It's not been an easy month.  But there has been some light, some fun, and some growth.  I'm proud of myself for getting through it.  There were some horribly depressive streaks.  I watched the entirety of House, the television program, episode by episode, season by season.  Beginning to end.  He is a compelling character.  A superb actor.  And yet another sign of OCD, depression, and goodness knows what else, on my part.

The good stuff, you ask?  I went to the Dead Sea on a whim, the day after my birthday.  I went kayaking in the north of Israel, about a kilometer south of Lebanon, on the very top of the Jordan river.  It was tremendous fun.  But limited.  It took me at least an hour to relax.  I kept getting angry about people splashing me for no reason.  I was frustrated at getting caught in the weeds on the banks of the river.  I was pissed at my kayaking partner who I believed had no idea how to steer or create a rudder with his paddle.  And it was lucky I did relax.  Can you imagine me fuming, fuming (!), in the gorgeous sunlight, in an inflatable kayak, with happy people all around me.  I couldn't let go.  I didn't have control of much, my environment, the behavior of others.  The only thing I had any influence over was my mood, my reaction.  And thank god I let go.  Don't know how, but I did.

Let's see - other good stuff - joined a gym.  Only went twice, but I did go to the pool twice, too.  Olympic gorgeousness, sunshine, and one of the best things to do in Tel Aviv.  I walked a lot, all over the city, from my house to the beach a few times.  Ate lots of organic food.  Saw a couple of great movies at the cinema (In Bruges and Wall - E).  And I went to a hummus festival, a huge event with the best vendors in the country, Arab, Israeli, Druze, everyone, showing up to show off and sell their wares.  Learned a bit about Chinese medicine, acupuncture.

Can you tell I'm having fun with links?  I like to educate.

And...I went to an Ashram.  An Ashram in the Desert.  The "Ashram Ba'Midbar." On a whim, too.  And it was the very best thing I could have done for myself.  A friend sent me a link to the place, and it seemed they were hosting a writing seminar led by one of Israel's most prominent writers, Gabi Nitzan.  His work hasn't been translated (or rather, the translations haven't been published yet), but I expect they will soon.  He's a very talented and interesting person.  So, I got a lift, what in Hebrew we call a "tremp" down to the Ashram with a perfect stranger who turned out to be a successful business and management consultant old enough to be my father, and together we (along with a nice young guy we picked up on the way just back from a year in South America) headed into the middle of nowhere.  Honestly.  In the Negev desert you'd think you were in outer Mongolia or something.  Nothing as far as the eye can see.  In reality it's about an hour north of Eilat and an hour south of Mitzpe Ramon (by the Makhtesh Ramon - mistakenly known by the world as a crater - it's not - it's a unique geological phenomenon - a huge depression in the earth, like a vast canyon or something, which is the remnant of an enormous prehistoric ocean.  What's left is the Dead Sea, and explains why it's so salty).

So - the Ashram - in brief, is an oasis.  The most oasis-like oasis you can imagine.  Like out of a film.  A mirage in the desert.  So green, so heavenly, yet tiny, tiny, tiny.  A small clump of buildings and tents centered around a dining hall.  There's a small swimming pool.  A large domed tent for, who knows, gatherings, meditations.  And a meditation/worship hall.  See, these people have a guru.  Someone called Osho.  A real Ashram it seems.  The one in India is in Puna.  I wasn't too impressed by the teachings, but you don't have to be to go and enjoy the place.  The meditations were fun and quite helpful to me, health and emotion-wise.  The Chakra-Breathing meditation allowed me to breath better than I have in months and months.  I have been having a lot of trouble breathing.  A lot of trouble.  I keep changing my mind about whether it's asthma, allergies, dust, the summer heat-humidity-pollution, or simply great stress.  It's probably a combination of a few of those.  But whatever it is.  It's been dramatic.  I feel the difficulty nearly constantly.  Deep breathing helps little, and it's only temporary.  So, at the Ashram, I slept, I walked in the desert, I met friendly lovely people, I meditated, ate simple and delicious vegetarian food, I let myself be, just as I was, without thinking, analyzing, worrying...and I wrote.

The workshop - very straightforward - a guided three day journey of prompted writing exercises.  We met three times a day.  Each time, we all read what we had written from the prompt of the previous session.  There was little feedback.  But great vibes.  Gabi read his own work to us as introduction to the various themed section.  We started off with birth.  Our perceptions of our own birth.  Or anything that inspired us by the words, "My birth."  We moved on to childhood, trying to enter the minds and bodies of our child-selves.  Then into animals.  Primal beings.  Then into moments of discovery.  It was moving.  As much by the amount I was able to produce, the quality of what I produced, and the amazing people in the seminar who were so brave to share.  It wasn't a professional thing.  But it was so helpful, made me focus.  And now I'm forcing myself to write every day.  Discipline for me is hard.

So, I ask you, potential readers I may have out there - would you like an occasional short story?  Some titles to choose from, produced in the last week - "The Carrot Who Would Fulfill His Destiny," "Star Crossed," "The Meaning of Meaning" and "Addendum to Meaning," "On Reality," "Retreat," "The Stranger Within," "Self Pity," "Cadbury Bunny," "The Swing," "Elogy to Peter Pan, or On Seeking a Statue in Hyde Park," "Nirvana Lost or In Judgement of Reclining Buddha (or Me Igra Rama Le Bira Amikta)."

Or should I just start a writing blog, and let it out separately?

This turned out to be long.  Thank you for reading, if you've gotten this far.  My best wishes to you.

I had traveled to Israel with friend of mine, Adecia who is a flight attendant for Delta and her friend Dena whom I'd only met just recently.  Standing outside the airport we paused for pictures and then Dena did the taxi hailing.  I'm a taxi-hailing virgin, so I did what anyone in my shoes would do....I waited for someone else to do it.  Ahhh, here's our cab...this will be easy.

