Finally! An Update!

Hello, everybody!

It has been almost two months since I last posted. I can’t believe it myself. I have been doing more living that writing which for me is weird. I have so much to say that I don’t know where to even begin.

I underestimated how long it would take me to adjust to this new life, that’s for sure. I had no idea what it would be like to not only move abroad but to move to a place and a culture which is so different. You think you know what it will be like – you try to imagine, but you just can’t. I couldn’t, anyway. I came here with three suitcases. No furniture, no books, no pots or pans. Only some clothes and my computer ,which promptly malfunctioned ten days after arriving.

Most people move to Israel either with their family or to rejoin some family. I came alone. So I didn’t have any built in support. But I have met some amazing people and I am just floored by the generosity and kindness of Israelis.

I think all sorts of things about being an American and about America, now that I’ve been away for only a few short months. Sometimes I wonder to myself whether having been gone three months is enough perspective to even make any observations but I think it’s a slow process, gaining perspective. Different things occur to you at different times.

One of the biggest differences I notice is that time seems to move much more slowly here. That is to say that I notice that as an American, I am impatient. I like to get things DONE and get them done NOW. Israelis like to talk about things. Just going to pick up the laundry means that one must stop and speak to everyone you meet along the way that you know – and then talk to the laundry guy as well. It’s more than polite, it’s the lifestyle here. You can hear Israelis arguing and talking in a most lively fashion at cafes. One thing I see a lot here which I don’t recall seeing in the states is large groups of old men who gather at cafes, drink tea (or arak) and laugh and talk for hours. Sometimes they play chess.  I think about all the lonely seniors in the US, living in nursing homes versus the elders here who live with their families, maintain their independence and have a strong support system of friends.

I don’t miss home. I don’t miss LA. I miss Mexican food, that I would love to have. I love my friends but I am making new ones and because I am who I am – a lover of people – I am loving getting to know new people.  One of the many, incremental stages of being an expat is that when you first arrive at your new destination, you talk about it a lot – you share pictures, you share adventures, you miss your friends so much, you are a fountain of enthusiasm and fears and observations. But then, something begins to happen. You get more absorbed by your new surroundings than you are absorbed with telling people about your new surroundings. And the emails back and forth with your friends begin to dwindle.

You wonder if your friends are tired of exchanges like this:

Friend: Everything is pretty normal and good. I had pizza in Santa Monica last night and I think I have a crush on my yoga teacher.

You: Wow, that’s great! I went to the West Bank, toured and illegal settlement and got stopped by the Palestinian Authority.

I want to hear about the yoga teacher, I want to stay connected. But I do find, as I look back, that life in America is, on the whole, so much safer and untroubled, that we have the luxury of having crushes on yoga teachers and complaining about bad traffic or long lines. Here, everything feels very charged. It is a strange thing; on the one hand, life moves much, much more slowly, but on the other hand, Israel lives with existential threats that are very real. Life here is no joke. People have crushes, go to the beach and do all those normal things too – don’t get me wrong – but there is an underlying tension all the time.

Before I lived here, I knew about the problems and tensions – of course. I had visited many times and my American sensibilities were always a bit jarred by the security, weaponry, fences and news of IDF attacks on Gaza or this missile or that hitting Ashdod. Now that I live here, my day-to-day awareness has shifted, somewhat. I hand the security guy my purse for a search before I go into the Super Sal (supermarket) or bank, or mall, without thinking. You just do it. You stand in line and get searched. I ride the bus past plaques memorializing suicide bomb attacks on busses or cafes and no longer get a chill in my stomach. Well – not this bus. Not today. But evidence is all around you here that it has happened, and it will happen again. You just can’t think about it because it does you no good.  You have to compartmentalize and just focus on what you are doing that day.

Many of my friends in the US saw the 60 Minutes segment on Tel Aviv, which was broadcast a few weeks ago. It showed such beautiful sights and sounds of Tel Aviv but then also showed what is going on maybe one hour to the east and 90 minutes to the south. Gaza and the West Bank.  One day I visited an illegal settlement near Bethlehem and the next, I was sitting at the Dizengoff Center (a huge and I mean huge mall) with a friend doing some copy writing work. Muzak was playing softly and people were shopping and eating lunch. And I thought wow, just yesterday I was in a place where there is seething anger, poverty and injustice. And one hour away, here we are sitting in comfortable, air-conditioned mall. And between these two points on the map, there is a line of gun powder and it is sizzling hot. You just can’t take it in. You go numb a bit. You have to compartmentalize.

