41 The End of Summer

I have hiked much in the mountainous regions and here I am again, on my bicycle, amongst the orchards and fields near my home. The sun is low on the horizon and soon it will fall into the sea. The uncultivated brown fields are still covered with withered thorns but other fields have already been prepared for sowing. The furrows are fresh and the dark soil has been shaped into a huge chocolate bar. Sprinklers are refreshing the soil and only the broad paths are as yet one gigantic sand box, and that is how they will remain until the arrival of the first rain of the season. It is very hot and the humidity is heavy. I pedal on looking around me and suddenly, next to the road – an entire field of Chazavim (squill). I stop suddenly as if struck by lightening: summer is over – the Chazav is blooming.

I remember the childhood feeling of time, or more correctly the timeless feeling in which it seems that summer lasts almost eternally. Backwards it extended to the distant past before the beginning of the long summer vacation and forwards – it seemed that it would last forever. Even today I feel that self same refusal to believe that that eternal present – of sea, swimming pool and watermelon – could end. True, the calendar says that it is already September and soon the holidays will be upon us, but that is nonsense. The calendar is just so many paper pages – and the sun is the sun. Therefore when I am suddenly confronted with the white sign, the Chazav, standing tall by the side of the road, I get all excited. Because the Chazav is reality. A reminder that can no longer be denied: Summer is over.

When it is warm and I am in shorts and an undershirt, I find it hard to imagine the cold winter, and in winter I can't imagine the summer heat. I know that the seasons come and go. Nevertheless I refuse to believe that a different time of the year is possible at any moment. How does the change take place? How does the arrow of time pass from one point to another? I reject any such possibility – but then the Chazav confronts me and says: here, it has already happened. Summer is over.

40 My Scooter

This is my scooter. I use it for short trips – to the swimming pool, routine arrangements and shopping. I also ride on it in winter and even enjoy doing so. I have an excellent wind breaker suit, a wool scarf and leather gloves – which is sufficient for Israel's mild winters. But the real pleasure is going on it to the sea in summer. I take a good book with me (or a book that I need to evaluate), load my telephone with two items from "The New York Times Book Podcasts", place a bottle of water or sometimes cold beer in a backpack, tie the seat to the scooter and set out.

At the seashore scooter parking is free. I pass the automobile barrier easily and reach the parking lot of Sdot Yam's sailing club near the seashore. I like to sit on the bank of the Kibbutz Sdot Yam Bay, north of the boat club. It isn't crowded there and the sea is like a gigantic swimming pool surrounded by arms of flat rocks. I watch the many surfboard riders gliding diagonally either away from the shore or toward it and marvel at their dexterity. I watch the children returning from the sea in little boats, pushing and pulling them onto wagons and dragging them ashore.

When I get tired of sitting near the water I go for a refreshing swim and then take my customary walk – south to the power station or north to the Port of Caesarea.

The picture shows my scooter fully equipped and ready to go. The backpack is already in the storage compartment, the chair is strapped in place and presently the helmet will be on my head. The key is lying next to the helmet. See you at the seashore.

39 Noble Pearls

It has been a few weeks now since we saw the occasion of the publication of the book "Noble Pearls" whose scientific editor I had the honor of being. "Noble Pearls" is a selection of speeches delivered by winners of the Noble Prize for Literature, speeches these outstanding poets and authors made on the occasion of officially receiving the award, that special moment when they were in the limelight and had the ear of the world.

What can be said at such a moment, how can one meet this challenge of world recognition and honor? How to give thanks for the recognition? These speeches make for fascinating reading and in every way these prize winners chose to express themselves, they shared with their words pearls of wisdom. As the poet Yisrael Bar Kochav (who is seen in the photo above) said - when he quoted from 'Ithaka' by Kavafis - we must 'learn from those who know' and the speeches in this book are the words of those who know.

The occasion began with a reception at the Swedish Embassy, on the roof of 'Asia House' from where one has a wonderful view of Tel-Aviv. Afterwards, in a ceremony that took place in 'Beit Ariela', the book was praised by many and the Swedish ambassador made a speech in excellent Hebrew that won him much applause. He noted with gratification that during his tour of duty in Israel, three Israelis won the Noble Prize (although not in literature) and emphasized the fact that the prize indeed gives the winners special status which enables them to express themselves on any subject whatsoever. The world is eager to hear what they have to say – thanks to the prize.

