Onward, Upward and Northward
There is a wealth of information to communicate about what we've been doing the last week, and I have not the patience to go into all of it; this is what happens when I get lazy about updating, the stories pile up on my desk. That's okay, though; there's really no need to talk about my adventures in California with the blog being the entity that it is.

Last weekend, more or less on a spur-of-the-moment whim, we went up to San Francisco for a visit with my Uncle Lou and his girlfriend, Lisa. Lou's grandson Cody was just born about a month ago, and looks quite good, especially for a newborn, and Lou and Lisa had been down in San Diego visiting Lou's daughter and her husband. They got back at night on Thursday, and were still cool enough to put us up for the weekend, starting that night, and take us around. Instead of San Francisco, we ended up in Oakland for something different, and we saw the Oakland Art Museum, which was good; I felt like I was in enemy territory, all the Raiders gear about. Mostly, though, it was good just to visit with them.

Since then we've been taking care of errands like mad. We got new contact lenses (and we both see so much better now), we dealt with the Israeli Consulate (I got my visa, and Elana...finally...after a year and a half of trying...got her Israeli passport), we are seeing friends (which, granted, should not fall under the category of "errands," but I'm allowing my writing to be sloppy this morning). Today we are going back into LA for a visit to the UCLA campus (checking out programs) and a Debate Party: we are looking forward to a sound trouncing of President Dangerous Foolish Hypocrite.

- posted by @ 6:21 PM

 
What's a country to do?
There was a suicide bombing in Jerusalem today, in the French Hill neighborhood. It's about a mile from the University. This still qualifies as a period of relative quiet...the last suicide bombing was almost a month ago, in Be'er Sheva, and before that it had been since March. This is not for lack of attempts, certainly; there were reports in Haaretz that a planned attack against Israeli tourists in Sinai over the holiday was foiled, just for one example.

The story on this attack is that an eighteen-year old girl with explosives in her handbag tried to enter to a crowded bus junction, but was stopped by suspicious border policemen. When they began to search her bag, she detonated the explosives, killing herself and the two policemen. Al-Aqsa Martyr's Brigades claimed responsibility.

Now, I understand people who support the Palestinian cause. I really do. I sympathize with most Palestinians; they live in abject poverty, under a military occupation (and I'm sorry; no matter whether one believes the West Bank and Gaza Strip "rightly" belong to Israel, the fact on the ground is that there is a military occupation and administration of those lands), and have been treated abominably. By Israel at times, yes, and also by the Arab countries in the region (Black September, Lebanon's flat refusal to allow them to leave their refugee camps and settle). But I cannot stand the fact that supporters of the Palestinian cause necessarily seem to become apologists for it. There is no vocal statement from Palestinians or Palestinian groups that "Suicide bombers are murderers, plain and simple." They toss out what have become tired cliches like "We condemn the killing of civilians, Palestinian or Israeli," or "Well, you have to understand the context and environment that allow such acts to occur." Perhaps this is a fault of the media, but I would think that if a prominent Palestinian came out and actually condemned, in no uncertain terms, suicide bombings as murders (and not simply as "counter to Palestinian national interests," although that is true, too), the media would eat it up. Hey, it would be something new, right? And new things draw ratings. So I somehow doubt that there is a clamor of condemnation, screaming to be heard, that the wicked Jew-controlled media is keeping under its black hat.

Meanwhile, because I know Americans don't really care unless this affects them directly, Palestinian security sources (led by that paragon of virtue, Musa Arafat) have refused to arrest the Palestinians who killed the American security guards in Gaza last year because the killers are members of Palestinian factions, and, as Mini-Yasser said, "clashing with any Palestinian party under the presence of the occupation is an issue that will present many problems for us" (source). Sure...blame Israel. Well, okay, I can accept that; I certainly wouldn't want to trouble the PA with the inconvenience and difficulty of establishing any law and order, nor remind it of its responsibility to do just that. I mean, keeping the peace for your own people...that's hard, isn't it?

If the PA won't protect Israel (If! HA!), then it falls to Israel to protect itself. Thus, Israel builds a wall. To keep out the suicide bombers, like the one who managed to blow herself up today on French Hill, and to be physically separated from the Palestinians when the fearless and apparently untouchable factions decide that they're sick of the PA's corruption and plunge the Palestinian people into civil war.

- posted by @ 7:21 PM

 
Shanah Tovah u'Metukah
So as of a few hours ago, it's a new year, which we are celebrating in California with Elana's grandparents and a few other relatives. And, it is only a few days short of a one year anniversary for this weblog, hurrah. Happy Birthday, AIJ. But that's neither here nor there, really. Rosh Hashanah is a time for introspection.

