this momentary peace. We walked, chatted with the Israelis, who are always prepared to share a word or lend a hand, and settled into a cabana bar. The Israelis seem enthusiastic, the city seems to be coming alive with more tourists then they’ve seen in recent memory. Another positive sign seems to be the return of major bands to Israel; over the next weeks and months the Black-Eyed Peas, Pink Floyd, Depeche Mode, Sting, Matisyahu and a number of others will be filling the stadiums here. It’s been years since such names have come to Israel and there is a feeling of hope that this could be a sign of renewed life and safety. Several young men and woman (18-20) dressed in the green fatigues of the military sat smoking and having drinks next to our cabana. I couldn’t help noticing the shiny black handguns they wore on their belts. They heard us speak in English and asked us where we were from (also in perfect English). Upon hearing that we were from L.A. one of the girls lit up with enthusiasm and said, “one day, I’m going to go to Hollywood.” First though, she and the others would be returning to their bases and potentially duty at the new fortifications going up above Jerusalem. None of them seemed as enthusiastic about that. That’s how it happened, that’s what I saw.
Each of us, the Israelis, feels guilt in his heart because he knows that he is sitting on occupied lands. Ultimately, we know that in order to regain what we have lost we must return to the Palestinians what we took. Even if it means that we have to return East Jerusalem (but not the Western Wall), we will eventually understand that we are on the wrong side of the argument. I am Jewish and I am happy that I have this piece of land in the world in which I am safe to be a Jew. Unfortunately, if we assume that we can build a barrier around our neighbors then we are simply resolving to build a barrier around ourselves. Don’t get me wrong; the Arabs will never accept us, they will never be happy even if we return what is dearest to us. We must not set our goal to make the Arabs love us. Me must be content to live without shame. We must try to make the best world we can for our children. Each of us here without exception knows someone victimized by our condition, whether it be by bomb, by bullet or by knife. Let us do what we can to show the world that we are not the enemy, that we are civilized that we are human, that we love our children more then we love some abstract agenda. I know our history, I have served in our army and I know the dangers of compromising with our neighbors but what will be the alternative? We cannot approach diplomacy by telling someone what we will give them because this is not compromise. We must for the first time sit down and make a plan of mutual understanding and cooperation. This may take 25 years to accomplish but we can both be assured that without this plan we will spend the next 25 years slowly destroying (as we are already doing) the fiber of our own humanity.
Dan, 34, Modern-Orthodox, Co-creator of art installation (3 Cities Against the Wall)
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
No one likes Jews. Where in the world can they make their home? Where in the world will the Jew be anything but the Jew? Look at Europe where we thrived, where we were the doctors, the artists, and the philosophers for hundreds of years living in a quiet but uneasy peace with our “civilized” neighbors. Look at those countries that so readily invited us in to make our homes and raise generations of our families. How quickly they escorted us into the ovens, how quickly they forgot that we had bled on their soil in defense of their great ideals. Where is the Jew safe? We are only safe here. We have made paradise, where for thousands of years the Arabs made a wasteland. I will no longer bow to the decisions, feelings or agendas of our former oppressors. I answer to no one anymore. Europe has proven to me that I matter little outside of its own selfish plans. My children know nothing of anti-Semitism. They will never come home crying as I did with my sister, when they here the word Yid (kyke) thrown for the first time in their faces. They will be proud, they will walk upright and they will be safe. No one can tell us what we should do because no one has walked in the thorn-filled shoes our people have had to endure. Our plight today stems perhaps from our own making; look at this slice of sand that we live on and ask yourself, did we have a choice but to protect ourselves from a sea of sworn enemies. “Give them an inch,” you Americans tell us. When really what they want are all the inches that lead to the sea. I am not religious but in the Bible God told Hagar the mother of Ishmael not to cry as she crossed the desert searching for water for her infant son whom Abraham had banished from their own home. He told her that her son would survive and that a nation would be born of him, to live in perpetual conflict with the house that had betrayed them. This is the burden we will always bare; we will bare it together as one people and in this ONE nation.
