Here we are, just shy of August 1st, thrust in the middle of the 9 days, and here I am, poised to get married in just over a week.
I wonder why I am so calm. The stress is mostly from the religious battle I’ve been waging in my head and in my house, and there is some minimal scurrying about to prepare for my family coming (all together for the first time in Israel).
As far as getting married, I am so calm. And it’s especially ironic, because I was the girl everyone said would get married last. I’d be the career lady, the traveler, the serial dater.
Maybe I’m calm because I’ve finally learned that you can’t control everything; that all you can do is make some moves for yourself and accept the results and keep an open head. No, I hadn’t meant to be married this year; in fact I promised someone else I wouldn’t do it. Yet, here I am. I found someone, and it’s as simple as that. I found someone who fits perfectly, and though shocked, I get it.
I’ve stayed away from math but the formula here is clear: this is the right person at the right time in the right place.
Going with my theme lately: Someone is actually acknowledging the difference between religion and actions taken for religion.
My cousin was interviewed as a Northern Israel villager on NPR.
You can hear it here:
Israeli Settlers Staying Put, Despite the Rockets
Note: My cousin is not a settler. The title is a grave misnomer. My cousin lives on what is called in Hebrew a yishuv – ‘settlement’ – a residential town. She is not living in the West Bank, Shaba Farms or the Gaza Strip. She is within the Green Line, as are the other Northerners getting hit with rockets. That’s what makes this clearly war.
No one from outside Israel, especially the media, seems to understand the difference or care to get it right. It’s very frustrating.
We were gathered ’round the news (which is awful). I went to the kitchen to get everyone some more water, and as I was closing the fridge, I heard a fairly loud explosion, different from the nightly fireworks by the local arsim.
“Did anyone hear that?”
Exactly a minute later, the TV reported that a peguah happened in Armon HaNatziv.
Sound familiar? Armon HaNatziv is the small neighborhood where we’re getting married. It neighbors a few peaceful Jerusalem Arab villages.
Me and my almost-cousin headed to our big bay window and could see the neighborhood in the near distance. We watched at nothing and wondered.
That was pretty much reality biting. My first concern was that my parents wouldn’t hear – or understand – the news. The second was to find out more details.
After finding out more, it came to light that it wasn’t actually a suicide bombing, or a bombing at all, but a Palestinian ‘gunmen’ working his way into Jerusalem. The police were attempting to stop him and he shot two of them, one seriously injured and one lightly. The gunmen was shot afterward.
I’m in the city and it smells like fried chicken.
It’s the 9 days and I’m in the city.
I was disengaged from my apartment for dressing like a ——-.
I was wearing a t-shirt and a skirt.
“Someone who cannot protect his freedom does not deserve it.” [Haaretz]
–Captain Ori Lavie of the Golani Brigade’s 13th Battalion, Company A, about to go into Lebanon.
Well, we’ve come a long way, haven’t we?
Waited for the bus with an Israeli version of Billy Bob Thornton.
I wonder if it has to do with the fact that I read a crazy page about methamphetamine last night.