Disgust. There are a lot of things to be utterly disgusted with around here. I feel disgust constantly. It's usually aimed at opinions that differ from mine; minute triggers related to lifestyles that differ from mine; ways of communicating I don't agree with. Shame. That is something I feel less often, but it does come... Continue Reading →
Sleep soundly, children of Israel, for who knows how long before your innocence is lost.
Living here is not normal. Life here pushes through - the normal, the stubborn, the ups, the downs - the not normal, the horror, the grief, the methods, the madness. Life here is limbo. Life here is business as usual. Life here is waiting. Life here is death. Life here is moving on. Life here... Continue Reading →
Day 10. My god. This country. What is more complicated than this goddamn country? This is a news segment on Channel 10 [Hebrew] profiling a father of a Makor Chaim schoolmate of the two 16-year-old kidnapped boys. He is also Dr. Dudi Mishali, a 20-year Tel HaShomer baby heart surgeon. He opens the chests of... Continue Reading →
Day 7. I believe you are alive. I believe you'll be ok. I hope you do, too. We're waiting for you. We're doing the age-old Israeli dance - living a disrupted, regular life. Go to work, go to school, put the kids to bed, kiss each other goodnight. While we hope for you. We think... Continue Reading →
It's sadly a familiar feeling. Refreshing the news every hour and every hour thinking, 'fuck.'
I made it till 1:34pm today without hearing, reading, or talking about Syria, gas masks, or missiles. The biggest news, since the US didn't strike when everyone assumed (yesterday), is the fact that Israelis are waiting hours, sometimes whole days, in line at gas mask handout points. Only 60% of Israelis are equipped with up-to-date... Continue Reading →
That first year I interned at my first paper, there was a day that always stuck with me for some reason, even after I quit journalism. We were sitting around the conference table, a bunch of us young students, listening to our seasoned head editor. She was talking emphatically about the Line. That included photos... Continue Reading →
Sitting with Bebe on the couch. Flipping through a Time magazine. "Tomatoes!" "Yeah! That's right." "Balloons!" "Yup." "Ima!" She points to the photograph of an unidentified woman holding a picture of Arafat Jaradat, the Palestinian prisoner who died while in Israeli custody. And then she repeats it. "Ima!" And points to me.