Hillel, 67, Secular, Holocaust Survivor from Poland living in Israel since 1957
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You probably thought I was just tanning, drinking and eating here but as you can see I am fitting a little enlightenment into the program. Last night, we walked down to the NAMAL, the harbor of Tel-Aviv. At the water’s edge, 40 beachside cafes and restaurants catered to a sea of families, young couples and soldiers coming together to relish this momentary peace. We walked, chatted with the Israelis, who are always prepared to share a word or lend a hand, and settled into a cabana bar. The Israelis seem enthusiastic, the city seems to be coming alive with more tourists then they’ve seen in recent memory. Another positive sign seems to be the return of major bands to Israel; over the next weeks and months the Black-Eyed Peas, Pink Floyd, Depeche Mode, Sting, Matisyahu and a number of others will be filling the stadiums here. It’s been years since such names have come to Israel and there is a feeling of hope that this could be a sign of renewed life and safety. Several young men and woman (18-20) dressed in the green fatigues of the military sat smoking and having drinks next to our cabana. I couldn’t help noticing the shiny black handguns they wore on their belts. They heard us speak in English and asked us where we were from (also in perfect English). Upon hearing that we were from L.A. one of the girls lit up with enthusiasm and said, “one day, I’m going to go to Hollywood.” First though, she and the others would be returning to their bases and potentially duty at the new fortifications going up above Jerusalem. None of them seemed as enthusiastic about that. That’s how it happened, that’s what I saw.
Friday, June 02, 2006
Tel Aviv, Tel A Friend!
I am officially in the blogosphere! I want to thank Beatrissa Elelman for suggesting this, no longer novel, method of sharing my adventures while I am literally half way around the world. I will make an attempt to maintain this blog daily for all those that want to tune in and get your daily dose of Maratazine (sure to cure colds, coughs, rheumatoid arthritis, herpes, hemorrhoids and premature ejaculation).
"“Next year in Jerusalem" the old adage goes and so I find myself a short 50-minute drive from the holiest city on Earth. If Jerusalem is the heart of Israel then Tel Aviv must be the genitals. People here have no concept of day or night, no concept of time or the ebb and flow of human circadian rhythm. Last night, after my 17-hour flight from Los Angeles, I landed into the home of Uri Mor my host for three weeks. Uri works as a technical stage manager for several large Israeli bands as well as touring stars from around the world. Next week he will be setting up and running Sting's concert in which, Matisyahu will be the opener. Actually, Uri has promised to hook me up with a backstage pass for Matisyahu'’s underground "“Unplugged"” performance the next day. Anyway, I landed and immediately found myself inebriated (who would have thought) on two pints of Israeli Beer "GoldStar"” and a pint of both blond and dark Palestinian beer (damn good by the way). Seems the Palestinians can brew it they just can'’t drink it. Actually, from what I've been told there are many secular Palestinians that like to throw back a pint as much as their star-crossed brothers, the Israelis. Its too early to get into political ranting, I'’m sure I'’ll find time for that. As our condition continued to descend Uri reminded me that there would be a huge concert at 1AM tonight and we should try to compose ourselves for the sake of the fans if not for our own health and well being. The Israeli'’s frown upon over consumption of booze although telling by Uri and the piss drunk adoring fans at the concert, I wouldn't have thought. Walking back to our fourth floor apartment, which has a terrace with a view over Tel Aviv, I was struck by how the city reminds me of a blend between Los Angeles and Odessa or any number of other Russian cities. High-rises sit scattered over the skyline with small Bauhaus apartment buildings interspersed among them. We walked back, the warm sticky compote of air clinging to our bodies. The heats not all that bad, actually no different from L.A. but the mugginess gets right under your clothes, like a wet spider web. That night we drove north to Ritsiyon a small encampment of posh clubs, A-class restaurants and loft style apartments that could pass for Tijuana if Tijuana had posh clubs, A-class restaurants or lofts. One thing I noticed once we got there was how friendly, open and engaging the Israeli are here. These are not the used car dealer types you may come across in any number of U.S. cities. The Israelis here are attractive, almost too perfect in some way, as though the Holy Land had mutated the recessive traits out of their genome; if I didn'’t know better I'd think I was in L.A. minus all the surgery. By 1:30A the fans were in a