Elms in the Yard

noreply@blogger.com (Rahel) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 14:24:06 PST

Bucking the Trend

(Men, be warned. This is strictly a Girl Talk post. If you disregard this warning and continue to read and become embarrassed, don’t blame me. I warned you.)

I’ve never been much into current fashion (except, I confess, for a brief bout of silliness during my teenage years). When I was in elementary and middle school, my teachers—products of the 1960s almost to a man and woman—taught us to question what we were told. Part of that involved learning about the techniques that advertisers used to influence potential customers. We spent several weeks bringing in advertisements from magazines and analyzing them in class, and dissecting popular ads on the radio and on TV. We learned how to use grownup terms like “subliminal advertising” and “snob appeal.” It was fascinating stuff, and I enjoyed it.

But it was more than fun, more than the excitement of kids about to enter adolescence feeling like they were being initiated into the secrets of Madison Avenue. It was valuable teaching. I learned to look beyond the slogans, photos and trends and choose products that I liked, not what someone else was being paid a lot of money to tell me I ought to like. Some years ago, when a saleslady at my eye doctor’s office tried to sell me an expensive pair of frames on the grounds that they were the latest style, I told her: “That’s not how to sell me frames. You have to tell me that they’re pretty, practical and will last me for years, not that they’re trendy.”

Which brings me to the point of this post. Guys, if any of you are still here, I warn you once again: you probably want to stop reading now.

I’ve tried, and used, much of what’s been available in feminine hygiene over the past thirty years. (Good Lord. Thirty years. Now I really feel old!) When I was still fairly young, I settled on applicator-less tampons, feeling that they were the most convenient option. In my view, they were better for the environment because they generated the least amount of trash. For the same reason, they were also more modest, since I had less trash to worry about disposing of discreetly.

And then I found these... and I haven’t looked back since.

I won’t go into detail about how to use and care for them here. There’s plenty of information about that on the Internet (see the Wikipedia article and the individual sites that sell them). I will say that they’re the best option I’ve ever found and that I wish I’d known about them when I was much younger. When I think of all the money I could have saved and all the hassle I could have avoided... well, done is done.

Going the reusable route also gave me a practical use for my sewing hobby. I made my own reusable cloth pads according to a pattern that I downloaded from the Internet. There are dozens, probably hundreds, of good patterns out there. I simply chose the one that I liked best, bought some inexpensive cotton fabric at a local fabric store, took out my machine and went to work.

Since then, I haven’t had to spend one red cent on monthly supplies. The cup does most of the work, the cloth pads are there for extra insurance, and all is well. There’s also the comfort factor, which is pretty important in a hot climate. True, sometimes it happens that the pads don’t look as fresh and new as they did the moment I lifted them off the sewing machine and snipped the thread. So I have to spend a bit more time washing them—big deal! They need to be washed anyway. When they get worn out from years of washing, I take out my bag of cloth scraps and make new ones.

Some years ago, a well-known feminine hygiene company adopted the slogan “It’s all about you.” Every time I see one of the company’s trucks with that slogan on it—yes, we do see them here, with the slogan in English—I can’t resist a smile. Yes, I think to myself, it is all about me... because I get to use products that are safe, comfortable and reusable, and that paid for themselves long ago. My money’s not going to this firm’s advertising execs. As far as this part of my budget is concerned, my money is staying right where I want it: in my wallet.

noreply@blogger.com (Rahel) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 07:52:45 PST

Flu: It’s All the Rage

It’s official, or at least as official as it’s going to get. I’ve got the flu.

I felt a bit more tired than usual last Friday night, but that didn’t seem out of the ordinary. I figured it was simply because I’d been at work at 6:00 a.m. I’d also felt a bit out of sorts for a few days before, but I figured that it was simply anticipation of the approaching weekend with its chance to rest.

On Saturday morning, I led services for my women’s prayer group, Shirat Sara. As the service progressed, I felt weaker and weaker, and when my part was done, I did something that I’ve never done the entire time I’ve been with the group: I went to the couch in the main room and lay down.

That’s when I realized that something was wrong.

I dozed off a bit, then woke up when services were over and the women came into the main room for kiddush. Then I spent some time gathering strength for the walk home. It was slow going. Later on, I took my temperature. It was 101.3.

