is-rael

Who would believe that I would ever have enough of museums, coffee shops, concerts and wine -- certanly not I.  And Pete, to say the least, has had enough of the cold and gray weather.  The only one, who seems to remain enthusiastic as ever, is Adam.  

He celebrates the snow, hail and ice as substitutes for the science experiments which are missing in his school.  Each morning, he tries to guess when would the artificial lights  turn off allowing the faint sun to take its place.  He doesn't mind the late dinners at all and still has not had enough of the urban ventures on weekends.  He can't stop laughing while imitating his teacher's temper tantrums, her habit of answering her cell phone in the middle of a lesson, and the school's rigid emphasis on hand writing, uniform and eating manners.  

He visits almost daily with his friends in the shops near by.  The souvenir lady, who has a great golden retriever named Aston; the video guy, who long ago ran out of magic tricks and new videos yet loves to tell us about the day he will leave cold Paris for Palm Springs; the chocolate guy, who pontificates in french about american politics; and the Turkish guy, whose hot sandwiches are beyond hunger and his smile beyond words.

The constant sense of missing out on something exciting that is going on somewhere in the big city -- is slowly changing.  Perhaps due to winter, atrophy or finances, we keep more in our neighborhood.  It does feel more integrated at the moment -- paradoxically more Parisian.  Yet, for winter vacation, as well as for his up coming 10th birthday, Adam chose to visit Israel.  

For him it wasn't so much an escape from the bitter cold as it is the luring  memory of his safta's whipped cream sandwiches served at any time desired.  Pete, could not applaud enough for Adam's decision.  And they could not be more convinced of their decision after listening to their own argument articulated aloud.  They described the brilliant sun, the blooming flowers outside my mother's house, the pool near her house, humus for breakfast and the Dead Sea spas -- all equally captivating -- outvoting me and my dole politically based objections.

So, in a couple of days, in the name of democracy, I will hold my nose and march into a place I feel extremely ambivalent about; a country who defines safety as destruction of the other and views "talking" as the highest sacrifice, while considering killing as the preliminary work to any negotiation. This is the same country that started the idea of Kibbutz and from whose teachers I learned to identify with the victims be they Jews, gypsies, Communists or gays, a country that conceptualizes herself as the little country surrounded by enemies trying to survive.  

Tonight we had dinner with an Israeli couple who have been here for six months and are returning back to Israel tomorrow.  When I asked them what are they expecting from the recent no-win-elections they asked with a faint smile "what election?" Soon after they explained that denial, at this point in time, is not a joke but a way of surviving.

I hope Adam and Pete would support my little sociology experiment which will take place at the Israeli airport; daring to enter Israel with my American passport. For some unexplained reason, it is not allowed, for Israelis, to use their second passport upon entry.  Israel is the only country, other than  the colonialist Great Britain, that refuses to accept returned passports. Once Israeli always Israeli wether you like it or not.

So, caught between the existential French angst of time and meaning, the Israeli crude philosophy of the survival of the fittest, and the American Dream of money and plastic -- I do agree with Adam -- that the French will do for the moment regardless of the passports in my possession.