tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11026239233297196532024-03-16T20:52:32.796+02:00Ellis Shuman WritesNews, reviews, Israel, Bulgaria, and everything in betweenEllis Shumanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07884885978804222016noreply@blogger.comBlogger635125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102623923329719653.post-32961732871233616952024-03-09T08:48:00.000+02:002024-03-09T08:48:25.142+02:00I Run the Jerusalem Marathon 10K and Finish in 18th Place in My Age Category<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidXF48yKw4qMwPIFdghWpIhCfBC6BsCxK87Y1VEpx2trMlyfGQp2j2i2rJ6TG3ZMbemjji3lHH0y2mMbyTQN92l8o-fKYcc4bA84oFSzuzf1Wq0OMV7TeeZ4yFDhQ3nX40uqZUoLWCuv-knyTPblde5DQZ2nG4n77q1xYLcVc0U2xhlD916ynJExb0AUg/s580/1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="580" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidXF48yKw4qMwPIFdghWpIhCfBC6BsCxK87Y1VEpx2trMlyfGQp2j2i2rJ6TG3ZMbemjji3lHH0y2mMbyTQN92l8o-fKYcc4bA84oFSzuzf1Wq0OMV7TeeZ4yFDhQ3nX40uqZUoLWCuv-knyTPblde5DQZ2nG4n77q1xYLcVc0U2xhlD916ynJExb0AUg/w400-h241/1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Perfect weather for a run through the streets of Jerusalem and the alleyways
of the Old City. I last ran the Jerusalem Marathon's 10K race in 2019 and I was
excited to do it again. The course is challenging, with a number of steep
inclines, but I finished with a time of 1 hour and 6 minutes. This ranked me in
18th place out of 87 men in the 65-69 age category.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Amazingly, this was the exact same result as I had in the 2019 race, when
I was in a younger age category. Overall, I finished the 10K in 3596th place
out of 9,044 racers. I am very happy with my result!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTWmDOnJ3q-ci0AEgl376ECHDF_pROwoBBVgraeAPKZYyWbB7SnWwIyij19mgKH-A0Laa36e-dFZ-KPYB1I_JWrTdLizZ6LIvB7gYxO8lAVUiUBEruTlGnYSOzCKvJfndkNmmzKmiaZXu5ejPVVIoTzj6eHSgGw2F3OvycGSSdUHZyIWw250rtUkfKjA8/s580/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="383" data-original-width="580" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTWmDOnJ3q-ci0AEgl376ECHDF_pROwoBBVgraeAPKZYyWbB7SnWwIyij19mgKH-A0Laa36e-dFZ-KPYB1I_JWrTdLizZ6LIvB7gYxO8lAVUiUBEruTlGnYSOzCKvJfndkNmmzKmiaZXu5ejPVVIoTzj6eHSgGw2F3OvycGSSdUHZyIWw250rtUkfKjA8/w400-h264/2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b>Related articles:</b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://ellisshuman.blogspot.com/2021/02/the-tel-aviv-marathon-was-yesterday-i.html">The Tel Aviv Marathon was yesterday. I ran my 10 kilometer race today!</a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://ellisshuman.blogspot.com/2019/02/tel-aviv-marathon-man-i-run-10.html">Tel Aviv Marathon Man: I Run the 10 Kilometer Race</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://ellisshuman.blogspot.com/2019/03/jerusalem-is-much-harder-to-run-than.html">Jerusalem Is Much Harder to Run than Tel Aviv</a></div></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p>Ellis Shumanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07884885978804222016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102623923329719653.post-85737011721902642872024-03-06T07:08:00.003+02:002024-03-09T08:08:12.617+02:00My Short Story "Boxes" Published in 'Door Is A Jar' Literary Magazine<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2gJj06__mCLqYOFLexr3J9D_ZFjQNOf6C20hBYhOPuQ6HuK8-zGcW1EYcuMOjPwubi3N6S5oiEtbmZYHSkeDbFtsmz0uLFsVey2A3IUwBJbPYjzakhtsVafS2_P0muK5AwES34F7tzMhDRf6Gh1NYNm3aIbVdKW-H-OoRzOm2j0dx6hIAOvzEYB56FzI/s1416/door%20is%20a%20jar%202.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1416" data-original-width="922" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2gJj06__mCLqYOFLexr3J9D_ZFjQNOf6C20hBYhOPuQ6HuK8-zGcW1EYcuMOjPwubi3N6S5oiEtbmZYHSkeDbFtsmz0uLFsVey2A3IUwBJbPYjzakhtsVafS2_P0muK5AwES34F7tzMhDRf6Gh1NYNm3aIbVdKW-H-OoRzOm2j0dx6hIAOvzEYB56FzI/s320/door%20is%20a%20jar%202.jpg" width="208" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">I'm proud to announce
that my short story "Boxes" was published yesterday in the Spring
2024 edition of Door Is A Jar Literary Magazine.</p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Door Is A Jar Literary
Magazine is a quarterly print and digital publication of poetry, short fiction,
nonfiction, drama, artwork and book reviews. Issue 30, Spring 2024, of the
magazine is now live.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The new issue features
the creative works of 44 contributors from all around the world.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Door Is A Jar Literary
Magazine can be found on the newsstand in Barnes & Noble, Books-A-Million,
and independent bookstores nationwide.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Copies of the magazine
can be ordered directly from the <a href="https://www.doorisajarmagazine.net/issues/spring-2024" target="_blank">website</a>.</span></p>Ellis Shumanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07884885978804222016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102623923329719653.post-14924892575910212242024-02-27T09:55:00.001+02:002024-02-27T09:56:42.100+02:00"The Carpet Salesman" - short story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP9ivDBAO7RN3V_vqZmJ69OvRjPHC6DMrIZcMMWSiP1AyIVRPjAcSX5MkgSD8rquG8ZGWmFIuEGRHJ15Ja-uwue71AZKA35kRpX8WkdKMq1x7gGWWlYYHByTr1C6DJFwlhH0Qhyphenhyphen-MNDNkgUrmROW5M0uxrtIchZ3_RQcRI4oBr7mvLqnOv1JC_H2G_45M/s580/Carpet.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="343" data-original-width="580" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP9ivDBAO7RN3V_vqZmJ69OvRjPHC6DMrIZcMMWSiP1AyIVRPjAcSX5MkgSD8rquG8ZGWmFIuEGRHJ15Ja-uwue71AZKA35kRpX8WkdKMq1x7gGWWlYYHByTr1C6DJFwlhH0Qhyphenhyphen-MNDNkgUrmROW5M0uxrtIchZ3_RQcRI4oBr7mvLqnOv1JC_H2G_45M/w400-h236/Carpet.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Business in the carpet department was slow; in
fact, it was non-existent. Ziv sat behind his desk from the moment the store
opened in the morning until it closed for the night, and looked out at the furniture
displays with little to distract him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Occasionally, shoppers walked into Ziv’s
section of the floor and admired the classic handmade Persian carpets bearing
certificates of authenticity, or the multi-colored Boho-chic area rugs with
their handwoven geometric designs hanging from ceiling-high racks, but few expressed
real interest. For long hours, Ziv remained motionless and undisturbed. His
shift passed slowly, and he had to prevent himself from yawning and stay
presentable at all times. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“It’s minimum wage, but you’ll earn
substantial commissions,” the store manager had promised Ziv on his first day
of work, three months earlier. “Our carpets are of the highest quality and
sales will be good.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">But there were no sales. Ziv knew that the
imported carpets were over-priced and apparently the customers were aware of
this as well. Of all the departments in the store, Ziv’s was the least
successful, yet Management insisted it was to be manned full time. As long as
Ziv was available for shoppers, whenever they had questions to ask, and as long
as Ziv didn’t complain, he would keep his job, and for this he was grateful.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">When he finished work, Ziv boarded the bus for
the journey to his small apartment in a quiet Ramat Gan neighborhood. He
climbed three flights of stairs and unlocked his door. Immediately Charlie, his
ginger-colored cat, rubbed against his legs, purring in eager anticipation of
leftovers from the night before. Ziv couldn’t afford canned or packaged cat
food, but Charlie didn’t seem to mind. Before feeding him, Ziv picked up the
animal with affection, but Charlie had a mean streak and scratched Ziv’s cheek,
drawing blood.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">As Ziv stared into a mirror, holding a tissue
to the wound, he wondered where his life had gone off track. He had grown up in
a middle-class neighborhood with caring parents and three older siblings, but
he had lost touch with them after his army service. They refused to support him
when repeated failures in mathematics studies caused him to drop out of university.
“Get a hold on yourself,” his father said to him the last time Ziv had visited
home. “We love you, but it’s time for you to start your own life,” his mother
said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">He hadn’t seen them since.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<a name='more'></a>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">* * *<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Ziv enjoyed his morning cup of espresso. He
sat back contentedly and watched the first shoppers arrive, but none of them
strolled toward the carpet department. They were more attracted by the
discounted sofas and lounge chairs. On the far side of the store, someone was
discussing a double bed with Ziv’s manager. The only thing Ziv could think of
was how warm the coffee made him feel.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Sometimes Ziv was joined at the coffee machine
by Esti, the dining room salesperson. Esti was much older than him. She proudly
showed off pictures of her grandchildren whenever there was a significant
lifetime event to celebrate. Ziv preferred to drink his espresso in reflective
silence, but Esti took it upon herself to break him out of his quiet nature.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“Do you have a girlfriend, Ziv? You’re
certainly a handsome fellow.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">He shook his head, but that wasn’t enough to
stop her questions.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“Do you travel much? Mordechai, my late
husband, <i>zichrono le-bracha</i>, would take me all over Europe. Paris,
Rome—you name it! Ziv, you should travel. What are you doing here anyway,
working in this store? Carpets? Is that what you want to do with your life?
What about high-tech? Maybe you could work there!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Ziv rarely answered her, and when he did, it
was with short Yes-No responses. He knew Esti had only the best of intentions,
but a meaningful conversation with her was not possible. It wasn’t that he was
simply not talkative, but rather unable to express what lay hidden deep inside
him. He couldn’t, and he wouldn’t. No, he wasn’t capable of discussing any of
that with Esti, or with anyone else.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">But he did speak to Charlie each evening. Although
he hesitated to pick up the cat, fearful of another swipe of its claws, he
leaned down to pet it, to rub its fur over and over.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“That’s a good boy, Charlie. Are you all
right, sitting here in the apartment all day waiting for me to come home? You
know I’ll feed you, take care of you. And you know what, Charlie? You take care
of me as well! We’re a good team, Charlie. You and me against the world.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">After feeding his pet, Ziv sat down on the
sofa that he got secondhand for a bargain price and turned on the television.
It was the nightly newscast. Listening to the news was something he abhorred.
He preferred the reality shows, the ones where contestants competed to see who
was the best singer, the best dancer, or the one who could survive the most
difficult physical challenges. Ziv would never dream of participating in such
contests, but watching the shows gave him a sense of comfort.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">He was about to change channels and prepare
himself an omelet when the screen was filled with a breaking news report. There
had been clashes near Nablus—Israeli security forces in a gunfight with
suspected Palestinian terrorists. Although not all the details of the battle
could yet be released for publication, the serious grin of the newscaster
suggested there had been Israeli casualties.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Ziv’s head spun. The sound of gunfire, the
smell of fired weapons, the whizz of bullets overhead. His commander shouting
orders, a medic calling for help. <i>“Get down!” “Take cover!”</i> One soldier
raised his rifle and fired, and a terrorist fell from a rooftop. A grenade.
Smoke. And then, Ziv stepped back as an Israeli soldier dropped to the ground.
Right next to him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“Move!”</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"> his commander shouted at him. <i>“Ziv, move already!”</i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Ziv froze in place, eyes wide. He turned to his
commander, but Boaz had advanced into a forward position, commanding the unit to
take cover, to fire back at the terrorists. He should follow Boaz’s orders, he
knew, but he couldn’t move. He looked at his comrade lying on the ground, at
the medic already attending to his injuries. The blast of explosions, the bursts
of gunfire. The relentless ringing in his ears. Ziv glanced at the horrific
scene unfolding around him and lifted his arms to his helmeted head, as if he
could drown it all out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">The news continued with reports of a political
spat between government coalition partners, and an item about rising inflation,
but Ziv remained seated, thoughts of preparing his dinner long forgotten. Not
even Charlie’s jumping into his lap could calm him, could chase away painful
memories from the past.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">* * *<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“Good morning!” Esti’s warm greeting at the
coffee machine startled him, brought him back to the mundane reality of his
daily routine. “You look like you didn’t sleep enough. What time do you go to
bed, Ziv? I always eat an early dinner and get to bed by nine, nine-thirty
latest. Nothing like that saying—early to bed, early to rise. You should stay
in shape, get more exercise, by the way.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Ziv nodded at her, but didn’t say a word. He
raised his espresso in farewell and went back to his section of the floor. The
carpet department. His safe haven.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">How can you differentiate between an authentic
handmade rug and one that is mass-produced? Look at the reverse side. On a
machine-made rug you can see white netting. That is where the threads are
knotted. Woolen threads, sometimes synthetic fiber. You can barely see the
rug's pattern through this netting. And machine-made rugs are very stiff.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Handmade rugs are denser and more delicate.
And softer. The two sides look very similar. It is easy to see the rug's
pattern, even when viewed from the underside. To have real value, a rug's knots
must be hand-tied. It is easy to see the difference in quality, and that is why
handloomed carpets are more expensive.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Ziv knew this speech by heart; he was ready to
deliver it. He would turn over the rugs stacked near his desk, revealing the
reverse sides one by one. He would present the array of carpets hanging from
the ceiling, sliding them aside as each one came into view. Distinct patterns,
different colors. Geometric designs, free-style forms. Widths of one-and-a-half
meters and more. Lengths as long as three meters. Bigger carpets could be
ordered on demand.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">But Ziv rarely gave his practiced speech
because few customers ventured his way. The carpet department remained empty,
quiet, and that was just the way Ziv liked it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">* * *<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“Charlie, what have you been up to?” Ziv asked
when he returned home after another of his uneventful shifts. “I have leftover
tuna for you tonight! A real feast! I can hear you purring already.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">He knew he should avoid the nightly newscast, as
it only upset him, but he picked up the remote control anyway. He shouldn’t
listen to the news, but he couldn’t help himself. The commercials ended, and
the broadcast began. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“Two terrorists were killed in a gunfire
battle earlier this evening outside Nablus,” the broadcaster reported. “No
Israeli troops were injured in the incident. Let’s go to our military
correspondent in the field for further details.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">The newscast continued, but Ziv could no
longer heard the broadcaster’s voice, nor could he focus on the televised scenes
of the Palestinian village where the gun battle had taken place. His ears rang,
but it was with the sounds of a previous battle. The gunfire, the bullets
whizzing past his head, the moans of his injured comrade. <i>“Ziv, move already!”</i>
Boaz shouted, but Ziv was incapable of following his commander’s orders. The
smoke. The commotion. The confusion. He couldn’t move.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">* * *<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“There're rumors there are going to be
layoffs,” Esti whispered to him at the coffee machine. “Store profits are down.
People aren’t buying furniture like they used to.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Ziv sipped his coffee, only half listening to
his coworker’s words.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“I heard our manager is going to have a talk
with each of us,” Esti continued. “He’ll be discussing sales in each section.