I came here feeling much, much more hopeful about peace than I do now. I think that’s a typical American thing. Americans are optimistic people. I know I am. We are friendly, optimistic and energized people. Here everybody just seems so worn out. The problems here are so complex, and so deeply entrenched. You can talk to ten people and get ten different opinions – that is a truism of Israelis in general. But if you talk about ha matsav – the situation – you get everything from anger to resignation to acceptance. I have not met one Israeli (yet) who really, truly believes peace is going to happen here – ever.

I have read articles that say that Israelis used to be more politically active and involved. Now, I see protests in Tel Aviv, against animal testing, and against the high cost of food. There was the Sudanese thing – that’s still happening. 70,000 illegal immigrants are in Israel, primarily from Sudan and Ethiopia. They are the underclass, that is clear to see. Recently, a number of personal crimes, heretofore a rarity in Israel, have happened and everybody blames the Sudanese. I don’t know what it’s like to be them – to be scared and inarticulate in a new country and in a country that most definitely does not want you here. Israel is a Jewish state. But how is that possible? How can a state mandate it’s religion? For an American, this is hard to grasp. The government here is much more hardline and forceful than in America. They aren’t politically correct. That does not exist here. So what is to become of the Sudanese? Many are being deported right now. Is this right? Is this fair? Is this a Jewish value?

Most everybody I talk to thinks a war is definitely coming. Everybody says a war will happen in about two to three months. They don’t seem to be particularly scared – just bracing themselves. Because Israel’s army is small, everybody who has ever been in the army (within a certain age limit) in the past will have to go again. For them, war is very real and very personal. In the US, how many of us even KNOW a soldier who went to Iraq or Afghanistan? As a percentage – very few. Here, everybody knows someone who has been in the army because everybody was in the army. And they’ll go again and they go gladly. They say to me, if I don’t fight, my country may not exist. It’s not noble or brave or anything else – that’s a fact. So they go.

Israel fights for its very existence on a daily basis. It seems so many in this world hate Israel. They say that other countries hate America. I have never personally experienced that, but then I am a pretty friendly person. I have always been greeted and treated quite nicely. But everybody really does hate Israel and people have some pretty negative views, by extension, of Israelis. Rude and pushy seems to be the consensus. I haven’t had that experience. Israelis just don’t have time to mess around. They live under constant threat and always have. Also, don’t forget, that everybody in the Middle East is pretty, um, let’s say forceful. If you listen to two Arabs having a normal conversation, it sounds so heated. They’re not upset, it’s how people talk here. Loudly. Emphatically.

I do think that Americans (and me included, until recently) live in a bubble. It’s not our fault – America is separated geographically from most of the rest of the world and so naturally our culture, our issues, our perspective comes to us from within, where TV, cars, clean water, movies, ice-cream cones and a pretty organized government is normal. We generate a huge amount of media and so we get our “news” from ourselves. We believe that what we see on the US news is in fact true and that no other reality really exists in a meaningful way. I do not think Americans are dumb or careless or anything else – we are just lucky. Americans are also, I might add, a bit hypnotized by our safety and our consumer culture. It is easy to become distracted by whether you want vanilla frozen yogurt or you’d rather go shop for the newest Apple product. Israelis are exhausted, but they are also very aware of their situation.

So when you live someplace else, where military jets fly overhead regularly, where lines are disorganized, where doing one thing takes two hours, where the heat is stifling and the government has an iron grip, where missiles land occasionally and where other governments proclaim regularly that they hate you and will annihilate you, your perspective changes quite a bit. Americans suddenly seem very spoiled. The next thing you think is what the HELL am I doing?? Who wouldn’t rather live in a country where resources are plentiful, existential threats do not exist and you can go to the store without being searched?

I love this crazy country, Israel. I know it’s messed up but there is something about this place that is extraordinary. I love Israelis, I love the heat and the food and I love how you just sort of have to break down your expectations and deal with what comes every day. Being here has made me much more appreciative of everything. Being in a place like this forces a new perspective. In America, we are achievers. We do so much in one day. We text, phone, Facebook, shop, work, get our coffee to go and stay on the move at all times. It’s exhausting. Here the bank opens at 9am and then closes from 2pm to 4pm for lunch. So do most government offices. You just have to deal with it. You know how back in the US we complain about the post office and the DMV? Here that is the way it is so when you go to a government office you just bring a book and shut up and be happy you EVER got to see ANYONE about your problem. And then you do not expect the problem will be solved. No – no, you’ll have to come back maybe 3 other times. To discover they could have helped you the first time. What are you going to do? You go buy yourself a sabich and meet friends for a drink later and revel in the heat and thank god you got anything done today. It just is the way it is.