Grrrr. Expletive deleted.

It goes without saying that I didn’t go to work yesterday (but I’m saying it anyway). I called the doctor, but the earliest appointment I could get was this morning. (To be fair, the doctor said that I should have asked to speak directly with her or insisted on an earlier appointment. But my judgment’s not too great when I have fever.) I spent the day at home, drinking tea and soup and resting, grateful to be living in a time and place where we have such a thing as sick leave.

After my doctor examined me this morning, she said, “You have a flu-like virus. It could be regular flu, or it could be swine flu.” She gave me instructions to call her tomorrow with an update, to go immediately to the emergency clinic if I should feel worse, and a prescription for Tamiflu. “You’ll have to go to the main pharmacy downtown for it,” she told me. “They only have it there. And you don’t have to pay for it; it’s free.” The wind was picking up outside, but so far there was no rain. Off I went.

When I got to the pharmacy, I saw a sign on the door stating that people who had a prescription for Tamiflu could receive it right away, without waiting in line. I went inside, walked straight to the counter and presented my prescription. I had my Tamiflu in hand and was out the door within seconds. It felt a bit weird to receive VIP treatment, but then, it had nothing to do with my own status and everything to do with protecting the other people there as much as possible.

So now I’m back home, drinking tea, having soup and taking my Tamiflu. For once in my life, I’m keeping up with current trends, and have a virus that’s all the rage.

Well, possibly, anyway. If I start rooting around for truffles and acorns, I guess I’ll know for sure.

noreply@blogger.com (Rahel) — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 09:16:03 PST

Haveil Havalim Is Up

Haveil Havalim #241 is up at Simply Jews. Happy fourth blogoversary, Snoopy the Goon!

noreply@blogger.com (Rahel) — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 10:07:32 PST

First Major Rain of the Season

Each autumn, how it sets my soul aquiver
To see the street below become a river.

noreply@blogger.com (Rahel) — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 07:33:55 PST

Up a Tree

Catschka has a love affair
With being high up in the air.
I’m grateful that there’s no redwood
Growing in our neighborhood.

noreply@blogger.com (Rahel) — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 14:31:00 PDT

All Aboard!

The Friday Ark.

The Carnival of the Cats (on Sunday).

noreply@blogger.com (Rahel) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 16:28:45 PDT

Demonstrating against Segregation

Over the past several months, I have attended two demonstrations against segregation on Jerusalem’s buses. (See my photos here and here.)

Last Tuesday morning, a special 11-member committee appointed by the Israeli Ministry of Transport determined that sex segregation on buses must be voluntary, not coerced.

A special committee appointed by the Transportation Ministry recommended on Tuesday conducting a yearlong trial during which passengers on "mehadrin" public bus lines would be allowed to enter from either the front or the rear doors, so those who wished to maintain gender separation could do so.
However, the committee stressed that the separation of the genders must be solely on a voluntary basis, that the passengers riding on these buses may not impose it coercively and that bus drivers would be responsible for intervening to prevent coercion if it arose.

While I was at yesterday’s demonstration, I suddenly found myself recalling a verse from the Book of Lamentations (1:8): “... She herself also sighs, and turns backward.”

The original Hebrew phrase that is translated as “turning backward” is va-tashov ahor. On Tuesday morning, I remembered it with a slight error, thinking that the word was va-teshev—“she sits in the back.”

When I got home, I looked up the text and realized my mistake. But then, I remembered that the Jewish sages engaged in a great deal of word play in order to illustrate various homiletical points. I decided to follow their example, and this is what I came up with:

איכה 1:8: ”גם היא נאנחה ותשב אחור“: אל תקרי תשב (בקמץ) אלא תשב (בצירה), שהאשה נאלצת לשבת מאחור לא מתוך רצון ולא מתוך בחירה או סתם מקריות, אלא מתוך כפייה ופחד, השפלה והשמצות כגון שעצם נוכחותה ברבים מהווה מכשול גם כאשר היא לבושה בצניעות הראויה, וכל זה מנוגד לדעת תורה ידועה. ולאשה אסור לתת קולה נגד מנהג מוטעה זה או להביע את צערה שמא יתנפלו עליה קנאים וירביצוה, אז אין לה אלא לשתוק ולהאנח....