Unbeknownst to us, there was already one of those taxi van things in line waiting for more people.  So, being the stupid American tourists that we were, it took us less than ten minutes to start a scuffle between the competing cab drivers.  In those ten minutes, I quickly learned that there is a gaping chasm the size of God knows what between Israelis and Americans.  These guys do NOT mince words or beat around the bush.  If they feel it; they say it.  You know how us Americans are;  we will let someone say something we don't like and get our feelings hurt.  Then we'll go home with our tails between our legs and then bash the offender to our friends.  Then its off to the bar to drown our woes and in years to come we'll go to therapy. (Oh my this is a rabbit trail).

ANYWAYS, the quibble was finally resolved short of blows and we piled in the taxi van because we were in a hurry to wait.  After what felt like a few millenia we finally departed the airport.  It seemed to me that there was a little confusion about our destination.  I think the driver was intent upon delivering us to Jerusalem, whereas our destination was Bethlehem.  What made me feel this way was when the driver implicitly stated, "No one goes to Bethlehem."  We told him that he was wrong because we were going there.  He told us that he'd drop us off outside the checkpoint or we could pay extra for him to take us all the way in.  I didn't care though, I was on cloud nine snapping pictures incessantly like the dirty little tourist that I am.   So I did what I always do when there is an issue that I don't care about,  I left it up to someone else who cares about it more than me.

For the next half hour or so we meandered through the streets of Jerusalem dropping off the patrons of our taxi until it was just us three on our way to Bethlehem, (except for the Polish guy who forgot to tell the driver that he actually wanted to get dropped off at the moon).

Oh, real quick, I forgot to tell you about the rabbi trading cards that the driver had stuffed in the A.C. vents.  I guess its the Israeli substitute for Pokemon.  "Dude, I got the Yitzak Rabin rookie card!"

Well, our trek finally came to an end....at a wall.  Shalom, that'll be 200 shekels!  Ugh????

I didn't know then that Bethlehem is in Palestinian territory and there is a wall around it and most of the people inside can't come and go as they please due to the Israeli soldiers with machine guns.  Wow, they don't put that in the travel brochures.

No Way! Haven't you seen The Wall of Hate?...

"The West Bank, once 22% of historic Palestine, has shrunk to perhaps 10% to 12% of living space for its inhabitants, and is split into several fragments, including the fertile Jordan Valley, which is a security preserve for Jewish settlers and the Israeli Defence Force. Like the Gaza Strip, the West Bank is effectively a hermetically sealed prison...roads are barred to Palestinians and reserved for Jewish settlers. I try in vain to recall anything quite as obscene in apartheid South Africa."  >>>>>

El caso es que viéndoles me acordé de otra pareja con la misma formación. Bajo y batería. Death From Above 1979 es un grupo canadiense de Toronto. O era, que lo dejaron en 2006. Me compré su único largo, You're a Woman, I'm a Machine, hace tres años en Nueva York. No los conocía de nada, pero me moló la portada. Acerté. Death From Above 1979 son (o eran) la polla. Qué manera de liarla sólo con esos dos instrumentos: música de baile, industrial, funk, punk y lo que sea. Qué temazos. Qué pena no haberlos visto nunca en directo. Uno de ellos tenía y sigue teniendo un proyecto más electrónico, MSTRKRFT, que también chana. Y hay un disco de remezclas también muy recomendable: Romance Bloody Romance. Hala, aquí van:

Embora não tenha aparecido no site oficial da Nike+ Human Race 10k (na verdade, não apareceu nem sequer nas camisetas vermelhas), Tel Aviv foi uma das 26 cidades-sede da corrida neste domingão de folga no mundo inteiro, domingo de trabalho no Oriente Médio. Os organizadores dizem que 10 mil pessoas se inscreveram. A impressão é a de que havia bem mais gente - uma multidão.

Não foi diferente de outras cidades, como São Paulo, Sydney, Istambul ou Varsóvia. O objetivo do evento era reunir, ao redor do mundo, um milhão de participantes, dos mais e dos menos sérios, por causas humanitárias. Os israelenses não deram bola para a falta de Tel Aviv na lista das cidades: vestiram as camisetas, amarraram o chip da Nike no cadarço do tênis e se amontoaram para a largada.

E outra.

E mais uma.

A edição 2007 da corrida em Tel Aviv

Evento desse tamanho em Israel tem que estar representado pelos vários setores da sociedade. Havia políticos, como o deputado e ex-chefe do serviço de segurança Ami Ayalon, que correu com os filhos.

A exceção à regra das camisetas vermelhas eram 2 mil soldados de diferentes unidades do Exército, usando camisetas pretas também numeradas.

Na linha de chegada - para onde fui de moto, claro - a multidão suada recebia sorvete, iogurte, brindes e descontos para comprar produtos da Nike. Um sucesso, as "lojas" ao ar livre montadas em um parque daqui, estavam abarrotadas.

Amanhã coloco fotos e conto mais sobre a corrida.

Felix Lupa

Street Photopgraphy

( The street in the eyes of a street photographer )

By: Felix Lupa.

It all began many years ago, in the dense rain-forests somewhere in South America. A small, elderly spider opened his eyes in the dark. A battle-cry echoed in his little head. It was a basic, ancient insatiable instinct. When the stomach growls nothing will stop it. It is a basic instinct, not a movie. For him it is the nature of things- he strikes out to hunt!

He crawled quietly out of his hiding-place, on his way to the endless hunting grounds, in the direction of targets he had marked when he was going here and there…never lazy, he had set small net-traps in strategic places: "by the time I am back the 'frige' will have filled up" he thought "and a bit to bite on the road never did one any harm". He moved quietly, his steps light, all his senses alert: he will strike out from his hiding place, paralyze his prey and disappear leaving no trace.

