There are many highlights to neither of the dwarves being in an institution just yet. Instead of a frenetic scramble at 7am to pile the Lozenge onto a school bus, we can spend a couple of hours together in the mornings before I begin my working day at 8.30.
This morning the Lozenge crept into J's side of the bed, in his absence, at about 6am.
'Mummy. How many days until Christmas?'
Then some singing: 'Twinkle twi...Twinkle twinkle..tw...twiin...no...
...Umm...Mummy, I've forgotten the tune to twinkle twinkle little star. Will you sing it?'
I've tried in vain to cajole them into daytime activities with various groups around town so the dwarves don't become completely wild and untamed. But my ideas, on the whole, have been a great disaster. The music class run by an alarming Jewish matriarch resulted in the dwarves leaving the room in the middle of 'heads, shoulders, knees and toes', to play on a scooter outside. She didn't exactly help by shrieking at Rashimi: 'What have you done with my plastic frogs???!! I used to have 12 and now there's only 7.' Bang went that plan, quicker than a sweaty paw on one of her bongos.
Then there was the excitement of finding the Arab sports centre a few metres from our gate which boasted Taekwondo and Karate. We went along for a look, and after seeing some very large and rather too capable looking Palestinian boys kick a cushion very hard, very high in the air, over and over again for 20 minutes, the Lozenge wasn't going anywhere near, 'ever, never, again'. Rashimi is still too small for it, but I did notice a certain fixedness in his concentration as we watched. Perhaps he thought it a useful skill as the smaller dwarf.
Instead we've been busy doing other things like making a vending machine (the Lozenge's idea)
and dressing up, with St Grace a very natural cowgirl.
Yes, it's that donkey again.
If nothing else it means we enjoy our time together and the days are as carefree as they could be in this bizarre city. Today we found a beautiful park below the Cinematheque which cascades down a slope lined with ancient olive trees, rosemary bushes and rocks, sitting snugly below the Old City walls. The dwarves just ran and ran for the whole afternoon, their legs tripping over themselves in their excitement at the wide green space. St Grace and I pilfered a small rosemary plant as we can't find it anywhere in the garden shops.
The best bit about pranking about with the dwarves is there's very little head space left for any form of deep thought about the country we're in - unless one of them is asking a question, which are admittedly becoming a little more searching as their legs grow longer and their heads more inquisitive.
But after dwarf bed time the other day, I was soon nose-to-screen with laptop, reminiscent of the Lozenge's snout squashed against the iPad, watching a documentary called: 'The Do-Gooders' by a British director. It was fascinating, but put another cat among the pigeons in my head, which is already full enough of the flapping wings of confusion.
The director goes to Palestine on a journey in the steps of her Grandparents who were fervent advocates of the cause, and worked with UNRWA (United Nations Relief and Works Agency) which has provided emergency relief, education, health care and social services to the Palestinian people since 1948 when the State of Israel was created.
She wants to understand what Palestine is now, and who is helping. But she is very disappointed by what she finds - from a group of smug and inexperienced young volunteers in Nablus, to multi billion dollar projects being run by USAID and other agencies, who she sees are supporting the occupation with one hand, whilst feeding the Palestinians with the other.
One of the Palestinians in her film asks her something to the tune of: 'Why don't you guys stay at home and work on your own problems? Why do you have to come here with your white person's camera and your white person's views and tell us how we should be doing things?'
In her view, Palestinians would be much better off with no aid at all. Without it, she claims, Palestinians would sort themselves out. It's hardly a new argument, but somehow because we live here, it made the film all the more disturbing, because I wondered which part I was complicit in simply by living here, and perhaps getting the odd bit of work from the humanitarian agencies here - albeit in a storytelling capacity. But I was always of the impression that to do nothing, is worse. Perhaps not?
Chris, the head man at UNRWA suggests Chloe, the director should try and talk to the Quartet, comprised of the USA, EU, UN, Russia and whose special envoy is Tony Blair. Unlike a braver and more transparent Chris from UNRWA, who seemed decent and put up a good fight (and incidentally just turned me down for my offer of skills for his cause since he's employing as many Palestinians as he can in lieu of internationals, due to the dreadful Gaza blockades and enormous unemployment in the West Bank).