And what of Stories Without Borders? Guys – I have been humbled and enlightened. It’s not that I don’t think peace and building communication bridges is worth pursuing – even in the face of such entrenched complexity. But I do think that running a non-profit is not what I am cut out to do. I was here for perhaps two or three weeks when I met the Middle East Director of Creativity for Peace, Nancy Clayman and Sylvi Margi. I began to work with CFP and am the media mentor for a group of about five girls – three Arab-Israeli, one Jewish, one Palestinian. We will be making a short film about CFP and about the girls’ experiences. I have humbly learned a lot about conflict resolution and dealing with the bubbling hurt and feelings of people with different perspectives and experiences vis a vis this conflict. I have learned to slow down and know that the film – the end result – is not as important for the girls, as working together on a project, cooperating, respecting each other and growing through the experience.

CFP has been going for ten years now. Dozens of girls have graduated from the program and gone on to become Young Leaders. They are active in their communities, they are well-versed and emotionally mature, and they are coming to know that they DO have opinions and actions that matter.  And that is the most important thing. Will it bring peace to the Middle East? Not likely. But CFP does change individual lives and that, when you think about it, is about as good as it gets – and that’s pretty good.

CFP is established, funded and supported. It would take me months and months (if not longer) to be anywhere close to the efficacy of CFP. So I think to myself – wait – do I want to put that time in, creating a NEW non-profit, or do I want to work with girls NOW on creativity and expression in a group that is already established? To me, it is self-evident that the right answer is to work with CFP and other groups like it as a free agent, roaming around, offering my talents and passion in situations where I can be put to use immediately.

I came to this realization a few weeks ago but I didn’t know what to say. I don’t want to disappoint those cheering me on from afar. At the same time, those cheering me on were cheering on the idea of using film and creativity for positivity in the Middle East. And that’s what I’m doing. I’m not going to try to write a grant and make a “deck” for CFP, or get private investors and government assistance – that would all take months if not years. Why reinvent the wheel? I knew about CFP before I came here, but that was also before I was here, observing the day-to-day in Israel. Now I realize that the best way I can be of service is to avail myself to those already here, already working toward peace, and offer what I can.

So here’s what I am going to do. I am going to redirect this blog to my other blog, which has now been renamed simply Julie Gray – and combine my blogging about writing, creativity, entertainment and life in the Middle East. I will offer a lot of blogging as I used to do, about staying motivated as a writer, but also talk about my experiences here as a way of a) bringing to light some of the issues here, from an American perspective, and b) encourage my readers to also follow their dreams – to create, to be joyful as much as possible, and to be of service to others in any way you can.

I am consulting on scripts, manuscripts, blogs and even copy writing. I am here, I am available, and I will continue to share with you my observations not only on Israel but on the Middle East and on women’s rights here in the Middle East.

I went through several years of loss and grief while I was living in LA. So much heavy stuff happened to me that I grew a bit numb. I am here in Israel to be restored. And it’s happening. I am healing, I am reconnecting to who I am and what I want to do. It takes time, and that’s perfectly okay. So please continue following my adventures – you may find yourself inspired to do something in your community. You find your perspective expanding, just a little bit, by hearing what an American living in the Middle East has to say. You may be inspired to write, to create, to be of service and to give back. You might be inspired by my quest to restore my spirit and experience the life of my dreams.  Anybody can do what I’ve done – throw off their shackles and completely change their lives.

Please support Creativity for Peace by sharing their link and bringing them into the spotlight. The redirect will take a few days but until then, you can go to the Julie Gray blog and get the same fun, inspired writing there.

The Party at the End of the World

Avi stares at the ceiling. He is thinking about the question I just asked him. Why do the Arab nations seem to hate Israel so much? What is the fundamental problem?

It’s another hot, humid, lazy day in Tel Aviv. The curtains I brought from America move in the breeze a little bit and outside, the tops of green trees shift slightly in the wind.

Avi looks at me patiently and explains, as if to a child. It is a curse, he says. Esau and Jacob (only he says Esow and Yakov) – remember them? The Jews are cursed.

I moved from Los Angeles to Tel Aviv about six weeks ago. I had been to Jerusalem many times but to Tel Aviv only once or twice. Jerusalem is a beautiful city, with an air of something very special about it. Ask anyone who has been. Literally there is something in the air in Jerusalem. It is stately, it is (usually) calm, it is quiet. And yet Jerusalem lives at the center of a huge conflict and on a daily basis the tension of the fervency of millions is a palpable thing.

In Tel Aviv, it is the party at the end of the world. That’s how some people describe Burning Man, another great love of mine. Burning Man is a giant experiment – what would happen if fifty thousand people all decided to play at once, as if this desert lake bed is reality – as if this is all there were? What would happen? I can tell you what happens, from experience. Hedonism happens. Art happens. Kindness and community happen. Freedom, expression and letting go of who you thought you were happens. Burners know that the party will end in ten days. It is an oasis in what can seem like a mundane world.