If sales are not good, who knows? I can’t afford to lose this job, not at my
age! You, Ziv, are still young. You’ll have no problem finding somewhere else
to work. Well, have a good day!” she said, before walking off to the tables and
chairs in her department.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Look for a new job? No, that was more than he
could handle. It was true there were no carpet sales, but it was not his fault.
He was trying his best to win over shoppers, but he couldn’t force them to buy
carpets!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">What would he do if he lost his job? He had no
other skills, no college education to rely on. His parents wouldn’t help him,
he knew. How would he pay his bills? How would he afford to keep his apartment?
What would he do about Charlie? The ginger-colored feline had nobody else.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Ziv sat down behind his desk and rested his
head in his hands. Carpets—that was what he knew, and in reality, he hardly
knew anything at all about them. What was he capable of doing in life if he
couldn’t even sell the carpets in the store?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“We’re interested in an Oriental rug.
Something stylish, but not overbearing.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Ziv looked up. That voice—it sounded very
familiar. A man and a woman stood nearby, scrolling through the carpets hanging
from the ceiling. They touched the fabrics, dismissing each one in turn before moving
on to the next.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“What do you think?” the woman asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“I’m not sure. It wouldn’t match our furniture,”
the man replied.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Again, the voice he remembered. Ziv stood up,
but his knees nearly buckled when he recognized the shopper. Boaz! His
commander from the army!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“Ziv, move already!”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Words from his past. Memories of what
transpired in that gun battle were what haunted his dreams, what made him toss
back and forth through endless nightmares. Recollections of Boaz ordering him
to face the terrorists and their guns, to engage in a battle that could take
his life, toward gunfire that had already felled one of Ziv’s fellow soldiers.
A battle that raged on, in his mind, even now.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">In the store, Ziv froze in place, just as he
had frozen in fierce combat. Just as he remained frozen between the terrors of
his army days and his insecurities as a civilian. His feet were rooted to the
floor, almost as if they had been embedded in concrete. He ducked his head, as
if bullets were whizzing past. He reached for his gun, but of course, he had
taken the weapon off his shoulders long before. His eyes searched frantically for
signs of an enemy hiding behind the camouflaged bedroom sets. Or possibly, taking
cover in the forest of dining room chairs at the front of the store. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“Excuse me,” the woman called out impatiently.
“Can we get some help over here?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“Of course,” Ziv replied, snapping to
attention. “What exactly are you looking for?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“A carpet for our living room,” Boaz explained,
his hand on his wife’s arm. He looked straight at Ziv but showed no signs of
recognition. “Two meters by three meters. Where are these carpets imported
from?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">It was difficult for Ziv to put aside the pain
Boaz had caused him, the terror he had felt at every command Boaz had issued. Ziv
forced himself to concentrate on his role as a salesman. He knew these carpets,
he told himself, almost better than he knew anything else. Bravely, he answered
the couple’s questions. And then, at their request, he unbuckled one carpet
from the rack and rolled it out on the floor so that they could get the
sensation of walking on it. And finally, Ziv informed them of the price.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“Okay, we’ll take it,” Boaz announced, looking
at his wife for confirmation.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“Take it?” Ziv replied.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“Yes, we’ll buy it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“Good. Okay. Let’s sit down at my desk and I
will…”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Ziv prepared the paperwork and ran Boaz’s
credit card through the terminal. He gave the couple their receipt and went to
tie up the carpet and wrap it in protective plastic.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“Thank you,” the woman said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“Do I know you from somewhere?” Boaz asked as
he lifted the carpet roll to his shoulder. “No, I guess not,” he said when Ziv
didn’t respond.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">As they walked away, Ziv remained standing
next to his desk, trapped in final thoughts about the incursion into the
village. He remembered Boaz’s last words to him on the battlefield. As the
medics evacuated the injured soldier under gunfire, Boaz put his hand on Ziv’s
shoulder, holding him back not as a commander, but almost as a friend.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“It’s going to be alright, soldier,”</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"> Boaz had said. <i>“Now, let’s get the hell
out of here.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Ziv stared at the couple leaving the store,
but then his eyes wandered to the dining room sets. Esti stood next to a large
wooden table, smiling proudly at Ziv. She clapped her hands, applauding the
carpet sale, his first since coming to work at the store. Ziv nodded his head
at her and then saw his manager speaking to a woman near the entrance. The
manager looked over at Ziv and made a thumbs-up gesture, acknowledging Ziv’s
sale.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Ziv smiled as he stood next to his array of
colorful carpets. Maybe it was going to be alright after all.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 14.4pt;"># # #</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 14.4pt;">Originally published on <a href="https://florafiction.com/the-carpet-salesman-by-ellis-shuman/" target="_blank">Flora Fiction</a>.</span></p>Ellis Shumanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07884885978804222016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102623923329719653.post-80182961979588754682024-01-31T07:13:00.003+02:002024-02-02T18:39:45.478+02:00Introducing Max<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCMsf_MDqK-w1HQJ_-R4hoXZVoAU5KPNB_O_UdAuZMWfQOC4wrH90msl7ve8eTzlnj2JgUboZ5C6R_qSBfjNF8sNTpUDyhiB7tAbIUMhifRmpU7qRUyGzKUHzfLK8SltIjBQsPt2h6f8ofcH2mEpFIGQVEPL2Xy9dXXOf-v9sAga3rroakS__xFIFzoRk/s580/Max.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="326" data-original-width="580" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCMsf_MDqK-w1HQJ_-R4hoXZVoAU5KPNB_O_UdAuZMWfQOC4wrH90msl7ve8eTzlnj2JgUboZ5C6R_qSBfjNF8sNTpUDyhiB7tAbIUMhifRmpU7qRUyGzKUHzfLK8SltIjBQsPt2h6f8ofcH2mEpFIGQVEPL2Xy9dXXOf-v9sAga3rroakS__xFIFzoRk/w400-h225/Max.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">When
the cat died, we said that would be the last of our pets. Forty years of cats,
and now it was time to start living. No responsibilities, no worries when out
of the house, when traveling. Yet my heart called out for more. A dog.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">In
the past few months, my children sent me WhatsApp notices of puppies up for
adoption. My granddaughters nudged me over and over – "When are you
getting a dog? "Soon," I promised them. "Soon," I promised
myself.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">"We'll
get a dog when the house renovations are finished," Jodie said to me. Three
months behind schedule, but at last the majority of the work has been
completed. It's time for a dog.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">It's time for a dog</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">I
joined a number of Facebook groups. Dogs for Adoption. Dog Lovers – For Adoption
Only! Adopting Dogs Limited. Posts of available dogs were frequent, but, none
of them were suitable. Jodie and I had made a few decisions. No puppies—we wouldn't
be able to handle the training. We wouldn't pay for a dog. No pedigreed dogs.
No dogs from shelter that could be suffering from traumas in their past. And,
possibly most importantly for Jodie, the dog should not be a barker. In short,
we wanted to adopt a dog from a family.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">The
first dog we interviewed for the position was a big, black, beautiful dog with
white spots—Panda—who belonged to the brother of the person in charge of Neve
Ilan's youth activities. Panda lived nearby. Panda was very friendly, jumping to
lick your face when you first met him. But Panda was strong. Very strong. When
we took him on a quick introductory walk, Jodie immediately realized she wouldn't
be able to handle him.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">How is Max with children?</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">I
found a listing for Max on Yad2, the popular site where people sell, buy, give away,
and search for everything from apartments for sale or rent, cars, furniture,
and apparently, animals.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">I
called the phone listed with Max and a young male voice answered the phone. I
asked a number of questions. "Does the dog bark?" "How is the
dog with strangers?" "How is the dog with other dogs?"
"With cats?" "How is the dog with children?"</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">"He's
very good with children," the person said. "I'm a child."<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">"How
old are you?" I asked.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">"Fifteen."<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">That
wasn't what I meant when I asked about children. Would the dog get along with
my granddaughters? Would he be a good match for my four-year-old granddaughter?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Max
was born and spent his puppyhood in Karnei Shomron. From there, two teenage
boys traveled on a bus for 90 minutes with Max to their yeshiva in Jerusalem.
The yeshiva informed the boys that they had 2 days to get rid of the dog. The
boys were rushed to give Max away.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">We
planned to go to Jerusalem to meet Max on Friday morning at 11:00, with no
commitment to take him. But then, the meeting with Panda was set up, so I
informed the boys that we were considering other options, that we wouldn't be
coming into Jerusalem after all. A few minutes later I received an SMS.
"So, are you coming to Jerusalem?"<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">When
the possibility of adopting Panda didn't work out, I sent another message to
the boys asking them if we could still come. They happily agreed.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">We immediately feel in love with him</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">We
met Max in one of the boy's homes in the Bayit Vegan neighborhood. It was a
religious household—their table was already set for Shabbat dinner at ten in
the morning. Max was a little hesitant about approaching us, but he seemed like a
friendly, healthy dog. We took him for an introductory walk and Jodie confirmed
that she was strong enough to handle Max's strength. So, we took Max home with
us.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">To say
that our family, especially our granddaughters, were excited about meeting Max,
was the understatement of the year. They immediately fell in love with him, as
did I. As did Jodie.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Max
is beautiful. Friendly. He gets along with children. He likes other dogs (but not
all male dogs like him). He has a healthy appetite. He is healthy, vaccinated,
and has an identifying microchip embedded under his skin. He likes to take
walks. He will soon be neutered. And, he also has a mind of his own.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbacZEdSWrjYEEUyKRJrjbfc8g4jbdpbjq8Md3e_qHBa3dIKPyBM8vjMnAUqIZfZOnAetybPV2a8v8VLCFzYT0IH2AVYYABx4rsLYlveu1lI14b8FhEap8ONkVFaY4088E0Rw4vJB7HbD1IsDTd1UzwzFkm5aHsHFGr9G3IRjHzb-IxuTY7hMoo5rnEbo/s488/Max%202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="370" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbacZEdSWrjYEEUyKRJrjbfc8g4jbdpbjq8Md3e_qHBa3dIKPyBM8vjMnAUqIZfZOnAetybPV2a8v8VLCFzYT0IH2AVYYABx4rsLYlveu1lI14b8FhEap8ONkVFaY4088E0Rw4vJB7HbD1IsDTd1UzwzFkm5aHsHFGr9G3IRjHzb-IxuTY7hMoo5rnEbo/w304-h400/Max%202.jpg" width="304" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">"Max!" we call out. He races on.</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Friday
night dinner. Our entire family is enjoying our meal in Merav's new apartment
above ours. Max stands to the side, sniffing at the good smells coming from the
table. "No table scraps for you! Sit, Max!" And he obeys. Mostly.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">The
front door is left open a few seconds more than it should, and Max dashes out. He
bounds down the steep steps and into the street. He runs into unknown
territory. Maybe he's heading for his Jerusalem yeshiva? Or for his previous
home in Karnei Shomron?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">We all race after him. Reut and Gali run in one direction and then Erez and I spot Max up the street. He's fast! And, it's
starting to rain. Max dashes into a garden. And the rain picks up. It's dark
and we don't see Max. It's suddenly a downpour, and we are soaked to the core.
We reach the street and follow Max into a four-inch-deep puddle.
"Max!" we call out. He races on.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">At
last, Max turns into a fenced garden and I am able to slip on his leash. We
head back to the house, where the entire family is waiting.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Max
is back. Max is with his new family. Max is wonderful. Max is now part of our
lives. And, we'll make sure to keep the front door closed for now.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">(Two
days after this story was written, Max escaped again. We really need to keep
the door closed!)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"># #
#<o:p></o:p></p>Ellis Shumanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07884885978804222016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102623923329719653.post-12093370030263994712024-01-26T06:18:00.001+02:002024-01-26T06:19:10.335+02:00Review of 'Bulgaria, the Jews, and the Holocaust' by Dr. Nadège Ragaru<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKPuLxQ81Nx4MUh9afsb0VViS3WZAKq6fMCROw3YsK4ObCS1takzbwqjLZ5y1yuiawaUy8arxPG-P19Yqg_GHpDeQZ5KBIc748fN8GEqFFb8v7bqrhxoHuziowjHNo38pMxtY1smioI4Ahwmj6Sp8zJ3wsFr5eifBQ-5Yecj1zpVEiHAYAIvaiLOWb_aI/s300/Bulgaria%20Jews%20Holocaust.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKPuLxQ81Nx4MUh9afsb0VViS3WZAKq6fMCROw3YsK4ObCS1takzbwqjLZ5y1yuiawaUy8arxPG-P19Yqg_GHpDeQZ5KBIc748fN8GEqFFb8v7bqrhxoHuziowjHNo38pMxtY1smioI4Ahwmj6Sp8zJ3wsFr5eifBQ-5Yecj1zpVEiHAYAIvaiLOWb_aI/s1600/Bulgaria%20Jews%20Holocaust.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>The
facts appear to be clear-cut. Despite Bulgaria's alliance with Germany during
World War Two, its 48,000 Jewish citizens were not deported to the Nazi death
camps. That said, 11,343 Jews from the Bulgarian-controlled territories of
Macedonia, Serbia, and Thrace were 'cruelly loaded on trains bound for
Treblinka, where they were murdered.' In the aftermath of these two parallel Holocaust
storylines, many questions have been raised. Who rescued the Jews of Bulgaria? And,
who is responsible for the deaths of the Jews from Bulgarian territories? The
answers are not as simple as they may seem, and in fact, can be quite
controversial.<p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">These
questions and more are raised in <b><a href="https://sciencespo.hal.science/CERI/hal-04274176v1" target="_blank"><i>Bulgaria, the Jews, and the Holocaust:
On the Origins of a Heroic Narrative</i> by Nadège Ragaru</a>,</b> translated by Victoria
Baena and David A. Rich (University of Rochester Press, October 2023). Originally
published in French in 2020, this book is an exhaustive archival investigation into
how the survival of Bulgarian Jewry emerged as the primary narrative of
Bulgaria's Holocaust years, while the deportations and deaths of Macedonian,
Serbian, and Greek Jews were blamed solely on Nazi Germany.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">As
recently as January 2023, 80 years after those deportations and murders, the
Bulgarian Ministry of Culture issued a statement praising 'the significant role
of the Bulgarian state, its institutions, the Bulgarian Orthodox Church, and
the Bulgarian people for this unprecedented act in Europe in one of the darkest
years of our continent, when the Bulgarian people and state demonstrated
tolerance, empathy, but also will and courage to save their Jewish fellow
citizens.'<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Yes,
the Bulgarian Orthodox Church, many brave politicians, and the Bulgarian people
in general can claim credit for saving Bulgarian Jews, but, as the author
points out, the Bulgarian state and its institutions were directly responsible
for policing the occupied territories, for rounding up the Jews living there,
and for sending them to their deaths in the concentration camps.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">To
prove this argument, the author presents an eclectic mix of rarely considered
evidence. She first explores the Bulgarian People's Courts, set up following
the war's end to prosecute representatives of the pro-Nazi governing elite responsible
for anti-Jewish persecutions. Then the author turns to the Cold War partnership
of Bulgaria and East Germany within the framework of a film coproduction.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">The
author next considers just 'a few minutes of documentary footage that contains
the only recorded images of Jewish deportation from the occupied territories.'
