Light and dark, and a birthday brunch

The house soon felt more like a university digs with the Glammy, her sister, St Grace and the dwarves lounging about watching The Little Mermaid and playing hide and seek. Rashimi spent the first morning with the Glammy in their pyjamas, looking for bugs in the garden with a shoehorn and a sock on his hand.

I showed Mum this picture and she said: 'I somehow don't think Rashimi will go for blondes when he's older.'

St Grace showed them about the city - to the wonderful Mehane Yehuda market, where the Glammy came back exclaiming: 'Israeli men are HOT! I couldn't work out whether to stare at all the amazing food on display or them.' And then to Bethlehem where the guard heard that the raven haired ladies were Jordanian and ushered them quickly to the front of the queue. It's extremely difficult for Jordanians to visit Israel and Palestine so they were treated as honoured guests. They visited Mary's cave where allegedly she gave birth to Jesus. St Grace managed to persuade the Glammy out of drinking the 'milk' there which is created from shavings from the wall of the cave mixed with water, which allegedly helps women who are hoping for a child. Since the Glammy's name is the Arabic for the Virgin Mary she felt there was an extra connection. 'When you find a husband, you can come and drink the milk,' explained St Grace, laughing. She's in awe of the Glammy's romantic revolving door - spinning men out of her life as quickly as they came in. 'First you are friends. Then you can have the love. If you do it the other way, you will not be happy,' lectured St Grace to the Glammy.

We drove to some springs on the Israeli side of the Dead Sea and the Glammy recited most of Dr Seuss 'My name is Sam, I am, I am. Do you like green eggs and ham?' to the dwarfs in the back which meant no one asked for the iPad. The boys stripped off and swam in the little rocky pools. The raven haired beauties and I spectated from the safety of a rock.

The night before Rashimi's third birthday, the kitchen was a cloud of self raising flour and icing sugar, to an accompaniment of the Kinks. Rashimi pranced around the house in a half skip with a naked bottom, while the Lozenge tried to inflate balloons and bake fairy cakes all at once. The balloons were then cordially low slung about the house meaning any one taller than a dwarf had static balloon brushes to the head and face through every doorway. The Glammy hung the birthday banner only to realise she'd hung it backwards, Arabic style

Then we had a candlelit dinner all together but the dwarves kept blowing out the candles. We realised the only candles they see are birthday ones. They gobbled fish pie and we drank red wine which fueled J and I for a late night wrapping session of all the amazing trucks and toys from the Grandparents and others back home.

Rashimi's 'brunth' as he called it was a hoot. The trick with children's parties is to make them adult friendly. And we soon had lots of bleary eyed parents putting down their coffee cups and reaching for the jug of bloody mary. The Glammy tried some too.

 The 'brunth' was over and done with by 1pm so we watched our first film altogether - the first of the Harry Potter series which now looks quite dated - mostly because Daniel Radcliffe now has a beard and probably children. The dwarves loved it for a while, but we had to switch off half way as the Lozenge found it too scary. He's just started to be afraid of the dark. 'I don't like dark, I like light, Mummy. I don't like black, I like yellow.'

As we drove to school the next day, through the rain drenched streets, the Haredim - orthodox men - were resplendent with the plastic bags covering their precious hats to protect them from the raindrops. In this city where so many people flock to find true light, there is a growing amount of darkness. A Palestinian bus driver was found hanging in his bus from a wire - the Palestinians are sure he was murdered. He had a young family and no reason to take his own life, they say. Then further horror as a Synagogue was attacked by two young Palestinian cousins wielding knives and axes. An Israeli friend said: 'I'm really not the religious type, and I often think these orthodox guys all decked out in their relgious clothing are ridiculous. But no one deserves to die like that.'

The Palestinian perpetrators, who were shot dead by police, came from a district in Jerusalem called Jabal Makaber. I read a bit about it. Like many Arab areas in East Jerusalem, it is plagued by settlements that have sprung up in the area; house demolitions are rife. These people have no rights, and nowhere to go. Here is a post from 2010 by Peace Now, a leading voice of Israeli public pressure for peace:

A New Settlement in Jabel Mukaber

A new Jewish settlement was established this morning in the East Jerusalem neighborhood of Jabel Mukaber (not too far from Jerusalem headquarters of the United Nations). Israeli police evicted the Palestinian family from their home and handed the property over to private guards working for the settlers.
The reason for the eviction? An Israeli court ruled that the house had been purchased a foreign company called “Lowell Investments,” registered in the Turks and Caicos Islands. And Lowell Investments is represented in Israel by David Be’eri, one of the leaders of the Elad settler organization, the well-funded and politically powerful settler organization.
The family says that the sale is fraud. Possible and also possible not. The court ruled it isn’t. Many sales are secret so Palestinians can have deniability. Many sales are also done in a sleazy manner – getting one family member to sell out ownership rights for the entire extended family.

The Israeli state has created its own monster and is being eaten alive by it. You wonder how different 2015 might be, if Israel could promise to crack down on the building of illegal settlements. A tiny gesture like that, might allow some chinks of light into the dark corridor of the future.

This week, I met with a university lecturer from the US who is living and working in Ramallah, and she said the situation reminds her of the tale of the native American Indians, who were slowly and determinedly driven from their own land. Perhaps, as a British woman I know who married a Palestinian remarked, 'their natural warmth and hospitality has been their Achilles heel.'

The Lozenge and I went to his music class with his beautiful French-Israeli teacher. The road was almost empty, the Synagogue murder having taken place that morning, with both Palestinians and Israelis staying sheltered in their homes for fear of retribution attacks. Each music session L's teacher and I get to know each other a little better. 'Do you think you can make a difference here?' she asked me. We both agreed that we could be of limited use, but just by trying to live with an open mind, inviting all types into our lives, encouraging our children to see everyone as equal and hear both languages, was a start. And not to take fright and run away, we agreed. She arrived here 15 years ago from France and married an Israeli, just as the second intifada begun. 'I have barely known peace,' she said, 'but I love my life here.' A large cushion on her sofa was emblazoned with: 'Do what you love'. She is a lovely and creative force for good here, there's no doubt.

The Lozenge and I drove back through the dark and empty road, alongside the light rail train, usually packed with both Israelis and Palestinians returning home at that time in the evening. That night it was a ghost train - seats empty with all the lights on.

People drive with caution these days as recently, there have been enough cars used intentionally to mow down pedestrians to make us all remember we are driving a weapon. I saw an Arab family in a small car turn a corner while a Jewish man in yarmulka cap, was about to cross the road. The headscarves ladies stopped their car, waving him on and smiling, as if to say: 'We promise we're not trying to run you down.' He waved back at them and smiled, holding his cap in place as he ran to the other side.

This city houses reasonable minded people, also. It's important not to succumb to the panic.

I took the dwarves to a tennis class with the Lozenge's little French friend, Julien, or 'Julie Ann' as Rashimi calls him. The light was fading and Rashimi pointed to the sky. 'Look Mummy, a hot air balloon.' 'Yes Washimi, that'th the balloon that takes pictures of us,' answered the Lozenge.

'I will fly a hot air balloon when I'm grower and grower', said Rashimi.

I wondered how much of our lives they see from up there through the giant CCTV in the sky. There seem to be more of them than ever these days. An over-policed state is a frightened state, and how can this ever make things safer?