state of frenzy and I was just in a state. "“Mashina"” came on and played a two-hour set to an audience that danced and sang along. My Nikon camera, swung over my shoulder, provided me with unlimited access to the event. I was the American photographer guy, probably from some magazine or something. I danced to all the songs but didn'’t have a clue as to the content. By the time the concert ended it was 4AM, my mind used its remaining resources to remember the details: name, bowel and bladder control and that was it. I helped Uri gather some of the equipment that would be picked up by the touring vans later in the night (wait what night it was about to be morning). We left SOHO, the name of the venue but instead of getting in the car we walked into another restaurant on the square called Meatball. As we walked, the number of people aimlessly trying to find their way amazed me. People were going about like it was 9P on a Friday night, this was Thursday and it was 4:45AM. The band made its way into the restaurant and we all sat down together for a little dinner before heading home. My stomach had shut down hours ago along with other non-essential organs and so I wasn't in an eating mood, although I did force down a phenomenal super rare hamburger patty. As the DJ played remixes of U2 and ABBA, I listened to the music and the Semitic banter of my new Israeli friends. My mind drifted. Being here finally, with all the plans and excitement along with all the years hearing and thinking about Israel finally began to creep into my deteriorating conscious. Israel was no longer a place it was a condition. We left the Meatball and made our way home. As our car entered the Northern edge of Tel Aviv I saw the sun make its way up the Eastern hills, over which lay the West Bank. 25-minutes away there were a totally different group of people living a drastically different life, I couldn'’t believe it and amazingly neither could the other people in the car. It seemed that days had passed since I had slept, perhaps even weeks. Israel, I am learning, can do that to you, leave you confused and unsure of your footing. What do you really know about religion, yourself or the world for that matter? At 6:30A I finally put my head down on the sticky pillow (nothing here is truly dry). Although we closed the metal shutters on the terrace, light streamed in and so I put on the eye mask I had bought at LAX. As I put my head down, a menagerie of birds began their morning orchestrations and so I slipped on my BOSE Noise Reducing headphones. There I remained in bed, black patches on my eyes, headphones on my head, sweating as though I had just completed the IronMan, when Yossi, Uri'’s cat jumped on my feet and rolled up into a ball. Under normal climatic circumstances I wouldn't have minded but a warm furry creature clinging to my sweat drenched body agitated the last remaining cells of my fragile nervous system. Yossi went bye-bye and I tried to close my eyes and not think. The air in the room, trapped by the closed metal shutters, continued to rise in temperature. I panted like a runner in the final stretch of a 300-mile uphill sprint. Sleep undoubtedly thought I was busy and went elsewhere for this night. Yossi lay coiled on the piano. Sleep had not abandoned him. I went to the terrace and cracked open a shutter. Tel Aviv was waking up and so I decided that just sitting here watching their day begin would be a fitting way to watch mine end. There would be time to sleep tomorrow. That's how it happened, that'’s what I saw. "“Liila Tov - Good Night"
"“Next year in Jerusalem" the old adage goes and so I find myself a short 50-minute drive from the holiest city on Earth. If Jerusalem is the heart of Israel then Tel Aviv must be the genitals. People here have no concept of day or night, no concept of time or the ebb and flow of human circadian rhythm. Last night, after my 17-hour flight from Los Angeles, I landed into the home of Uri Mor my host for three weeks. Uri works as a technical stage manager for several large Israeli bands as well as touring stars from around the world. Next week he will be setting up and running Sting's concert in which, Matisyahu will be the opener. Actually, Uri has promised to hook me up with a backstage pass for Matisyahu'’s underground "“Unplugged"” performance the next day. Anyway, I landed and immediately found myself inebriated (who would have thought) on two pints of Israeli Beer "GoldStar"” and a pint of both blond and dark Palestinian beer (damn good by the way). Seems the Palestinians can brew it they just can'’t drink it. Actually, from what I've been told there are many secular Palestinians that like to throw back a pint as much as their star-crossed brothers, the Israelis. Its too early to get into political ranting, I'’m sure I'’ll find time for that. As our condition continued to descend Uri reminded me that there would be a huge concert at 1AM tonight and we should try to compose ourselves for the