These images play into the story promoted by the Bulgarian socialist regime in
the 1960s and 1970s, which glorified the rescue of the Bulgarian Jews. The
following chapter focuses on the 1990s and the changing memory of the Holocaust
in the post-Communist period. In a chapter devoted to the years between 2000
and 2010, the author explores the 'Jews' engagement in memory politics, and
their contribution to greater awareness of how timely a discussion of
Bulgaria's co-responsibility in Jewish persecution in the 'new' and 'old'
kingdoms may be.'<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b>This
is not easy reading, and to be clear, this is not a history of Bulgaria during
World War Two. </b><i>Bulgaria, the Jews, and the Holocaust</i> uniquely presents
the Jewish wartime experience with a consideration of the political, legal,
historical, artistic and memorial aspects from the changing decades of post-war
Bulgaria. Ultimately, as noted by the publisher, the author 'restores Jewish
voices to the story of their own wartime suffering'.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">The
book, exhaustive in depth and scope, annotated with sources in multiple
languages showing the meticulousness of the author's research, will appeal
primarily to historians interested in the varied archival materials presented
on its pages.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b>Dr.
Nadège Ragaru</b> is a Research Professor at the Centres d'études
internationales (CERI), in Paris, France.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b><i>Bulgaria,
the Jews, and the Holocaust: On the Origins of a Heroic Narrative</i> is
available in <a href="https://sciencespo.hal.science/CERI/hal-04274176v1" target="_blank">Open access</a>.</b><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Originally posted on <a href="https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/review-of-bulgaria-the-jews-and-the-holocaust-by-dr-nadege-ragaru/" target="_blank">The Times of Israel</a>.</p>Ellis Shumanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07884885978804222016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102623923329719653.post-83228637702553022812024-01-17T15:03:00.006+02:002024-01-18T19:00:26.815+02:00"Pomelos" - short story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgboq0bc9ichvfOdh3t9meJBqszjX8Hfg4oxg3Lid4Qi5oSCNU1ZBZp_cYCgcVMpGz2Wf5NtBP8Z3vlRUJ3bmGTUunTkxLLH_45l7h9CCBSYI_Ts4w21aTBEc5UqsGQb5l9mS5HTcjmV3dCykOxOCaQnNmB8t-vXkTtzNlfnFmak83lnoulP9DlSaibHn4/s580/iStock-pomelos2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="386" data-original-width="580" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgboq0bc9ichvfOdh3t9meJBqszjX8Hfg4oxg3Lid4Qi5oSCNU1ZBZp_cYCgcVMpGz2Wf5NtBP8Z3vlRUJ3bmGTUunTkxLLH_45l7h9CCBSYI_Ts4w21aTBEc5UqsGQb5l9mS5HTcjmV3dCykOxOCaQnNmB8t-vXkTtzNlfnFmak83lnoulP9DlSaibHn4/w400-h266/iStock-pomelos2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">The war had been raging for
40 days when Eli reported to the orchards. Seven in the morning and he was the
first one. The only one. Was he in the right place? Was he in his right mind to
have driven an hour and a half from his relatively safe home in Tel Aviv to
this remote orchard in the relatively unsafe south? All was quiet at this
hour—no rockets, artillery, or jets overhead—but everything could change
without a moment’s notice, and he was a bit nervous.</span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“It’s completely safe
there,” he had reassured Batya the previous night when he announced his
intention to volunteer at the kibbutz. “There have been no rocket alerts or
incidents in that area.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“Still, you’ll be very
close to Gaza,” she replied, a worried look on her face. “You should go to some
farm near Netanya instead.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“I’m going where I’m most
needed,” he insisted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">And that was that. He woke
up before his alarm rang, put on the hiking boots he hadn’t worn since his
hiking trip in the Bulgarian mountains ten years earlier. He took two pitot out
of the freezer and made cheese sandwiches for his lunch. After packing a bottle
of mineral water in his bag, he was ready to go.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“I should be back in the
early afternoon,” he whispered to Batya as he kissed her on the forehead.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“As long as you come back
in one piece,” she replied without opening her eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">They needed him; he told
himself repeatedly as he drove south. Thai and Nepalese workers had fled from
the country in the aftermath of that horrific Saturday the previous month. Who
would work in the fields? Who would pick the crops? Volunteers, that’s who! And
he had stepped up to the plate. He was sixty-five years old, but damn if he
couldn’t help save Israeli agriculture.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;"></span></p>
<a name='more'></a>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">Now he stood at the highway
intersection which Waze indicated was his destination, and he was alone. He
watched the heavy traffic passing by—the delivery trucks and the Gaza-bound
army jeeps—waiting for someone, anyone, who would direct him to the orchard. He
looked at his watch once again. They would soon show up as promised, he told
himself, and he would play his role in the war effort, as insignificant as it
might be.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">A white pickup pulled off
the highway and came to a stop next to Eli’s Kia sedan. The driver signaled him
to follow, so he started the motor and eased his foot off the brake.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">Clouds of dust kicked up on
the unpaved road. Eli kept a tight grip on the steering wheel, swerving around
the countless potholes. He drove alongside rows of newly planted trees, too
young to bear fruit. He wondered if they were orange trees, or maybe lemon. Surely
citrus. That was what the Facebook ad had mentioned, leading him to sign up at
this southern kibbutz.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">The pickup turned left,
onto another dirt road, and Eli followed. The trees were bigger here, and he
could clearly see the fruit on their branches. Green spheres, some of them hanging
low, nearly touching the ground. The pickup stopped; Eli pulled up behind it.
He got out of the car to meet its driver for the first time.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“I’m Gershon,” the
white-haired man said, reaching forward to shake his hand. “Welcome to our
pomelo orchards. <i>Pomelit</i>, actually, a smaller variety of pomelo.
Sweeter, also.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“Am I the only one?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“You’re the only one at
this hour. Others will arrive, hopefully. Are you ready to get your hands
dirty?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">As they walked between the rows
of pomelo trees, Gershon provided background about the orchard. “It’s a
cooperative between a business entity and the kibbutz. I’m a kibbutznik, but
not from around here. Some 70% of the produce is for export; the rest is for
the local market. Before the war, we employed Thai workers, some daily workers
from Gaza. Now, they’re all gone. We’re weeks behind with the harvest. If it
wasn’t for volunteers like you…”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">Gershon didn’t need to
finish the sentence. Eli felt he had landed in the right place at the right
time.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">Gerson directed him to the
start of a row. The trees here were bursting with fruit. Pomelos. Thick-skinned
pomelos.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“Pick everything,” Gershon
instructed him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“Even when they’re green?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“They’re not grapefruits.
This fruit is ready for market.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">Minutes later, Eli was all
alone. His hands searched among the leaves for the ripe fruit. Much larger than
expected, they easily snapped off the branches with a twist of his wrist. He
quickly filled the bag strapped over his shoulder. In the sandy space between
the rows, he carefully emptied the pomelos into a large container, making sure
not to damage the fruit, which would lower its value. He returned to the tree
and resumed picking.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">The thorny branches
scratched his arms, despite his having worn a long-sleeved shirt. Some of the
fruit hung low, and he dropped to his knees to reach it. The sand was soft, but
an old leg injury made the effort a bit discomforting. He pulled another pomelo
out from its hiding place amidst the greenery.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">Pomelos. Branch after
branch, tree after tree. The citrus smell was heavenly, the quiet serene. He
was alone in the orchard, with no signs or sounds of the war that had brought
him here. Alone, and he felt wonderful.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">The sound of approaching
voices made him stand up, adjust the bag on his shoulder. It was Gershon,
leading a small group of volunteers. Most of them appeared to be his age,
although there was a young couple as well. Gershon nodded to Eli and then
introduced the new arrivals to the work. They divided themselves among the rows
and began picking. Pomelos piled up in the square container on the sandy path.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">Eli continued to work,
smiling at the thought of Batya just waking up to the empty quiet of their Tel
Aviv apartment. They had been living alone for so many years—their two sons
were in the States with their growing families. There had been frequent
telephones of concern since the war began, but the rocket attacks on Tel Aviv
were nothing to worry about. Most of them were shot down by the Iron Dome
defense system.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">Eli was too old to serve in
the army reserves—his days as a combat medic had ended long before—but at least
he could do this. He looked up at the bright blue expanse of sky. So close to
the Gaza Strip, so close to the war, but he felt completely at ease. Safe.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">The sound of a woman crying
interrupted his thoughts. It was coming from the next row. He walked around the
tree where he was working and onto the sandy path. It took a moment until he
spotted her. She was sitting with her back against a tree trunk, her head held
low and her face half-hidden by a large-brimmed sun hat. Her shirt and pants
were khaki-colored. Removing a pair of work gloves seemed a task too difficult
for her to handle, and she was crying.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“Are you alright?” Eli
asked as he approached, but it was clear that something was wrong.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">The woman looked up and
wiped the tears from her face with her still-gloved hand. “I’m OK,” she said,
and he was about to turn away. “No, I’m not OK. How can any of us be OK?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">He didn’t know how to reply
to that. What she said was true, of course. The war had been raging for forty
days and no one in Israel was OK. Everyone was struggling to deal with the
aftermath of the horrific Hamas terror attack, some more than others. Perhaps
this woman had a personal connection to the war?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“Is there anything…?” He
wondered what words of comfort he could offer. Had a loved one of hers been
killed? Had someone she knew been taken captive? Perhaps a family member had
been called up for emergency reserve duty in the army. There were so many ways
that this war affected Israelis. Too many ways.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“No, thank you,” she said,
struggling to her feet.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“Do you want to talk about
it?” he asked, surprising himself with the boldness of his offer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">She forced a smile and turned
back to her tree, back to the pomelos in her row.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">He continued to pick the
heavy fruit, pulling them one by one from the thick thorny branches. He worked
in silence, comforted by the simple physical task he was performing. Simple and
repetitive, his bag filled quickly. He went to the container to empty it and she
was standing there, not moving, gazing at the cloudless blue sky. When she
heard him approach, she smiled. A genuine smile this time.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“I’m Eli,” he said in a
friendly greeting.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">A sense of calm eased her
features, and she introduced herself. “Nava. Where are you from, Eli?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“Tel Aviv. You?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“Holon. So do you often
come to the pomelos?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">He laughed. “No, this is my
first chance to volunteer.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“Mine, too. I needed to get
away from everything. From the television newscasts, the horrid headlines. I
needed to clear my head,” she said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“We all need to clear our
heads,” he agreed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“Please excuse me for what
you witnessed earlier. I rarely get emotional or teary, but these days… Well,
you know.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“I understand.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“It’s normal, isn’t it? To
feel this way?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“Of course,” he said. “It’s
the situation.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“Yes, exactly. The situation.
What a fucked-up situation!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">This caused him to laugh.
He waited for her to say more, but she adjusted the bag on her shoulders and
returned to her pomelo trees.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">Later, when he took a break
and rested in the shade, when he ate one of his now-soggy pita sandwiches, she
sat down next to him on the sand and took off her sun hat. She had light brown
hair, styled much like Batya’s. But that was the only resemblance to his wife.
Nava was younger, maybe in her forties. She was slim, her features pleasant.
The kind of woman who would have attracted him twenty years ago.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“I had to do this,” she
said, raising her hand to point at the trees. “To do something, anything, to
make me forget.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“Are you…? Do you…?” Eli
wasn’t sure how to phrase the question he wanted to ask.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“If you’re wondering if
I’ve suffered a personal loss in this conflict, the answer is no. That would be
horrible, of course, but we all feel like we know someone who was murdered.
We’re all mourning.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“Exactly,” he agreed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“That day. Everything
changed on that horrific day. So many lives lost—men, women, and children, all
of them innocent. So many taken by Hamas into the horrors of Gaza. So much
property destroyed. And it’s all our fault.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“Our fault?” He put the unfinished
part of his pita back into its plastic bag and took a long sip of lukewarm
water.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“They failed us. Our incompetent
government, our army. Our intelligence agencies, and they say we have the best
in the world. We have tanks, fighter jets, Iron Dome, and even nuclear weapons,
and yet we allowed this to happen on our border. They drove in on motorcycles,
dammit!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“There will be inquiries
after the war,” he said, wiping crumbs off his pants.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“After the war? They say
we’re going to destroy Hamas, rescue all the hostages, but it’s a war we have
no chance of winning. The world is against us, and we lose no matter what we
do. Such terror, and the world says that it’s our fault.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“We didn’t bring this upon
ourselves.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“You think that? It’s our
arrogance, our feeling of invincibility, our refusal to accept the dangers at
our doorstep. They were planning this attack for years. They tricked us, and we
looked the other way, saying it could never happen. Well, it did. And look at
the shithole we’re in. There is no winning this war, that’s for sure.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">She was saying aloud exactly
what he was thinking. Exactly what everyone was thinking. If there was anything
that this war had done, it had brought Israelis together like never before. The
country had been on the brink of civil war, combatting the misguided reforms of
its extremist right-wing government, but now the citizens were united. Destroy
Hamas. Bring back the hostages. But maybe what Nava said was true. There was no
winning this war.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“My therapist says I
shouldn’t take this personally,” she said. “But how can I not? If I had been
living in those communities, I would be dead now. If the terrorists hadn’t been
stopped, they would have driven all the way to Holon. Hell, we’d all be dead!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">He understood her pain, as
it was everyone’s pain. Her tears were his tears. Her crying had taken him by
surprise, but these last few weeks had taken an emotional toll on everyone.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“Shouldn’t we get back to
work?” he suggested.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“Yes, back to work. That’s
what my therapist told me. I’m a travel agent, but there are no tourists these
days. I needed to get away. I needed to do something positive amidst this
negative life we’re living. And that’s why I’m here. Picking pomelos. And I
don’t even like pomelos! They’re sour, they’re impossible to peel. The skin so
thick, so much pulp to throw away. Pomelos! Who would have thought!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">He laughed at that. Pomelos
were certainly not his favorite fruit either, but here he was, in the south,
not far from the combat in Gaza. She had mentioned her therapist. These were
days when there was a need for national therapy. Maybe the only thing to do,
the only way to heal oneself, was exactly what he was doing. Coming here to
pick the <i>pomelit </i>fruit.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">Later, when the strain on
his muscles was more than he could bear, and when his arms were scratched to
the point of bleeding, Eli nodded farewell to a grateful Gershon and got back
into his Kia sedan for the drive north to his home in Tel Aviv. Realizing he
hadn’t said goodbye to Nava, he considered getting out to look for her among
the trees, but Batya would get worried if he returned too late. And who was he
to Nava, anyway? He had learned little about her, other than that she lived in
Holon, was currently unemployed, and that she frequented a therapist. Even so,
he felt like he knew her. They were going through this together, along with
every Israeli.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">There was no winning this
way, but hopefully, they would soon emerge from this painful period. The
country’s volunteering spirit was strong, and it didn’t matter whether you were
cooking meals for soldiers, donating clothes to the displaced residents of the
Gaza-area communities, or working on the farms, like him. Didn’t this show what
Israelis felt about their country? Picking pomelos—a symbol of Israeli
resilience. He’d come next week to pick some more. Yes, they would get through
this together, he again thought, as he eased the car into the northbound
traffic.<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;"># # #<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;">Originally published on <a href="https://esotericamag.com/pomelos/" target="_blank">Esoterica</a>.</p>Ellis Shumanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07884885978804222016noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102623923329719653.post-26856489556419274182024-01-08T07:16:00.001+02:002024-01-08T07:17:05.687+02:00Review of 'Malign Intent' by Robert Craven<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9aULHgSjdW3WMDPbIb8Bjo1MRnuUG6amxDd2O9HKoLbQi9ar0WCGzDqP1DKYbYQxga1txfOk3ObX9rUqqtQXFyQsg9TuQWNbEhs4SG31m8q_jlV4C-D7EZ5ad4QKRx2gSaxLwFgRyfaFGe51Y-Iq13Z10JsfpM-BXAApxlWvq2k1ghBTXqU4_wyEMUXM/s318/malign%20intent.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="318" data-original-width="200" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9aULHgSjdW3WMDPbIb8Bjo1MRnuUG6amxDd2O9HKoLbQi9ar0WCGzDqP1DKYbYQxga1txfOk3ObX9rUqqtQXFyQsg9TuQWNbEhs4SG31m8q_jlV4C-D7EZ5ad4QKRx2gSaxLwFgRyfaFGe51Y-Iq13Z10JsfpM-BXAApxlWvq2k1ghBTXqU4_wyEMUXM/s1600/malign%20intent.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Garda
Inspector P.J. Crowe returns in <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Malign-Intent-Murder-Crowe-ebook/dp/B0CR7M45ZS" target="_blank"><b><i>Malign Intent</i> by Robert Craven</b></a> (December
2023), a sequel to the crime thriller <i>A Kind of Drowning</i>. As in the
previous book, Crowe's career is in tatters, his position in the force
uncertain. At the beginning of one shift, he is called to investigate when a
body, dressed in outdoor gear, is found swaying from a tree at the edge of a
forest.<p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">"You
are to close it off as a suicide," his boss, Chief Superintendent
O'Suilleabháin, instructs him. "Official, like."<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">"Suicide,
not proven," Crowe replies. For him, 'not proven meant doubt. Doubt
implied a crime… He didn't like it, but Crowe had a murder on his hands.' Of
this, only he is convinced, so he sets out himself to solve the crime.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Is
Crowe up for the mission? His superiors believe he is 'still recovering from an
adjustment reaction linked to the circumstances in which he finds himself.' His
violent assault and battery escapades in a previous case are well known, leading
him to avoid social media and its toxic trolling, but Crowe insists he is
"calmer now… less extreme." <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">"I
did what any good cop would do," Crowe reassures a fellow inspector. Solving
this murder case is, for him, 'a solid piece of real police work… For the first
time in nearly two years, Crowe felt the surge of intent. A reminder to him as
to why he became a policeman<i>. To protect the public</i>.'<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><i><b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Malign-Intent-Murder-Crowe-ebook/dp/B0CR7M45ZS" target="_blank">Malign Intent</a></b> </i>will appeal to readers who appreciate police procedural crime fiction.
