29 The Messenger

I do my work as a book editor at home. I sit facing my computer or sheets of paper on my desk in my room, surrounded by books and sounds of music that come from the radio, my discs or internet radio stations: I erase and change the text before me until I have created clear, corrected texts. Today, when communication via e-mail is so convenient and the transfer of texts is so simple and fast, there is almost no need to meet people in order to transmit or receive pages with editorial symbols. Everything is done on the computer and the texts pass quickly from hand to hand. The exchange of opinions that accompanies the work on texts is done by e-mail and from time to time telephone conversations serve to clarify matters. Face to face meetings are almost superfluous. From the initial communication, to the order for the work, the editing process, contact with the authors and finally the payment – everything is done without a face to face meeting. You sit at home and edit books for people, publishers as well as research and publication institutions, without having seen each other.

From time to time I need the mail service to receive books and texts that are sent to me. Mail creates contact. Not with the person who wrote the texts that I edit, nor with those who transferred them to me to edit, nevertheless it is contact. I leave my house and walk to the local mail branch. Almost invariably I meet someone there that I know. I observe the people standing near me and listen to the conversations they have with each other and on their cell phones. When my turn comes, the clerk hands me my mail. Sometimes a messenger comes to my house to deliver or receive a package.

But since the "doarmat", the automatic service for receiving mail packages, my work can be accomplished without even seeing the messenger.

28 A Kibbutz Seder in the sixties

In a few days I will be sitting with my family at the Seder table reading the Haggadah. I have a small collection of Haggadot with explanations, and these explanations are dear to me because they not only clarify the text but also tell the stories of their commentators. My curiosity is aroused also by the Haggadot that dare change and add to the traditional text – for example the Kibbutz Haggadah – which was perhaps the most extraordinary cultural endeavor that originated here, before pioneering-secular momentum ceased. A year ago I acquired a Haggadah that combines both traditional and Kibbutz Haggadot and I discovered in it the Seder of my youth in the 1960's in the kibbutz.

The Seder in the kibbutz began many weeks before the actual Pesach evening. The choir rehearsed "Kumu Toei Midbar" ("Arise Ye Who Are Wandering in the Desert") and "Se'i Saviv Einaich" ("Lift up your eyes and Look about You") as well as "Leil Shimurim" ("It is a long Night"). The youngsters of the "mosad" (high school) prepared a modern dance (to music by Prokofiev!) on the exodus of the Jews from slavery to freedom and the younger ones rehearsed for the highlight of the evening – but about that later.

On the day of the holiday all the furniture was removed from the dining hall and instead long rows of tables were brought in, which consisted of simple wooden planks covered with white paper serving as tablecloths. The benches were construction boards. The seating arrangements, for which there was a special committee, were a well kept secret. The places were marked on the white table covering, and only on the evening of the holiday did each family receive an envelope containing the numbers that revealed their seats.

Before the holiday we received new sandals which squeaked when we walked and white shirts (in the 50's they were "Russian" shirts). And so, all excited, we walked to the Seder. Songs were sung at that evening, poems and many quotations from the book of Numbers were read. Most of it was not from the original Haggadah. One member of the Kibbutz, always the same one, would begin with "Ha Lachma Anya" ("This is the Bread of affliction") and the Seder would flow from there. The local "intellectual" would get up and deliver this "our" speech: "Again we sit circles in circles…" and would review the "Circles of our Life" from the eldest to the last of the new born babies. And before the "Shulchan Orech" (the festive meal) the choir would go on stage and enthusiastically sing the canon "Let's Drink a Toast, Friends, For We are Yet Strong Enough".

Before the end of the Seder and the never ending circles of the "Hora" came the time for the highlight of the evening – the "chad gadyah" (one lamb) dance of the young children. Here we are dancing to the tune of the pioneers' chad gadyah. The somersaulting gadyah (lamb) standing on his hands – is me.

Chag Sameach!

27 Children Walking in Puddles

After the big downpour, little children walk in puddles. Before they go into the puddle they look at the grownups by their side with a daring look in their eyes and ask, may we? Tell us nu-nu-nu. They know that it is not really allowed to go into puddles and they ask for permission or refusal. When they leave the puddle, they wear a triumphant though bashful look. But the adults at their side tell them: "it's alright with boots. Afterwards we will take a hot bath and change clothes". Ah, the innocence and excitement of little children walking in puddles.

I remember the puddles of my childhood in a small settlement in which there were no roads or sidewalks. The main roads were made of coarse sand and the side roads were dirt roads. In winter enormous puddles would form all over the settlement and we walked proudly in these puddles wearing our rubber boots, or we placed planks on building stones and joyously walked on them "keeping our balance" and sometimes falling into the water.

I remember that after the heavy rains we would walk to the Wadi and build rafts from empty barrels with branches tied around them, and we would sail with long sticks with which we would shove the sides and the bottom of the Wadi and in this way we would sail many kilometers towards the sea. When darkness fell we would return home, wet and full of mud, with burning eyes from this great adventure.

Our chief raft builder was my friend who was killed in the Yom Kippur War. When we were a little older, he would play the accordion while we all danced around him in a circle and later on he also played the organ and the piano and all in all, he was one of those talented people that make you wonder where he would be now had he not died so young.

But here are today's children. Their future is still bright and full of promising surprises. The camera shields them and preserves the playful and innocent happiness of a rainy day next to a loving home.

26 Writing with fountain pen

These days many more people write by tapping on computer keys than by writing on paper with a pen, and a simple pen – a ballpoint pen for example – is so inexpensive that many people do not have a personal pen but grab one from a bunch lying on any table and use it. An elegant ballpoint pen is already a kind of declaration and some people regard it as superfluous. And if that is true regarding the ballpoint pen, what about the fountain pen?

