Tidal Pool

What child, of however many decades residence upon this earth, has not imagined himself shrunk down to a centimeter in height, and become the owner of many grand adventures in a once-small place? This tidal pool, just big enough for my two feet and a place to sit on the edge, became a mighty ocean, and the minnows within leviathans of the deep. Just for a moment. And it was good.

So necessary to leave the absurd, artificial construct of day-to-day life and return to reality once and a while!

Provision

I crossed the road to the beach in front of my apartment building with no specific aim or purpose. As I strolled up and down sand, I was struck by the abundance of fruit and vegetables that had washed up. Here a yellow onion, there a cob of maize, then a small bunch of plump green grapes, an orange. A kohlrabi, another onion (this time purple), and some indeterminate greenery. A few ordinary pippins, and then, and then, the verdant green of a granny smith, well-knawed and thus much appreciated--the bite-marks a clear testimony to its flavour and quality.

I am reminded of a cab ride to work years ago, when the driver saw a sack of potatoes in the road ahead, and with great skill slowed down the van, opened his door, and snatched the spuds like an Afghan buzqashi player. The driver exclaimed the wonderful chips he was going to make that evening. One of the passengers, not excited himself about eating food found in the road, turned to the driver and said, "maybe someone hit a cow and it'll be lying in the road somewhere up ahead, and then you can have steak with your chips."

Provision!

A Very Special Welcome . . . Mat

Bibi, this doormat is suggested for your use. Please place it outside whatever room it is that you use to meet with envoys and potentates from the Golden West who come with thinly veiled threats and ponderous ultimata for the Jewish state concerning peace, borders, defence, walls, home-building, state-building, international law, and final solutions. Mr Prime Minister, make each and every one of them knows that this doormat was placed there just for them.

HEAVENLY SPOTLIGHTS: A Room with a View

One can see the most amazing things from the front window, without even having to rise from the recliner. Some use the giant, mind-numbing flatscreen tv as their window. Some prefer the rear window, and glimpses of wife-murderers and other mysteries. I'll stick with the front view. More edifying.

I haven't had a television most of my adult life, and didn't grow up with one in the family livingroom, as the centerpiece and gathering point of life in the house. This doesn't make me superior, or in any way wiser. There are more ways to be an idiot by choice than there are cable channels, and that's saying a lot. Just that Teleos-vision is more my style. The view of the sea and the sky from my window is a form of perfection, as in something complete, lacking nothing, whole in and of itself. I'd rather be attracted to the high places, the places of brightness and colour, than to those dank, spelunkian, torch-lite dungeons inhabited by television. True, by my own choice I have not plumbed the half-centimeter depths of the American sitcom, or the latest too clever British humour offering; I have never watched Albania's Got Talent! and I live without game shows. I am denied the pseudo-analytics of the polished but uneducated suits and hairdos of corporate altnewsland. The jabber-jabber of the pundit does not assail my ears.

I think I can live with this lack.

Or maybe I can live because of this lack . . .

Look! Up in the Sky! It's a Bird, it's a Plane, No, it's . . .

Magen David--Shield of David--struggling to form over Haifa on Yom Ha-Atzma'ut, Independence Day. But no, it is just light, and hardly even an imperfect Magen David. Imagination grasping at a suggestion based on a hint come out of an emotion. Mother Mary in a Marmite lid. Baba Sali in a dish of khoumous.

Yeah, something like that.

We all see what we want to see.

And some people want to see Signs from the Heavens. And miracles. And things of incorruptable, everlasting value.

Geez, some people!

Getting Your Bearings

I do not make the mistake of equating the 2nd Lebanon War back in '06 with the lengthy conflagurations that have destroyed millions of lives and prevented anything like a normal, happy existence for a generation or more. It was not a state-against-state war, nor was it really a war so much as an anti-terrorist operation.

However, in light of the fine art of the bellicose-turn-of-phrase practiced so frequently of late by Israel fans Khassan Nasrallah, Bashir Assad, and Makhmoud Akhmadinejad, and the arming and upgrading of Hizbollah, Hamas, Syria, and Iran's nearly ready nuclear weapons programme, I'd like to explain the purpose of these little steel balls in the photo above.