Capturing one's attention is the thriller's setting in rural Ireland. Ireland,
with its rutted moonscapes and coastal fogs, and the vanilla and black thunderheads
rolling inwards from the sea.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">For
Crowe, 'every crime has a window of opportunity; a golden few minutes, hours,
and days before threads of evidence start to wither and go cold or disperse as
life continues on without the dead.'. The long days of Ireland's Atlantic
autumnal rains are coming, and the clock is ticking for Crowe to solve the
crime. We are partner to his investigation, assured that no matter what its
result, we anticipate meeting Crowe again in his future cases.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b><a href="https://www.robert-cravenauthor.ie/" target="_blank">Robert Craven</a></b> is an award-winning Irish author of thrilling fiction. His novel, <i>Eagles
Hunt Wolves</i> was the winner of the 2021 Firebird Book Award for best
Action/Adventure. His other novels include the Eva series (<i>Get Lenin</i>, <i>Zinnman</i>,
<i>A Finger of Night</i>, <i>Hollow Point</i>, and <i>Eagles Hunt Wolves</i>);
the Steampunk novel <i>The Mandarin Cipher</i>; and the crime thriller <i>A
Kind of Drowning</i>. His short stories have been published in three
anthologies and he is also a regular reviewer of CDs for the Independent Irish
Review Ireland.<o:p></o:p></p>Ellis Shumanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07884885978804222016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102623923329719653.post-88181275206217979622024-01-01T07:16:00.004+02:002024-01-17T15:59:02.840+02:00War Diary: Living the Normal Life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPHNXw9dUDBEsM2YH0xdYYtQLYcj23LV0EotVB8RxxsOxkDFaU74hZDpUCHqQ-8AlN0_UH1ApKSljatBQpBt6bSzGwOBZv47lmg0_bE2wvpmYjtpQOUWzjaUDTHU8SgrR5f_djw3oexsnSU7FhAoEcHci2vH7EhX7A_GZJO5WBCKyEi1qHeytLQ7W9PGA/s580/20231230_103920.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="326" data-original-width="580" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPHNXw9dUDBEsM2YH0xdYYtQLYcj23LV0EotVB8RxxsOxkDFaU74hZDpUCHqQ-8AlN0_UH1ApKSljatBQpBt6bSzGwOBZv47lmg0_bE2wvpmYjtpQOUWzjaUDTHU8SgrR5f_djw3oexsnSU7FhAoEcHci2vH7EhX7A_GZJO5WBCKyEi1qHeytLQ7W9PGA/w400-h225/20231230_103920.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">It's a warm, sunny Saturday in December, a perfect day for hiking. I've
never previously explored the forests and cliffs of the Mount Carmel Nature
Reserve and National Park, but when I join a group of ten other avid hikers, I realize
how much I've missed. Venturing downwards from a parking lot above Beit Oren,
we make our way through the rugged woodland of the Alon Valley to where it
meets the Oren Stream, with a stop at the En Alon spring.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Fifty kilometers to the north, Hezbollah shells Israeli kibbutzim and rockets
are falling in Kiryat Shmona. Unidentified drones infiltrate into Israeli
airspace and IDF forces respond with widespread strikes in southern Lebanon.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Sunday morning promises the same fair weather as the day before and I
take the train into Tel Aviv to begin another ordinary work day at my high-tech
Internet company.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Seventy kilometers to the south, Israeli forces push deeper into the
central and southern regions of the Gaza Strip, backed by heavy air and
artillery fire. Every morning, the media begins its news reports with "It
has been cleared for publication that the following soldiers fell in battle."
Luckily, my colleagues who were called up for emergency army duty are safe and
I'm relieved to see them when they come to work for the first time since
October 7th.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">At home, renovations are three months behind schedule. Our contractor's
regular workers live in the West Bank and Palestinians are not allowed to enter
Israel these days. The contractor has been employing East Jerusalem residents
on a day-by-day basis, and progress is never guaranteed.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">But who am I to complain that there is still scaffolding outside
my bedroom or that our new kitchen has no walls or floors or electricity? About
200,000 Israelis have been evacuated from their communities near the
Gaza Strip and from the northern border with Lebanon. They lost their homes
nearly three months ago, and it's not clear when they will be allowed to go
back.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">My family gets together every Friday night for a joyous, and quite
lively Shabbat dinner.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Some 130 Israelis are still being held hostage in Gaza. We don't know how
many of them are actually alive.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">I continue to live my normal life, while in reality, nothing in Israel
is normal these days.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Hamas still threatens to destroy Israel and we continue to fight back.
We will fight back until there is no more Hamas, until our hostages come home,
until our citizens can live safe and secure lives.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Life goes on, and if nothing else, this is Israel's biggest victory in
the war so far.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b>Related articles:</b></p><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed;"><a href="https://ellisshuman.blogspot.com/2023/10/israel-at-war-again.html">Israel at War. Again.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed;"><a href="https://ellisshuman.blogspot.com/2023/10/war-diary-day-5.html">War Diary: Day 5</a></p><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed;"><a href="https://ellisshuman.blogspot.com/2023/10/war-diary-what-terrifies-me-more-than.html">War Diary: What Terrifies Me More Than Anything Else</a></p><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed;"><a href="https://ellisshuman.blogspot.com/2023/11/war-diary-how-do-you-cope.html">War Diary - How Do You Cope?</a></p><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><br /></p>Ellis Shumanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07884885978804222016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102623923329719653.post-49165810154232236692023-12-17T07:05:00.003+02:002024-01-17T15:58:28.326+02:00"A Wedding in Tel Aviv" - short story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiggN7M7d3TQlJjqCXybPBMAgVO-YY27sYqzsNTySAzx94XOmeFz0AXswlthQMSQTYdUhdbpSTgCaqxhVskYYP0RizeZiTPN2ObiM0MCB9NX7Zic1_ixc2KRHhMxHep5UhhqshiIZtgUQ5_ShiB1pg_XT3rloZwS5Zy41BTK8_tO7455iSg_5bkmfLXqs0/s580/wedding%20in%20tel%20aviv.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="386" data-original-width="580" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiggN7M7d3TQlJjqCXybPBMAgVO-YY27sYqzsNTySAzx94XOmeFz0AXswlthQMSQTYdUhdbpSTgCaqxhVskYYP0RizeZiTPN2ObiM0MCB9NX7Zic1_ixc2KRHhMxHep5UhhqshiIZtgUQ5_ShiB1pg_XT3rloZwS5Zy41BTK8_tO7455iSg_5bkmfLXqs0/w400-h266/wedding%20in%20tel%20aviv.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">"<i>Harei
at mekudeshet li…</i>"</span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">"<i>Mekudeshet!</i>"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">"<i>Mazal
tov!</i>"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">Moments later,
after stamping his foot to break the glass, the groom kissed his bride and their
families rushed to crowd around them under the simple cloth <i>huppah</i>
canopy. The grey-bearded rabbi stepped back, his role in the short ceremony of
sanctifying their union completed, and the DJ raised the music to an
ear-splitting level.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">"Aren’t
you going to congratulate them?" Miri asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">"Not yet,"
I said, holding back as the wedding guests surged past, getting in line to hug
the new couple, to plant air kisses on their cheeks, to shake their hands.
"I'm not sure he'll remember me. We haven't seen each other since
childhood."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">"Of
course, he remembers you! He invited you to the wedding, after all. Go up there
already."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">I hesitated.
Too many people, too much noise—the typical hubbub of an Israeli garden wedding.
I would approach the groom when things got quieter, when I'd have a chance to say
more to him than a perfunctory "<i>Mazal tov</i>!"<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;"><i>Read the rest of the story on <a href="https://www.mockingowlroost.com/blog/unexpected-delights-triannual/" target="_blank">TheMockingOwl Roost: Unexpected Delights</a>, page 37 of the PDF.</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><i>Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@andozo?utm_content=creditCopyText&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=unsplash">Andreas Rønningen</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/man-standing-near-the-woman-walking-in-party-during-nighttime-S2YssLw97l4?utm_content=creditCopyText&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=unsplash">Unsplash</a></i></p>Ellis Shumanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07884885978804222016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102623923329719653.post-91864108628388714392023-12-12T05:35:00.000+02:002023-12-12T05:35:05.456+02:00Volunteering to Help Israeli Farmers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgphSSYzvFtRvp2j0AScYDDH529V5foMBSUTE8NDb7Xa_pVyY-MwghJkllOP1ZRXpomSbrzDkMdj2Udx6Hes4TLKXOMM6o8CCcj0Q3Z8KAc2dIbCkX8kLCE2jltjwpvjqrDUK4z6wcRzEsM6Ack2pLTjuxG2IECspsc2-OvHqB8uboFmWZZYHbbaKLs3uI/s580/PEPPER%20DEC%2011.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="326" data-original-width="580" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgphSSYzvFtRvp2j0AScYDDH529V5foMBSUTE8NDb7Xa_pVyY-MwghJkllOP1ZRXpomSbrzDkMdj2Udx6Hes4TLKXOMM6o8CCcj0Q3Z8KAc2dIbCkX8kLCE2jltjwpvjqrDUK4z6wcRzEsM6Ack2pLTjuxG2IECspsc2-OvHqB8uboFmWZZYHbbaKLs3uI/w400-h225/PEPPER%20DEC%2011.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">"I've been here for 60 years and I'm just not going to continue,"
said the tired-looking moshavnik from the south. His Thai workers had fled, a
rocket had hit one of his greenhouses, his pepper plants' leaves were wilted,
and the vegetables were dying on their stems. We were there, picking what we
could to salvage his crop.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">For the past month, I have been volunteering one day a week to help save
Israeli agriculture in the hard-hit south. There are many kibbutzim and
moshavim that need help and I feel like this is the way I can contribute to my
country's war efforts.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">I have found places to volunteer by following dedicated Facebook groups,
and by visiting websites that advertise volunteering opportunities. A few
back-and-forth chats on WhatsApp and the details are arranged. Where to report,
and at what hour. 'Wear long pants', the advertisements state. 'Bring food for
the day.' 'Come with a good spirit'. And the volunteers come.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqRYgUxQrl8M-Aeo8X2n2oaOH4vW90MATtUCSnXSk6cgfsqmmcMlULVtNL8e9-AoBWYuBaS7lN1h90wi6hSivTRFWszNSlQdn5n9wcw1S4vpjWI3fFpfBfGz3lfMO9ivMn4QtH8Tgl0OVIFj4l2sbqjs5nKm5WOve-5wrebuXCZbjmqc7Y7RZ0GLvMRjw/s580/POMELO%20DEC%2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="326" data-original-width="580" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqRYgUxQrl8M-Aeo8X2n2oaOH4vW90MATtUCSnXSk6cgfsqmmcMlULVtNL8e9-AoBWYuBaS7lN1h90wi6hSivTRFWszNSlQdn5n9wcw1S4vpjWI3fFpfBfGz3lfMO9ivMn4QtH8Tgl0OVIFj4l2sbqjs5nKm5WOve-5wrebuXCZbjmqc7Y7RZ0GLvMRjw/w400-h225/POMELO%20DEC%2012.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">My first volunteering was in a pomelo orchard jointly owned by a
business entity and Kibbutz Bror Hayil. Before the war, Thai workers worked in
the orchards, along with some Bedouins. Seventy percent of the crop is for
export; the rest is for the local market. I set to work picking the
thick-skinned green spheres. My arms were quickly scratched-up by the thorny
branches. Along with other individual volunteers, the picking that day was done
by a delegation of Knesset members, and a busload of soldiers, who picked the
fruit with rifles still slung over their shoulders.</p><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">The owner of the pepper greenhouse on Moshav Shorsheret barely said a
word to my daughter and me when we showed up to help pick his crop. We were told
to pick every red pepper we saw, except for the very small ones. There would be
no second pass through the plants because the farm had lost all its workers.