As years go, this one has been much more eventful than most. A simple glance through the archives reveals that particular truth. I don't think it's simply the fact that I'm writing a lot of things down in this medium (my previous forays into diary-keeping petered out after a week at most) that makes it seem that way. This year has seen almost everything the rest of my life has seen, and much more. I find myself in a difficult position as I write today, trying to walk the fine line between overgeneralization and a simple recap of the year. As little as anybody wants to read a "best of" entry here, I think I want to write it even less. I also don't want to write a list of things I'm thankful for or to publically count off some resolutions which I am not sure I will or want to keep. I don't want to talk about the political situation (although I can't resist the opportunity to toss in a skyward mumble that I really hope it improves, and can't help worrying about what might happen in 5764) or about the religious aspect of the new year.

Shanah tovah u'metukah--"A good and sweet year." That's the Hebrew greeting traditionally reserved for this day. The simplicity appeals to me. It doesn't require us to make demands, reasonable or otherwise, of ourselves (though we certainly can). It doesn't make unreasonable demands of the universe, either, for unremitting happiness and gratification in the coming revolution.

A good year is one in which there are joys to celebrate and difficulties to overcome, both of which allow us to grow as human beings. There will always be sorrows, every year, and for Elana and me this year was the most sorrowful of our lives thus far. But it was also one of the most exciting: the beginning of our two-year stay in Jerusalem, a move which no doubt struck many as the beginning of a haphazard and reckless trip that would terminate when we blew up (according to the tone of some of the more dire predictions we heard, immediately upon disembarking the ElAl jet and setting foot on the tarmac at Ben-Gurion airport), but which we saw as a grand and important adventure. After a year of listlessness, bouncing around from Boston to Chicago to Denver to Los Angeles with little direction, we both found a purpose and a goal for our lives, as well as programs which serve to advance us toward careers. Growth and improvement, as a scholar, an artist, a spouse, a human being--those are always good, and any year of growth, however difficult it may be (as a wise marketing executive once said, "no pain, no gain"), is a good year. Life throws what it wills our way; it is our responsibility to make the best of it.

A sweet year requires a little help from life, and in a year as turbulant as this one has been, it is difficult to call it a sweet year. It certainly had it's sweeter moments. The bitter moments were especially potent, however: deaths of close loved ones are difficult to match in terms of sorrow, especially when they are unexpected. Regardless, a year, in truth, is too long a time to label as "sweet" or "bitter" or, really, anything other than "365 days." I suppose the positive spin to put here is that without the sour and the bitter, we wouldn't even know that SupehrDreenk Egzohtik--truly a creation to rival Frankenstein's monster--is sweet (in fact, so sweet that flies wouldn't drink it). So, when you wish someone a sweet year, you are wishing them many sweet moments. Life, after all, will never be without the bitter. Still, those bitter moments give us the ability to appreciate sweeter times--and since they are an irrevocable part of our existence anyway, we might as well try to see them in that light.

So, Shanah tovah u'metukah to all. A good and sweet year. And you know what? What the hell, it's the beginning of the year and anything can happen. So I wish us all (included: my family, friends, and well-meaning strangers; excluded: murderous enemies) unremitting happiness and gratification, unbridled joy and unlimited success, and as few sorrows or setbacks or disappointments as possible. And if that wish, at any point, is dashed for you...well, at least the Shanah tovah u'metukah still stands.

- posted by @ 6:10 AM

 
Two for the Price of One
What we have here is a failure to communicate. On my part.

This will be my last post from Denver (hah! Most of you didn't even know we'd arrived, if you follow my life through this blog alone!); tomorrow we are heading out for LA. At the end of these thoughts, I have posted my last entry from Italy, which I wrote almost two weeks ago and only just now got around to uploading.

The time in Denver has been very relaxing, I must say. We hit up some of the old favorite restaurants, saw almost all of the important people (for those few of you we missed: sorry...we'll see you next time through), hung out with the family. We just got back from camping with my brother and his girlfriend in the mountains near to a little town called Grant, Colorado. We pitched the tents right next to a loud and rushing river, hurrying down the mountain, rich with white sediment and red rocks. It was idyllic and beautiful (in Hebrew: "Me'od pastorali.") We grilled burgers and bratwurst over a fire, spent a night (so co-o-o-ld) and had oatmeal, corn, and hot chocolate. It was awesome. It had been years since I had been camping (and it was a first for Elana), and it was such a, well, Colorado thing to do; now, having seen my family and friends and having spent a night in a tent in the mountains, I can go to LA feeling like I really visited my home state. Only one thing remains that must be done, and that is watch a Broncos game. The Broncos are perhaps the largest piece of Denver's identity (for better or for worse, that fact), and a true Denver experience must include a couple of hours of orange and blue on Sunday. Fortunately, the season opens tonight against Kansas City, and I will be in my family's living room, along with a crowd of friends, to enjoy the game. Since this may be the only Broncos game I get to watch this year, and since the NHL doesn't look like it's going to get its act together for there to be a hockey season, this is my Super Bowl and Stanley Cup Finals all in one.