sake of the fans if not for our own health and well being. The Israeli'’s frown upon over consumption of booze although telling by Uri and the piss drunk adoring fans at the concert, I wouldn't have thought. Walking back to our fourth floor apartment, which has a terrace with a view over Tel Aviv, I was struck by how the city reminds me of a blend between Los Angeles and Odessa or any number of other Russian cities. High-rises sit scattered over the skyline with small Bauhaus apartment buildings interspersed among them. We walked back, the warm sticky compote of air clinging to our bodies. The heats not all that bad, actually no different from L.A. but the mugginess gets right under your clothes, like a wet spider web. That night we drove north to Ritsiyon a small encampment of posh clubs, A-class restaurants and loft style apartments that could pass for Tijuana if Tijuana had posh clubs, A-class restaurants or lofts. One thing I noticed once we got there was how friendly, open and engaging the Israeli are here. These are not the used car dealer types you may come across in any number of U.S. cities. The Israelis here are attractive, almost too perfect in some way, as though the Holy Land had mutated the recessive traits out of their genome; if I didn'’t know better I'd think I was in L.A. minus all the surgery. By 1:30A the fans were in a state of frenzy and I was just in a state. "“Mashina"” came on and played a two-hour set to an audience that danced and sang along. My Nikon camera, swung over my shoulder, provided me with unlimited access to the event. I was the American photographer guy, probably from some magazine or something. I danced to all the songs but didn'’t have a clue as to the content. By the time the concert ended it was 4AM, my mind used its remaining resources to remember the details: name, bowel and bladder control and that was it. I helped Uri gather some of the equipment that would be picked up by the touring vans later in the night (wait what night it was about to be morning). We left SOHO, the name of the venue but instead of getting in the car we walked into another restaurant on the square called Meatball. As we walked, the number of people aimlessly trying to find their way amazed me. People were going about like it was 9P on a Friday night, this was Thursday and it was 4:45AM. The band made its way into the restaurant and we all sat down together for a little dinner before heading home. My stomach had shut down hours ago along with other non-essential organs and so I wasn't in an eating mood, although I did force down a phenomenal super rare hamburger patty. As the DJ played remixes of U2 and ABBA, I listened to the music and the Semitic banter of my new Israeli friends. My mind drifted. Being here finally, with all the plans and excitement along with all the years hearing and thinking about Israel finally began to creep into my deteriorating conscious. Israel was no longer a place it was a condition. We left the Meatball and made our way home. As our car entered the Northern edge of Tel Aviv I saw the sun make its way up the Eastern hills, over which lay the West Bank. 25-minutes away there were a totally different group of people living a drastically different life, I couldn'’t believe it and amazingly neither could the other people in the car. It seemed that days had passed since I had slept, perhaps even weeks. Israel, I am learning, can do that to you, leave you confused and unsure of your footing. What do you really know about religion, yourself or the world for that matter? At 6:30A I finally put my head down on the sticky pillow (nothing here is truly dry). Although we closed the metal shutters on the terrace, light streamed in and so I put on the eye mask I had bought at LAX. As I put my head down, a menagerie of birds began their morning orchestrations and so I slipped on my BOSE Noise Reducing headphones. There I remained in bed, black patches on my eyes, headphones on my head, sweating as though I had just completed the IronMan, when Yossi, Uri'’s cat jumped on my feet and rolled up into a ball. Under normal climatic circumstances I wouldn't have minded but a warm furry creature clinging to my sweat drenched body agitated the last remaining cells of my fragile nervous system. Yossi went bye-bye and I tried to close my eyes and not think. The air in the room, trapped by the closed metal shutters, continued to rise in temperature. I panted like a runner in the final stretch of a 300-mile uphill sprint. Sleep undoubtedly thought I was busy and went elsewhere for this night. Yossi lay coiled on the piano. Sleep had not abandoned him. I went to the terrace and cracked open a shutter. Tel Aviv was waking up and so I decided that just sitting here watching their day begin would be a fitting way to watch mine end. There would be time to sleep tomorrow. That's how it happened, that'’s what I saw. "“Liila Tov - Good Night"
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