Moving Along

Just after the pigua my family suffered a crisis, but things are all better now, or at least on their way.

Just when I was feeling the worst, I had a desire to go sit on the slide near my old apartment in this area. I used to go their, three years ago, just when I wanted some alone time, or a special treat with friends. It's a slide that could only be in Israel. The same way that this country makes tie-dyed IDF shirts, they can make a slide out of cement. Not only is it cement, but it has been painted so many bright playful colors that have chipped off to expose each other that it somehow still looks gray. I find its snail shape to be very comfortable, forcing someone sitting in just the right spot to curl up and be comforted. The thing was, is was so out of my mind that night I couldn't find it. I walked in straight lines all over that tiny little neighborhood and could not find this giant piece of concrete in a large square between the buildings. I walked back and forth for over half an hour. Finally I found a boy, and acted out for him what a slide is, and he took me to it, all of 20 feet away in plain sight.

So since then, I've been taking it a little easier. I spent Shabbat with Hanna's family again, and we went out Saturday night to an off-beat English film. I spent Sunday afternoon in Tmol Shilshom, a favorite cafe where one can seat and read for hours, which is what I did. Now I love Tmol, it is comfortable with great food, but this was not its finest day. No. The water glass was dirty, the service slower than usual (and I was in no hurry), but what really ruined it for me was finding two pieces of plastic in their bread. I brought it to the waiter's attention and after a quick talk in the kitchen he came back to apologize and tell me they were bristles from a brush used to brush the top of the bread. I did not press him further to explain how something that is supposed to be used after the bread is formed could get inside the not yet made dough. This is a country of miracles after all.

Sunday morning I went to the Museum of Italian Jewish Art. It's very small, but suprisingly interesting and beautiful. Inside the museum they have actually imported the Conegliano Synagogue, built originally in the 1700s. The other 4 rooms are filled with Judaica as well as Arks, Elijah's Chairs (for the bris, circumcision ceremony), and wall decorations from other Italian museums. I was first struck by memories of when I visited Italy, specifically the small synagogues of Venice built in the first ghetto which were similar in size and shape as the Coneglian one. When looking at the arks though I thought about the recent museum work I had done with Eastern European ark work. While both Italian and Galician arks have beaituful wood carvings, the Italian ones, as well as all decorations except for one Elijah's chair, were completely floral in motif and had no animals within the designs, whereas those from Galicia were chockfull of animals, real and imagined. (Pictured is the Conegliano Synagogue, a picture of a postcard, there was no photography allowed)

I spent Sunday night with Naomi, cooking dinner and watching a western I've been dying to see, 3:10 to Yuma. I grew up watching John Wayne movies with my Grandpa and Daddio, in fact every single one. When I was 10 I spent all my birthday money on a framed picture of John Wayne, which I never did hang up because I felt his eyes watching me too often (and who knows if he had an itchy trigger finger). But yes, I am well versed in the black hats, horse-riding tricks, and forlorn sweethearts of such films. Naomi found it crazy that I could call out what was going to happen in each scene. I love that it was packed with almost every type of western cliche and plot line there is, from Stagecoach to The Shootist.

Today I got up wanting to finally visit the Armenian Museum. I walked through the Old City and was having a little trouble locating it, and asked a nearby man to help me. He told me that the museum, as well as the neabry Armenian church, St James' Cathedral were closed for renovations. I have already been to the Cathedral, but I was dissapointed about the museum. I snuck in to take a few pictures of the outside of the church and talked for a bit with an Armenian priest there. He asked me where I was from, and I told him Chicago, and then he asked where I was from before that. I think he was trying to see if I was Armenian myself, and I told him I'm not, but I have Armenian friends, which sounded pretty silly even to me. But Sandy and Armen, I did try!

Instead I went to the The Tower of David. This citadel stands just inside Jaffa Gate and is a historical museum of the city of Jerusalem. There's a little introductory animated film which follows the many different cities that have been built, and destroyed, on the spot where we sat. It told about the vast armies, the many rebellions, and the holy sites that mark this place. After the film, I toured the citadel. The museum uses a mix of architecture, pointing out what aspects of the citadel were built at which time, as well as artifacts from the Jerusalem area. In an hour I was able to travel about 3,000 years in time. I enjoyed it, especially the air-conditioning, but I truly loved the Chihuly pieces. Chihuly did a show here for the millenium which I have a DVD of, and I absolutely find inspiring. I was so happy to see that they've kept two of his pieces. (Pictured: Yellow Tower and Glass Grass)

I then met up with Lutz and his girlfriend Lizzie for coffee in a cute cafe inside the Mahene Yehuda Shuk, it's called Emile. We sat for a long time, discussing non- and anti-Zionist Israelis as well as German influence, both literary and architectural, in Israel. I then joined Lutz on a walk to his Ulpan while Lizzie took their Shuk gorceries home. We stopped in a second-hand bookshop which is heaven for Lutz. I am amazed that last time we hung out he was in kitah bet (beginners Hebrew) and that now he is reading and speaking in Hebrew for his dissertation. I wish I had the talent of learning languages. (Lutz pictured browsing)

I grabbed an ice cream at the falafel place tonight, and a very cute two and a half year old Arab boy showed off to me the candy he was getting. I asked him what was tasty, and he very seriously walked to the ice cream case and pulled out a dulce de leche cone for me. This is a kid with extremely good taste.