38 A Computer Centered Life

When I began to work from home I bought a lap top because it is quieter, conveniently mobile and capable of doing everything that the large, noisy computer can do. From the outset I insisted on working opposite a thin screen outside the computer and equipped with comfortable cordless keyboard and mouse. Although I bought a lap top does not mean that I must do with those terrible keyboards and something that only resembles a mouse. I began to work facing the screen and the paper stand which are on the left hand side of the picture and lately a friend convinced me to use the computer screen in addition. Today I use the main screen for editing and the subsidiary screen (of the lap top) for scanning, mail, search and verification of information etc. At times I have two identical versions of text on the two screens when I need to compare different places in the text or make searches and want to avoid running each time to discover where I was and the exact wording in the two places. Now I am sitting opposite three objects: two screens and a paper text (generally the printed version or some kind of supplementary material, slips of paper and so forth).

Recently I began using the computer for telephone conversations abroad as well. I acquired a little camera and earphones with a microphone and I discovered the world of 'Skype', which enables talking from computer to computer or from a computer to an ordinary telephone. I also discovered 'Jaja', a program that makes possible talking from telephone to telephone at ridiculously low prices. Incidentally 'Jaja' also has an option of communication from mobile phone direct without using the computer.

So this way I sit many hours opposite computer screens. On the pages I write corrections with a mechanical pencil or a red pen. I prepare the suspended slips of paper from excellent 80 gram paper which is ideally suited to writing with a fountain pen. Sticky notes lying on the base of the screen are used as markers and reminders – one of them is sticking to the screen's base.

When I work I take off my wristwatch and place it in front of me. In front of that you can see the famous telephone with whose help most of the pictures that have appeared in this column have been taken. This time I had to use a different camera so that it too could appear in a column that bears its name. And what about the glass? That is 'Murphy's' beer that I bought on my return from the swimming pool.

37 Humus on Friday

On Fridays I get up at the usual time and before I leave for my 'Friday round trip' I sit down for an intensive hour or so of work. After that I stretch, go down to the kitchen, take the car keys from the drawer and go on my way.

My first stop is at the gas station around the corner where I can get the weekend edition of "Yediot Aharonot" for five shekels. I save the television section for my mother, and try to include a short visit to her in the course of the morning. If this does not work out she will receive it at the Shabat meal at our home. The vegetable store is my next stop. After that I go to the grocery store in the shopping center, but first I stop at another gas station where I can get the Friday edition of 'MaAriv' for three shekels.

Although I took the shopping list with me, before I reach the stores I receive two telephone calls from my wife. She remembered a few more things we need and just now opened the fridge and saw that there wasn't any butter. I promise to add it to my shopping list and to remember it, but my wife takes no chances; she adds an SMS in which she itemizes the added items. When I am already next to the butcher, I receive a call from my daughter who wants me to add another few items and my mother calls to say that as long as I am already out shopping I should see if I can find some Kumquats, she wants to make jam.

I finish shopping and on the way to the cashier I am still undecided, but in the end I add a modest bouquet of flowers to the list. Now I decide that I deserve a good beer and choose a bottle of dark Czech beer. After unloading all the packages at home I take the car to the carwash. Until the car is ready I go to the nearby Humusaria for a small order of humus-techina.

Ah, the pleasure of relaxation in a humusaria on a Friday afternoon. There you find the youngster's home from the army, the bike riders who have just finished riding over Amikam's Hills, families of three generations, and young couples with babies in their baby carriers. And all of them are seated around tables in a strange structure whose like is nowhere to be found, not even in the movies, and everyone is relaxed and smiling - and the world looks good on a Friday afternoon.

36 To Buy a Book at the Book Fair

To buy a book at the book fair? Actually the fair is first and foremost a meeting place for authors, editors and publishers – especially publishers. At a fair one mingles with literary personalities and buys rights to Israeli books for distribution in the world, and rights to books from abroad for distribution in Israel. The book fair is the place to see and be impressed. It is possible to buy books in book stores. Did I say that it is possible? Not really.