The purpose of these steel balls is to rip open human flesh, unto death if possible. Which is frightening when you think of the car park in front of my building where they were found, after a rocket attack. The road infront of our apartment is a relatively quiet cul-de-sac, and a very busy playground for children for hours of every day. A little family-run convenience store guarantees a steady flow of small-change sweets-junkies. Children and Hizbollah missiles is not a good mix.

Israel imperfectly carries the war of terror to the enemy, to his firing points, to his command posts, armouries, depots and communications lines. Our self-professed enemies blindly fire into our cities. Firing unsophisticated rockets on approximate trajectories is ineffective as a killing machine, but how will this play out with the new and improved weapons now in the bully's arsenal? Think about it. Shudder, shudder, and then shudder some more.

One set of enemies attempts to rip apart our flesh, and another would divest us of our humanity, our legitimacy, and our spirit. By definition Israel can do no right. Were we to agree to destroy ourselves, the enemies of the battlefield would ridicule our suicidal weakness, while our diplomatic enemies would censure us for taking unilateral action.

Our neighbours and near-neighbours have armed themselves with advanced ballistics, into which equation we must soon add nuclear weapons and sophisticated air defense systems. We will truly miss those crude, Soviet-Stalanist Katyushas when the rhetoric ceases and a new generation of missiles land in my car park.

What to make of it all? Massive stockpiling of increasingly sophisticated weapons by virulently anti-Semitic regimes, whose intentions have been clear all along, and life goes on as if normal? I think not. Anciently, in a situation as we now face, the prophets would have been walking the Land and exhorting the people to return to Ha-Shem, to end to their wicked ways and humble themselves. Yet there is the mortgage, and the job to worry about, and people are not showing panic or fear, and the grocery stores are well-stocked, and the this, and the that. Being pulled in one direction by the trivial, the apparently necessary day to day concerns, and being pulled in another direction by an existential urgency, and the need for some deep thought.

It is not easy to get one's bearings in such an environment.

Paw Print in the Sand

Ah, winter! Walking on the seashore in my shirt-sleeves, on a clear, breezy day, with the snow-covered peak of Mount Kheirmon off in the far distance. Some people dress according to the calender, so I pass people on the footpaths in coats and hats. Others dress by feel, and thus the joggers in shorts and T-shirts. Some check out the weather report--they usually tie a sweater or jacket around the waist or neck, just in case.

Then there're the romping canines, oblivious to anything but the joys of running naked in the sand, and chasing crabs and surf froth, and sniffing dead jelly fish. Hot, cold, wet or dry, nose to the wind, and off he flys.

Its a Dog's Life for me!

Green, Green, My Valley Now

Amazing what a little rain will do to the brittle, brown hillsides of Galilee, nestled hundreds of metres below sea-level in the Jordan Valley

This photo was taken on the western shore about 15 kilometres north of Teveryah, aka Tiberias, yesterday on a misty, chilly morning. The southern end of the Golan on the other side of the lake was almost completely hidden in the mist.

We know the drill

Once the mighty Persian empire lent an ear to little Israel, crushed by Babylon, her leading citizens exiled and weeping for Zion, for Jerusalem, for return home. Babylon booted us out, and the Persians placed us back in the Land. The Romans ransacked Israel and back out we went into exile. After a very long 1900 years the British Empire allowed us back home, and though the British house was eventually divided on this matter, British imperial order went a long way in facilitating the rebuilding of a Jewish country. Now Persia wants to see all this undone. In a sense, they are going against the spirit of their own decree, the decree of their ancient king Darius, who said that anyone getting in the way of the rebuilding of Jewish Jerusalem, especially the Temple, would suffer the penalty of having his house-beam removed, and being impaled upon it, and having his house turned into a hill of dung. (See Ezra 6)

What about it, Mr Makhmoud Akhmadinejad?

Carving States, and Carving Turkeys, at the Negotiation Table

The leading English-language Palestinian newspaper announcing the result of the UN vote to re-establish a Jewish state on a small part of the (quasi) British-ruled Mandate. Palestinian David Ben Gurion made the proclamation as the new head of government from the largest city in Palestine, and provisional seat of government, Tel Aviv. The battle for Jerusalem yet raged. The small part of Palestine that was offered to the Jews reverted to an ancient name--Israel. The Judean and Samarian heartland of ancient Israel, given by the UN to become an Arab state called by the very un-Arabic name of Filistia, was over-run and annexed by Hashemi Bedouins who controlled most of the Palestine Mandate, and now called Trans-Jordanians.