Lamentations 1:8: “She also sighs, and turns backward.” Do not read tashov (she turns backward) but rather teshev (she sits in the rear), since the woman is being forced to sit in the rear not out of desire or choice or even by chance, but out of coercion and fear, humiliation and false accusations that her mere presence in the public sphere constitutes a stumbling block even when she is modestly and properly dressed. Even though all this violates well-known religious rulings, the woman cannot raise her voice against this misguided custom or express her sorrow over it for fear of physical attack by fanatics. So she can do nothing but remain silent and sigh.

I suspect that we haven’t heard the end of the matter.

noreply@blogger.com (Rahel) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 17:03:14 PDT

The Return of Pinocchio

No, not the character from the book or the film. I’ve written about Pinocchio here before. She’s a shop cat who lives at a frame store in Jerusalem.

The shopping center where Pinocchio lives is on the other side of town from where I live and work. I don’t get there often these days, but whenever I do, I always like to call on Pinocchio, who was adopted about seven years ago by one of the shopkeepers. When I went there this morning, I dropped by his store only to be told by her near-distraught owner that she had disappeared the day before.

“She’s done this only once before in all the seven years I’ve known her, and she came back the next day,” he told me. “I worry about her. Once, about six years ago, she was hit by a car. She somehow made it up the stairs and came to me, and fainted at my feet. Somehow she knew I’d help her. I picked her up, put her in a box and ran with her to the vet on the corner—he’s gone now but his clinic is still there—and he told me that her injuries were so bad that it might be better to euthanize her. I wouldn’t hear of it and told him to treat her. Even after all the discounts that he gave me, the bill still came to three thousand shekels. Pinocchio’s got a lot of metal in three of her legs now and she walks with a slight limp, but she’s fine. You know, I have metal in my leg, too,” he said. “From the army.”

He pointed out Pinocchio’s usual sleeping place: the highest shelf in the store. “She sleeps up there every night,” he said. “She’s got everything she needs here—wet and dry food, fresh water, a litter box that I clean every day. My daughter’s a vet, and she comes to examine her every few months and gives her her shots every year. And you have no idea how many people come to see her!”

“I can imagine,” I said. “I visited her here once and had to stand in line to pet her. And once I had a cat who lived in a park for most of her life and had lots of fans.”

“Last night I waited for Pinocchio until late, but she didn’t come back,” he said. “When I finally went home, I left food and water outside the door for her, and I came in early this morning just in case she’d shown up. I didn’t sleep all night. I’ve asked every shop owner here to keep an eye out for her, just in case.”

“I hope she comes back soon,” I told him. “I’ll keep good thoughts in my heart for both of you.”

I did my errands with a heavy heart, thinking of Pinocchio and her worried owner. When I was done, I decided to go back to the shop to see whether she’d come back. As I approached, I could feel my heart lift. There she was, walking out of the store into the hall, followed by her much-relieved owner. She had come back only a few minutes before. As I watched, she jumped up on a stool. I managed to give her some skritches as I took this photo:

The cat came back the very next day. Thank goodness.

noreply@blogger.com (Rahel) — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 14:12:18 PDT

Carnival of the Cats 293: Pinch-Hitting Edition

Standing in for this week’s host—to whom we wish a swift and complete recovery—heeeeeeere’s Catschka!

Ummm... Catschka? Where are you?

“Up here. Can’t you see me?”

Oh, now I see you! Hey, sweetie, come down out of the tree for a bit. You’ve got a carnival to host!

“What—me? You want me to host the Carnival of the Cats? Let me check my calendar. Hmmm, let’s see... climbing trees first thing in the morning, then eating, sleeping, grooming, bothering Her Ladyship, getting skritches and cuddles, playing and eating again, then turning in for the night with Her Ladyship and my mommy.... Nothing here about a carnival. Sorry! I’m going back up the tree now. See you later!”

Oh, come on, Catschka, it’ll be fun! Don’t you want to greet your fans all over the world and let them admire you?

“Oh, well, if you put it that way, I don’t mind if I do. Ahem.... So here, without further ado, is the 293rd edition of the Carnival of the Cats!”

Thank you, Catschka! I’m so proud of you, hosting a carnival like a big kitty! Who’s first?