The plants were in bad shape, for lack of care. Still, we filled crate after
crate with red peppers. The owner stated that we were six weeks late with the
harvest.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihqGewhmIUCVd-_JhebU2lMB3JR3ptm8KHAwP6OUi6UpIkhqc9QXmk6VGNq9q5baonEUKVtBRXQ51hFyr5uA4DzyZ4DgwwXc23qY8-uqIquU-_5FEh2eAxR2nQXlWIMz9TRhBCJRWnI7qYFu9BIieu1PbJ12CSCJIvkP2OBpiWQehF3IOfmhky1bzPeTQ/s580/AVOCADO%20DEC%2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="326" data-original-width="580" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihqGewhmIUCVd-_JhebU2lMB3JR3ptm8KHAwP6OUi6UpIkhqc9QXmk6VGNq9q5baonEUKVtBRXQ51hFyr5uA4DzyZ4DgwwXc23qY8-uqIquU-_5FEh2eAxR2nQXlWIMz9TRhBCJRWnI7qYFu9BIieu1PbJ12CSCJIvkP2OBpiWQehF3IOfmhky1bzPeTQ/w400-h225/AVOCADO%20DEC%2012.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">The avocados of an orchard near Ashkelon are mostly destined for export to
France, and from there they will be marketed all over Europe. Here, too, all
the workers had fled. There are three varieties of avocados grown; we were
picking Haas avocados. The trees were tall and full of fruit and the leaves
were very pleasing to the touch. The orchard's manager told me that they would
be picking for the next three months, if they had enough volunteers to do the
work.</p><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">There is a lot of satisfaction in picking fruit and vegetables, but
planting shows that we haven't given up hope. We plant because we're preparing
for next season, working towards a fruitful future.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOx3CY915TE_i9VJO_5Vb3w4zr2oXfoteNCGEm5Ime3RkZe9Pt6-Gx5TpfGtTGpHXkr6lCZDIvlw92XR5Gm9R5PHc2Oi-FG_g3gMogQHgweJjbqgirAADMyf55VcPxx0QxpMY6C59ELhJl3IWnnTD6hHW9EzNsKNEc6c8Dd2CkBSy_WkTVL-QTedTttrc/s350/CAULIFLOWER%20DEC%2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="280" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOx3CY915TE_i9VJO_5Vb3w4zr2oXfoteNCGEm5Ime3RkZe9Pt6-Gx5TpfGtTGpHXkr6lCZDIvlw92XR5Gm9R5PHc2Oi-FG_g3gMogQHgweJjbqgirAADMyf55VcPxx0QxpMY6C59ELhJl3IWnnTD6hHW9EzNsKNEc6c8Dd2CkBSy_WkTVL-QTedTttrc/w320-h400/CAULIFLOWER%20DEC%2011.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />I reported to an open field near Gedera. This farm is owned by two
moshavim, and luckily for the owners, some of its Thai workers had remained.
They were planting cauliflowers the day I arrived, something usually done with
a machine, but it had rained the previous day. The seedlings needed to be planted
now, and there was much work to be done. The owners were extremely grateful to
the volunteers that had arrived to assist them.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">It's extremely difficult to plant seedlings in a muddy field. The ground
was wet, and in some cases, we stuck our hands through puddles of water to make
sure the plants were properly spaced apart. Crouching down, I felt a physical
strain on my muscles that would be painful for many days. I stuck one seedling into
the ground after another. My clothes got dirty, and my boots were covered by so
much mud it felt like they were filled with cement. But despite the mud, the entire
field was soon planted with cauliflower. I promised the owners that I would be
back in four months' time to help with the harvest.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Helping Israeli farmers, working to save the country's agriculture, is a
very satisfying feeling. It gives a sense of playing an active role in the war
effort. We are strong; we are resilient. Working together, in the orchards and
in the fields, we will ensure the success of this year's harvest and next
season's crops.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Originally posted on <a href="https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/volunteering-to-help-israeli-farmers/" target="_blank">The Times of Israel</a>.</p>Ellis Shumanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07884885978804222016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102623923329719653.post-73885904319970150592023-11-29T07:16:00.000+02:002023-11-29T07:16:29.812+02:00"Jerusalem Marathon" Nominated for the Pushcart Prize<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibuHsH1hRcsa70FKx2YRl-zqWiccS98gqeGD8_kcYOCxL7TUIehG05PGmccrX4GAjlXVxxsHDsldG0XrqH1YDGku-1yAEiU_ROlSqkUTwseOqH6zHVn_Cbt8mFeyeqG1yQT1as8FSQUPJhMhbMs6kPGb6AkopWkMacYnbWZdHPAeBT82nZYwlKBsF2Lus/s483/SAR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="425" data-original-width="483" height="353" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibuHsH1hRcsa70FKx2YRl-zqWiccS98gqeGD8_kcYOCxL7TUIehG05PGmccrX4GAjlXVxxsHDsldG0XrqH1YDGku-1yAEiU_ROlSqkUTwseOqH6zHVn_Cbt8mFeyeqG1yQT1as8FSQUPJhMhbMs6kPGb6AkopWkMacYnbWZdHPAeBT82nZYwlKBsF2Lus/w400-h353/SAR.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">I am excited to share that my short story "<a href="https://www.sareview.org/pub/mosb7vcx/release/1" target="_blank"><b>Jerusalem Marathon</b></a>,"
published by the San Antonio Review on November 19th, has been nominated for
the prestigious Pushcart Prize.</p><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">The Pushcart Prize is an American literary prize published by Pushcart
Press that honors the best "poetry, short fiction, essays or literary
whatnot" published in the small presses over the previous year. Small
presses are allowed to submit up to six works that they have published. The San
Antonio Review submitted five poems and one short story.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">"Out of hundreds of publications and thousands of submissions, the
most revered pieces by SAR contributors have been nominated for this year's Pushcart
Prize!" the San Antonio Review said in its announcement.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b>You're invited to read "<a href="https://www.sareview.org/pub/mosb7vcx/release/1" target="_blank">Jerusalem Marathon</a>".</b></p><p></p>Ellis Shumanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07884885978804222016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102623923329719653.post-20536405308838072932023-11-20T07:17:00.000+02:002023-11-20T07:17:16.964+02:00"Jerusalem Marathon" - short story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBXzphL8DX-siNH7tczeXnhg0FYT497uncZ-Rmp_kL4FvBe3lEtBMGP0lyG_QKaEEACW0yRbkLTuzVeRpVC3XqvSLNzejqPRsNL8bOQL3ZkLj1JSO6ElZTGWWRkCuOikkDP-KnsJqPE698JKkz3OwsFGF9Tq-WcS4TZPe_GNG5h7lWq3xggK68XDe7KIg/s528/jerusalem%20marathon.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="278" data-original-width="528" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBXzphL8DX-siNH7tczeXnhg0FYT497uncZ-Rmp_kL4FvBe3lEtBMGP0lyG_QKaEEACW0yRbkLTuzVeRpVC3XqvSLNzejqPRsNL8bOQL3ZkLj1JSO6ElZTGWWRkCuOikkDP-KnsJqPE698JKkz3OwsFGF9Tq-WcS4TZPe_GNG5h7lWq3xggK68XDe7KIg/w400-h210/jerusalem%20marathon.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">They gathered near the Knesset. High school girls in modest skirts
color-matched with running tights, yeshiva students sporting brand-name running
shoes. Soldiers in uniform and start-up employees before the start of their
workday. Individuals, friends, youngsters and athletic adults, the experienced
and those here for the first time, everyone wearing the same lime green
dry-wear shirt. All waited for the announcement that would kick off the race.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">The sky was blue and promising, the early morning air crisp and refreshing.
A perfect day for the Jerusalem Marathon. The main event, 42.2 kilometers long,
would take the runners through downtown Jerusalem and north all the way to Mt.
Scopus. The race circuit snaked through the Old City’s Jaffa Gate and along the
narrow alleyways of the Armenian Quarter. Out Zion Gate, around Mt. Zion, up a
steep hill to the old train station and through German Colony. South to the
Arnona neighborhood, back towards the city center, and down the home stretch to
the finish line at Sacher Park.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">A festive day, carnival-like, for both the runners and those who came
to cheer them on. Municipality and national flags furled in the light breeze; colorful
balloons with the Marathon logo rose into the sky. Loud music competed with the
call of vendors at stalls selling sporting equipment and refreshments. Bottles
of mineral water were handed out to all who asked. And of course, a platform awaited
the medalists—the top three finalists in each race.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">All of this Mordechai Hirschfeld saw on the small television screen hung
on the back wall of the lobby. He leaned forward in his wheelchair with great
anticipation for the race’s starting gun. The television camera scanned the anxious
faces of the runners crowded next to the starting line, and Mordechai shifted
his legs on their pedals, as if he, too, was waiting to run with them, to fight
for position and push forward until he had a clear straightaway where he could
pick up speed. He would show them, he thought.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“What are you doing, Mordie? Imagining you’re running in the
Marathon?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Mordechai looked over at Spiegel, his neighbor from across the hall in
Beit Gilboa, the assisted living retirement home in southern Jerusalem. Spiegel
was sitting on a hard chair, a silver-framed walker parked at his side. “I was
a runner in my day,” Mordechai said proudly. “You should have seen me then. If
it wasn’t for my legs, I would be there now,” he said, pointing at the
television.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 14.4pt;">Read the rest of the story on <a href="https://www.sareview.org/pub/mosb7vcx/release/1" target="_blank">San Antonio Review</a>.</i></p>Ellis Shumanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07884885978804222016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102623923329719653.post-40546248795722727952023-11-14T16:05:00.001+02:002023-11-20T07:27:08.334+02:00War Diary: How Do You Cope?<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL_YRPO-FoKuzWaxy_sx-GfWHRnEc8xbrBOe0y2-U0Eg835LFIvbvyx5WYeSmNQ6in0YwAQOqnhZ8hzohTqGbodhKN9g2biMH1BpIpgA8s5Zi-ZtkllHt8TxrvXYZC1HSM8pFxwmw1IKcxwXigZjjEcvsfttuDIKS8e3_Lut-RtUFn8FbvDNb7HXfZA1M/s580/hostages.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="326" data-original-width="580" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL_YRPO-FoKuzWaxy_sx-GfWHRnEc8xbrBOe0y2-U0Eg835LFIvbvyx5WYeSmNQ6in0YwAQOqnhZ8hzohTqGbodhKN9g2biMH1BpIpgA8s5Zi-ZtkllHt8TxrvXYZC1HSM8pFxwmw1IKcxwXigZjjEcvsfttuDIKS8e3_Lut-RtUFn8FbvDNb7HXfZA1M/w400-h225/hostages.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pictures of the hostages on a sign to buy local Israeli products</td></tr></tbody></table>The television news is on. The news is always on. Rockets, sirens. A
soldier's death. Scenes of destruction in Gaza. Scenes of destruction in the
kibbutzim. The wounded. Unfathomable terror. The hostages.<p></p><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Panelists discuss the issues. There are no answers.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Doomscrolling a Facebook news feed. Memes, links to articles.
Descriptions of antisemitic marches and attacks on Jews worldwide. Fund-raising
efforts and rallies of support. Tales of the victims. The hostages.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">People ask me if I'm OK, but none of us are OK. My son and son-in-law
are too old to serve in the army reserves and we don't personally know any of
the victims, but with rockets flying overhead, and the bombings in Gaza as well
as rocket interceptions over Tel Aviv audible from our home, this is all very
personal.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">So, how do you cope? How can you manage these unmanageable days?
Everyone has their own survival guide. This is mine, in no particular order.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b>Exercise</b> – start the day very early with a 5-kilometer run in the
gym.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b>Work</b> – carry on with a regular routine by working remotely and
conducting meetings on Teams and Skype.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b>Read</b> – buy countless books from Amazon. Lately I've read <i>The
Heaven & Earth Grocery Story </i>by James McBride; <i>The Searcher</i> by
Tana French; <i>The Lamplighters</i> by Emma Stonex; and <i>The Making of
Another Major Motion Picture Masterpiece</i>, a novel by Tom Hanks.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b>Write</b> – while I haven't been able to write fiction, I have
written occasional journal entries telling what it's like living through a war.