"The place where no human foot has been set".This is how his birth-place was called, but now, alas, the worst had happened: a human foot was planted in front of his eyes! Scanning quickly the situation he raised his head: "there is no such animal" he thought "air force will be no good here.

This battle will have to be decided face- to -face", and he stuck his teeth deep into the intruder's flesh. But alas, before he could complete his act he was suddenly struck by a heavy metal body bearing the strange letters "made in j…"

And this was the end of our little brave hero. Nevertheless, before he returned his soul to his maker he left his poisonous teeth, inserted deeply in that leg, inheritance to an amateur photographer from a small country, far away from there.

Time passed, and our friend the photographer returned to the big city in his small country.

The noisy streets suddenly seemed different to him. Everything looked and sounded different. Strange changes where taking place in his body: his eye- sight is now sharp. No longer does he bump into street poles that he fails to notice, as before. When he walks in the street he sees far and wide. His hearing, too, has improved wondrously: all of a sudden he hears the voices of the street, he understands its language.

He goes out, camera in hand, his finger on the trigger- he sets out on a hunt, to photograph!

Moving in the streets, he examines targets he had marked before, on his way here and there…he moves quietly, his steps light, his senses alert. He will strike out from his hiding place, freeze his prey and leave no trace. His "public eye" is always opened; he sees everything, good and bad.

The street is the photographer's friend, but also his enemy. So are the street's inhabitants with their varying lots and differing modes of life. They are unpredictable, random, and spontaneous. They are sensitive and surprising, decorous and dangerous. With all of them the photographer has to learn to communicate, to understand their language, and recognize their signals and hints.

This is not slang; it is a secret sign- language, a set of codes for behavior in society, the society of the street.

The language of the street consists of signs, symbols, geometrical shapes; its signs are written on notice- boards, on posters, you will find them on sidewalks, on bus stations, street poles, in the cloths people wear, on public waste -containers, on buses. The street speaks through people's facial expressions, through their body–language, in the expressions of their physical and mental states, through expressions of relations among people, and between them and others. You will find the 'words' of the street in shoes, in hair-styles, in cloths and in fashion…every single detail you notice may be significant, meaningful.

Understanding the street's language is not enough. The street-photographer's main occupation is a constant, unceasing, and stubborn search for a connecting line between the various signs of the street, so as to be able to translate these signs, arrange them visually for those who will look at his pictures. It is this constant search that nourishes the never ceasing tension in the street-photographer's work; it is what "fuels" him, spurs him on, what imbues his work with deep meaning. This is the core of his dedication for life as a photographer.

What the street- photographer seeks in particular are connections between symbols and human beings. He strives to establish a link between some symbol, some icon, well known to all in his culture, and between a person (or persons, sometimes animals) who will combine with the symbol. A successful combination will result in a new angle of view, often surprising and inspiring, stirring thought and feelings, on some known reality. It will thus add value to the picture beyond merely recording reality at a certain fleeting moment. In the search for such a special, inspiring combination the main 'player' is the street-photographer's patience, though imagination, experience, and good understanding of human behavior are also necessary tools in his professional kit.

Relations between people consist of diverse and numerous elements and these always maintain a certain tension between them. A successful capture, in a picture, of this tension will always touch the feelings of viewers and feed their imagination. We know that in certain cases where there is an emotional and spiritual understanding between two people they may understand each other without need for words, as if they had a telepathic link. In a similar manner, some photographers, who delved deeply in human behavior, and in the nature of their relationships, will develop a kind of 'telepathic' ability which enables them to anticipate the development of human situations, and 'capture' them at the decisive moment.

We have to remember that people's actions are done, most of the time, in (more or less) regular patterns, common to all humans. Some of these are culture- bound; some others are even independent of culture and ethnicity. Body-language is a much discussed and investigated topic the observations of which bear out the above statements. In similar situations we tend to do more or less the same things, and in the same manner. If, for instance, we look at an average person and observe her (or him) in the street for a certain time, we will see that in ordinary circumstances their behavior will be pretty much the same as that of others. However- and this is what the street- photographer always lays in wait for - if we are patient enough, we will witness the person under our observation do something exceptional, out of the ordinary: something funny, ridiculous, moving, heart touching , stupid, strange, crazy…The street-photographer is helped constantly by his familiarity with human-behavior patterns, but the 'pearls' he is after, towards which he direct his greatest 'hunting energy' , his 'special treasures' are those peculiar, strange, out of the ordinary, crazy moments. It is by the capture of such moments that the street-photographer manages to express his view of the essence of humanity as he perceives it.

We are all aware of the existence of behavior patterns in society, but not everybody is familiar with of the value of these exceptional, deviating situations, or able to identify and anticipate them. The ability to do this, is what enables the good photographer, the "spider of the urban jungle" to capture those special moments which, made up of basic and simple human elements, ignite our imagination, brings to us deep some memory, perhaps a primordial experience shared by all humans, but told by the photographer in his own particular artistic language . The memory and the experience are shared by all, but the "chef" who concocted the "dish", gave it its special flavor, is the street photographer.

The street photographer is often treated as an eccentric, a "strange bird", sometimes he is looked at with suspicion, even with fear, sometimes he draws out aggression from people. Indeed in the world we live in now he seems sometimes to be endowed with something like supernatural powers: through his photographs he may have far reaching influence on the life of people: An occasional, unintentional capture of a married man cuddling with a blonde beauty in a night-club, an accidental snapshot of a bank robber at work, may serve as evidence in a divorce case, or lead to an arrest, respectively.  An innocent photograph taken at a market place may give raise to suspicions against the photographer, who may be suspected of being an agent of income tax, or health authorities or some other authority. A photographer taking photos of children in public parks may be suspected of pedophilic intentions. These are only a few examples, the list is very long. The reasons for these negative attitudes are many and complex, but it is a fact that they often turn the photographer into a nuisance, even an enemy in the eyes of people.

