The Swing

Passing the Charles Clore playground after sunset, I witness a miracle. Scores of hardcore Hassidic families are enjoying the fancy swings and slides, sharing them with Muslim families from Jaffa. Fathers in black "kaften" coats and mothers in green hijabs stand around the same sandboxes, observing their kids with the same care. The kids themselves run around with the same joy, unaware of the big lie: that which states that they are not the same, that which is law in this land.

I walk among all of them, snapping shots with my cellphone, when a woman approaches me. By her long skirt and fair hair she seems to be a moderately religious Jew. "Who do you work for?" she asks me in English.

"Nobody, I'm documenting this for my own pleasure."

"Too bad, I was hoping you're a journalist."

"I am," I smiled, "but off duty at the moment. Are you a native english speaker?"

"Long story, born in Switzerland, raised in Canada. I was actually thinking of calling the press. This whole family of Arabs took over the big swing over there. They wouldn't let our kids on. I'm so sorry you were not here to see that. I don't understand how come such people are allowed to set foot here."

"'Such people', as in Arabs?"

"Yes."

"But even if they were pushy or mean, it doesn't neccesarily have to do with them being Arabs. People can be rude no matter their language or religion. Families can be difficult to handle." I catch myself trying to educate her and decide to cut it short. "I think what's happening here is gorgeous. It's worth the wait for the swing."

She looks at me with such disdain that I just quit the scene. You know what, she's right. She's got to be right. After all, the majority in this country agrees with her, according to a study conducted in 2007 by the association for civil rights in Israel, 75% of Israelis would prefer not to have an Arab neighbor. A study conducted last year by Tel-Aviv university reveals that 50% of teenagers believe Arabs should not be given full rights in Israel.

The irritated lady, whose kids had to wait for a swing, reflects the majority opinion in Israel, and in a democracy, the majority rules. Here is does more so than elsewhere. People would be racist. It's the role of constitutions and state institutions to keep such tendencies at bay. We have no constitution and our govenment prefers to fan the flames. With openly racist Lieberman and secretly racist Netanyahu running the country, this is the hayday of anti-Arab legislation and court action, from decrees allowing rural communities to ban Arabs from buying houses, to a ban on marriages between Palestinian citizens of Israel and West Bank residents.

We are in control of the big holy-land swing right now. Like a kid with his head in the clouds, we live in the illusion that this will never end, that we'll just keep swinging forever, but our violent attempts to kick the other kid off may cause everybody to fall to the sand. This will end with more than a bruised knee.

(artwork by Jean-Honoré Fragonard and Yinka Shonibare)

It's 3:30 AM, Do You Know Where Your Z Tile Is?

Scrabble was one of the most lovely elements in my past marriage. Lin and I were both scrabble fiends, the proud owners of one huge delux set (Naor's gift for our wedding) as well as a groovy little travel one featuring its own elegant case. My top score in a two-people game was 450, I don't remember hers but it may be higher still.

I didn't bring scrabble into my current relationship until yesterday. Downtown lover studied at an American university, she translates from English and in short - is quite fluent in the language. Nevertheless, whenever I brought up scrabble as a possible way to pass an hour she refused, claiming she was afraid of losing miserably to me.

Yesterday I called her in the afternoon. "what's up?" I asked, "Where are you at?"

"At the emergency room".

"What? What happened?"

"I hurt my eye. I leaned over to pick up an extention cord at the hardware store and got it pricked by one of the hangers. Now I'm waiting for the doctor to take a look. I may be stuck here a long time."

I told her I'll be rushing over, slipped on my sandals, searched for my keys, then a thought flashed through my head: Did she just say she may be stuck there a long time?

"I've got you," I said out loud to the walls of my bedroom, "Now I've got you". The little groovy travel scrabble was placed in my bag and I headed out to Ichilov hospital.

We bever ended up playing there. She was discharged quite quickly. The hanger hook did wound her eyeball, but not the cornea, so the healing should be quick and the eyelid serves as a natural patch. DL even managed to watch the cup finals (albeit with one eye shut) and then headed out happy as though never hurt to celebrate the Spanish triumph with a glass of cava. That glass led to a beer at the Riff-Raff bar on Gruzenberg street, which is where I decided to pull out pandora's little travel case.

The game began indoors with three players: DL, Flashky and myself, and two spectators: filmmaker Ari Liebsker and his date. It ended on the sidewalk way after the Riff-Raff had closed down, with only the bats in the trees to watch us. We were just having too much fun for anyone to quit, though the board was quite knotty (is that a legitimate word?) the sidewalk filthy and the dawn at hand.

DL scored 89 points by placing the word "whistler", featuring all her tiles, on a triple word square and assuring us that she isn't referring to the proper name of the renowned painter but rather to someone who habitually engages in the act of whistling. I finished at less than 200 with Flashky trotting not far behind me. The one eyed lady was declared victor. she also got to keep her beer glass, compliments of the bartender too tired to bring it in. Some wounded people get all the luck.