Nothing in Israel is mundane – even the mundane. Ben Gurion said “In Israel, to be a realist, you must believe in miracles.” We all know that Israel has been pulled back from the brink of destruction more than once. By miracles? Or by a sheer determination to more than exist, to be accepted? And to flourish.

The question I get asked most often by friends back home in the US  almost always goes exactly like this: I was just watching CNN and are you SAFE? What is GOING ON there?! These concerns are come by honestly and I blame three sources: fear-fanning media coverage of the Middle East, real safety issues in the Middle East and the cultural disconnect.

America, the home of my provenance, the blood in my veins, is indeed pretty far out of touch with the rest of the world. I don’t mean that in the usual patronizing way, as if I am suddenly more in touch – and I don’t tolerate it when Israelis say America is out of touch as if it’s a willfully stupid act. America is out of touch because it’s geographically huge, thousands of miles from countries with imminently existential problems and is abutted by two friendlies – Canada and Mexico. America knows from problems and challenges – it is in the throes of redefining itself yet again right this very moment. But the challenges that face America are not existential. Just yet.

But America does not know the feeling of having countries say ninety minutes away from its border who often say things like America doesn’t deserve to exist  and brethren will unite to prove this! America does not know what is like to be attacked, routinely, by missiles.  America does not know what it’s like to be under attack in one form or another, 24/7.

Israelis are not jaded by the ongoing conflict. Far from it. Emotions run high on the topic. But  they are worn out. They shrug their shoulders and continue about their business out of sheer exhaustion. Keep Arguing and Carry On. When there is an awful lot to worry about, there’s really no use worrying at all. But that worry has to go somewhere. Jerusalem is a city of prayer. Tel Aviv, “the White City” is a city of forgetting.

Avi is 33. Like every Israeli, he served three years in the army. He was the equivalent of a US Marine. After the army, he left for New York, where he partied six years away, trying to forget. He reveled in the freer, easier life in the US. But he missed home and when he found out his aging mother was ill, he returned.

Avi talks to me a lot. About Israel, Bibi, Iran, America, 9/11, Michael Moore, Egypt, Syria. There will be a war, he says. In three months. Israel cannot allow the threat of Iran to go on. I will be called up.

America, he says, they drop bombs from miles in the sky. They miss sometimes. Israel knows the world is watching us, so we sacrifice the lives of soldiers, we send in missions that are dangerous. I went on many missions, we left six and we came back four. Or three. He has a painful memory that he does not share. I think that I am a bad man. I have killed many people.

Avi, it was your job. Yes, it was my job. I kill them or they kill me. You don’t have time to say the Kaddish. They struggle for a last breath, like it’s the last bit of oxygen on earth, and then they shudder and they move no more. You don’t think about it then but it stays with you.

So Avi, why are you a bad man? Because I can kill. If you can kill, you have a bad side. It makes you cruel.

For America, Avi went on, war is business. For Israelis, we have to fight or we will not exist. Twenty-four Muslim nations surround us. Not one wants us here. Why can we not have one little piece of land? If we do not act, we are weak. If we are weak, we die. If I was the prime minister of Israel, I would stop talking to America and only act for what is best for Israel. We should have attacked iran two years ago. We have to cut off the head of the snake.

Why is the Israeli army, tiny as it is, compared to larger countries, one of the strongest in the world, I ask him. Because we don’t have training situations, we have life. And we are not ordinary soldiers. We fight so we can exist.

Avi turns to me with a big grin. On April 26th, there is a rave in Tel Aviv to celebrate Israeli independence day – we should go!

There’s a whole lot of sex and drugs going on in the Holy Land, in this party at the end of the world.

What am I doing here, I ask myself for the thousandth time. What do I have to add to this conversation other than my observation of it? I think of writers that have opened my eyes about Israel: Amos Oz, Thomas Friedman, David Grossman. I haven’t the depth of their academic, artful or political observations.

I am humbled by the contradiction between my passion for Stories Without Borders and opening up the stories – and minds of young girls in the Middle East and the reality of making that happen. A journey of a thousand steps and all that. I am teaching a class on screenwriting to a high school class in Tel Aviv in a month or so. That’s good. And another class on screenwriting later this month,through Creativity for Peace, to some Palestinian teenaged girls in the West Bank. That is excellent. I don’t have to change the world all at once – i don’t have to change the world at all. I don’t have to do anything. I get to be here in Israel. I get to try to make a difference.

I have read volumes of books about Israel and about the Middle East (Friedman’s From Beirut to Jerusalem is a must read) and yet I know absolutely nothing except the stories Israelis share with me. It is these personal stories that interest me; it is the imperfect, intimately shared and deeply felt truths of individuals that I find more richly rewarding – and telling – when one tries to make sense of a place that really makes no sense. This is the land of milk and honey, the land of suicide bombers, the land of miracles and discontent.