Nevertheless, the photographer perseveres, not only because he has got "the poison" in his bones, but because as an artist and reporter he fulfills an important function in the life of society (and especially here in Israel, where society is still undergoing many and deep formative changes): to make people, both inside and outside, aware of how we look. The photographer observes, photographs, and shows us how we seen from his particular point of view. What is to be done with this information is not up to the photographer, it depends on us, as individuals and a society to decide what to do.

In my wanderings in the streets of Tel Aviv I chose to show places known to us all from my own particular point of view. I wanted to share with you, in this short piece, my love to the street and my feeling that the street is a 'breeding house' for all manners of emotions, for a great variety of experiences. Life streams, gushes in copious currents in the city's streets, its alleys, in neighborhoods, on all levels of society. We only have to stop for a moment, observe and contemplate, listen to what says the street, to wait patiently, and we are sure to draw out of this rushing river surreal moments, moving sights, sad, and smiling, happy and serious, wise or ridiculous visual stories. To me, the street is not only the space of "urban jungle", the best hunting ground for the spider/photographer; it is also the best show in town.

Here is the tag Line --> based on a Real - Life -  Story...

Note: in some places movies are longer - like they used to be in Hollywood

You know hot - chill - peppers - diet coke and chocolate --. Here is some preview (yes, its a  bit too complex - many actors from different nations are involved, what can I say, I have global appeal)..

Hint:  It Spans : The East _> Middle East -> USA and the remainder is  surprise.. bollywood Hollywood style.

PLUS

PLUS :

Plus

Plus

Plus

Umbria

The end --> and then Peace and Justice will rein in the entire *publishing* Industry

Stay Tuned..

PS: Change the business you are in -> Rumors are Publishers = Raid

Olya

When I was a kid, I once fell off the top of a bunk bed in my sleep.

I don't remember it very well, I'm sure mom and dad have a better recollection of it, but I'm almost positive I didn't just make this up in my head. I remember a chair breaking my fall on the way down. It sucked.

Anywhosits, I'm sleeping at this hostel tonight, slept there last night too. It's strange... everyone is on vacation in the hostel, screaming and drinking and dancing and partying non-stop. But I'm not on holiday; I live in Israel now, for the next several months; this isn't the big romp for me. So I seem like that loser who comes to a hostel but doesn't explore the city, because I sit studying for hours at a time... but these people are here for like, 5 days, so whatever.

Last night I went out with these people. An Australian guy and gal, an American guy who just led an Oranim trip, and an Austrian guy named Jacob who sounded remarkably similar to the Governator. We went to this bar that only let you in if you were 25 or older, but they didn't really check id, so they said, "How old are you?!" and i said "Twenty-Nine... thirty in November" and the woman gave me a sideways glance before letting me in. I can't decide which is funnier; that the answer so sharply confounded her or that she eventually accepted it as possible.

The longer we stayed out, the more I drank, the more I missed the times when going out meant being with my friends, and my girlfriend, and being in familiar places with familiar people. I missed being able to point out d-bags (they're very different here, although they do have a similarly fun name, Arse, plural Arsim) and complain in English about how in the good ole days beer was cheaper than six bucks a pint. I got home at 4 am, and woke up early in the morning to make sure I could call the states before sleepytime. I guess these are the pangs you live with on an adventure like this.

Today I took the bus out to Herzliyah Petuach, which is where Galia and I decided to meet up. Galia was one of two trip leaders for our Birthright trip in December. She's sweet, but completely neurotic... she made Aliyah (which for those of you who don't know means she emigrated to Israel, one of those Jews that "returns" to the motherland) a couple months back, and she's been working for Oranim ever since.

We met at The Marina, where all of the rich Sfonbonim (which literally translates to people of the north, but is the term people use for the Israeli Gossip Girls and OC peeps) hang out. This is where the loaded old guys park their Mediterranean yachts. It's where the rolex stores and the big fancy steak houses smile down on Israeli wealth, welcoming with outstretched arms the thousands upon thousands of sheckels it takes to make a life there. This was like Beverly Center meets Harrods meets... Moses.

Galia brought me about 300 minutes worth of international calling cards, which I used this afternoon to call Andy, Cathy, and Embly-- Em was lucky enough to get a perky wake-up call from her role-model/personal hero (me) just before 8am WashU time. Wakey Wakey!! Galia also listened to my whole long story about getting screwed by just about every existing philanthropic jewish organization, and she told me she'd try to hook me up with a job during September in the Oranim office. Who knows if it'll work out... but if it does, it gives me some income and yet another extension on "planned" life.

Galia asked me if I stay in touch with anyone from the trip, and I said that I really only stayed in touch with the soldiers. Also with my friend Bryan, I told her, to which she responded, "Shuarma?!?! Awww, Shuarma!!" She obviously remembers my brother.

When I got back to the hostel, Jacob was waiting for me. He mentioned to me last night that he knows an Austrian girl who's moving back to Austria for 4 months and needs to rent out her fully furnished, air conditioned, wireless internet connected, cable television subscribed, 2 bedroom-1 bathroom-kitchen-living room-washing machine-double bed in my own room-containing apartment during her brief return to her homeland. I visited the place and it's great, but unavailable before September 29th. Either way, I may end up doing it-- all inclusive, it will only cost me around $620 per month, and if I can find someone to take January from me, I'll be made in the shade. It's about 10 minutes south of the Ulpan I start on Tuesday.