“Here’s Ted the imperious in soft focus at The Poor Mouth. Doesn’t he look like he rules the roost? He ought to. I rule mine. Or at least I try to. And I must say, Ted’s very handsome.”

Oh, yes, that he definitely is! What a gorgeous tuxxie... look how fluffy....

“Hey, stop staring at him, Rahel! Look at me!”

Oh, right. Sorry. Here, have a skritch....

“That’s better. Now, here’s a cat who knows what she wants—and she’s a gorgeous Siamese, just like me! Go right ahead, Hakuna—demand that skritch! I’d sure love to meet you over at Blog d’Elisson. I’d jump out at you and invite you to play, just like I do with Her Ladyship....”

Oh, yes, Catschka, and we all know how fond she is of that....

“It’s Caturday at Mind of Mog! There’s Meowza, looking so sweet! What does Mog mean when she says that he looks adorable, but if we only knew?”

I think Mog means that Meowza gets into mischief sometimes.

“Oh, good! I like mischief. And speaking of mischief, Rosie’s sharing news of some with Arthur over at My Cats and Funny Stories. Trouble is, Arthur just keeps nodding off.”

Humans do that too sometimes, you know.

“Wow, really? Oh, this is nice: Maddie’s celebrating her eighth Gotcha Day at StrangeRanger! Congratulations, Maddie. My first Gotcha Day was just a few months ago. I send you and your people my best tail-swishes and happy purrs from here!”

That’s sweet of you, Catschka. I send my congratulations, too! Who’s next?

“Luna’s on the patio at CatSynth. I think her patio is very pretty, but it’s even prettier with Luna on it!”

I agree.

“Oh, look, another beautiful Meezer! Cheysuli is grateful that she survived the Male’s birthday. Maybe I should subscribe to the The Cat Post Intelligencer to get the latest Meezer news over there. What do you think?”

I don’t think they sell subscriptions, but we can certainly go and visit.

“That was the last post. Now it’s my turn! Do I get to show my picture now? I’ve waited so long!”

Of course, Catschka. You’ve been a very patient kittycat and an excellent host. So here, on this very blog, is Catschka gazing at me while she rests on the terrace of my friend’s apartment.

“One more! One more! I’m the host, right? So I get one more picture!”

Catschka, you’ve already got two.

“Come on! You said I was a very patient kittycat and an excellent host, right? So I get one more picture!”

Sigh.... Kittens! All right, Catschka, how about the one I took of you in the garden last week, with your tail curving so gracefully?

“Oh, yes, that one’s nice. I do great tail-swishes. Go ahead and post it!”

What’s the magic word, Catschka?

“Now! Just kidding. Please.”

Now what do we say, Catschka? Do you remember?

“Ummm... the next Carnival will be at... oh, Rahel, I forgot! Can you help me?”

Sure. The next Carnival of the Cats will be hosted at Kashim, Othello and Salome’s place, Three Tabby Cats in Vienna.

“Wow! They come all the way from Vienna? Isn’t that really far?”

Yes, Catschka, it’s pretty far.

“Oh. Well, I’m going back up the tree now. Is that OK?”

Sure, sweetie. But say goodbye to our guests first.

“Bye! Thank you all for coming! Come back again soon!”

noreply@blogger.com (Rahel) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 06:33:46 PDT

At Rest, Gazing

Also, here is a video that someone shared with me recently. It was filmed in 1996, and is very suitable for those of us who love music and cats:

The Friday Ark. The Carnival of the Cats.

noreply@blogger.com (Rahel) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 16:07:42 PDT

Two Encounters

Earlier this evening, I went to visit a friend of mine at Hadassah Ein Kerem Hospital. (It was a fairly routine procedure, and she’s fine, thank God.)

Since I hadn’t been to Hadassah Ein Kerem in quite some time, I decided to take a look at the new shopping center for a few minutes before I went to see my friend. I walked down the hallway, looking at the stores and restaurants and browsing. Suddenly, I smelled cigarette smoke. When I looked to see where it was coming from, I saw a woman sitting and smoking at a table at the end of the hall. A no-smoking sign was on the wall behind her just a few feet away.

I approached her and asked her either to smoke elsewhere or put out her cigarette. “This is a hospital complex,” I told her. “Smoking isn’t allowed here.”