But of course, no one from the Quartet would talk to Chloe, or even comment, and stayed within the confines of their glitzy offices which we can almost see from our house here in Jerusalem.
I've often wondered at what point USAID's logo of a handshake, with the strap line: 'From the American people' becomes more of a political tool - particularly in the case of Israel/Palestine, when the same United States are supporting the Israeli Defence Forces and the very occupation that's causing the need for aid.
It's a good film - with some important issues gutsily tackled.
But most of the time my mind is in an uncomfortable state, in this uncomfortable State. Probably also because just to walk down the street, you find yourself battling from the inside out, with your own prejudices and preconceptions, before drawing anywhere near a conclusion that you feel you could repeat to anyone other than your Mum. Which was why it was an even greater blessing she's just been staying.
There's a passage in the book I'm reading which struck a chord, this week in particular, as we're slowly invited as new comers to this country, to peep between the cracks and witness the shades of grey that are hidden between the polarised nature of the politics here.
The book, 'The Lemon Tree', by Sandy Tolan is a wonderfully researched account of two families - one Muslim Arab and one Bulgarian Jewish, who are intrinsically linked by a house, from which the Arab family was forced out, and into which the Bulgarians were invited to move, as the Israeli state was built.
The tale is non-fiction though reads like a novel, and in one passage, two of the protagonists - Dalia, daughter of the Bulgarian immigrants and Bashir, son of the Arab family - meet each other and begin an unlikely friendship.
Dalia has an internal monologue during one of their awkward conversations about ownership and the right to live in this land: 'Each had chosen to reside within the contradiction. They were enemies, and they were friends. Therefore, Dalia believed, they had reason to keep talking. The conversation itself was worth protecting.'
Also this week, I was given the opportunity by a friend to go and meet a bit of potentially, and much longed-for, normality in the form of a Jewish lady living in Katamon (a Jerusalem district that was first developed by wealthy Arabs at the beginning of the 20th Century), who was born a decade or so before 1948, and invited me to her house. Interestingly, Katamon was also the district where Suha, the founder of the Darat gallery I just made the film about, was raised. Suha is the daughter of an Arab family, forced to leave that very same district in 1948.
The district itself is leafy and calm, with the ubiquitous blue and white Israeli flag fluttering from many car windows and balconies. I didn't know what to expect, and I wondered to myself what I would do if faced with a hardliner, over morning tea and cake. How brave was I? Would I set down the tea cup and leave? What did people do in these situations during apartheid or the American civil rights movement? Should you sip the PG Tips belonging a racist?
Two hours later I emerged from her welcoming flat, after animated conversation, and lots of tea and incredibly delicious cinnamon and raisin cake, which I didn't have to refuse, feeling that a ray of light had been shed on another way of being in this country. Her parents came here as part of the socialist movement, and whilst she is evidently fond of her homeland having moved back here recently after over 40 years in the UK, in her own words: 'This country and this city has changed beyond all belief: the right wingers, the ever increasing number of ultra orthodox Jewish populations and those terrible, terrible settlements. And the worst bit is that many of my friends, who are also liberal, are dying on me, as we're getting to that age.'
I hope to have made another septuagenarian friend, (true to form after our extra-septuagenarian Jordanian experience). And I can't wait for us to have more conversations with our husbands in tow.
This morning the Lozenge crept into J's side of the bed, in his absence, at about 6am.
'Mummy. How many days until Christmas?'
Then some singing: 'Twinkle twi...Twinkle twinkle..tw...twiin...no...
...Umm...Mummy, I've forgotten the tune to twinkle twinkle little star. Will you sing it?'
I've tried in vain to cajole them into daytime activities with various groups around town so the dwarves don't become completely wild and untamed. But my ideas, on the whole, have been a great disaster. The music class run by an alarming Jewish matriarch resulted in the dwarves leaving the room in the middle of 'heads, shoulders, knees and toes', to play on a scooter outside. She didn't exactly help by shrieking at Rashimi: 'What have you done with my plastic frogs???!! I used to have 12 and now there's only 7.' Bang went that plan, quicker than a sweaty paw on one of her bongos.