Who is this crazy woman McCain wants to take over if the old age conquers him? and Alaska?? Is he serious? Cause nobody knows the plight of the average American worker, knows the strength and diligence necessary to lead a nation, like the woman who runs the great state of Alaska, with its booming population of 670,053 and its 3 electoral votes. No offense, cold dudes.

I digress. Galia says my hebrew sounds nice, and I seem to understand pretty well, but she agrees that my grammar leaves much to be desired. I still can't really believe I'm here. I've been writing page after page of hebrew (check it out), like 40 pages so far, but i still just wish I could pull a 'Matrix' and get it implanted into my head. Man, that would make this trip easier. Also, I'd dig getting the helicopter crash course implanted in there too. I mean, while we're on the subject.

Missing you all and wishing you a happy Friday and lovely weekend. As you can see... all's well on the biblical front.

Jag pratade med honom i telefon för en stund sedan och vi pratade bl.a. om hur det ser ut första dagen jag ska till skolan nästa vecka. Och jag berättade att jag måste gå upp redan kl 5.30 för att hinna i tid till första lektionen. Vet ni vad han sa? Min neshama, ahhh *suck*, han är så fin.... han sa att vi kan gå upp tillsammans om det blir lättare för mig. Han vet hur jobbigt det är för mig att ta mig upp ur sängen. Det är alltid han som vaknar först och som ligger och väntar på att jag ska vakna och när han inte orkar vänta längre så ligger han och pussar på mig tills att jag vaknar. Det är det absolut bästa sättet att vakna på. Och ja..... jag sitter med ett leende på läpparna just nu. Och så även under hela bussresan hem till Tel Aviv idag. Bilderna i huvudet från första veckan på semestern här i Israel, snurrade förbi som en film. Jag kunde inte sluta le. Snart, mycket snart kommer jag få träffa honom.

Vi strosade vidare omkring i ca en halvtimma (efter en snabbt uppäten shwarma, en måltid som förgylldes då vi fick se två män åka runt på torget med en motorcykel, båda med stora kulsprutor hängandes på ryggen) under det av vi letade efter centrala busstationen, från vilken vi åkte med en sherout (taxi/buss -liknande grej) till Tel Aviv, en stad som - förutom från att den innehåller dels världens största busshållplats (den var STOR) samt utgör världens mest modernisttäta bebyggelse; många av Bauhausarkitekterna var judar, och de flydde således från Tyskland då Hitler stängde ner Bauhaus) - i princip är fullkomligt icke-religiös, i motsats till Jerusalem, där var och varannan människa är troende. Under vistelsen i Tel Aviv badade vi en stund i medelhavet.

En av männen med kulspruta

Jag spionerar på kulsprutemännen, under det att jag äter en shwarma.

Sedan åt jag en glass som smalt snabbare än smör i en vulkan.

Efter det vände vi tillbaka till Jerusalem, Khebron Road, återigen medelst en sherout - på vägkanterna (vilka utgjordes av berg) såg vi flera rester från judarnas undermåliga pansarvagnar som de använde i befrielsekriget - 48: just denna väg var tydligen mycket farlig - på denna plats anföll araberna de oväpnade judarna som flydde till Israel, vilket föranledde de judiska föräldrarna till att skicka tillbaka ungdomarna till Östeuropa, där de köpte många vapen billigt från Tjeckien, samt ett flygplan, med vilka de alltså lyckades rädda sig själva.

Jag, eller min bror Elias, befinner sig i en våg i medelhavet.

What's even more unbelievable however is how little reaction such an obscene event is causing amongst the western press. The BBC prides itself on being a fair reporter of events, yet still falters around shaming Israel for what legal, moral and philisophical wrongs they commit on a daily basis. Instead, the only controversy in the story is reserved for the banning of The Beatles from the country in the 1960s for fear they might corrupt the nation's youth. Such a ridiculous notion has now thankfully been dismissed, but an even more fearful corruption is happening. The realisation of the truth behind the horror stories in the West Bank and Gaza Strip, where a 21st century apartheid is shamefully accepted, is now under threat.  This is a truth shrouded behind PR stunts and a west-embracing attitude that seeks to dismiss past failures to recognise pop culture and portray an image that can't help but be appreciated by the common man. It's a disgrace and the shame of a nation, and McCartney should be smart enough to say no. I just wish John Lennon was here to have a chat with his old friend.

Rose è morta. Il nonno-patrigno, Ronny Ron, 45 anni, tassista, ha confessato dopo 7 versioni diverse («È all’estero, no in una scuola ebraica ultraortodossa, no l’ho venduta ai palestinesi »).

Rose è morta: il nonno l’ha schiacciata in una valigia e l’ha buttata nel fiume Yarkon alla periferia di Tel Aviv. La bambina di cui parla tutta Israele aveva 4 anni e mezzo. Non sono bombe, questa volta, a far parlare di Bethanya, cittadina sul mare. Il corpo di Rose non è stato trovato. Anche la madre, Marie-Charlotte Renault, è dietro le sbarre, accusata di aver pianificato l’omicidio con Ronny, che era suo suocero prima di diventare suo marito. «Non voglio vederla più, falla sparire», gli avrebbe detto la moglie secondo i verbali di polizia pubblicati dal quotidiano Haaretz. Agli arresti domiciliari anche la bisnonna, Vivian, madre di Ronny, accusata di negligenza. Non si salva nessuno, nella tragedia di Rose Ron. Neppure il padre Ben, che sta in Francia. Ha detto il capo della polizia che in questi giorni di indagini, all’uscita delle riunioni operative, non ha mai visto tanti veterani con le lacrime agli occhi.