No, bullets are not whizzing by on Dizengoff Street as I write this. Stuff is not aflame and smoking all over the countryside. That could happen. But not today. Today is another day in Tel Aviv and in Israel.

I am here in part, to take it in, to write about it, to let you know that what you think about Israel – whether that be grand, religious, noble or whether you believe Israel is an interloper and bully – whatever you think, you are wrong. But if you think that people are people, wherever you go, if you think that constant conflict does something irreparable to people, you are right. If you have the ability to travel the world for no other reason than to observe the differences and contradictions of a place, the least you can do is to write home about it.

Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.  ~Margaret Mead

Start Right Where You Are

So here I am in the Middle East trying to make a difference for young girls. Trying to find a way to be a light for those who do not value or even recognize their own. But there are young girls and women all over the world – in your community – who need to be unlocked.  A word of kindness, a loaned book, a shared moment or some loving support are sometimes are all that is needed to show a young woman that she matters.

This Ted talk by Liberian Nobel Peace Prize winner Leymah Gowbee is incredibly inspiring.

In the Land of Milk and Honey

The truth about moving abroad to a place as diametrically opposed to life in the US as is possible while still enjoying things like electricity, water and stuff is that it’s not very easy.  And yet it offers opportunities to stretch and expand who you are at every single turn.

Being an expat 9,000 miles from my native Calfornia is like being on a planet with a different gravitational pull; it’s like moonwalking in a very dense atmosphere. Everything takes much more energy and thought.

My brain is having to work very hard to adjust to all the new signals coming my way. The difficulty of language, understanding where I am and where I need to go, currency and mannerisms all are the frosting on top of  not having the carefully woven net most of us have, of family, friends and routine.

Israel is a complicated place, with layer upon layer of contradiction covered in the dust of centuries.

Israel is bustling with hot, loud, noisy life and yet there is much death in the air.

Because this country lives on the brink of destruction in both its legacy and daily reality, there is a potent mix of fatalism, faith and hedonism. Everything is dialed up a notch or three. There is fervency. There is passion. There is dissipation.

If one travels abroad – scratch that – MOVES abroad –  to find oneself, one must first experience being wiped clean of who one thought one was in the first place. Sans normal routine and the trappings of familiarity, it is difficult to find new bearings.

Traveling abroad gives that potent rush of new sights, sounds, smells and culture which is powerful and alluring – I’ve experienced it many times. But of course, you are anchored in the “home” you will return to. When you do not have that “home” to return to, as I feel I do not, then this new place which is exotic and stimulating is also exhausting and lonely.

Like childbirth and base jumping, moving abroad is much more thrilling to share about later than it is to actually DO in the moment:

When I was in Colombia, a couple of years ago, in a tiny, dirty, isolated village in a cloud forest, seething with  insects wan in the one yellow, sulfurous light on the dirt road that ran through the village, I remember being miserably itchy and hot and uncomfortable and dreading the terrible, watery, gristly food that we were condemned to eat for dinner while jungle spiders cast nets above our heads. I still recall that particular evening with a shudder. And yet it does make for a very good story.

Being a writer is ofttimes just a terrible thing. An addiction that pays jack shit. But it does offer writers the magical balm of processing through getting it down on paper and in doing so, re-experiencing the details from a place of grateful, colorful observation. That we can regale our friends with  later while we sip wine someplace comfy.

So I write. I write about what this is like. I could not have really imagined it. Yet I am aware, through days that are hot or lonely or uncomfortable, that I am experiencing something extraordinary. And for that I am grateful.

Life Without Borders

So I had an epiphany which is that Stories Without Borders is at least as much about me and my adventures (stories) living abroad as it is about wanting to teach young women how to write scripts and make films.

Normally, one tries to keep one’s life relatively organized. You decide to do laundry and run errands, and you do this in some type of order that makes sense, right? You send and receive texts and phone calls during this time – you might get online and look something up to confirm an address. And you do this all with relative ease. It’s just a matter of interruptions, or perhaps getting it all done.

Since I have been here in Israel, I have been cursed (blessed?) with total technology break down. I am having to use a PC when I am a Mac user. I am having to use an Android instead of an iPhone. Oh boo hoo, poor me – I have technology – but it is not the kind I am used to using.  Plus, this PC, which a dear friend has loaned me, is haunted. Crazy cursor. Hops around, deletes stuff. I’ve been writing this blog for like three days. It seems like a dumb thing, but it’s part of my identity that I am competent. I’ve had to lose that here.