Then there was the excitement of finding the Arab sports centre a few metres from our gate which boasted Taekwondo and Karate. We went along for a look, and after seeing some very large and rather too capable looking Palestinian boys kick a cushion very hard, very high in the air, over and over again for 20 minutes, the Lozenge wasn't going anywhere near, 'ever, never, again'. Rashimi is still too small for it, but I did notice a certain fixedness in his concentration as we watched. Perhaps he thought it a useful skill as the smaller dwarf.
Instead we've been busy doing other things like making a vending machine (the Lozenge's idea)
Yes, it's that donkey again.
If nothing else it means we enjoy our time together and the days are as carefree as they could be in this bizarre city. Today we found a beautiful park below the Cinematheque which cascades down a slope lined with ancient olive trees, rosemary bushes and rocks, sitting snugly below the Old City walls. The dwarves just ran and ran for the whole afternoon, their legs tripping over themselves in their excitement at the wide green space. St Grace and I pilfered a small rosemary plant as we can't find it anywhere in the garden shops.
The best bit about pranking about with the dwarves is there's very little head space left for any form of deep thought about the country we're in - unless one of them is asking a question, which are admittedly becoming a little more searching as their legs grow longer and their heads more inquisitive.
But after dwarf bed time the other day, I was soon nose-to-screen with laptop, reminiscent of the Lozenge's snout squashed against the iPad, watching a documentary called: 'The Do-Gooders' by a British director. It was fascinating, but put another cat among the pigeons in my head, which is already full enough of the flapping wings of confusion.
The director goes to Palestine on a journey in the steps of her Grandparents who were fervent advocates of the cause, and worked with UNRWA (United Nations Relief and Works Agency) which has provided emergency relief, education, health care and social services to the Palestinian people since 1948 when the State of Israel was created.
She wants to understand what Palestine is now, and who is helping. But she is very disappointed by what she finds - from a group of smug and inexperienced young volunteers in Nablus, to multi billion dollar projects being run by USAID and other agencies, who she sees are supporting the occupation with one hand, whilst feeding the Palestinians with the other.
One of the Palestinians in her film asks her something to the tune of: 'Why don't you guys stay at home and work on your own problems? Why do you have to come here with your white person's camera and your white person's views and tell us how we should be doing things?'
In her view, Palestinians would be much better off with no aid at all. Without it, she claims, Palestinians would sort themselves out. It's hardly a new argument, but somehow because we live here, it made the film all the more disturbing, because I wondered which part I was complicit in simply by living here, and perhaps getting the odd bit of work from the humanitarian agencies here - albeit in a storytelling capacity. But I was always of the impression that to do nothing, is worse. Perhaps not?
Chris, the head man at UNRWA suggests Chloe, the director should try and talk to the Quartet, comprised of the USA, EU, UN, Russia and whose special envoy is Tony Blair. Unlike a braver and more transparent Chris from UNRWA, who seemed decent and put up a good fight (and incidentally just turned me down for my offer of skills for his cause since he's employing as many Palestinians as he can in lieu of internationals, due to the dreadful Gaza blockades and enormous unemployment in the West Bank).
But of course, no one from the Quartet would talk to Chloe, or even comment, and stayed within the confines of their glitzy offices which we can almost see from our house here in Jerusalem.
I've often wondered at what point USAID's logo of a handshake, with the strap line: 'From the American people' becomes more of a political tool - particularly in the case of Israel/Palestine, when the same United States are supporting the Israeli Defence Forces and the very occupation that's causing the need for aid.
It's a good film - with some important issues gutsily tackled.
But most of the time my mind is in an uncomfortable state, in this uncomfortable State. Probably also because just to walk down the street, you find yourself battling from the inside out, with your own prejudices and preconceptions, before drawing anywhere near a conclusion that you feel you could repeat to anyone other than your Mum. Which was why it was an even greater blessing she's just been staying.