Rose è sparita a maggio, ma la denuncia della sua scomparsa risale a due settimane fa. La polizia ha mantenuto il riserbo fino all’altro giorno. Poi ha deciso di rendere pubblico il caso. I particolari sono affiorati ieri, insieme alle foto che ritraggono la faccia pulita e gli occhi bassi di Marie in un’aula giudiziaria. Una storia (non infrequente) di violenza su minori sepolta sotto un’incredibile matassa familiare. Rose nasce in Francia da genitori ventenni. Marie ha sposato l’israeliano Ben. Quando vanno a trovare i parenti Marie si innamora del suocero. Ben torna in Francia con Rose. Marie sposa Ronny, da cui avrà presto due bambini. Un anno fa Marie scopre che Rose è finita all’ospedale. Il padre ha abusato di lei. Chiede l’affidamento. Dicembre 2007, Rose arriva in Israele. Una bambina persa: non conosce sua madre, non parla il francese e tantomeno l’ebraico.

Batte la testa contro il muro, se la fa addosso, piange. Avrebbe bisogno di cure, di amore continuo. Ronny e Marie non possono o non vogliono seguirla. La affidano alla bisnonna. Un giorno di maggio Vivian chiama il figlio e dice che con Rose non ce la fa più. Ronny arriva con una valigia. Raccoglie le cose della bimba e la porta via. Nessuno l’ha più rivista.

Nei mesi seguenti Vivian cerca di avere notizie di Rose. Ronny e Marie sono evasivi. Due settimane fa la bisnonna scrive ai servizi sociali (dov’erano?, perché non sono stati coinvolti prima?). La polizia è informata. Indagini facili. Il nonno-patrigno alla fine crolla. La sua ultima versione: quel giorno lasciando la casa della madre ha perso la testa, ha colpito Rose e l’ha uccisa senza volerlo. Preso dal panico, l’ha buttata nel fiume senza che la moglie sapesse nulla. Ma la polizia stringe il cerchio intorno a Marie. L’accusa è omicidio premeditato. Il marito ha parlato. Filtra un altro dettaglio. Quando sono cominciate le indagini la madre ha chiesto aiuto a un amica: «Devi trovarmi una bambina di 5 anni, altrimenti Ronny va in galera». Volevano una sostituta che facesse la parte di Rose. Quella vera—e imperfetta — vaga da mesi dentro una valigia: la bambina del fiume.

Corriere della Sera

Investigatiile ISA (Israel Securities Authority) referitoare la omul de afaceri israeliano-roman Fredy Robinson continua, dupa aproape doua luni de la punerea sa sub acuzare, autoritatile retinand noi elemente la dosarul cauzei. Principalele capete de acuzare sustinute de reprezentantii ISA sunt legate de incalcarea Legii israeliene a securitatii, mai exact a sectiunii 53, litera a, aliniatul 4, referitoare intentia de inselaciune  facuta impotriva intereselor unui investitor onest. De asemenea, conform autoritatilor israeliene, cei doi oameni de afaceri israelieni ar fi savarsit alte doua infractiuni, sanctionate de Codul Penal: obtinerea de foloase prin frauda (sectiunea 415 a Codului), frauda si abuz de incredere in cadrul unei corporatii (sectiunea 425). Conform legislatiei in vigoare in Israel, infractiunile pentru care Oded si Fredy Robinson sunt cercetati se pedepsesc cu inchisoare de la trei la cinci ani si cu amenda.

«Severe violari ale legii»

Purtatorul de cuvant al ISA, Ori Kazir, a declarat pentru “Gardianul” ca, “datorita severelor violari ale legislatiei si datorita faptului ca autoritatile au suspiciuni serioase referitoare la intentia suspectilor de a fugi din tara, in scopul de a se sustrage anchetei si de a ingreuna procedurile investigationale, am solicitat punerea in libertate a suspectilor sub rezerva unor restrictii severe. Intre acestea, initial, arestarea celor doi la domiciliu pe o perioada de cateva zile, dupa care interzicerea dreptului de a parasi tara. De asemenea, celor doi le-a fost retinut pasaportul si li s-a impus depunerea unei garantii bancare”. In contradictie cu afirmatiile reprezentantului ISA, Fredy Robinson ne-a declarat telefonic faptul ca restrictiile care i-au fost impuse de catre autoritati au fost retrase si ca ordinul de arestare la domiciliu a fost in vigoare numai trei zile. De asemenea, Robinson ne-a declarat ca va veni in Romania saptamana viitoare, avand de rezolvat niste afaceri.