And I recently wrote reviews of two short story collections – <i><a href="https://ellisshuman.blogspot.com/2023/11/review-of-east-jerusalem-noir-short.html">East Jerusalem Noir</a></i> and <i><a href="https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/review-of-west-jerusalem-noir-short-stories/">West Jerusalem Noir</a></i>.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b>Volunteer </b>– I've joined the civil guard on Neve Ilan, serving
shifts at the main gate. While I'm not guarding with a gun, I am stopping cars
driving in, asking the identity of unfamiliar faces, and hopefully providing a
deterrent to anyone suspicious coming into my community.<o:p></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyhOQbpZMqy404buaH3o405VDx24SPWPtzGyN4IMYV5zUGkz0TD_1_0oW4xVVr2AVv6jhRYDZyA9jltmZJjPOojLBDERC5T183wOccrXUEevNvRDWx7AYoQDMOEuXkVhdjQ9_SIgHTCvsksJjlWG9Gq_4mBKSQUiiV35C1dgS8-rS9FRByUNT7WB-Ga9I/s622/guard%20duty.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="622" data-original-width="350" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyhOQbpZMqy404buaH3o405VDx24SPWPtzGyN4IMYV5zUGkz0TD_1_0oW4xVVr2AVv6jhRYDZyA9jltmZJjPOojLBDERC5T183wOccrXUEevNvRDWx7AYoQDMOEuXkVhdjQ9_SIgHTCvsksJjlWG9Gq_4mBKSQUiiV35C1dgS8-rS9FRByUNT7WB-Ga9I/w225-h400/guard%20duty.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guard duty at the moshav gate</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b>Binge</b> – Netflix plays a major role in our evenings, and we
generally watch limited series, an episode every night. Recently we've seen 'Live
to 100, Secrets of the Blue Zone'; 'Wellmania'; and 'Painkiller'. Currently
we're watching 'All the Light We Cannot See'.</p><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b>Laugh</b> – Occasionally we'll watch a Stephen Colbert opening
monologue, Saturday Night Live skits on YouTube, or a Taylor Tomlinson stand-up
special.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b>Listen to music</b> – at the gym, in the car. Loud music to drown out
everything and quiet music to chill.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b>Listen to podcasts</b> –True crime, science, Bulgarian history, and a
weekly episode of 'Wait Wait…Don't Tell Me!'<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b>Be thankful for family</b> – babysitting when we're needed and a
Friday night Shabbat dinner to keep us close to our loved ones.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b>Be thankful for our home</b> – we were just days away from finishing
the construction of the apartment above our house but now the contractor's
workers can't cross into Israel. But how can we complain? There are so many
Israelis who have been evacuated from their homes in the south and from their
homes in the north. They are staying in hotels all over the country for an
indefinite period of time. There are so many who have lost everything; their
communities have been destroyed. We are thankful that our community is here for
us and we have a safe roof over our heads.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b>Hike/Walk</b> – get out of the house and into nature. On Shabbat I
walked through unfamiliar Jerusalem neighborhoods and whenever I can, I hike
into the forests near Neve Ilan.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b>Sympathize</b> – with the victims, the families, the mourners. I
can't imagine what it's like for them. The funerals. The hostages. Always that
– the hostages.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b>Support</b> – buy blue and white products, including cheese from the
Beeri Dairy and vegetables from the kibbutzim near Gaza.<o:p></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj8gj9_qz3CYeLdZ0kdJcR1N5b33K7-Nu2V3tqUHf8ayP93Vkvuw5YXno8XKvpj5NmBYl2Eh7jB686WegOCUsc90p2oWydTY61-AUp2CB5Zc5ehLEAItKyYzNhkY0EfhdWbZXYrUx4uylt5Ff2uZOHsY6gGwMgfdAFC_83-2wOLRl5sLLn9g7QxbWqscI/s580/beeri.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="326" data-original-width="580" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj8gj9_qz3CYeLdZ0kdJcR1N5b33K7-Nu2V3tqUHf8ayP93Vkvuw5YXno8XKvpj5NmBYl2Eh7jB686WegOCUsc90p2oWydTY61-AUp2CB5Zc5ehLEAItKyYzNhkY0EfhdWbZXYrUx4uylt5Ff2uZOHsY6gGwMgfdAFC_83-2wOLRl5sLLn9g7QxbWqscI/w400-h225/beeri.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheese from the Beeri Dairy</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b>Don't turn on the television</b> - but, how can you not turn on the
television? How can you not read the news? How can you not spend hour after
hour doomscrolling? It's hard.</p><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b>Survive</b> – these are difficult days, but we'll make it. We
survived COVID; we'll get past this. This is a war and we will win. We have no
choice.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b>Related articles:</b></p><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><a href="https://ellisshuman.blogspot.com/2023/10/war-diary-what-terrifies-me-more-than.html">War Diary: What Terrifies Me More Than Anything Else</a></p><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed;"><a href="https://ellisshuman.blogspot.com/2023/10/war-diary-day-5.html">War Diary: Day 5</a></p><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed;"><a href="https://ellisshuman.blogspot.com/2023/10/israel-at-war-again.html">Israel at War. Again.</a></p>Ellis Shumanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07884885978804222016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102623923329719653.post-69663227766776234372023-11-09T11:07:00.004+02:002023-11-09T11:07:46.744+02:00Review of 'East Jerusalem Noir' - short stories<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPMdwY9z0c9FsoEuDygCnQ_b4l-M_vAJkUUsa9NjgRkPZCosLkLH_A5z1hYH5yiLTMOF6cbTv5gLI2lBVaTaJZNlI_sPzl76yNwNvkHxdcb4OBG8rQOPUZuL9lko8covcb66zR3rpbC7EJQQDMV6qLccBBXb9X_S3VeHzWryyThnjPzhJXCtBm5rCDqaI/s300/east%20jerusalem%20noir.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="189" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPMdwY9z0c9FsoEuDygCnQ_b4l-M_vAJkUUsa9NjgRkPZCosLkLH_A5z1hYH5yiLTMOF6cbTv5gLI2lBVaTaJZNlI_sPzl76yNwNvkHxdcb4OBG8rQOPUZuL9lko8covcb66zR3rpbC7EJQQDMV6qLccBBXb9X_S3VeHzWryyThnjPzhJXCtBm5rCDqaI/s1600/east%20jerusalem%20noir.jpg" width="189" /></a></div>The
Six Day War in 1967 brought the reunification of the city of Jerusalem as
Israel's capital but the reality on the ground is different, with the city clearly
divided into East and West. Israelis rarely venture into East Jerusalem, its neighborhoods
as foreign as those of a different country.<p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Israeli
readers may be uncomfortable with the short stories of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/East-Jerusalem-Noir-Akashic-ebook/dp/B0C156D9YN/" target="_blank"><i><b>East Jerusalem Noir</b></i>
</a>(Akashic Books, November 2023), for they are tales of house demolitions,
separation walls, checkpoints, and destroyed villages. But they are also tales
of heavenly faiths that call out to residents to fill the emptiness of their
lives with prayer.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">The
protagonist of the opening story, 'The Ceiling of the City' by Nuzha Abu Ghosh
is stopped by soldiers at Damascus Gate and is taken to prison because he doesn't
have his ID. In 'The Scorpion' by Ibrahim Jouhar, a bulldozer disrupts an
ordinary Jerusalem day, causing a homeowner to cry out "O wasted life, O
lost dreams." Nothing is crueler, perhaps, than seeing your dream house
torn to pieces.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">In
the story 'Between The Two Jerusalems' by Osama Alaysa we meet a gentle refugee
from the destroyed village of Lifta who, despite his Downs syndrome,
establishes himself as an unofficial traffic officer. He wanders around Jerusalem's
old walls. The many vehicles in the streets make him feel free. He steps
forward to direct traffic only to be detained by the police as a suspected
terrorist. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">For
the residents of East Jerusalem, ordinary days in an extraordinary existence
include waiting for a court decision that will determine the fate of one's
home. In the story 'In an Extraordinary City' by Rahaf Al-Sa'ad, Abu wonders if
the hopes he'd planted in the hearts of his wife and children had been a
mirage. Was it unfair to hope for something that couldn't possibly come true? <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Possibly
the most heart-rending story in the book is 'Noble Sanctuary' by Muhammad
Shuraim. We meet 75-year-old Hajja Aisha who, having just arrived from Amman,
hopes to pray at the al-Aqsa Mosque before her impending heart surgery. There
is traffic on the roads and long lines at the checkpoints. Security inspections
and gathering soldiers. Is Hajja's heart strong enough to bear the erupting
violence and make it to Friday prayers?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">The
collection's editor, Rawya Jarjoura Burbara, says she asked the writers
"to portray the city of Jerusalem as they live it, as they feel it, as
they appreciate it, as they fear it, as they want it to be, and as they imagine
it in the past, the present, and the future." The result is 13 stories
translated from Arabic, often painful to read and some with abrupt endings. The
stories tell of the unfulfilled hopes and dreams of East Jerusalem residents,
their lives vastly different from those living in the western half of the city.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/East-Jerusalem-Noir-Akashic-ebook/dp/B0C156D9YN/" target="_blank"><b>East Jerusalem Noir</b></a> </i>of the Akashic Noir Series is published simultaneously
with <i>West Jerusalem Noir</i>, a companion collection that reflects an image
of the national, religious, and socioeconomic tension in the western half of
the complicated city of Jerusalem.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Originally posted on <a href="https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/review-of-east-jerusalem-noir-short-stories/" target="_blank">The Times of Israel</a>.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b>Related article:</b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><a href="http://ellisshuman.blogspot.co.il/2014/11/touring-dark-side-of-tel-aviv.html">Touring the Dark Side of Tel Aviv</a></p>Ellis Shumanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07884885978804222016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102623923329719653.post-23119575953627497872023-11-02T07:06:00.002+02:002023-11-02T07:06:39.651+02:00"The Noise Above" - short story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkckMcLrO4osQzmxbVjFwXkmogprYEku6OH7yuR6X24Db1R3FHd139-2K9gRLPeHRHOGG5gZsAnblQE2OXaAychE4IbAAHHb0qz7OnucApl5lIRedkv3jt5dt1m8Za4rbpVuqKoGbDibrsResbBB1Z8_QNYuTkDosUpy1f6hQt1i4EjiHDolrAPaW8p24/s580/the%20noise%20above.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="324" data-original-width="580" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkckMcLrO4osQzmxbVjFwXkmogprYEku6OH7yuR6X24Db1R3FHd139-2K9gRLPeHRHOGG5gZsAnblQE2OXaAychE4IbAAHHb0qz7OnucApl5lIRedkv3jt5dt1m8Za4rbpVuqKoGbDibrsResbBB1Z8_QNYuTkDosUpy1f6hQt1i4EjiHDolrAPaW8p24/w400-h224/the%20noise%20above.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">TCHA!-TCHA!-TCHA!-TCHA!-TCHA!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">A deafening hammering. A piercing drilling. Incessant,
irregular, and irritating, to say the least. It stopped and started, continued
for several minutes, and then, unexpectedly, there was a lull until it started
up again. It seemed like it would never end. And it was all coming from the
floor above her head.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">She couldn’t begin to imagine what was happening up
there. Were they tearing down walls, or building new ones? Were they tiling or wiring
or installing or cementing or plastering or who knows what? What she did know
was that the work was loud, so very loud, and there was dust everywhere.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“Imma, you need to move out,” Shelly insisted. “There’s
no way you can stay in your house with all that construction work going on
overhead.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“I’m fine,” she insisted. “It won’t go on forever.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“Are you wearing those earphones I gave you?” Benny
asked her. “Imma, you'll lose your hearing if you don’t take precautions!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“I can hear just fine,” she replied, although there
were times when she could literally not hear herself think.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“Live somewhere else for the duration,” Shelly said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“You can stay with me,” Benny said, although she wasn’t
sure he was sincere with his invitation.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“I’m not leaving my home. I refuse, even for this! I’ll
manage, Benny. I’ll survive, Shelly. After all, it’s an annoyance only part of
the day.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">Part of the day? It started at seven in the morning and
lasted until four in the afternoon. It didn’t help if she turned the radio up
to full volume. Occasionally she went outside, walked down the street, visited Esther
next door, but no matter where she went, the noise followed her, ringing in her
ears. Even at night, when the workers were long gone and their drills and
hammers were silent, she could still hear the pounding and the banging in her
head.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">TCHA!-TCHA!-TCHA!-TCHA!-TCHA!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">“I’ll manage,” she tried to convince herself as she lay
in her bed. She knew Shelly and Benny had her best interests in mind when they
said she should be move out for the duration of the building, but she was
stubborn and insisted on staying. Maybe not moving out was a mistake, but she
would never admit it. They may be right, but she refused to be wrong. Still, thoughts
of how the mess of construction was interfering with her daily routine, along
with the constant ringing in her ears, kept her awake for long hours.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-ligatures: none;">Read the rest of the story on <a href="https://www.newenglishreview.org/articles/the-noise-above/" target="_blank">New English Review</a>.</span></p>Ellis Shumanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07884885978804222016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102623923329719653.post-84060451688157525802023-10-27T10:17:00.004+03:002023-10-27T16:20:07.995+03:00War Diary: What Terrifies Me More Than Anything Else<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://twitter.com/i/status/1716874448694096095" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="303" data-original-width="545" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiITabUNMbz4mHtgmrdbV3IozAtLlJ48eNwT-eoA7TldPrSXMEAObNRAIf2hjRO6vFXf0zmdPVWivzd-PgXeTeHTLyn6zjutTg7vuVD5OhyphenhyphenkJ40nEnQH9TkLAnN_Sf3xGy_UzwpFQ9ML1_1Fk3X7lKLxzXV1xNnhABuLygdf3G94oUvFCmpo2c6s4Z8VcE/w400-h223/audio.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Today
is the 21st day of war. A war that started when Hamas terrorists infiltrated
through many breaches in Israel's security fence to massacre more than 1,000
civilians and soldiers in kibbutzim and towns. A war that started when Hamas kidnapped
more than 200 Israelis and foreigners and took them captive in Gaza. A war that
started when Hamas shot barrage after barrage of rockets into Israeli cities. A
war that started when Hezbollah launched mortar attacks across Israel's
northern borders.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">A
war that Israel has no choice but to win. A war for our very existence as the
Jewish homeland.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">My
family is relatively safe. My son and son-in-law are too old for IDF reserve
duty. I don't personally know any of the victims or the hostages. But for me,
and my family, this is all very personal. If the Hamas terrorists had had their
way, they would have continued to drive into the heart of Israel and murder,
rape, and pillage. Even today, we have security inspections at the gate of our moshav
near Jerusalem. We are on alert.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b>We grieve</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">We
feel the grief of those who lost their loved ones. We are heartbroken for the
families with hostages in Gaza. We are shocked to see the scenes of destruction
in the kibbutzim along the Gaza border. Our eyes tear when we hear the stories
of the survivors. And our spirits are lifted when we hear of the bravery of
those who fought the terrorists.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">We
are shocked when we see the demonstrations held all over the world, where
protestors shout out that Israel is at fault. That the attacks 3 weeks ago (not
terror, but acts of militants), were a result of Israel's oppression and
occupation of the Palestinians. 'Liberate Palestine' they cry out. Yes, there
are deaths in Gaza, as well. Innocent civilians are being killed by Israeli
bombs. But those civilians are being held hostage. Hamas is preventing
them from evacuating, using them as human shields to safeguard their terrorist
leaders.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b>A terrorist brags about murdering of Jews</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Of
all this, one thing terrifies me more than anything else. And that is the recording
of one of the terrorists as he ran amok in his killing spree on the morning of
Saturday, October 7th.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">"Look
how many I killed with my own hands!" he shouts into the phone of one his
murdered victims. "Your son has killed Jews!" he proudly informs his
family back in Gaza.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">The
<a href="https://twitter.com/i/status/1716874448694096095" target="_blank">recording was presented by the Israeli Defense Forces</a> to foreign journalists along
with additional recordings, security camera footage, Hamas terrorists’ body
cameras and cellphone videos of the terrorists, victims, and first responders.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">The
next words heard on the video are chilling.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">"Check
your WhatsApp," he invites his parents, eager to show them images of his
victims. "Mom, your son is a hero!'<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">"I
wish I was there with you," she responds.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">"Kill!
Kill! Kill!" his father implores him.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">This
is not a war for the liberation of Palestine. Our enemies are not fighting a
rightwing Israeli government. They are not acting to stop Israeli settlements
or end the occupation. They want to kill Jews. Simply that.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Jews
are not safe today anywhere in the world. Take a look at the protests in Europe
and at American universities. Jews are not safe in Israel, either. But there is
one difference here. We fight back.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">This
is war, and it is a war that we must win.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><o:p><a href="https://twitter.com/i/status/1716874448694096095" target="_blank">Listen to the horrific recording.</a></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"># #
#<o:p></o:p></p>Ellis Shumanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07884885978804222016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102623923329719653.post-60960433676020040992023-10-20T09:53:00.001+03:002023-10-20T16:51:06.812+03:00The World Must Hear These Stories<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjUamRmhCi2_7hjZ1px1yPxvYRkAIjN_FfOx30m4lz5ffQPSUAUr8-gY1igzPav3820RSud55FWIhx42wPygzF-ixvb8R2n8jeXMrtnJqftN2W7hKNfqSxDRfepD5IiNgtK0vC1GKb7H9_VEOPo1LyaeIAnr1Gw71KoKefdLeTKs3UETSElyGFomfmmRE/s580/october%207.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="307" data-original-width="580" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjUamRmhCi2_7hjZ1px1yPxvYRkAIjN_FfOx30m4lz5ffQPSUAUr8-gY1igzPav3820RSud55FWIhx42wPygzF-ixvb8R2n8jeXMrtnJqftN2W7hKNfqSxDRfepD5IiNgtK0vC1GKb7H9_VEOPo1LyaeIAnr1Gw71KoKefdLeTKs3UETSElyGFomfmmRE/w400-h211/october%207.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">No words can ever give justice to the victims of the horrific Hamas
terrorist attack on October 7, 2023. Men and women, teenagers and babies, Holocaust
survivors and soldiers – all of them innocent Israelis targeted by Hamas when
it invaded their communities, destroyed their homes, murdered them
indiscriminately, and took them hostage.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Tragically, more Jews were killed on October 7th than on any other day since
the Holocaust. Countless stories are emerging from this tragedy. Firsthand
accounts of the horrors as well as tales of those who heroically fought off the
terrorists. The world must hear these stories.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">A new website provides eyewitness accounts from inside the massacre.
