The India Chronicles, part II, Delhi, and home.
Before I begin I wish to remind my readers that everything written here reflects the miniscule part of Delhi/India that I could take in and an acutely subjective point of view presented as a series of images in a stream of consciousness.
I read a quote that says “every statement you make about India, the exact opposite is also true”. With that in mind, I will begin.
The hotel:
Another five star contradiction in terms, The Lalit had a towering marble lobby and a whole battalion of faithful employees complete with Namaste and designer uniforms, a fancy roof pool, a bright red Ferrari and a shining silver Mazeratti parked out front and metal detectors everywhere. It could have been a complete twilight zone if only they’d manage to do something about the, well, ahem…surroundings. Everything can be scrubbed and swabbed, swept under the carpet and glazed with a smile, but the view from the window remains the same: a filthy shambles, covered in dust and grime, clogged with human traffic fused with any type of machine that will transport you from point A to point B and mired with some sort of foggy film that paints the sky grey well into late morning.
And as we’ve mentioned late morning, we can discuss….
The hours:
Nothing is opened until nearly 11 am. Why, I ask? No answer, as always. A country with a warm climate almost year round, where the sun sets early half the year and where no major signs of night life are visible (to me at least…but I am surely missing something) would, logic have it, function in the early hours, possibly break midday and resume in the afternoon when the blessed evening breeze comes in. But no, it doesn’t work that way…
The view from the car window:
“Delhi”, says the very erudite journalist from Times of India, one of the county’s major papers who had come to interview Mira and myself, “is probably India’s least chaotic city”.
From the car window I found it hard to come to terms with that statement. I saw nothing but chaos for five days.
The traffic? Indescribable. Constant horn honking, pushing and shoving of all and any type of vehicle, swarms of green and white three-wheeled buggies shooting in an out of the jam like drunken wasps, motorcycles coming within a hair of buses, coming within a split hair of taxis, stuck to private vehicles, all bullying each other endlessly albeit non violently (this is, after all, is the land that reared Gandhi), and all vying for space and motion, all striving for “progress”. All except the cows, whom, thank Krishna, had been herded out miraculously a few years back, I’d been told, by some “pied piper” method formerly unknown to man. Had they been part of the show I cannot think how the plot would unfold…!
It all would have been quasi-bearable had it not been for the beggars, especially the filthy, barefoot children or stick-figure mothers bearing infants in all states of heart wrenching disrepair and despair. These will come straight up to your window and push their noses against the glass, banging their small fists and demanding their share of your magnificent wealth. “You billionaire”, they say. Children as young as two or three years will weave their way into a four-lane major thoroughfare jammed with vehicles in a red light, in hope of gaining a few rupees. As the traffic begins to growl forward, you are left praying they make it alive to the side of the road, clutching the money they have hopefully succeeded in taking from you, that is, of course, if your conscience and heart have not yet developed that hardened crust that inevitably numbs your soul and enables you to turn them down. Gil and I gave most every time, despite the stories of the “beggar industry” ,horror tales of intentional maiming and other things I cannot even whisper to myself let alone say out loud. We gave despite the theories of caste and creed, of this being a ‘job’ for them, of how they were ‘born into it’ and so on and so forth. If we have aided any sinister powers I beg forgiveness from the god of compassion for our weakness and stupidity.
The side of the road, mostly, looks like a huge construction site or worse (a virtual post war situation. When the whole world does finally go to pieces, India will probably be thinking: what’s all the fuss? All in a days work).
There are piles of debris and waste everywhere, except near the embassies and government buildings, which have been spread out in Washington DC/Paris Champs Elysee style. Truth is, it looked pathetic to me. What in God’s name has that got to do with anything here (along with polo and cricket, in incongruent enigmas abound)? The lawns, far from well kept, were always strewn with bottles and plastic bags, or groups of people camped out, as they are everywhere, waiting for, who knows what?. The buildings all looked in need of drastic renovation, as did almost every single edifice I saw. Even at the height of an attempt at western glory, the shabbiness prevails. It makes you wonder. (That’s actually all I found myself doing here. Wondering)
The only buildings I saw which did NOT need repair were the extremely shiny, glittery squeaky clean fresh-out-of-the-box shopping malls on the outskirts of town. On our way to a meeting with a very prominent business man whose offices, adjoining such a mall, could very easily have graced Manhattan’s 5th Avenue, we encountered a steel and glass retail behemoth flaunting the whole western glamour-gale of consumer mania, from Mango to Zara to H&M and The Coffee Bean, and on it goes. How familiar that looked, how strangely out of place, how vulgar and comforting at the same time. I felt a little smile creeping up on me, imagining sari and kurta clad Indians drinking a ‘tall latte’ and trying on Penelope Cruz’s latest mini skirt.