Thus was born a two-state solution for the British Mandate of Palestine, an on-the-ground reality. 80% of the land to the Arabs, and 20% to the Jews. A two-state solution, whereas, the hodge-podge of British, French and UN agreements was, at one time, a three-state solution: Israel (with the Golan!), Palestine (Judea, Samaria and Ghazzah), and Transjordanian Palestine now called Jordan (which was everything east of the river Jordan).

So what is all this going on about a Two-State solution? There are two states already, and an autonomous region, the Palestinian Authority. The bulk of the Mandate called Jordan is in Arab hands, and the majority of Jordan's population is Palestinian Arab.

Now they want a third state, too. A secret out in the open. The media is silent. But that is, in fact, the reality. Why is Trans-Jordanian Palestine, today's Jordan, the British-created state given to an Arabian Bedouin family dynasty in exchange for services rendered, now severed historically from the Mandate, as if it was never part of it?

A Bridge in Galilee

Humans are always striving, even if only to get to the end of the day, or from one day to the next, or to the end of the week. So much of what occupies our time is getting from point A to point B. So here's a bridge that suits my mood. It doesn't go anywhere. It doesn't cross a raging torrent, or span a deep canyon. It is just a wonderful place to sit and and stare out.

Sometimes that's more than enough.

Winter Moon in Tel Aviv

Taken while waiting for a train from Tel Aviv to Be'ir Ya'akov. A good example of modern towers in late 2oth and early 21st century Israel. The new towers and the old Bauhaus makes for an interesting city.

Sunset reflecting off windows on Mt of Olives

I love to photograph the Mount of Olives from above the Kotel (Western Wall). Probably the most intense boneyard on planet earth. Or maybe they never heard of it in China and India, and that's a lot of humanity. Well, we're certainly aware of the Mount of olives, and maybe to the point of obsession. And some obsessions are good, as I see it. When you figure out what is really important in life, it bodes well to be obsessed, intense, preoccupied even. No point in moping about like a damp rag in a clean-up bucket.

Live! Feel a little anguish, a little pain, yearn for something important to more than just yourself. Very good for the soul.

A remedy that lasts a lifetime, and then some.

Reality vs. Fantasy in the Land of Israel

The very mention of the Land of Israel can evoke radically different feelings and images in people. After very extensive research into the world of American web sites and forums, backed up by newspaper accounts and other reading, I summarize below the sentiments or feelings towards Israel (and let it go without further mention that I am generalizing, ok?).

I - Those who love Israel, which can be divided between A)Jews, and B) Christians of a less denominational and more directly Biblical approach. Both groups can accept failings and imperfections in Israel, without their faith in Israel being shaken. They idealize the idea of Israel, accept Israel as legitimate, but know that Israel is a real place with traffic jams and politicians.

II - Those who have strong, distinctly negative feelings towards Israel A) based on their own religious convictions, or B) who hate Israel for ideological reasons, most typically various neo-Nazi affiliates, and various Muslim groups.

Not all of the II-A group here are anti-Semitic at a personal level. They may abhore terrorism, or prejudice, but sincerely believe that the Nation of Israel died 1900 years ago, and that the current state is unrelated to any ancient Israel. Sometimes they believe that Israel is populated by some kind of counterfeit Jew, Edomite, Essauites, Khazari/Ashkenazis.

Group II-B folks are personal and inyofacist haters.

I was shocked to find that highly denominational and mainstream Protestants were frequently part of religious organizations which did not look upon Israel favourably, primarily because their theology says that they have replaced Israel in the eyes of God. Thus Israel as I know it is, to them, illegitimate. Catholic theology is also replacement oriented, and whatever the rapproachment of diplomats and high priests on either side, relations between the Catholic world and the Jewish world are not friendly and warm. Any warmth or friendship is at the level of personal friendships, which I would never belittle, but is not part of my point here. After all, many Jews and Muslim Arabs are friends, too.

III - Those who are indifferent to Israel, who know almost nothing about Israel, and never thought enough about Israel to have an opinion.

I don't worry much about them for now, but many of them can be led like sheep against Israel if future winds blow ill in such a way that impinges on their indifference, and blame can be laid upon Israel.