She answered, “This isn’t a hospital. It’s a mall.”

“Smoking isn’t allowed in malls either,” I told her. “Besides, there’s a sign right behind you. I have to walk through here on my way into the hospital, and your smoke is making it hard for me to breathe.”

Her response: “Then don’t stand here.”

I shrugged and nodded, then slowly took out my cellphone. In these parts, a cellphone means a camera. When the woman saw what I was doing, she did a rapid disappearing act.

(I still intend to report the incident to the municipal inspection department—which, I am happy to report, now has inspectors in civilian clothes instead of in uniform. In any case, just a few moments after the woman fled my camera, a boy in a wheelchair who looked quite ill and was connected to an IV was wheeled through the area where she had been smoking seconds before.)

After my visit, I went back into the mall on my way outside and decided to stop in at another shop. As I browsed, I smelled cigarette smoke once again. When I looked to see where it was coming from, I saw a young man leaning over the counter, talking to the saleswoman. His right hand was at his side, almost behind his back, where the saleswoman couldn’t see it. Between two of his fingers was a lit cigarette.

I approached him and said, “Would you mind putting your cigarette out or going outside? The smoke is really bothering me.”

The saleswoman, a young Israeli woman, stared at the young man with whom she had been having a pleasant conversation just a moment before. “What?!” she shouted at him. “You’re standing here with a lit cigarette in your hand? What’s wrong with you? Get that cigarette out of here right now!”

And he fled.

Throughout the almost eighteen years that I have lived in Israel, when I’ve asked people to put out their cigarettes or smoke elsewhere, I’ve received responses that range from understanding to grudging cooperation to outright mockery. On occasion, one smoker has said to another, laughing, “Asur la’ashen! Smoking isn’t allowed here!” as they kept on smoking. Or they’ve turned to me in annoyance and said, “Look, lady, this isn’t America!”

But there was no mockery whatsoever in this young woman’s reaction. She was genuinely upset, angry, outraged. I think that this was the first time I had ever seen an Israeli react so strongly against smoking. For one utterly bizarre moment, I wondered whether I was looking at a younger, blonde, native-born Israeli version of myself.

As these thoughts went through my mind, the saleswoman turned to her companion, another saleswoman in the shop, and said, “Can you believe that? The nerve! Unbelievable! He was smoking, right here in the store!”

Then she turned to me and said, “Thank you for noticing that he had a lit cigarette in his hand.”

“No problem,” I said, and made my purchase, still pleasantly surprised by the reaction I’d seen.

It’s nice to see that opposition to smoking in public places isn’t just for Americans anymore.

(For anyone who may be interested, here is a link to the website of Avir Naki [clean air], an Israeli anti-tobacco group. One of its goals is to enable citizens to take legal action against violations of the laws against smoking in public places and workplaces. The site, which is in Hebrew, includes the texts of the relevant laws and a great deal of pertinent advice. It also includes a form that one may use to report violations, as well as up-to-date lists of the relevant officials at the national and local levels. I have found Avir Naki extremely helpful.)

noreply@blogger.com (Rahel) — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 01:23:40 PDT

I’m in Another Film!

Once again, my voice features in a short promotional film about the Israeli city of Haifa entitled: Haifa Welcomes New Immigrants.

Click on the link and you’ll hear the narrator: me!

noreply@blogger.com (Rahel) — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 03:20:36 PDT

Catschka Thinks

“Hmmm... how can I get up that tree fast enough to grab the bird before it flies away?”

Don’t let her seemingly restful pose fool you. She can move at almost the speed of light when she wants to.

The Friday Ark. The Carnival of the Cats.

noreply@blogger.com (Rahel) — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 13:15:24 PDT

I Need A Pick-Me-Up

The days are getting shorter, the nights are getting longer, the news is getting more and more absurd, things in general just feel pretty heavy these days and... well... I need a pick-me-up.

Here. I’ll even share it:

Ah. I feel better already.

noreply@blogger.com (Rahel) — Thu, 08 Oct 2009 04:10:06 PDT

Incident Report: Kitten Attack

So what happened, Your Ladyship?

“Well, there I was in the garden, relaxing, minding my own business...”

“... when I suddenly had the feeling that it was too quiet. Something was wrong. Something was about to happen. I looked up...”