Prejudicierea unei companii publice

Ancheta autoritatilor israeliene vizeaza anumite tranzactii derulate de holdingul Milomor Ltd. Aceasta este o companie tranzactionata pe bursa din Tel Aviv (TASE) din anul 1993. Conform raportului intocmit de ISA, Milomor este un conglomerat de firme care activeaza in diverse domenii, oferind si consultanta in specialitatile ingineriei civile si geodeziei. Pe perioada relevanta din punctul de vedere al investigatiilor (cuprinsa intre anii 2004 – 2006), Fredy Robinson a fost administrator si presedinte al Consiliului de Administratie, precum si actionarul majoritar al holdingului Milomor, detinand 52.88% din capitalul companiei. In aceeasi perioada, fiul  boss-ului de la Milomor, Oded Robinson, era administratorul Resido Industries Romania, una dintre subsidiarele holdingului Milomor Ltd. Conform anchetatorilor, acesta “actiona ca interpus al parintelui sau la firma acesuia din tara, in domeniul exploatarii carierelor de marmura. De asemenea, Oded Robinson era administrator delegat (deputy CEO) in cadrul Milomor, precum si administrator al Romerbel”. Aceasta din urma este o societate detinuta de Fredy Robinson si opereaza pe piata exploatarilor de marmura. Anchetatorii israelieni cerceteaza imprejurarile si conditiile in care Milomor a achizitionat marmura neprocesata de la firma Romerbel, folosind pentru aceasta, ca intermediar, firma Resido. Un amanunt interesant este acela ca, potrivit anchetatorilor, Resido ar apartine aceluiasi Freddy Robinson. Infractiunea pusa in seama celor doi Robinson este aceea ca ar fi facut aceste achizitii de marmura la un pret mult mai mare decat cel existent pe piata de profil. Afacerea a fost facuta pe cheltuiala companiei Milomor, care a platit diferenta dintre pretul real si cel perceput de firmele celor doi. Ca circumstanta agravanta, anchetatorii ISA au retinut aceea ca Milomor Ltd. este o companie publica, fiind, dupa cum am mentionat mai devreme, listata la bursa din Tel-Aviv. Concret, investigatorii israelieni au descoperit ca, in luna decembrie  a anului 2004, Resido a incheiat un contract cu Romerbel, intelegerea dintre cele doua companii detinute de Fredy Robinson vizand furnizarea de marmura de diferite tipuri. Valoarea contractului era de peste doua milioane euro. Anchetatorii au descoperit ca, in realitate, pretul corect al produselor care urmau sa fie tranzactionate (evaluarea fiind facuta de o companie de specialitate, Giza) a fost ignorat de cei doi parteneri, care au practicat alte tarife decat cele recomandate. Mai exact, Romerbel a vandut firmei Resido diferite tipuri de marmura la un pret dublu decat cel practicat in mod curent pe piata de profil. Resido, la randul ei, a vandut respectivele produse holdingului Milomor, diferentele de pret acumulandu-se treptat in dauna acesteia din urma, paguba cifrandu-se la nivelul mai multor milioane de shekeli. Din motive legate, probabil, de securitatea si stabilitatea tranzactiilor bursiere, anchetatorii nu ne-au comunicat cuantumul exact al pagubelor produse concernului israelian. Intreaga operatiune a insemnat si o alta incalcare a legislatiei si reglementarilor in vigoare in Israel, prin aceea ca tranzactiile in cauza, facute printr-o succesiune de firme apartinand unui actionar majoritar al Milomor, nu numai ca nu au respectat conditiile de piata, dar nici nu au fost raportate ca atare investitorilor Milomor.

sursa: Gardianul

The case of a missing four-year-old girl who police believe was murdered by her grandfather -- her mother's live-in lover -- has captivated Israel.

Paris-born Rose Pizem disappeared in May but news about the investigation and an unusual love triangle began to emerge only this week, when police issued a public appeal for information about her whereabouts.

After a court gag order was lifted, Israelis learned that police suspect that Rose's paternal grandfather, an Israeli taxi driver, killed her, stuffed her body in a suitcase and threw her into Tel Aviv's Yarkon River.

Police investigators said the suspect's son and Rose's mother married as teenagers in France after their daughter was born. The couple visited Israel, where the mother fell in love with her Israeli father-in-law and moved in with him.

Who blew the whistle on the whole sordid affair? The great-grandmother.

I don't want to know who she's sleeping with.

 Che ti accolgano con gioia e dolcezza tutti gli Angeli del cielo per farti sorridere e giocare serena.

Israele: continuano le ricerche di Rose, la bimba uccisa dal nonno

TEL AVIV, 27 AGOSTO - La polizia israeliana sta intensificando le ricerche intorno a Tel Aviv del corpo della piccola Rose Ron, la bambina di quattro anni e mezzo picchiata a morte dal nonno.

Lo riportano i media israeliani. Finora le ricerche si sono concentrate nel fiume Yarkon di Tel Aviv, riferisce "Ynet", l'edizione online dello "Yedioth Ahronoth", ma stamattina decine di agenti sono stati inviati anche nell'area di Beit Goldmintz, a Netanya, dove la piccola sarebbe stata uccisa.

La polizia sta indagando da giorni su questa storia. Il nonno, Roni Ron, tassista di 45 anni, e la madre della piccola Rose, Marie Pisam, 23 anni, sono stati arrestati tre settimane fa dopo una denuncia depositata dalla bisnonna della bimba, preoccupata perchè non la vedeva più. Ma Rose era scomparsa da molto tempo: da ben tre mesi.

La coppia viveva a Netanya, stazione balneare 40 chilometri a nord di Tel Aviv e molto frequentata dai francofoni. La bambina è scomparsa in maggio: è a quell'epoca infatti che Roni Ron l'avrebbe uccisa secondo quanto lui stesso ha confessato alla polizia. Poi avrebbe occultato il corpicino nascondendolo in una valigia e buttandola nel fiume Yarkon. Nel corso d'acqua i sommozzatori hanno lungamente cercato ma il cadavere di Rose non è stato ancora trovato.

Da parecchi giorni il tribunale, che ha rinnovato la richiesta di carcerazione per i due manteneva il riserbo più totale su questa vicenda, ma sui media israeliani la storia della bimba scomparsa aveva cominciato a circolare. Adesso è stato lanciato un appello alla popolazione per cercare informazioni.

Nata in Francia nell'ottobre 2003, Rose era figlia di una coppia francese che si era trasferita in Israele. Marie Pisam aveva poi divorziato quando il marito ha scoperto che la giovane aveva una storia con il suocero, suo padre e nonno paterno di Rose. Lo sposo tradito era tornato in Francia con la figlioletta; infine la mamma ha ottenuto la custodia da un tribunale francese. E Rose è tornata a Netanya.

Marie Pisam e Roni Ron hanno avuto due bambine. La scorsa primavera avevano affidato Rose alla bisnonna spiegando che era "violenta con le sorelline". Ma la bisnonna - adesso agli arresti domiciliari - aveva rimandato la piccola dalla madre, spiegando che non poteva farsene carico. Poi Rose è morta.
27/08/2008 Parmaok.it

Cada um com seus dramas.

