Shabbat on the Dark Side

Yesterday, mid afternoon, Chaim and I arrived in Jerusalem for a Shabbat bar mitzvah. We had the name of the hotel and the address -- which was not on a street that sounded familiar. However, we knew it was near the Damascus Gate of the Old City. (For me, that was good enough.)

Chaim is always looking for a short-cut from point A to point B. Whatever the directions provided, he firmly believes that he can do it better. Therefore, instead of doing the obvious thing which was to drive the normal route into Jerusalem, follow the signs to the Old City and then drive around the perimeter until we reached the area of the Damascus Gate, he decided to take a shortcut through the ultra-orthodox area of Mea Sharim.

This is not a place that a car can scoot through on the best of days. The streets are extremely narrow and frequently filled with ultra-orthodox pedestrians who are not that happy to see you if you don't look like them. We do not look like them.

So, when we finally made our way through the ancient, windy streets, Chaim the navigator-who-knows-best, was already in a bad mood. This mood was not helped by the fact that the little map provided on the hotel website was so vague that it was impossible to follow.

I am always prepared to just wing it. I knew we were close and I had the hotel phone number. I also have no problem hanging my head out the window and asking for directions. Chaim, on the other hand, has to chart out the exact course completely before we leave our driveway.

I am sure he thought he knew what he was doing, but this is Jerusalem -- it's an ancient city built well before the idea of city planners was born. Streets wind and weave, and change name arbitrarily.

But the best part is that the Damascus Gate is in East Jerusalem -- a place not known for its road logic or its friendly locals.

For those of you who don't know what I mean, the Damascus Gate is in what is best known to the world as the Arab-dominated part of Jerusalem. The border into East Jerusalem is invisible on one level and screamingly obvious on another level. It is not difficult to tell when you "enter" East Jerusalem -- the scenery changes pretty dramatically and very quickly.

At that moment we both realized that we were spending Shabbat in the Arab part of the city. While this apparently didn't concern our hosts, it didn't leave me with a warm and fuzzy feeling. And it definitely curbed any interest I had in hanging my head out the window in search of directions. My survival instincts had kicked into gear.

All this time the cranky navigator was getting more and more agitated. Finally, after he ignored my last set of correct instructions and got stuck in a traffic jam outside the Gate, I called the hotel for help. And then, within five minutes we had actually arrived at our destination.

You would think that that would be the end of that. But for me, it wasn't. As nice as the hotel was, I couldn't get comfortable with the idea of spending Shabbat in what I consider enemy territory. Oh skip the politics and the rhetoric -- it's not the friendliest place in Israel. Of course, it's not the least friendly place either.

I am not going to replay the entire weekend for you, but obvioulsy if I am writing this, I am still here. The Arab staff in the hotel was very nice. The Arab bus driver who took us the Western Wall was also very nice. The people on the streets when we went for a walk this afternoon were less so, but I still didn't feel that my life was in danger. I don't want to minimize the seriousness of the tensions that exist in Jerusalem and I wouldn't push the envelop to test any theories here. But I do have to dust off my old theory that most people just want to get out of bed, do an honest day's work, feed their families and enjoy their friends.

And maybe all of East Jerusalem isn't a journey to the Dark Side.

Back to my reality

I was going to continue on my ranting path because frankly every day I read something in some newspaper somewhere that makes me want to rage against the man, whoever he might be. Today, I was going to write about how the US State Department does not get to make decisions about the borders of Jerusalem, but sorry, you are all going to have to wait for another day.

My local readers are getting emotionally exhausted from my ranting. (That's what happens when you walk to the corner store... people stop you to tell you what they think!!!)

Instead I am going to write about how at 7:15 this morning as I was driving my kids to school on almost empty streets, a police car pulled up behind me and via megaphone told me in blurry, loud hebrew that I was driving in the wrong lane.

I normally drive my kids to school closer to 8:15 but today Zeve wanted to go very early because his class was leaving on an overnight sleep-away hiking trip and he didn't want to be late. As it turned out, he was probably the first kid at school, which made him anything but late.