“... and bam! There she was. Before I could get my legs under me, she pounced on me out of the blue, the little imp.”

“See how she puts on her Little Miss Innocent act? Looks like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, she does... but don’t believe it for a moment! She’s evil! Awful! Diabolical!”

Your Ladyship, you were a kitten once. Don’t you remember what it was like?

“What, me? I never behaved like that, honest! I was a perfect kitten in every way!”

Sure, Your Ladyship. Whatever you say.

“Grrr. Kittens! I wish this one would go climb a tree.”

The Friday Ark. The Carnival of the Cats.

noreply@blogger.com (Rahel) — Tue, 06 Oct 2009 03:13:53 PDT

An American Classic in Hebrew

I just found a delightful Hebrew translation of the American baseball classic poem “Casey at the Bat” by Ernest Lawrence Thayer.

I particularly like the reference to the Yom Kippur prayers in the penultimate stanza. Wonderfully on target!

Has anyone told the Israel Baseball League about this? (Oh, wait—I just did!)

noreply@blogger.com (Rahel) — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 13:14:21 PDT

Paths

A sign directing hikers to the various parts of the new Hadassah Trail, which is reachable by bus from most parts of Jerusalem and, in my opinion, contains some of the most beautiful natural areas and views in all of Israel

For quite some time until several years ago, some friends and I—all of us young adult women from English-speaking countries—used to hike in the Jerusalem Hills a few times during the spring. Our favorite hike started from Tel Tzuba, went down the hill near the Sataf spring, through the Jerusalem Hills to another spring known as Ein Hindak, and then to Hadassah Hospital and back to civilization. We would usually hike during the Passover holiday and again on Independence Day, with an election day thrown in if there was one, since election day is a holiday in Israel.

At one point during one of our hikes, we noticed a fork in the path up ahead. We began wondering which direction we should take, and then began reflecting on the various directions that our lives had taken since we had made the choice to live in Israel. Someone commented that we had all taken a road that is not usually taken... and from there it was but a short mental hop to Robert Frost’s poem, “The Road Not Taken.” “Does anyone remember it?” one of us asked. A quick check showed that between us, we remembered most if not all of it. A tradition quickly developed: at some point during our hikes, one of us would recite the poem for the group from beginning to end.

Today, I went on a walking tour offered by the Association of Americans and Canadians in Israel (AACI). The route, which included part of the new Hadassah Trail, was very close to our old hike route. At one point, I stopped along the way to take some photos. After a few moments, I realized that the group had gone on ahead, toward a fork in the trail. They were still well within sight, but not within earshot... and as I walked to catch up, I watched as they took the path that went toward the left, back to civilization.

At that point, I couldn’t resist any longer. I invoked our group’s old tradition, reciting “The Road Not Taken” first silently and then sotto-voce, careful not to be seen or heard doing it lest anyone who saw me think I’d lost my marbles.

On the other hand, this was a hike sponsored by an organization dedicated to assisting immigrants from English-speaking countries... so it’s likely that they would have understood if they’d known.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

noreply@blogger.com (Rahel) — Sun, 04 Oct 2009 02:28:58 PDT

Arba Minim 5770

This year’s arba minim:

(Read about the arba minim, or Four Species, here.)

Moadim le-simha!

noreply@blogger.com (Rahel) — Sat, 03 Oct 2009 12:07:32 PDT

In the Garden

Catschka stalks an unsuspecting Her Ladyship. Yowls ensue.

Catschka, what are you doing? You know you’re not allowed in the neighbor’s sukkah without permission!

Her Ladyship gazes...

... and Ms. Neighborcat visits.

The Friday Ark. The Carnival of the Cats.

noreply@blogger.com (Rahel) — Fri, 02 Oct 2009 06:54:20 PDT

Adventures in Translation

I work in a translation office a few times a week, starting very early in the morning. As in 6:00 a.m.

Things there stay on an even keel most days. But sometimes, a little adventure waits among all that text.

This morning, it was a snippet of conversation between a journalist and a well-known Arab personality. The journalist mentioned security concerns, and the Arab personality responded with a rude and dismissive Arabic phrase to the effect that he was sick and tired of hearing about security. The language was pretty strong, but no matter how I may feel about what he said or the way he said it, it’s my job to translate it. And here was the conundrum. You see, while we’re committed to accuracy, we’re also a family outfit, and we prefer to keep our copy clean.