Many of us are convinced that the fountain pen is obsolete, a dinosaur that belongs in a museum. Although we know that writing with steel point has a unique character, in that the line of ink is flexible, its thickness is variable and that its many shades are determined by the degree of pressure, the angle and speed in which the point goes over the paper. But all this does not persuade those who think that writing with a fountain pen is fated to go the way of writing with a quill or calligraphic writing with a brush – practices that belong to vanished esoteric cultures or to artists that are interested in former techniques. None the less the fountain pen survives and one of the reasons that it does is that it is regarded as an item of prestige and is manufactured as a piece of jewelry for the wealthy customers. In stores that specialize in them, it is not rare to find expensive fountain pens that cost thousands and sometimes even tens of thousands of shekels.

But my simple fountain pen cost me only a few hundred shekels (which in the long run is cheap because the life span of a pen like this is decades and the cost of ink is minimal). It is not a prestigious item or an anachronistic trinket. It is simply the best writing instrument, the pleasantest and most reliable one. Before I returned to writing with a fountain pen I struggled with every simple pen I bought and more than once I had to buy dozens of pens before I found one that suited me. Not any more. This pen, which I have been using now for two years, will continue to serve me many more years.

25 Our Private Mythologies

Every one of us retains in his memory powerful images from childhood. Happenings and experiences that received mythological dimensions in private history and it is almost impossible to explain them to other people because what can be said about them is only an external and objective description, whereas their real strength lies in a much deeper layer. This is also true of certain books that we read in our childhood when the reading experience was new and therefore powerful and intense. Many of us remember only dimly the books from those years and usually refrain from reading them again as adults because we fear that the magic will not repeat itself and perhaps the opposite will happen: looked at as an adult, the books might seem tasteless and there would be no way to balance today's sober view with yesterday's mythology that we can not erase, and remains present even when denying it.

The book "Satan from the 7th grade" by Kornel Makuszyński, in its old translation from Polish, was one of those reading experiences for me. A few years ago I came across a new translation of the book by Uri Orlev and I immediately bought the book. Of course I didn't read it. However I was recently requested to evaluate (in my capacity as a lector) a biography of a famous Israeli personality that was written for young readers and its didactic childish style without faith in its readers, made me uncomfortable. Suspecting that I was perhaps judging the book too severely, I wanted to compare it to another book that I like and remembered "Satan from the 7th grade". I picked it up and – believe it or not – the magic returned. I became engrossed in the book and didn't put it down until I had turned the last page. That is the way to write for young readers. And actually, why only for young readers? That is the way to write – with wisdom, humor and love of humanity. Here is the book lying on my desk.

24 Russian Beer, Romanian Wine

Years ago when I first entered the wine and liquor store near my house I discovered the "hidden imports" that are not seen in the large supermarkets. It contained brands from Eastern Europe that aroused my curiosity. The customers in the store also attracted me. The clerks who spoke fluent Hebrew with me, albeit with a slight accent (and who in Israel does not have a slight accent) switched immediately to their mother tongue when another customer entered. Suddenly their language became softer, livelier, quicker and more natural. Only then did I realize that what had formerly seemed to be fluent was indeed a matter that required considerable effort. Israel is a land of immigrants.

The special brands that I saw in the store were almost all in the low price range and I couldn't expect any miracles, but in spite of that my curiosity was aroused and I tried different kinds. I tasted the strong Russian beer which contains a higher percentage of alcohol than I was accustomed to and could not get used to its taste. I tried the vodka flavored with honey and pepper which is imported from the Ukraine and could not even manage to finish the small bottle that I had bought. I had already heard about Murfatlar wine from Rumania and I was not disappointed – it was excellent. But when two of my children became religiously observant, I was obliged to do without it because the wine does not bear a kosher seal.

These days I don't buy much in this store. It seems to me that it carries fewer brands of the kind that are not found in supermarkets. But in spite of that, the store attracts me. I go in, walk around aimlessly and then buy 6 bottles of mineral water. Here they are in the nylon bag on the counter. The angle of the photograph I owe the stores salesman, who asked me to shoot it in such a way that it would show the bottle of the gold labeled "Vodka Absolute", that he is so proud of.

23 The Ramlah-Lod Market

The "Ramlah-Lod Market" is the commercial name of a market that travels throughout the country and displays its wares every day in a different locality. On Thursdays it comes to Pardes Hana to what used to be the main "Egged" bus station which is now vacant and serves as a parking lot for busses on Saturdays. People flock to the market and the traffic on market day is insufferable. Cars park in every place they can squeeze into and this is a serious nuisance for the local population.

From my workroom I sometimes hear the hucksters hawking their wares and had thought of going there to see what was going on. That is what I did today. I went through the market's gates – and immediately found myself in another world, overwhelmingly colorful, noisy and pulsing with life. I felt the way I did a year and a half ago on a trip to Romania in Târgu Mureş's market. I thought to myself that we travel great distances in order to have a "genuine" experience like this and I tried to see the market near my house through the eyes of a tourist. That is an excellent exercise. Try once to see your house, your street or the Public Square through the eyes of one who, as it were, comes here for the first time and for whom all these things are totally new.

That is the way I looked at the "Ramlah-Lod Market". I gazed at the clothes, the seeds and the dried fruits, the household utensils and the baked goods. A young man standing next to a woman, perhaps his mother, as she is preparing a Druze pitah, sprinkling it with labane and za'atar, rolling it and serving the pitah warm – simply delicious. Notice the colorful pile of clothes. And note the date trees in the background that hint at the world beyond the other reality of the "Ramlah-Lod Market".