And why not really? Better to leave them in the inhuman state of poverty that is so prevalent here for the sake of national geographic documentaries and gaping tourists? Shouldn’t we be happy that an emerging middle class is coming of its own?
At the very fringe of the mall complex I beheld the ugliest slum my eyes had seen so far. Mud and dirt, laundry hanging from barbed wire, piles of garbage, holes in the ground where people dwell as rats do. What cynical juxtaposition.
I love India’s unique nature, color, culture, it is fascinating and wonderful, I pray its beauty remain intact… but not at the expense of human dignity. A balance must, and I believe, will be found. In light of all this it is impossible not to ask big, unanswerable questions. How? Why? Until when? Where is it all going? How many years will it take if ever? What will the implications be on the rest of the world? Is there enough to go around? Basic terms like, fair, good, evil, wrong, right, human… constantly come to the front of your eyes, heart, mind and conscience, begging for some sort of unraveling. But like the edges of a fine pashmina scarf, the unraveling never comes. You are simply left wondering.
The Israeli embassy in Delhi and other Israelis we met:
The Israeli Embassy people, and their satellites, are some of some of the nicest, warmest people I have ever encountered. Chana, Achiya, Maayan, Yahel, the Ambassador and his wife, everybody’s children…all of us are deeply grateful to you for your open hearted hospitality and gentle generosity.
On the third night of our stay in Delhi we were asked by the ambassador to sing a song at the Rabin Memorial he had arranged in his home. We accepted, of course. Gil and I had been there at that fateful peace rally 16 years ago, singing, minutes before prime Minister Yitzchak Rabin was murdered by a fellow Jew. And now, Thousands of miles away from home, in the most troubling times our country has known, with the paralyzing prospect of war in the air, a stalled peace process threatening to give way to more and more violence, dangerous ideas being spread by the highest government officials, and the mind boggling conclusion that the main, government-sponsored memorial event in Rabin Square that had taken place every year since his murder has become “irrelevant”…in the midst of all this, we find ourselves in a modest back yard in Delhi with a small group of Israelis, none willing to let go of this great man and his legacy. I sang with tears in my eyes.
Comic Relief:
Since the theaters had no dressing rooms to speak of, I was forced to come from the hotel all decked out, make up, hair, the whole shebang. I never ever do that, but here, what choice did I have? (India in that sense makes Italy AND Israel look like Switzerland :-).
SO, there I was in my high heels, waiting for the elevator holding my concert dress in its long black case, when a bell boy runs over to take it from me lest the madam hurt her pinky.
On our way down, with a shy smile he asks: “is maam going to a fashion show maam?”
“no” I reply with a smile, “I have a concert tonight”..
“oh, but maam must surely be a super model!”
Hah! I think, Come every day.
“no”, I say “maam is just a plain old singer”.
“oh, no, maam is a super model singer for sure maam. Good luck maam, you’ll surely be great maam!”
And so the Queen of Sheba walks out the elevator door followed by her number one fan in India, straight into the waiting taxi that smells of sweat and curry. Maam the singing super model waves goodbye, and carries a little smile in her heart the whole evening.