Back to the police. I think that it was 7:15 and these guys must have been at the end of their shift and bored to tears. I was driving on a divided street with at least two lanes going in either direction. At some points on this road, there are even three lanes going each way.

This morning, at 7:15, there were two other cars on the road within a 25 foot radius of my car. Not exactly a bumper-to-bumper moment.

Nothing like looking in your rear view mirror and seeing the police bearing down on you with their squad car lights flashing. I knew they were talking to me but my hebrew is barely passable on a normal day and my fuzzy megaphone hebrew is even worse. Plus, I couldn't for the life of me, figure out what I was doing wrong. I wasn't holding my cell phone in my hand (at least not at that moment). I was wearing a seat belt. I wasn't drunkenly swerving.

Fortunately -- or not -- Chaim was in the passenger seat and he has no sense of humour for bored police officers. He doesn't like anyone who criticizes driving that he deems acceptable. (My driving is rarely acceptable to him, but how much trouble can anyone get into on an empty road early in the morning?)

So the police squad car pulls up beside us and the passenger-side police officer gets back on his megaphone telling me to switch to the other lane (even though I knew I had to be in the lane I was in because I was about to make a left turn at the upcoming traffic light). And then both police officers gave us the official police glare.

I would have glared back but Chaim gets antsy when I provoke people in uniforms, which I am prone to doing every now and then. From his perspective, I pick fights and then move out of the way so that he can do battle on my behalf. There may be the odd moment of truth to that statement but if I was a bigger person I would definitely fight more of my own battles.

What could I do? I moved to the right-hand lane..... for three seconds and the self-satisfied police officers sped away. As I mentioned, I had to make a left-hand turn to get my kids to school. What was the point of that exercise? If two parallel lanes going the same direction are both open, what does it matter which one a driver chooses? I really hope someone writes in and explains this to me.

I wanted to go to the police station and complain. Problem is that a) my hebrew is truly bizarre and there are only one or two English-speaking police officers in Ra'anana; b) they are the police and they can taunt anyone they want; and c) they don't care because they are the police and I am not.

The point of all of this is simple: The US State Department has no right to independently determine the fate of Israel. It's not their call. They don't have to live with the consequences of the decisions they make about things that are none of their business and they do not really understand. We never elected you or your government and in case you didn't notice, you live in and work for another country on the other side of the world. If the US State Department wants to interfere in another democratic, western country they should go to Canada or Mexico -- at least there are shared borders and shared concerns. But whatever you State Department types decide, if you want to help, then get to work helping and stop imposing your world view on us.

What if you don't want to be barefoot, pregnant ... and in the kitchen?

I was having a perfectly lovely week until I read Ruth Eglash's article in the Jerusalem Post today: "Requests to fire pregnant women on the rise." It just jumped off the page at me.

As I have mentioned previously, I am not a militant feminist.I was going to say I am not a feminist at all, but I thought I better check the definition of that word before I spouted off at the mouth and as it turns out ... I am a feminist. But a rational feminist. Feminism, it seems is the belief that women should have equal political, social, sexual, intellectual and economic rights to men. On the other hand, I have no intention of burning my bras -- they cost too much.

The fact that men want pregnant women out of the workforce just reinforces once again how many men want it both ways. They collectively suffer from a mutant variation of the Madonna-Whore Syndrome. They want children and they want their wives to help support the family, but they don't want to be anywhere near pregnant woman in the workplace. Would you rather your wife down on her hands and knees scrubbing someone's floor? At least she wouldn't be in your office.

For you men out there who don't know this or don't remember it, let me remind you that pregnancy is not contagious. You can't catch it by sharing a cup or sitting on the same toilet seat.

Israel's Women's Labor Law, written 1954, says any employer who wants to dismiss a pregnant woman must seek permission from the Administration of Labor Law Enforcement. Interestingly enough, the article does not mention how many requests are approved. obviously a number that the government wants to keep under wraps.

And to add insult to injury, it's also okay to fire a woman undergoing fertility treatment -- with permission, of course.