Enter a typical book store in the city or shopping mall and what books are on sale there? Books that were published in the past few months; especially those on best seller lists, and most of all books that are advertised two minutes before the news on the radio, as if they were the discovery of the century in world literature. Poetry books? Only a few dozen. Reference books? Again, only those that were published recently and promoted aggressively and a very limited selection of other books, primarily books likely to interest students and, of course, cook books, books on travel, leisure and so on – in short, boring.

That is the reason why I am attracted to book fairs; the book fair in Jerusalem and the Hebrew Book Week in Tel Aviv. During book week all the publishers empty their warehouses and display all their books to the public. Finally it is possible to feast one's eyes on a vast supply of books that all year were the object of endless pursuit. Although the Jerusalem book fair is very small it is possible to see there, for example, the books of "Even Choshen" publishing house, the beautiful and exclusive bibliophile editions. And a few more surprises.

But in Jerusalem I try to concentrate on foreign books that I will not see during the Hebrew Book Week. And because I'm not a regular at the universities books stores, I'm attracted to the stands that present alas, a poor variety of them, but still much more than I can see in almost all of the bookstores in Israel.

What books did I buy at the fair? I bought two books. One: a "Dictionary of Symbols" published by Penguin. It contains l200 crowded pages of interpretations of symbols from various world cultures, religions, nations and continents (five pages are devoted to the word "black" and fourteen to the word "snake"). It is not a new book but it is an important and helpful aid and makes for fascinating reading. Two: an edition of Shakespeare's sonnets published by Cambridge with extensive and copious explanations – in all 150 pages. Even if I seriously study only two sonnets, the purchase will have been worthwhile.

35 The Israel Philharmonic and Kurt Mazur

Until about two years ago I regularly attended the concerts of the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra. For better or for worse, that is the orchestra I grew up on and the Mann Auditorium is to this day one of the places in Tel Aviv in which I feel at home (incidentally I don't understand the fuss about preserving the building. I never liked its external architecture and the acoustics of the hall are not something you have to protect against change). Today I am somewhat fed up with the Philharmonic and it seems to me that it has become uninspired and set in its ways – with its eternal musical director, its conservative repertoire and ageing audience. Its policy for years now to attract younger listeners is pitiful – beer, pleasant atmosphere and light music instead of daring, contemporary, enticing and invigorating programs. But still, the IPO performs 19^th century music excellently – when being directed by a great conductor who knows how to obtain the best results from it.

Last February the IPO was in New York and gave a concert at Carnegie Hall. The New York Times' music critic Bernard Holland marveled at the orchestra's unique sound, the rich, beautiful sound of the string sections – especially the violins – but nevertheless he noted an outstanding characteristic of the orchestra – the lack of unison. In his opinion this is a matter of choice (!) by this orchestra in which every violinist thinks he is a virtuoso.

I thought about Holland's remarks while attending a concert in the Mann Auditorium, sitting in the 20^th row and listening to Symphony no.4 (the "Romantic") by Bruckner. Even visually the independence of the violinists was evident (perhaps it was only a lack of emphasis on unison). There is a great deal of tremolo and murmur in Bruckner's music that each one in the IPO plays as he likes. One plays with a large part of the bow, and another plays with a small part of the bow. One plays in the middle of the bow and some other violinist plays it with the end of the bow, to say nothing of the fact that the movement of their hands is not together by any means. Bows go up and down in groups of violinists without any order.

Nevertheless, in some magical way the result is quite beautiful. Especially when the orchestra plays a Bruckner crescendo: the strings sparkle and the tone is rich and full.

Kurt Mazur, 80 years old, is, thanks to his character, a wonderful match for the Philharmonic. He is serious, the product of a long European tradition and a proponent of typical mid 20^th century interpretation of late romantic music. His conducting is very restrained but authoritative and resolute. The orchestra responded willingly to its honorable conductor, and the Bruckner symphony was played in a deep beautiful tone that accompanied me long after the concert was over.