I do not speak the language here – or the language. Another part of my identity: I am articulate, insightful and keenly a part of where I am. No more.  Not far from here, maybe one hour away in the West Bank (or Palestine, depending on who you are talking to and how politically correct or dogmatic one is being, and in Israel, you are being one or the other, believe me) there lies yet another completely different history, point of view and of doing things.

The other day, I was in the West Bank (Palestine?) visiting with my friend Walid. Instantly, I felt more at home in Arab surroundings; I have spent a lot of time there and hadn’t realized how much it had sunk in for me.  I came home laden with almonds, honey, olive oil, avocados, bananas, dates, pita bread and a delicious Arab cassarole-like dish of potatoes, lamb and tahini (here, pronounced: tah-guttural sound-hayna).

I miss the presence of Arab culture in Tel Aviv. There is Jaffa (or Yaffo? I know that one and I’m sticking to Jaffa!) which adjoins Tel Aviv, but really, Tel Aviv is a thoroughly Israeli city.  Like America, that means diversity. That means Ashkenazi and Sephardic culture and that means people here are from Russia, Hungary, Germany, Poland, Yemen, Egypt, Lebanon, Syria, Iran and Iraq. Israel truly is the “belly button of the world”.

I have had some really good, really exciting days here. I am excited to teach a class about screenwriting to some  Palestinian teenaged girls in a couple of weeks through Creativity for Peace - in fact, I am ecstatic that I get to do this so soon after my arrival.

I have had some really rotten days, of feeling totally lost, incompetent and stateless. It was during one of these moments of feeling like a Jane Doe of Nowheresville that I realized that Stories Without Borders has the double-entendre of MY stories too. Am I an Israeli? Sort of. Technically. But how can I be? I’m new here (and I want my gas mask, by the way, authorities!).  Am I American? Yes, absolutely. But I’m not in America and I do not represent all Americans – how can I? I am a unique individual. So – who am I if I am not Israeli or American? Who am I if I am not particularly articulate or competent? Who am I? Why am I here?

I am an expatriot (sounds kind as if I am no longer patriotic, doesn’t it?) living in a very volatile region of the world. I am here to be an emissary not of American ideals but of peaceful ideals and new ways of thinking.

I am here in order to communicate with you, dear reader, wherever you are, so that you may through me, experience what remains if you were to do as I and many others before me have done and pull up your roots and move to a new garden. I did that in quite the literal sense because I could and it seemed a lost opportunity not to.  But you can do it wherever you are – re-examine who you are, where you are and why you are.

What happens, incrementally, is that you discover that you are not an American, as you had been so convinced, nor a Brit, nor a Libyan, Canadian or Swede.  You discover that you can let go of being a mother, an employee, a spouse, an expert, a slacker, a hipster or a singleton.  You can let go of being a Christian, a Muslim, a Jew or an aetheist.

You discover, beneath all those labels, that you are yourself. Just another entrant in this crazy amusement park we call life. Me? I’m in the squirrel cage right now.

If I say we are all one right now, someone throw a custard pie at me. Indeed, it’s not that kind of a blanket aphorism that I’m meaning to express right now. What I’m meaning to say, what I am experiencing, is that boundaries -  borders – are falling away completely  from my life, from my purpose, from what I perceive to be real, true or important.

America is so very big, geographically. But here, I can stand on one side of a border and look to the other side to see a totally different culture. Cross a dusty check-point or green line (as the case may be) and I’m in a world that is said to be different. But, as one of my idols, Tammy Faye Bakker once said – we’re all made from the same dirt.

I look out the window into the gathering dusk outside the Aroma Cafe where I am now sitting on Rehov Gordon and I see busses, soldiers, mothers, bicyclists and hippies. A man with a broken leg is limping by. Vendors are selling fruit, incense and jewelry briskly.

What is different in this picture? The blonde American hippy chick typing away inside the cafe? Or am I – are you -   part of the panorama of life without borders?

Don’t let the world tell you – and certainly never accept or tell yourself – that you have any kind of border or boundary around you – that if  you are a woman, an immigrant, a kid, a Palestinian, an elder/wiser citizen or in the 99%, that your thoughts and stories are not interesting and more than that, worthy as part of the human story. We all matter. We ARE all one.

(Put down that custard pie, you in the back! Wait – I love custard, have at me!

American Woman

Is it true what they say about American women, an Israeli man asked me the other day. Oh boy, I couldn’t wait to hear what he’d heard. That they are childish and materialistic? For a moment in time, I took umbrage for every single American woman I know – including the few that are childish (um, how about playful?) and materialistic (so shoes make you happy, is that a crime?). Is this how we are perceived? Is this fair?

Like her, look at her. Like a man. Another Israeli man said to me, of an Israeli woman as she pedaled by on her bike. Israeli women, they are like the man, because they go in the army, he went on. The young woman, a stylish backpack over her shoulder, sunglasses and pony tail, looked anything but masculine to me.