Don't you think that just maybe that woman in fertility treatment is already going through enough hell without intervention from the Stupid Men's Collective? I am sure fertility treatment is tons of fun. Sure sounds like it. And I am sure the bills are fun too. That might even be why these women are working in the first place. Not all babies grow on trees.

What I found most interesting in the article was that employers are insisting that these women are being fired for under-performing. If my recollections serve me well, most women have to be 10 times as good as a man just to keep their jobs under normal circumstances. Now I must admit that I was a bit of a nutcase during my pregnancies. Many of my co-workers used to shudder in fear when I offered to drive when we went out for group lunches. I did drive my car over a few curbs and shoot a few red lights in those hormone-filled days. But overall, I felt like an Amazon (without the sparkly costume of course).

The truth is that pregnant women aren't taken very seriously by the real men in the workplace. How can they possibly be committed to their careers or jobs if they are off reproducing?

Fair question, with an equally fair answer. I say punish all the pregnant and potentially pregnant woman -- and with some luck, you can reduce the number of women having babies, so that when the time comes to replenish the workforce in 20 odd years, there won't be anyone to do the jobs. And there won't be anyone to protect the country. And there won't be anyone to walk your dog. And if you plan it well enough, Israel will move into negative population growth numbers while our Arab cousins just keep procreating at a ridiculous pace. Wow, what a plan!

I can't believe this only made page 8

I was reading the Jerusalem Post yesterday and I stumbled across an article on page 8 of the second section that left me in a state of suspended animation. My feet were on the ground but my mind was arguing with itself about whether or not I had understood what I had just read.

It seems that Michael O'Leary, the president of Ryanair, an Irish no-frills airline, is toying with the idea of charging passengers to use the washrooms in-flight. According to his logic, it would help keep ticket prices down. He's also of the mind that "everyone" getting on to one of his planes has a pound coin in his or her pocket.

As someone who once flew home from Mexico with a friend who was suffering from Montezuma's Revenge, I was trying to imagine that scene if my friend had needed a coin each and every time she wanted to relieve herself. And trust me, she spent a good part of the five-hour flight between Acapulco and Toronto driving the porcelain bus. Apparently Mr. O'Leary has never been to Mexico and inadvertently eaten a bacterial ice cube. That's about all it takes. One stupid ice cube from a non-approved source and you could easily find yourself with heaven knows what coming out of any number of bodily orifices. That vacation, under Ryanair's new plan, could have bankrupted her.

I also remember the time that I got a very distinct and excruciating pain in my side while flying home from a business trip in Cleveland, to Toronto. Once again, the washroom on the plane saved me. As it turned out, I had kidney stones, but at the time I just thought my insides were exploding and it was impossible to sit in my seat. Locking myself in that little cramped washroom gave me the privacy I needed to fall apart quietly and alone.

And every time I thought it was safe to go back to my seat, by the time I was halfway there, I had turned around and was headed back to the toilette! Based on Mr. O'Leary's plan I probably would have had to charge another $10 to my travel expenses. I wonder what I would have called that line item? Bathroom access charge? Unavoidable barfing and pooping? Or would I have listed it as $10 for private agony time. Oh, I can just imagine Accounts Payable pondering that expense account statement. I have charged some weird things to my corporate expense accounts over the years, but that would have been the ultimate expense doozer. (Up until then, the best I could have offered was my weekly bribery charge to the airport bus driver so that he would go to my terminal first regardless of the route.)

O'Leary's PR people were apparently as shocked as I was by his announcement. And in a very quick one-two step they passed it off as his off-beat humour. Since I used to be one of those PR people who was often caught off guard by crazy CEOs speaking without thinking, I just want to take a moment to tip my hat to them. Bloody good, fast thinking.

And to Mr. O'Leary, I just want to say that it will be a friendly day for Israelis in Iran before I ever travel on one of your planes. I am not sure I could afford it. The older I get, the more I frequent washrooms. Oh, but wait, maybe he will have a seniors' discount. I will have to send him a letter and find out.