The Markets:
The markets are thoroughly delicious. I just couldn’t get enough of them. So many thrilling objects! Oh, the colors, the textures, the diversity, the bargaining, the treasures and disappointments, the beauty of it all! A riksha ride through the bazaar adjacent to the Shah Jeha Mosque ranks as one of the most incredible half hours of my life. I could hardly take it all in: the little stalls laden with all type of wares, to wear (if you dare) or eat (and beware), or use in this way or that, or not, who cares? You are a bug on the tree of life, aren’t you? The electric cables above the tiny, crowded alleys laid out like a drunkard’s attempt at knitting, all tangled, knotted and hanging perilously, skimpily shaded the passers-by. People, motorbikes and rikshas all passed eachother where hardly one could get through. Every few meters a tiny courtyard opens up to a place of worship (Hindu? Muslim? Seik? Christian? One of them..), tiny oases of peace, or suddenly a well lit portal to a savvy seamstress’ shop, or a cubby hole with a doctor snoring behind his old desk heaped with jars containing all sorts of potions and concoctions, or a steep stairway to some dark place, or a gorgeous black eyed three year old selling fried puffs on a huge black pan twice his size. The array of human and material variations had me in a semi hallucinatory state. “Buy me!” it all cried out, or at least try me!, or give me!, or if none of these… at least, remember me…
The concerts
The concerts were thrilling. The Indian audience is very close to being a dream come true for people like us. They are English speakers, many of them educated but not (yet) cynical, curious about cultural diversity, accustomed to rhythms and vocal inflections but fascinated with variations of such. Their hearts, eyes and mind are wide opened, effortlessly resonating with “roots and wings”. All the shows were great but for me, the solo concert at the Indian Habitat Center topped them all. It was so exciting, so moving! The place was packed; we got a standing ovation that was started by a turban-wearing Seik (!), and countless compliments from people who had been moved to tears. Yahel from the embassy brought his young boys to every single concert we had in Delhi. One of them came to me after that show and said, ‘you were so lovely this evening’. Coming from an 8 year old looking me straight in the eye, it made my knees weak. And after him, a student, a father, a musician, a photographer, more and more Indian people of all sorts, with stars in their eyes.
In Siri Fort, a major Delhi venue, Mira and I had a great show and a surprise at the end. The Indian Minister of Railways, a very important and clever man, had seen us in Goa. When he read in the paper we were to sing in Delhi, he delayed an official trip to Calcutta and came with his bodyguards and all to see us again. After the show he stayed to compliment us and chat, informally and warmly, and left us his number “in case we needed anything” . I find it hard to imagine such a scene in any other country.
Which brings me to….
People
Here is the best part of it all. India is just full of amazing, interesting people. We met so many, but I will tell you about one.
Sminu Jhindal is a 38 year old woman who has been in a wheel chair since she was 11. She is the mother of two young boys. She is also the CEO of a multi million dollar steel company and was voted India’s 33 most powerful woman by Fortune magazine. She married for love, breaking the mold of pre-arranged marriages common in families such as hers (5th wealthiest in India). At age 6 she declared to her father that she would go into business, starting her career from the very same chair he was sitting in, and she did just that. In her spare time, she promotes the cause of accessibility for handicapped people throughout India, giving them hope for a life of dignity. With all that, she is kind, modest and sweet. She came to our concert, invited by lovely Maayan (Israeli singer and photographer whose children go to school with Sminu’s), undeterred by the non-wheelchair friendly situation, and enjoyed every moment. Sminu, it was an honor meeting such an extraordinary woman.
In conclusion
I know I have only seen a fraction of India, that every state/city/village is different, I know I am far from being able to fathom the history and politics, the width and breadth and depth of it all, but the spirit of India has seeped into my heart and overwhelmed me. I have a lot to think about now.
I am writing sitting on the plane transporting me back to my children. What joy. Finally I can shed the skin of the Noa-avatar I’ve become the past twelve days (how else to deal with this longing for my family?), step out of the matrix back into my life. I can go back to my to-do list, to the sweet smelling rooms and the scent of the sea, the warm skin at the nape of my baby’s neck, to 5 hours sleep, the studio, songs, concerts, meetings, gory politics and my mother’s cooking. Home.
India’s havoc will slowly fade…but I will have gained, once again, perspective.
Will I return? What will I find if I do? Will any answers to those big questions ever present themselves, through the fog, like tiny crystals in the mud?
“I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know…”
With this I leave you.
Thanks for reading.
Noa in the sky,
Nov 12th, 2011.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Friday, November 4, 2011
India Chronicles - Part 1
When I stepped out of the terminal building of Goa airport I was literally swept off my feet…by a scent. Yes, there were the masses..taxi drivers, porters, passengers, weeping family members, vendors, policemen, women-men-children, dismayed tourists following savvy tour guides in the stifling heat and humidity, all moving, pushing, talking at the same time with their whole bodies, their babble drowned out by the constant honking of horns and general hubbub. All of these could have easily taken me, but it was the scent that effectively reached its hands out and swept me away…
Scent is a pretty word. Smell is it’s pejorative cousin. I say scent because what I experienced was strangely un-repulsive to my senses. Even on the contrary. It was bitter and spicy, sour and salty, sweet and moldy and totally overwhelming. It reminded me of the old corridor of the moldy NY building of my childhood, where immigrants of all sorts lived and we amongst them...everyone’s cooking smells wafted from under their doors and fused into the old carpets and peeling wallpaper That smell was always there to meet me when I came home from school. It told stories…and this one did too.