De fato, os três casos não poderiam ser mais parecidos. Famílias desequilibradas, pais suspeitos. A garotinha israelense, nascida em Paris, continua desaparecida, como a inglesa. E a história dela é o drama do momento em um país que tem visto mais e mais casos de violência do lado de dentro da porta de casa.

Aos fatos: a garota, de 4 anos, foi morta pelo próprio avô, um sujeito de 44 anos que tem ficha suja na polícia e, agora, na imprensa sensacionalista de Israel. Ele mesmo confessou: "Rose se comportou mal quando estava no carro e eu dei-lhe um tapa. Veio um silêncio e quando olhei para trás ela estava morta".

Frio, contou para a polícia:

Então a coloquei em uma mala vermelha e joguei no rio HaYarkon.

A mala vermelha ainda não foi encontrada. O corpo da menina, também não. O HaYarkon, no norte de Tel Aviv, corre lentamente, carregando lama e muita sujeira, na direção do mar Mediterrâneo. Mala e corpo podem estar perdidos na imensidão azul... Hoje a polícia anunciou que cogita drenar um trecho extenso do rio para tentar encontrar o corpo.

Por enquanto, mergulhadores da marítima israelense têm feito uma busca sem sucesso pelo rio - acharam hoje uma moto e um cofre... Hoje de manhã, a caminho do trabalho, reparei nos mergulhadores quando atravessei, de moto, uma das pontes que cruza o rio. E um sujeito, na moto ao lado, comentou do caso. Agora, só se fala da menina Rose.

E ecoa por aqui a voz da avó dela, que vive em Paris, perguntando aos prantos: "Por quê machucar a minha neta? Por quê?"

E as buscas continuam.

Update, 29/8: Mulher afoga o filho em praia de Bat Yam porque ele era "um peso", aqui.

El capitán de la selección peruana, Jaime Yzaga, convocó a Luis Horna, Iván Miranda, Matías Silva y Mauricio Echazú para el partido con Israel por la permanencia en el Grupo Mundial, que se disputará en Tel Aviv en setiembre.

La raqueta número dos del Perú, Iván “Chino” Miranda, es el único que ha iniciado sus entrenamientos en las canchas rápidas del centro promotor del club Tennis Las Terrazas de Miraflores, bajo la supervisión de Yzaga.

En los próximos días, se incorporarán a los entrenamientos Luis Horna, quien participa en el US Open (dobles); Matías Silva y Mauricio Echazú, quienes también se encuentran en el extranjero, tomando parte en varios torneos.

Los entrenamientos colectivos arrancarán oficialmente el 8 de setiembre y para ello el capitán ha solicitado las canchas de laykold del Country Club de Villa, en Chorrillos, ya que los partidos ante los israelíes se disputarán en canchas rápidas.

El trascendental encuentro ante los europeos se jugará el 19, 20 y 21 de setiembre, en Tel Aviv.

Andina.

Today I took a bus in to Tel-Aviv and visited Ulpan Gordon, a little Hebrew immersion joint on the north end of Tel-Aviv, a block from the Sheraton on the beach. I've spent the last month and a half arguing with these morons from the Jewish agency, trying to figure out what's supposed to happen, being told to do this and that and run here and there... and it took me 10 minutes in their office to get squared away on a 5-month course. Sunday thru Thursday, 8:15-12:45, from September 2nd until the day I leave. It's about $650, and I'm golden. I'm on a waiting list-- it needs to be 30 names long to start a class, and I'm name 27, so they're pretty confident I'm set. If it falls through, they have an evening class I'm guaranteed.

So for the first time ever on this blog, I have this to say: something got taken care of today.

I tried to find a picture of the Ulpan. This was the 20th entry in the image search on Google.

Then I talked to the Hostel people. It's a lot easier to get help on things when people know how handily you've been screwed by the rest of the world and how much you appreciate even the slightest generosity. The girl at the front desk gave me the location of the ministry of the interior in central Tel-Aviv so that I could go get temporary residency, which will give me the ability to work a little here. She also told me I can stay at the hostel as long as I keep paying, that a month at a time will give me a reduced rate, and that I may find an even better deal if I find a furnished sublet. She even gave me a website on which to find a place.

Mom just called me and told me I sound much better than before. Probably true... you had to know things would work out eventually, but it's good to feel like they're actually finally getting around to it.

I forgot to tell yall the reason I thought of RedBand when I was posting last night. Hadas and I were in Tel-Aviv yesterday, in that market that we went to on Birthright when they wouldn't let us out of like a 2 block radius, and we saw a camera crew gathered around a bench. On the bench sat Leftie, Red, and Poncho, filming another episode. It was like being in [a really strange version of] LA all over again.

I walked past a storefront today that really jumped out at me. On the window was a painting, just in black, a portrait of Barack Obama, with hebrew writing above and below. Under his profile was written "Vote Obama," and above the painting was the inscription, "Our Blessed Hope." A couple weeks ago, Hen said to me, "It's so sad to watch. Your country is imploding. It collapses on itself, and we're watching it happen, and it's so sad."

He's right you know-- we're torturing POWs, changing laws on whims, burning our economy, and losing credibility daily. I can't tell whether John McCain just doesn't realize the system is broken, or he realizes it and hopes nobody will notice... and I also don't know which would be worse... but I hope we don't have to find out.

I honestly don't mean to preach. But it is truly different to watch America spin its wheels from far away, and you would be astonished just how much hope the people here have for America to stay strong. It's not just a hope-- it's a need, for as long as America's strong, Israel can cling to the notion that it may be safe for another few days, weeks, even months.

I'm going to study for a while, and then Hadas and I may meet up with some friends of hers to shoot some pool or bowl. Today has been a good day, a precursor to many more to come. I hope everybody's well.