There's a passage in the book I'm reading which struck a chord, this week in particular, as we're slowly invited as new comers to this country, to peep between the cracks and witness the shades of grey that are hidden between the polarised nature of the politics here.
The book, 'The Lemon Tree', by Sandy Tolan is a wonderfully researched account of two families - one Muslim Arab and one Bulgarian Jewish, who are intrinsically linked by a house, from which the Arab family was forced out, and into which the Bulgarians were invited to move, as the Israeli state was built.
The tale is non-fiction though reads like a novel, and in one passage, two of the protagonists - Dalia, daughter of the Bulgarian immigrants and Bashir, son of the Arab family - meet each other and begin an unlikely friendship.
Dalia has an internal monologue during one of their awkward conversations about ownership and the right to live in this land: 'Each had chosen to reside within the contradiction. They were enemies, and they were friends. Therefore, Dalia believed, they had reason to keep talking. The conversation itself was worth protecting.'
Also this week, I was given the opportunity by a friend to go and meet a bit of potentially, and much longed-for, normality in the form of a Jewish lady living in Katamon (a Jerusalem district that was first developed by wealthy Arabs at the beginning of the 20th Century), who was born a decade or so before 1948, and invited me to her house. Interestingly, Katamon was also the district where Suha, the founder of the Darat gallery I just made the film about, was raised. Suha is the daughter of an Arab family, forced to leave that very same district in 1948.
The district itself is leafy and calm, with the ubiquitous blue and white Israeli flag fluttering from many car windows and balconies. I didn't know what to expect, and I wondered to myself what I would do if faced with a hardliner, over morning tea and cake. How brave was I? Would I set down the tea cup and leave? What did people do in these situations during apartheid or the American civil rights movement? Should you sip the PG Tips belonging a racist?
Two hours later I emerged from her welcoming flat, after animated conversation, and lots of tea and incredibly delicious cinnamon and raisin cake, which I didn't have to refuse, feeling that a ray of light had been shed on another way of being in this country. Her parents came here as part of the socialist movement, and whilst she is evidently fond of her homeland having moved back here recently after over 40 years in the UK, in her own words: 'This country and this city has changed beyond all belief: the right wingers, the ever increasing number of ultra orthodox Jewish populations and those terrible, terrible settlements. And the worst bit is that many of my friends, who are also liberal, are dying on me, as we're getting to that age.'
I hope to have made another septuagenarian friend, (true to form after our extra-septuagenarian Jordanian experience). And I can't wait for us to have more conversations with our husbands in tow.
The Park below the the Cinematheque is wonderful indeed. One the most beautiful views in my opinion in Jerusalem is this park especially in early spring when everything is green, fresh and blooming. You can enter it from the eastern northern side - near the old city walls. There's a road that goes down and stairs which lead to it. Looking at this park from there with its topography and the green slopes remind me a bit of "Heidi, Girl of the Alps" or something ,and the nice buildings of the Cinematheque and the mount zion hotel in the background are beautiful to see.
ReplyDeleteThere's another green spot in the area of the Valley of the Cross near the Israel museum.
There's a nice view of it from the Rehavia neighborhood (Saadiah Gaon street), and from there you can take a winding path to this valley amidst many rosemary bushes and pines. In February there are also many almond trees in blossom.
This area is connected to Sacher Park which has a bigger area of green grass compared to the park near the Cinematheque, although it's maybe not as interesting visually.
I think that there should be activities for children in the Israel musuem which is close to this area (probably though might be too hard for small children to walk uphill to the museum from there on foot). I don't know if these activities are in English.
Also there are things like the bird observatory or the botanic gardens that could be fun for children (haven't been there in person).
Your friend is right about Jerusalem (and Israel in general) becoming more religious, mainly because of the higher birthrate of the religious population, but there are still pockets of a secular Jewish population in Jerusalem, so if you're looking for activities for your children in a less religious environment these should exist in a more secular areas, maybe in neighborhoods like Beit HaKerem or Kiryat HaYovel, but they may not be in English. Most of the recent English speaking Jewish population in Jerusalem tend to be religious to a greater or lesser extent.