Of course, I'm very much looking forward to LA, too. LA is not only where Elana's family lives, but also where a plurality, if not a majority, of our friends are, too; some because Elana went to high school with them, and some because they more or less coincidentally ended up there after Brandeis, and some because they made friends with our friends. We have almost a month there, for which I am very grateful.

Now a few things remain to be done: pack and clean, of course, and we have promised the football crowd some of our homemade guacamole, and that requires a grocery run for cilantro. Goodbye from a mile high; see you in Hollywood!

-------

September 1, 2004

Arrivaderci, Montecastello di Vibio and Italy!

This is my last entry from Montecastello, which I am writing on my computer knowing full well that I will probably not have a chance to post it to the internet before we arrive in Denver. For one thing, there are fewer than twenty-four hours remaining before we take off from Da Vinci Airport, and for another, the cheap-o blank CDs I have been using to transfer these thoughts from my computer to the internet (via the computer of the art school) are already packed deep inside my overstuffed luggage, and I'll be damned if anything short of a divine command makes me open that zipper again.

I realize at this point that I have written almost nothing of the town that was our home for the last four weeks (and Elana's for another week before that). There are a million things I could write about at length. The people of the town; like Gian-Marino, the older man who loves Elana's paintings and has turned the words "Ciao Elana" into a single word, "chouielana." Like Giovanni, the most powerful man in town--no, he's not in the mafia (far as I know), he's not the mayor (though I have no doubt he could be), he's not the patron of a big family. He owns the bar. Like the baker's daughter, a girl of 14 or 15 who seemed to be everywhere at once, and who had a reputation as the town's greatest manufacturer of mischief. Like the many people of the elder generation, who absolutely sing "buon giorno!" and some of whom look after the many distinct animals of Montecastello. Take Snoopy, the little brown dog that lives near Elana's studio. Or Barnaby (our name, not the town's), the gentlest stray one could imagine. This is not to mention the ten or so cats who truly own the town, some of them friendly to the point of menace, some who run under the nearest stone at the mere approach of a human, and some who simply dismiss the humans as irrelevent to life in Montecastello. Just outside the town, there are roosters who would serenade Elana and me as we walked up the steep and long hill to get to the town, roosters we have named (for obvious reasons) "Err-er-errrr!" and "Arr-ar-arrrr!" They would alternate crows as we'd pass, creating an effect not too unlike the song "Better than You" from "Annie Get Your Gun."

Then there was the town itself, with spectacular views in four directions, narrow stone streets and three- to four-story buildings, built of the same castle stone and brick. It was like a maze at first, but gradually you learn where each alley, stairway, and path leads. There was no distance in the town, the same way there is no difference between one's bedroom and the kitchen. Once you are inside the keep, it was not any sort of a difficulty to get anywhere in town; the town is less than a square mile in size, and since it's all of the same stone, it all feels like a single building, simply with outside passageways. The trek up to the town was considerably more difficult.

There were the people of the school: Joe, who ran the show while the real head of the school was out of town (as he has been, for the past three weeks), and who allowed me to eat in the lunchroom with the students (a big thank you goes out to him on that one), rates a special mention, as does one of the teachers (Barry) from Baltimore. Games of Ultimate Frisbee, which both Elana and I played; I used to think that if this one guy from New Orleans and I were on the same team, that team always won, until I realized that I had nothing to do with the equation, and he just won every time regardless.

The food of the school, which was really good; the food I learned how to make, experimenting with olive oil, vegetables, chicken, rosemary, and (of course--we are in Italy, after all) garlic. The Gelato. The absolute freshness of everything. The Gelato. Did I mention the Gelato?

Hanging out with people at Giovanni's bar. Being social, meeting new friends, getting to know older friends better.

The irony of being unplugged and recharging. It's hard to imagine how liberating it is not to have easy internet access, not to be tied to a cellphone, not to watch television, and to ignore the news. Obviously, these days, that is not a way one can live and truly be a citizen of the world. But everyone needs to unplug every once in a while, hope that the world will manage without you if you stop following news for a month, and regain some perspective.

Elana's art. She has painted some truly spectacular things, which I will share here when we get them in digital form.

And finally, of course, the chance to get a lot of work done on my part. I finished one paper, and half finished another: not as much as I'd hoped to do, but half a paper more than I needed.

And now, as we pack up all the paintings, art supplies, and clothes, clean up the villa and Elana's studio, and relax for one last day in Italy, we move forward with a feeling of an opportunity for growth and relaxation seized, and a readiness to commence life once again. Still, I am grateful for the chance to ease ourselves back into it; most of Elana's classmates are returning to Israel tomorrow, while our plane heads the other direction, for a much-anticipated visit with each side of our family and friends.

- posted by @ 9:36 PM