You know what Arab women are like – they will not want to talk with you because you are Jewish, a Jewish woman said to me recently.

I grew up in the bra burning, Erica Jong, Gloria Steinem 70s, when women in western countries went out of their way to be considered the same as men. Look at me! I literally don’t need a bra! (ow! ow! ow!)

In the Middle East, I see women walking several paces behind men, covering their faces and bodies resolutely. I also see modern women, heads uncovered, walking down the streets of Tel Aviv in shorts and tee-shirts. In America, there are women who work at Hooters, women who stay home, raise kids and bake pies and women who make corporate decisions.

What is an American woman like? What is an Israeli woman like? What is an African, Arab, European or Asian woman like? Is it true what they say? Who, exactly, are they?

Of all the labels that divide us – nationality, ethnicity, religion, marital status, geographic location and more, I tend to think it has been men who have emphasized these differences and women who are not quite so sold on them.

Women ALL experience love, the tug and pull of domestic life versus a professional life (or professional yearnings, as the case may be) we love men and their bullheaded determination and hunter instincts. If we don’t bear a child, we are another woman’s child. If we aren’t raising a daughter, we are raising a son. We marry, we are lovers,we grieve, we dissent.

Men are hunters, we are gatherers. Women are the shekina, the yin to the yang that suggests that we calm down, maybe cook something nice to eat and have a glass of wine before we talk things over.

So who, exactly, is pitting women against one another in politics, lifestyle choices or appearances? How is it that Hilary Clinton and Sarah Palin saw themselves as being in any way opposed to one another?

Today, I sat with two representatives from Creativity for Peace - Sylvia Margia, an Israeli Arab, from Dimona (the Negev desert in Israel) and Nancy Clayman, Jewish, an Israeli formerly from Chicago, in a small cafe in Tel Aviv. Three very different women who laughed, talked, and made plans to bring the power of story to young Israeli and Palestinian girls.  Sylvia is exotic and warm, glittering with silver jewelry and a ready smile. Nancy is bright and cheerful and blonde; her time in Israel (34 years!) does not hide her slight mid-western accent. And me – a convert to Judaism over 26 years ago, a California hippy chick in her new, adopted country.

One of the things we talked about, Nancy, Sylvia and I are the numerous groups to help women all over the Middle East and indeed the world, that are not connected to one another. We talked about the need for an umbrella to bring all women and all women’s organizations together so that we can gain more momentum and influence.  We talked too about empathy fatigue and how easy it is for busy people (and who isn’t?) to feel overwhelmed and paralyzed by the various pleas for attention they may receive from non-profit/social change organizations. If I see one more postcard with Sally Struthers on it…! I get that, we all get that. But it’s not a good reason not to make a difference through a donation of time or money. But what if we made it easier for women to get involved with helping other women become empowered financially, socially and emotionally – all over the world?

Every woman – the high-school drop out, single mother in Missouri, who feels trapped and worthless.  The Arab woman shrouded in veils. The 68 year old Englishwoman who lives half a life, in isolation and loneliness. The Sengalese woman who has been raped and mutilated.  I bet you know a woman who has had some hard choices. I bet you know a woman who is using half her creativity and intellect. I bet you know a woman who feels slutty or spinstery or subsumed by her family.  Reach out to women around you, right where you are.

I have been so struck by the deep tribal feelings of the Middle East, and of course, this has always existed for the Jews – Ashkenazi (European) and Sephardic (Middle Eastern) alike. If you come to Israel and you are Jewish, you are helped. It is an obligation, a mitzvah (commandment), an imperative to stand by your fellow Jew.  Do we do that as women? If we can’t convince more people at the moment, that all humans are one, that we all share the same earth and history and trajectory, at least we might be able to identify with our gender rather than accept artificial divisions and differences that are the construct of men.

There are some exciting things coming up on Stories Without Borders, including an interview with Princess co-author, Jean Sasson. So stay tuned!

Just Say Yes

I have received so many emails from people telling me how inspired they are by where I am and what I am trying to accomplish. But I feel anything but inspired; I feel totally bewildered, and am meeting obstacles and limitations on a daily basis. Why anyone would voluntarily put themselves through moving to another country so very far away is beyond me. Oh wait – that IS me. Well, I tell you, it’s much, much harder than one can imagine.

Getting it together to really get Stories Without Borders off the ground feels an overwhelming task. While I knew, intellectually, that I would need some transition time before I could even scratch the surface of what is possible here, I couldn’t really grasp what this transition would be like until I was in it.

I am eager to make things happen now now now! I think that’s the optimistic, ambitious American in me. A trait of which I am proud and yet needing to adjust a bit, being in a place where things happen later later later later maybe later good luck!