<a href="http://October7.org"><b>October7.org</b></a> is a memorial for the victims and intended to make sure that the
stories of survivors who endured unimaginable horrors are never forgotten. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">The <a href="https://www.october7.org/" target="_blank"><b>October7.org website</b></a> was built by a group of dedicated Israeli volunteers
who gave their time and skills to keep these memories alive. The site is
currently in English, French, and Japanese, with other languages to follow.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Read the eyewitness and survivor stories on <a href="http://October7.org"><b>October7.org</b></a>. And never
forget.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Originally posted on <a href="https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/the-world-must-hear-these-stories/" target="_blank">The Times of Israel</a>.</p>Ellis Shumanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07884885978804222016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102623923329719653.post-62565321797541567052023-10-13T12:12:00.003+03:002023-10-14T08:41:38.843+03:00My Message to the Innocent Palestinians in Gaza<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_dNDG_kBaAu4ItgV0oYTRRGNDu4FTHBnciY7mt9Z4gtQFnFjqqxEXovDegvGTiT0LkyYf4Jcdlq961Q3oI38OcTKXBMiI-IaepbKFSYU60wLizMJUE1Iz2eQABdrmC97QtmraFWsKOOhVsEBL6lf5y27Twt497JFRwRRq3PcKBWK3HHgiifFLJi2PuHQ/s580/gaza.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="386" data-original-width="580" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_dNDG_kBaAu4ItgV0oYTRRGNDu4FTHBnciY7mt9Z4gtQFnFjqqxEXovDegvGTiT0LkyYf4Jcdlq961Q3oI38OcTKXBMiI-IaepbKFSYU60wLizMJUE1Iz2eQABdrmC97QtmraFWsKOOhVsEBL6lf5y27Twt497JFRwRRq3PcKBWK3HHgiifFLJi2PuHQ/w400-h266/gaza.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">You
have no electricity, water, or fuel. Your homes are being bombed and you have
been told to evacuate the northern Gaza Strip, ahead of an IDF ground invasion.
You cry out to the world for help. You ask us to hear your pain. But even
though the majority of you are innocent, this is difficult, because your
leaders attacked us. <i>Attack</i> is not really the appropriate word. It would
be more fitting to say that your leaders <i>massacred</i> us.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">The
loss of civilians anywhere is tragic, and unfortunately many civilians are
killed during warfare. But in this case, as in the past, there are two sides and
they are not morally equal.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">On the one hand, there are those who specifically
target civilians. They shoot and kill men and women, children and the elderly,
in their homes and at their parties. They take babies and grandparents hostage,
and destroy families and burn their homes.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">On the other hand, there are those
who say 'Evacuate your homes," because, as IDF spokesman Rear Adm. Daniel
Hagari today told reporters, "We are fighting a terror group, not the
Gazan population. We want civilians not to be harmed, but we cannot live with
the rule of Hamas-ISIS near our border."<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Do
you not see the difference? We try not to harm civilians while Hamas
specifically targets civilians. They dance in the streets and give out sweets
when Israelis are killed, and it doesn't matter if the victim was a soldier or a
teenager. Hamas has ruled the Gaza Strip in a reign of terror, teaching murder in
its curriculum.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Palestinians
of Gaza, we made a mistake for many years thinking that Hamas was acting in your
better interests. We opened our gates for your workers; we allowed your
fishermen to sail their boats. We allowed money into the Gaza Strip, thinking
it would be used for schools and hospitals. Instead, Hamas stockpiled rockets
and grenades, rifles and mortars. All in a calculated plan to launch a
murderous assault on Israeli citizens.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Hamas
has failed you and you are paying the price. We know you are suffering, in the
dark and without basic necessities, but it is Hamas that is responsible for
this war. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">We ask you to get out of the way. We don't want to harm you, and
certainly not to kill you. We would prefer to live near you, side by side as
peaceful neighbors, and we tried this many times in the past. What we are
asking you now is that along with your cries for help, you should also cry out
against what Hamas has done, not only to us, but to you as well.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Originally posted on <a href="https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/my-message-to-the-innocent-palestinians-in-gaza/" target="_blank">The Times of Israel</a>.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><o:p></o:p></p><span style="font-size: x-small;">
Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@mohammed_ibrahim_mi?utm_content=creditCopyText&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=unsplash">Mohammed Ibrahim</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/ZupwcgqWjcU?utm_content=creditCopyText&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=unsplash">Unsplash</a>.
Photo published on August 13, 2022.</span>Ellis Shumanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07884885978804222016noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102623923329719653.post-27132577618867932472023-10-11T07:28:00.003+03:002023-10-12T07:20:55.687+03:00War Diary: Day 5<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH3ACeUBx5Q7N4qoPwGzO8jQ8NxGq7lsFu4a2EVpdDc1kQ6i1hpru-1pHfEceTCZkyrcYnR80yycMpLc474bwa6p8owoA-VXG-D9JvQ7isa6ooBqlB5SCZ48P9ltb8MrPNh0vV-RTNJQ34m8zwiKoU8lxgAM3WvVw2Ftl9YQkrzvOZcyugpdueMGg4PDc/s580/moshav%20children.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="326" data-original-width="580" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH3ACeUBx5Q7N4qoPwGzO8jQ8NxGq7lsFu4a2EVpdDc1kQ6i1hpru-1pHfEceTCZkyrcYnR80yycMpLc474bwa6p8owoA-VXG-D9JvQ7isa6ooBqlB5SCZ48P9ltb8MrPNh0vV-RTNJQ34m8zwiKoU8lxgAM3WvVw2Ftl9YQkrzvOZcyugpdueMGg4PDc/w400-h225/moshav%20children.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Our hearts break again and again with thoughts of Saturday's massacre.
Women and children murdered in their homes. Families torn apart by death and
destruction. Young infants, elderly grandparents, teenagers—taken hostage into Gaza.
Soldiers shot down as they sought to protect innocent civilians. Over 100
members of Kibbutz Be'eri – murdered. 260 youths attending a music festival –
murdered. The death toll keeps rising and is now over 1200, with thousands more
injured. Our hearts break.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Having lived in Israel for five decades, we have experienced war before.
Yom Kippur—when our country was taken by surprise by the armies of Egypt and
Syria. The wars in Lebanon. The battles in Gaza. Terrorist attack after
terrorist attack. Suicide bombings, stabbings, and even kidnappings. But nothing
like this.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">My son at forty-years-old no longer reports for service in the IDF
reserves. My son-in-law is also over the age. I don't know any residents of the
communities near the Gaza Strip. I am not related to any of those murdered,
injured, or taken hostage. Yet, this war is very personal to me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Two days ago, rockets struck near my home in Moshav Neve Ilan. One
landed close to Highway 1, near Shoresh. Another landed in Har Adar, injuring two
people. Another rocket struck Abu Gosh, near its new mosque. Each time the
sirens sound, we take cover, and now we have a concrete saferoom to protect us.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">We have been building an apartment on top of our house where my daughter
and granddaughter will live. We were close, so close, to finishing the apartment.
The kitchen was due to arrive this week and the lighting fixtures were to be
installed. But now everything is on hold. There are no workers, no deliveries,
no installations.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Our Arab contractor and his brother came to our house two days ago. They
took down the temporary wall blocking the stairs leading up to the apartment. Now
we can run upstairs to the saferoom when we hear the sirens. This saferoom will
serve as my granddaughter's bedroom in better days.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">On the moshav, the youth are collecting food to send to the soldiers on
the frontlines. Soldiers who will inevitably advance into Gaza in the next
stages of this war, ready to give their lives in defense of our country. Civilians
are forming long lines to give blood. Schools are closed throughout the country.
My office is working remotely from home. There is no traffic on the roads.
Silence, mostly, except for the fighter jets in the skies.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Our house shakes when the Israeli Air Force strikes in Gaza. We hear the
bombings. When a rocket is intercepted in the skies over Tel Aviv, we hear the
explosion. This war is so very near. So very personal.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">These are difficult days and there is more hardship ahead. The horrors
of Saturday will continue to haunt us for years to come. Israel, which has been
so divided over these past few months due to our horrible government (to put it
mildly) is united like never before. We are strong. We will get through this.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"># # #<o:p></o:p></p>Ellis Shumanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07884885978804222016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102623923329719653.post-70996878790047469972023-10-08T07:24:00.005+03:002023-10-12T07:21:21.858+03:00Israel at War. Again.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpza82j37Dg-wJ0A1psarvNoaei-4uh7R63WmJ1M2b5rIZhDlZ4Y6lrZH6hzfkWeXvrEiigSzVhrOlgGVa3lnwp3iBx_t-scjuBFRum9SxjyxAZeW3tJgvySVm0qCaJMqHASSbA_Z2AaoDpuxWs12v7FX_BdYTM6yySnN383z63t3UUJl0QCpoHDx6A3k/s580/Israeli%20flag.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="433" data-original-width="580" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpza82j37Dg-wJ0A1psarvNoaei-4uh7R63WmJ1M2b5rIZhDlZ4Y6lrZH6hzfkWeXvrEiigSzVhrOlgGVa3lnwp3iBx_t-scjuBFRum9SxjyxAZeW3tJgvySVm0qCaJMqHASSbA_Z2AaoDpuxWs12v7FX_BdYTM6yySnN383z63t3UUJl0QCpoHDx6A3k/w400-h299/Israeli%20flag.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">It's
early Saturday morning, October 7th, and my wife and I are sitting on the
stairwell in our home with our four-year-old granddaughter listening to the
sirens. A boom overhead, a very loud boom. "It's just a game," we reassure
our granddaughter, and she laughs. We wait until the sirens stop before
returning to the living room.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">But
this is far from being a game. Just hours before, dozens, maybe hundreds, of
Hamas terrorists had driven unimpeded through the Gaza Strip border fence and
invaded some twenty kibbutzim and nearby towns. They fired their guns and threw
their bombs, murdering over 300 Israeli soldiers and civilians (at latest
count) and injuring over 1,500. They abducted an as-yet unknown number of
Israelis, including women and children, into the Gaza Strip and their fate is
currently unknown.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Hamas
captured a number of kibbutzim and entered an Israeli army base. They destroyed
at least one tank. They went from house to house on their murderous rampage.
They looted and set fire to homes.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">By
late Saturday night, Israeli security forces had regained control of these
communities. Dozens of terrorists were killed after prolonged clashes. Soldiers
and policemen were injured; some were killed. Hostages were released. But we
are still counting the dead and our citizens are still captive in Gaza.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b>Israel
is at war. Again.<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">It's
early Sunday morning, October 8th. From my home in the Jerusalem Hills, I can
hear Israeli Air Force fighter jets on their way to bomb Hamas infrastructure in
Gaza. Last night, while watching the television newscast,
we could hear the booms of the Iron Dome defense system shooting down Hamas
missiles over Tel Aviv. Some of those missiles got through and landed in
Israeli cities, causing more injuries and property destruction.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">There
is one person responsible for what happened yesterday, and it is Prime Minister Netanyahu. He allowed his extremist
government to divide the country, to distract us from the real dangers
threatening our existence. He was warned that the government's so-called
judicial reform and the civilian protests that came in response would be seen
by our enemies as a sign that we are weak. And Netanyahu, and his government,
refused to listen.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Hundreds,
if not thousands, of our finest soldiers and military pilots announced their
refusal to report for reserve duty because the government was destroying
democracy. Former IDF commanders and security officials spoke out against what
the government was doing. And Netanyahu ignored them.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b>Taken
by surprise<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Just
a few weeks ago, my wife and I saw the film "Golda", which portrayed
our late prime minister during the days of the Yom Kippur War, when the IDF was
taken by surprise. Even today, there are those who blame Golda Meir for her
role in that catastrophe, although top defense officials were much more
responsible.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">There
is no doubt in my mind that one day Netanyahu will be held accountable for what
he has done to our country.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">But,
politics aside, there is something much more disturbing. Israel has the most
powerful armed forces in the Middle East. Our intelligence system is regarded
worldwide as being one of the best. We take out terrorists with precision
strikes, we capture enemy commanders, and we have won the wars that threaten
our existence. But yesterday, our military forces failed us.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b>These
are the questions I ask:<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="direction: ltr; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; margin-left: 36.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt 36pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: left; text-indent: -18pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span dir="LTR"></span>Why didn't the army know
about Hamas's plans, which must have taken months to organize and coordinate?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="direction: ltr; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; margin-left: 36.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt 36pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: left; text-indent: -18pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span dir="LTR"></span>Why did the army rely on a
billion-dollar anti-tunnel border system, allowing terrorists to simply drive
through the fence to enter Israel?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="direction: ltr; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; margin-left: 36.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt 36pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: left; text-indent: -18pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span dir="LTR"></span>Why didn't the army stop
them at the border?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="direction: ltr; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; margin-left: 36.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt 36pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: left; text-indent: -18pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span dir="LTR"></span>Why didn't the Israeli Air Force
send our attack helicopters into the skies to bomb the terrorists' easily
identifiable white pickup trucks as they sped around the country?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="direction: ltr; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; margin-left: 36.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt 36pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: left; text-indent: -18pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span dir="LTR"></span>Why didn't the army stop
the terrorists as they hurried back to Gaza with their Israeli hostages?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="direction: ltr; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; margin-left: 36.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt 36pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: left; text-indent: -18pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span dir="LTR"></span>Why did the army wait for hours
to rescue the civilians trapped in their homes as terrorists continued their
mission of destruction? These civilians cried out on social media, "Save
us!" They spoke with television broadcasters, "I don't know where my
family is!" They said they heard Arabic being spoken outside their
saferooms. And still the army didn't come.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="direction: ltr; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; margin-left: 36.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt 36pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: left; text-indent: -18pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span dir="LTR"></span>Why did it take so long for
the army to regain control of those communities?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="direction: ltr; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; margin-left: 36.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt 36pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: left; text-indent: -18pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span dir="LTR"></span>Why did it take so long for
the government to begin to respond with attacks on the Hamas terrorist state in
Gaza?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Netanyahu
is ultimately responsible for the attack that took us by surprise, but something must be clear. Hamas
is a terrorist organization. They are not a humanitarian leadership concerned
with the welfare of innocent Palestinians. They are terrorists who don't
hesitate to kill women and children. They will stop at nothing in their fight
to destroy Israel.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">But
we will stop at nothing to defend ourselves. Hamas must be defeated, once and
for all. We have many days of war ahead, and it will be hard. Painful. Israel
will win. Victory will come at a cost and we must be prepared. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">This
is not a game. This is war. </p><i>
Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@levimeirclancy?utm_content=creditCopyText&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=unsplash">Levi Meir Clancy</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/b0cHMwz_0OY?utm_content=creditCopyText&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=unsplash">Unsplash</a></i>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"># # #<o:p></o:p></p>Ellis Shumanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07884885978804222016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102623923329719653.post-21338462515684016162023-09-29T16:12:00.002+03:002023-09-29T16:13:41.175+03:00Wars of the Jews<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho-jn1oIfI1AbID9ybChZO1nmhmNX8Or-5mylaee9lcEW3REV2_5z7fFJSZLaH35QLg87Fc3qYZ_FUQK4LFLv3KpfQTfycMzAi1r_tKSQL3M1KoUWFoAaZ_lRXWhpxoF-I2yZ052duqq_j1lQw2nMDqMJ4Kt8JOk_xjJD_kDDXiHZ98hrQyl2nJ7zpMHw/s580/prayers%20at%20the%20Kotel.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="374" data-original-width="580" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho-jn1oIfI1AbID9ybChZO1nmhmNX8Or-5mylaee9lcEW3REV2_5z7fFJSZLaH35QLg87Fc3qYZ_FUQK4LFLv3KpfQTfycMzAi1r_tKSQL3M1KoUWFoAaZ_lRXWhpxoF-I2yZ052duqq_j1lQw2nMDqMJ4Kt8JOk_xjJD_kDDXiHZ98hrQyl2nJ7zpMHw/w400-h258/prayers%20at%20the%20Kotel.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Yom
Kippur eve. At the very same hour that leftwing activists clashed with
religious worshippers in Dizengoff Square, I was praying in the synagogue on my
moshav. I was a secular Ashkenazi Jew standing alongside religious Sephardic
residents of my community. Listening to melodies I wasn’t familiar with, I was
very much out of my comfort zone, yet I felt very welcome. Isn’t this what
Judaism is supposed to be like? The news from Tel Aviv suggested we are far
from that.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">The
more I think about those events, the more I am abhorred. After the Supreme
Court ruled that the Tel Aviv Municipality has the right to ban
gender-segregated prayer services in public spaces, a provocateur gathered
likeminded right-wingers and set up a mechitza divider of Israeli flags so that
they could conduct Yom Kippur services there.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Yisrael
Zaira, head of the extremist Rosh Yehudi Orthodox group, insisted on violating
the court ruling to pray in public with men and women separated. Zaira has
said, “When you see the secular world, you have to think of how to change it.”