How rude was that phrase? you may ask. Well, in English it would go something like this: “Security, your sister’s [unmentionable body part]!”

Yup. That rude.

What to do?

I did what I always do when I find myself in a translation conundrum: consult with my colleagues. For a few moments, we were serious as we considered phrases that would satisfy the demand for accuracy, at least in spirit, while avoiding an unnecessary and potentially very troublesome descent into profanity.

And then, inevitably, came the laughter.

“Security, my foot,” one colleague suggested. When I heard that, I couldn’t resist suggesting a polite, archaic American expletive denoting the backside. “How about ‘Security, my Aunt Fanny’?” I answered, getting some giggles from our editor.

Finally, we settled on “Security, hell!” and moved on.

noreply@blogger.com (Rahel) — Tue, 29 Sep 2009 11:47:26 PDT

Voices and Photos

Want to hear some samples of my voiceover work? I’ve got links to some of them on my sidebar now—and also in this post.

Here’s a link to an online demo that I did for a product called Mighty Key.

Here’s the page at Tekhelet.com where you can see the video that explains the origins and traditions surrounding tekhelet, the biblical blue dye. I did the voiceover for that, too.

I also added a proper link to my photographs on Flickr. It’s about time, since I sold my first photo last summer.

Here’s the photo:

The rest are here.

There will be more links as I get them.

noreply@blogger.com (Rahel) — Thu, 24 Sep 2009 14:00:22 PDT

Gazing from On High

Ever have the feeling you’re being watched?

It’s likely not your imagination.

It’s Catschka the Yom Kippur Kittycat, making sure that we’ve all been good little girls and boys this year... so far.

Gmar hatima tova! (May you be sealed for good in the Book of Life.)

The Friday Ark. The Carnival of the Cats.

noreply@blogger.com (Rahel) — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 12:13:58 PDT

Two Pictures from Today

This morning, I went to my dentist for a cleaning. His office is located on an upper floor of a high-rise in downtown Jerusalem. For years, I’ve wanted to take a picture of the view. Today, I finally got my courage up and asked him whether I could take some pictures from the window. He said, “Go ahead.”

Yes, that’s the Dome of the Rock on the right, and if you look closely, you can see the gold spires of the Russian church to the left of it. Behind it is the Mount of Olives.

As I took the photos, I couldn’t help but say: “My kingdom for a wide-angle lens!”

Later today, I noticed a moth flitting about near a plant nursery. After it landed on a berry, I took out my camera and managed to get a few shots. This one came out the best, I think:

Yeah... I guess I hang out with flighty characters sometimes.

noreply@blogger.com (Rahel) — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 06:09:00 PDT

For Maryam

I wanted my last post of the year to be simply wishes for a shanah tovah—a good year. And of course I still do wish everyone a good year, but I can’t put up a cheerful post the way that I’d planned to do.

Maryam died last night after a long illness. The funeral was at noon today.

Maryam was a long-time member of our minyan. Her good friend (and mine), Zelig, died on the first day of Rosh ha-Shanah last year. And now, on the last day of the year, Maryam passed away.

It feels strange to say “Shanah tovah” when you’ve just returned from a funeral, particularly the funeral of someone who was still young, whose parents are, to the best of my knowledge, still living. What is going through my mind right now is the line from the old Hebrew hymn: Tikhleh shanah ve-killeloteha; tahel shanah u-virkhoteha—may the curses of the old year end and the blessings of the new year begin. May it indeed be a good year for us all, with an end to sorrow and with the blessings of peace and consolation and joy.

May Maryam’s family and friends be comforted, and may Maryam’s sweet soul rest in peace.

noreply@blogger.com (Rahel) — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 13:13:50 PDT

Baby Blues

As I passed through the garden earlier today, Her Ladyship came over to me and asked to be petted. Then, when she’d had her fill of skritches, she posed, showing off her beautiful baby blues.

At one point, she took over my backpack. The fact that I’d been on my way out didn’t faze her at all. (To be fair, I didn’t complain, either.)

“I love you, Your Ladyship.”

“I know.”

The Friday Ark. The Carnival of the Cats.