Why so much opinion about Israel at all on the Net? Why so much hatred of Israel, attempts to delegitimize Israel, cast Jews in a negative role historically? It is difficult to assess the degree of Israel-hatred in America, but all evidence points to a significant and lively base of enmity for Israel that cuts across the grain of society.

What historical events have lead to two groups, both self-identifying as Christian, one which has no good word for Israel, and the other which expresses a profound love for Israel?

Israel sets one man's heart to flutter, and another man's heart to ire. And for good reason, too. But I'm not telling. Not just yet . . .

Wilderness of Tzin

The Wilderness of Tzin in southern Israel--the Negev Desert. Not a huge area, but if you get out into Tzin on foot, you can wander forever. Or you can step out of time, into the place of prophets and madmen, where God speaks to His mortal creations in a language as clear as the desert night sky. A land of waking dreams and night visions where your every day life can make no claim, and the mundane has no point of reference.

Remnant on a Yom Kippur War Battlefield

Leftover from a bad week. A tank long out of service, sitting by itself off a lonely stretch of road on the Golan Heights, exposed to the elements. A gigantic clash of armour--one of the largest clashes of armour ever, took place nearby. Did we do this? Jew from Lvov and Vilnius and Brno and Vienna and Plonsk and hundreds of little towns in central and eastern Europe; and from the Jewish quarters of ancient pre-Islamic north African and middle eastern towns, and even from Britain and Canada and America and Australia and South Africa. The sons and grandsons of black coated, bearded orthodox Jews gathered in ancient Bashan, and hour away from Damascus by automobile, to fight such a great battle in the 20th century--almost 2,000 after Israel was "destoyed" by the Roman Empire? Armoured divisions and brigades grinding across the landscape, with jets overhead dodging Syrian surface to air missiles. Ah but in this war the battle was also fought by small groups of men in tanks, by the ones and by twos. The war was won by decisive action taken by experienced men who could not always wait for orders. And the Hand of God strenghtened those men, and gave them victory.

Not always easy to see that in one derilict old tank--the Hand of God.

Crop Circles מעגלי יבול

Crop circles have not been very common in Israel. Since they are made by two very different, but equally hostile and dangerous life forms, aliens from another dimension, and bored young English university men, they are the devil to deal with.

Romans in the Gloamin

The Twilight of Empire doesn't come easily. This is the Roman Aqueduct at Caesaria/Kaysaryah on the beach between Tel Aviv and Haifa. I am reminded of the old corny Scottish song "Roamin in the Gloamin," about strolling in the evening, by way of translation. Thus Romans in the Gloamin, or twilight, of empire. The various remnants of imperial powers-that-be on planet earth are all wandering in a dimness of their own making. Rhetoric and hyperbole, spin and shpiel. Deceit and conceit disbelieved at conception, incredulous upon delivery. Recited by rote, spoken as if truth, but taken to heart by no one. A game of automatons with no fans in the stands. Once merely tiresome, it now has the air of major disease; a terminal disease with foundational rot so advanced, so insidious, that the surgeon can only shake his head and refuse even ameliorative measures. Collapsed veins and no way to pump in painkillers. This twilight is going to hurt like hell, and make sure we know it, too. Quite literally, an undertaking, with paid mourners. The guy in the black tophat a parade drum-major leading the band into hell. Soundtrack of ravens and crows.

Fathers: Abba Shimshon & Bedouin in Sinai

Every son ought to have at least one photo of his father like this one. It doesn't have to be on a camel, though that helps, as does being at the foot of Mt Sinai. (Actually, Jebel Musa, Mt Moses, a traditional possible location of the famous Giving of the Ten Commandments.)

The nameless bedouin is certainly someone's beloved father, too. This is probably not his son's first choice of photos for the family album, but it does not represent subservience, but rather parnasa--making a living--and bringing home the lahbnei to his goat-hair tent full of children.

A Window on Eternity

Hard to believe that only a few meters away from this view of the Mount of Olives you can order fat bagles, thin-crust pizza, soft ice cream, or a skull-cap embroidered with your name. That is Israel. That is Jerusalem. One foot in the 21st century, and another out of time altogether. A living, breathing contemporary city, and a gateway to eternity.