Instead of allowing him to freely act against the secular world, he should be
arrested for his infractions.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">On
the other hand, leftwingers who have played a major role in the 38-week-long
protests against the government, a battle to keep Israel’s democratic values
that I completely support, took the law into their own hands and clashed with
the religious Jews. They screamed at the worshippers, swore at them with cries
of ‘Shame!’, physically assaulted them, and spouted hatred at their fellow
Jews.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Left
versus right. Religious versus secular. Jew versus Jew. And all this on the
holiest day in the Jewish calendar. Two wrongs don’t make a right. In these
clashes there were no winners. We are all losers.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b>Where
is the government?</b><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">You
would think that in a time of clashes in our society, there would be an adult
in the room to referee between the sides and calm everything down. In normal
times we would assume that this role should be played by the prime minister.
But these are far from normal times. Our prime minister declared that “leftists
had rioted against Jews”, implying that he doesn’t consider leftists to be
Jews. By siding with the rightwing extremists he brought into his government,
Netanyahu has become a rightwing extremist.<span dir="RTL" face=""Arial",sans-serif" lang="HE" style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">There
is a government outcry now, when secular Jews attacked religious Jews, but why
is the government silent when religious extremists attack Women of the Wall
prayer goers at the Kotel, Judaism’s holiest site? Where is the government when
religious Jews attack Conversative and Reform Jews celebrating family events
and prayers near the Kotel plaza?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b>Ask
for forgiveness</b><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">We
are all Jews, yet we are far from living up to what is expected of Jews.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Yom
Kippur is the holiest day on our calendar, when we are supposed to come
together as a people and beg forgiveness for our sins. In the violent acts we
have witnessed, we have sinned against our fellow Jews, our religion, and our
God. We need to ask for a lot of forgiveness.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Meanwhile,
on my moshav, Yom Kippur prayers went on. I was entranced by the Sephardic
melodies and customs, so different from the Kol Nidre services I have attended
in the past. There are many types of Jews, with different backgrounds and
customs, and yet we are all one people. I felt welcome praying on my moshav. I,
too, was asking forgiveness. We should all be praying.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Originally
posted on the <a href="https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/wars-of-the-jews/" target="_blank">Times of Israel</a><o:p></o:p></p>
Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@poleznova?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Maayan Nemanov</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/z0F9X2XEi7w?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a>Ellis Shumanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07884885978804222016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102623923329719653.post-81449576633667593602023-09-27T07:24:00.001+03:002023-09-27T07:25:24.500+03:00"The Man Who Fell Asleep Everywhere" - short story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyYyx7Hmz7958InUwDWqE_FrFk71b-GjJxy2RVyc3D_S_UJZHbcM0xL3IptOMkBMcufYnb_fCixvqPZBL8si4nKW0D9vroX9qYor7x5duNlTT18HCFu7DQvoMyxKN6muZDqa0MqUfjjUySo5jam3S2gO70wHr1OgJXNR1gTClTXy8tCgw7BHWP74aLAgI/s580/yawning.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="386" data-original-width="580" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyYyx7Hmz7958InUwDWqE_FrFk71b-GjJxy2RVyc3D_S_UJZHbcM0xL3IptOMkBMcufYnb_fCixvqPZBL8si4nKW0D9vroX9qYor7x5duNlTT18HCFu7DQvoMyxKN6muZDqa0MqUfjjUySo5jam3S2gO70wHr1OgJXNR1gTClTXy8tCgw7BHWP74aLAgI/w400-h266/yawning.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">When I first
met the elderly man, he was sitting on the supermarket floor, leaning back against
the laundry detergents in the cleaning supplies aisle. Thinking he had passed
out, I bent down to shake him into consciousness. But then I noticed something
strange. He was snoring.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">"Should I
call the manager?" asked an acne-faced stock boy who appeared out of
nowhere, a look of innocent inexperience in his eyes. "Or an
ambulance?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">"Wait a
minute. Let me see if I can wake him up."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">The man on the
floor opened his right eye, and his left eye followed. A smile formed on his
lips. "Sorry about that," he apologized.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">"I thought
you had fainted!"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">"Oh, no, I
don't faint," he replied. "I just fall asleep. Help me to my
feet."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">He was about
seventy, I guessed, and quite frail. He reached to the air freshener shelf for
balance as he stood up. His glasses had dropped from his face, but they were held
close to his chest by an eyeglass chain. His hair was thick, white, and wild. He
introduced himself as Martin.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">"I'll be
okay," he said as he hobbled toward his shopping cart. I noticed it was
empty except for a carton of slim milk, a container of low-fat goat yoghurt, an
assortment of apples and oranges, and a large jar of dill pickles.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">"Can I get
you some water? Or maybe coffee to wake you up?" I said, holding him
steady.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">"Coffee
would be nice," he admitted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">We abandoned
our shopping carts, to the displeasure of the stock boy, and I led Martin to
the coffee counter at the far side of the supermarket. "Sit here," I
instructed him, pointing at a small table.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi;">Read the rest of the story on <a href="http://thebookendsreview.com/2023/09/22/the-man-who-fell-asleep-everywhere/" target="_blank">The Bookends Review</a>.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-size: small; text-indent: 14.4pt;">Photo by </span><a href="https://unsplash.com/@sammywilliams?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText" style="font-size: small; text-indent: 14.4pt;">Sander Sammy</a><span style="font-size: small; text-indent: 14.4pt;"> on </span><a href="https://unsplash.com/" style="font-size: small; text-indent: 14.4pt;">Unsplash</a></p>Ellis Shumanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07884885978804222016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102623923329719653.post-26013632860469094022023-09-22T07:13:00.002+03:002023-09-22T07:13:42.105+03:00Nodding in Hebrew<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjISt6PZ62pNqq4LeNy7IxcIMDUx1G0HToQUfUnztQdeEICgl5DPlwJX7THfxIsP8-HxNwcBpDM0NqoM6bIOULgfsbBUxgMIjInqmUYUXxBuALL0jxm2PZo39GEKooR6OGxrRfV6bGUzgR9b2GAJVCUttGbDRg5Ncrywv01TpowOmJB0czOp8F9XtYTOcc/s561/books%20for%20article.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="426" data-original-width="561" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjISt6PZ62pNqq4LeNy7IxcIMDUx1G0HToQUfUnztQdeEICgl5DPlwJX7THfxIsP8-HxNwcBpDM0NqoM6bIOULgfsbBUxgMIjInqmUYUXxBuALL0jxm2PZo39GEKooR6OGxrRfV6bGUzgR9b2GAJVCUttGbDRg5Ncrywv01TpowOmJB0czOp8F9XtYTOcc/w400-h304/books%20for%20article.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">I
have a confession to make. After living 50 years in Israel, my Hebrew is still
not up to par. I watch the nightly newscast on television and read an article
or two in the weekend newspapers, but most of my life is in English. I work in
an English-speaking environment and I talk with my wife and my children in English
(with my granddaughters, I do speak Hebrew). My creative writing is in English
(this article, for example), and I read for pleasure in English.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Recently,
I made an exception to my reading habits. I read <i>Mrs. Lilienblum's Cloud
Factory</i>, the debut novel of the award-winning Israeli author Iddo Gefen, in
Hebrew. I had previously enjoyed his short story collection, <i>Jerusalem Beach</i>,
a book that won the $100,000 2023 Sami Rohr Prize for Jewish Literature. I
couldn't wait for his novel to be published in English (sometime next year?),
so I read it in Hebrew, the language in which it was written.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><i>Mrs.
Lilienblum's Cloud Factory</i> is thoroughly enjoyable, very witty, with fully
developed characters and an amazing plot. I highly recommend reading it in any
language.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Another
confession to make. There was an occasional word or two in the book with which
I was not familiar. I did understand the meaning of those words in the context
of how they were used and if I chose to do so, I could simply skim those
sentences without losing the essential beauty of the writing. In one case, however,
I really wanted to know a word's meaning as it was used repeatedly in the text.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial",sans-serif" lang="HE" style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">להנהן</span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">To
nod. How could I not know the translation of such a simple word?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">As
I continued to read, I couldn't get that particular word out of my mind. To my
surprise, it appears in every chapter of the book, sometimes more than once. In
present tense, in past tense. He nodded; we nodded.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial",sans-serif" lang="HE" style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">הנהנתי</span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial",sans-serif" lang="HE" style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial",sans-serif" lang="HE" style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">מהנהנים</span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial",sans-serif" lang="HE" style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial",sans-serif" lang="HE" style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">הנהונים</span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The author will have to excuse me, but
possibly the word was overused? Reading in bed at night (another confession to
make – I usually read on my tablet but in this case, I was actually reading a
paperback), I said the word aloud every time I came across it in the book. This
annoyed my wife</span>. She is now reading the book herself, also noticing the excessive
nodding taking place.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">I
finished reading <i>Mrs. Lilienblum's Cloud Factory</i> and uncharacteristically,
dived right into another book in Hebrew. Eshkol Nevo's excellent new short story
collection is entitled <span dir="RTL" face=""Arial",sans-serif" lang="HE" style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">לב רעב</span><span dir="LTR"></span><span dir="LTR"></span><span dir="LTR"></span><span dir="LTR"></span>
in Hebrew, which translates as 'Hungry Heart', based on the song by Bruce
Springsteen. For some reason, the first page of the book suggests that it will
be published in the future in its English edition as <i>Attachments</i>.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">To
my surprise, I came across a familiar word.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial",sans-serif" lang="HE" style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">להנהן</span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">In
some of the stories, the word appears more than once. In different tenses, in
gender feminine, or in plural. I nodded. She nodded. We nodded.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">After
reading two Israeli books in their native language, both of which I highly
recommend, I have learned one thing about Hebrew literature. Your characters must
be nodding as much as possible if you want readers to enjoy your writing. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;">Originally
posted on <a href="https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/nodding-in-hebrew/" target="_blank">The Times of Israel<o:p></o:p></a></p>
<br /><div><b>Related article:</b></div><div><br /></div><div><div><a href="https://ellisshuman.blogspot.com/2023/08/review-of-iddo-gefens-mrs-lilienblums.html">Review of Iddo Gefen’s ‘Mrs. Lilienblum’s Cloud Factory’</a></div><div><br /></div></div>Ellis Shumanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07884885978804222016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102623923329719653.post-9840093703816685252023-09-15T08:32:00.001+03:002023-09-17T08:35:32.944+03:00Shana Tova!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGz9xCNs7LzP8eReBDFbxOKIrPXF-NrTY7SWT-hU1dQPpSbrnNd3tk9-vuigrYzsVk5A3GvcQgjbTwPCY95Av79ZBPVyiTfluX8DmoriaCNW0TNg7e_j0BCzLQ2A308Tkk5ApSD6x5rZlsUjf_56bLFyaSxzLwmU-vA80Y4Ym5cQfsPZHJlUGkKklHhUU/s580/rimon%204.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="331" data-original-width="580" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGz9xCNs7LzP8eReBDFbxOKIrPXF-NrTY7SWT-hU1dQPpSbrnNd3tk9-vuigrYzsVk5A3GvcQgjbTwPCY95Av79ZBPVyiTfluX8DmoriaCNW0TNg7e_j0BCzLQ2A308Tkk5ApSD6x5rZlsUjf_56bLFyaSxzLwmU-vA80Y4Ym5cQfsPZHJlUGkKklHhUU/w400-h229/rimon%204.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">To friends and family near and far, blessings of health and happiness for the Jewish New Year. Shana Tova!</span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">(Pictured: a pomegranate from our tree)</span></div>Ellis Shumanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07884885978804222016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102623923329719653.post-85365292759328102082023-09-12T07:23:00.000+03:002023-09-12T07:23:10.992+03:00"Deep Sleep" - short story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs32TayrY9lxCqsUcMocH3BKgzbx41xJLnHereOZSiz_4_czUJawkgBLqSE3uMsR8YKEwTglnogEx2lre-gNUIawnhXyjwpDWSsMxIh2bE9oRjtBuRym9HDNHnI4N7xIkMCXDPqi_MM0yVgmquetwCcEs35Z0k7cBTzhnJIEUjqjW9eIEkzkFbaD_0kUM/s554/Meat%20for%20Tea.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="554" data-original-width="450" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs32TayrY9lxCqsUcMocH3BKgzbx41xJLnHereOZSiz_4_czUJawkgBLqSE3uMsR8YKEwTglnogEx2lre-gNUIawnhXyjwpDWSsMxIh2bE9oRjtBuRym9HDNHnI4N7xIkMCXDPqi_MM0yVgmquetwCcEs35Z0k7cBTzhnJIEUjqjW9eIEkzkFbaD_0kUM/s320/Meat%20for%20Tea.jpg" width="260" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Pete was having problems sleeping at night. Insomnia ruled as he
tossed and turned, his mind rehashing the day’s troubles. Endless traffic jams.
Pressures in the office. The demands of his boss. The nasty looks and biting
comments of his wife. The unpaid bills, the unfiled tax returns, the threats of
his mother-in-law to visit.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Night after night, Pete couldn’t get the sleep he needed. He rolled
back and forth, thrashing out unintentionally at his wife, interrupting her
dreams and recoiling from her sharp elbowed jabs in his ribs.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">She was sympathetic to his predicament, up to a point. “See a doctor,”
she insisted. “He’ll write you a prescription for something.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“I don’t want to get addicted to sleeping pills!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Pete was willing to try anything, except for pills. He went for late
night jogs; drank a glass of red wine before bedtime. He avoided his cell phone
and instead read until his eyes were blurry. He listened to meditation tracks,
to whales, to waves hitting the shore. His mind numbed but nothing worked. He
still couldn’t sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">In the mornings he rolled out of bed red-eyed and struggled to his
feet. Splitting headaches and aching muscles followed him to the bathroom. A
cold shower did little to cleanse him of the night’s struggles. One cup of
coffee, and then another one. Nothing could refresh him for the demands of the new
day.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“Take care of yourself!” his wife demanded, offering no suggestions
what he should try next.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“Maybe we need a new mattress,” he said.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="direction: ltr; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.4pt; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Read the rest of the story in <a href="https://www.meatfortea.com/index.htm" target="_blank">Meat For Tea - The Valley Review</a>. Volume 17, Issue 3, Page 9.</span></p>Ellis Shumanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07884885978804222016noreply@blogger.com0