You cannot really comprehend what goes into your well-being bank on a daily basis until you do not have those things. A feeling of belonging. Of fitting in. Of familiarity with streets, signs and directions. Think about the time you were most out of your comfort zone in your life and then multiply that by 1,500% and you’ll have some idea – ANY idea of what this is like. I’m not complaining – I did this on purpose – I live my life very much on purpose. But lordy, am I challenged on a daily basis. One likes to feel competent and productive. But it is almost impossible to feel those things when you can’t read simple street signs or have to struggle for what seems like hours to get normal technology working.

I do stand out here, very much. Not because I am blonde. Not because I have a lot of tattooes, not because I am a hippy chick (there seems to be a strong hippy/hipster presence in Tel Aviv) no, I stand out because I look bewildered. Because I am bewildered. One does not realize how deeply one’s DNA is affected by where one is from. I am swimming in salt water whereas before, I was swimming in fresh water.

I come from America: ambitious, flawed, optimistic, corrupt, proud, conflicted, sprawling, Puritanical, Caligulan, progressive, well-meaning, cowboy America. And it colors my every step. It is in my DNA. It is my every cultural and experiential reference. And if you are from America – it is yours too. And if you are from the UK or from Australia or Lebanon – you have similar but different coding within you as well. It is powerful and frightening to really see this for the first time in your life, no matter how intellectual, well-read or empathetic you think you are. Your point of view has been encoded by your provenance.

I don’t get it, someone said to me the other day, in very good English. Why do Americans keep coming here and trying to put Arabs and Jews together in different programs, like that’s so amazing? I have many Arab friends, I don’t get what they think they are accomplishing. I felt momentarily taken aback and not a little imperialistic and stupid. But then – there really is no Arab community to speak of in Tel Aviv. Yes, there are Arabs in Jaffa, which is quite nearby, but I don’t see integration here. And I am not speaking of women in cosmopolitan centers as much as women who are more marginalized. Am I patronizing to be here and to try to fill a need? How do I know what the needs are here? It gave me a lot to think about. Am I nothing more than just one more well-intentioned American who doesn’t get it? We all know where the road paved with good intentions leads… Why didn’t I just stay home and watch the Superbowl and order another delivery pizza, go to Starbucks and Ralphs and contribute to some charity in Africa and feel great about my life? Why oh why?!

Because I just couldn’t. Because something is wrong here – something is wrong all over over the world. Something is wrong in the US. We need to wake up and climb out of our neatly drawn boxes and interact with each other on a more global scale. We need to stop listening to governments and the media and start listening to each other. We need to start asking difficult questions and taking braver steps to be involved in making a difference.

Those of us lucky enough to be from wealthy western nations where technology and consumer goods are easily and readily available have been lulled to sleep by our conveniences. We can hide under our daily schedules and routines and think that this is life. But for those of you who have a sneaking suspicion that there is more to this life, read on…

Everyday I walk down the streets of Tel Aviv – I mean, I really walk these streets, because until my computer gets repaired, I have to go to an internet cafe to blog and email – and I think to myself, what fool am I? Why am I here? Really – what am I doing here? And is it possible? All I can think, as I smile at passersby even though I feel like melting into a puddle of salty tears and insecurity, is that I am here – not just here in Tel Aviv, but here on earth, for the same reason you are where you are. To shine a light. This little light of mine and all of that aside, no, what I really mean is that we are all here to simply BE where we are – to be alive, to laugh, to expand our horizons, to share love and communication and the human experience. You aren’t some big hero if you are doing that in Africa vesus Portland, Maine. You just shine your light wherever you are. If you are awake, alive and participating in this world in a positive way by simply being that you that you are – that is your purpose.

I swore to myself that when I came to Israel that I would chronicle my experiences very honestly. The good, the bad and the ugly. All of it. So here I am, being true to that promise, revealing how very vulnerable it feels to be abroad without a computer at my easy disposal, without being able to call a friend easily or often, without my things, my language, my familiarity, my reputation or my comfort zone. And sans all of that – one wonders – who am I? What am I? Why am I here? Some of the most fundamental questions in life, yes?

I came here not to create miracles or to try to make changes in what can feel like an intractible place. I came here because I felt mysteriously drawn to this place and to these people. I came here because I want to use my ordinary skills and extraordinary passions to do something that matters to me. I live for the feeling of having helped a writer express. Literally, I cannot tell you the high I get from that. Whether in the US, the UK, online or anywhere else – I love helping people see their own possibilities. Socrates said …”the unexamined life is not worth living.” And e.e. cummings once said: “I imagine that yes is the only living thing.”

I said yes. And you can say yes too, wherever you are, whatever you are doing in your life. Just say yes.