When my manager Ofer told me just a few months ago that Mira Awad and I had been invited to perform in India, I thought he was joking. India? We’ve hardly recovered from China! India all of a sudden? Just like that?
After years of reading Indian literature (ardent Rushdie fan), admiring the rich culture, wondering about the enigmatic subcontinent and being mistaken for an Indian on endless occasions…the word “India” suddenly became a date on my calender. Two cities only, Goa (not a city I later learned but a region) and Delhi, for 5 days each.
I have now been in Goa for 4 days. I discovered a sub tropic climate, jungle vegetation and endless beaches, colors exploding in your face at every turn, from the plants, the painted houses, the people, the signs, the Hindi temples…color is everywhere. Color, and scent…
We landed in Goa just after sunset. Driving from the airport to the capital of Panjim, we saw houses and shacks, cars and rickshaws and old noisy scooters, groups of people walking along the main road in a way that made me gasp (with nothing resembling a sidewalk in view..that phenomenon would repeat itself over and over), then, in almost total darkness as there are no streetlamps to speak of, whole families in bright clothes crossing the highway with their small children in tote as if they had some kind of a death wish! The drivers just honk away at anything at all (except cows)…people, other cars, the moonlight..whatever.. and they pass each other on the highway in trio or quartet formation any air force could envy..two from each side…as if it were meant to be so, naturally.
Naturally, I would discover, is a key word here. people connect to nature in ways beyond my comprehension. I do not mean only to the trees and plants, as of course they do, but to “the nature of things” as they see them. They accept their fate with a sort of uncanny compliance, surrendering to destiny as part of the greater scheme…the master plan of nature. This is something unique to India I have never seen or felt before. Not that people here don’t strive to better their lives, of course they do...but not with visible anger, not with violent rampant ambition, rather, with a smile..with a flow that seems almost, well…natural.
Don’t get me wrong. I am not trying to understand India. I have no such pretensions whatsoever. I am just sharing impressions…
The poverty here is mindboggling (as is the wealth I am told), yet people do not go around looking miserable. Is it the Hindu faith? Or something else they know that we don’t? the chaos is magnificent, the scent I described earlier is often transformed into an unbearable stench by garbage everywhere and a very free interpretation of the public toilet concept. The streets are filthy, a large part of the population lives with hardly any creature comforts whatsoever, yet there is something alive here in the most tragically symbiotic way.
They say China and India are on their way to becoming the new superpowers of the world. Visiting China, I could see how that was going to happen. Big brother had it all worked out. but here in India… the feeling is so far from that. No ‘super’ and no ‘power’. I do not feel mobilization from above, rather from within. There is a heightened state of awareness, and a great state of confusion, which smells like fertile ground after a monsoon. Like in China, this country makes you feel very small, an insignificant bug on the tree of life. But there is a feeling that wisdom, culture and the quest for deeper meaning transcend all else, replacing the common rat race with a quest for sustenance and subjective happiness. India feels to me like a billion individual streams trickling down the mountain side, where china felt like one huge ominous tidal wave. I may be wrong (I probably am), it may all change tomorrow, but…that’s the scent of it…
We arrived at the hotel quite late. We were met at the great iron gates by about six security inspectors who checked our vehicles top to bottom as if we were late for a meeting with President Obama. Entering the “white house”, our luggage and bodies were checked with metal detectors, our documents inspected, and finally we were allowed into the luxurious 5 star lobby, where we were met with cold drinks, sea-shell necklaces and a thousand polite and smiling ‘yesmams’ from some pretty gorgeous young men and woman, a small part of the enormous staff at the Vivanta Taj, ready to serve 24/7.
What are we doing here, I asked myself? How did we step out of one dimension and into another?
I woke in the morning not knowing where I was (any touring musician recognizes that sensation). No children were tugging at me (ah, but I wish they were ), nobody to be dressed, hair combed, breakfast made, kissed hugged and sent to school.. no errands to run meetings calls endless to do list so who and where am i??? ah yes, India!! Open your eyes girl..
I gently pulled the drapes slightly opened and was stunned by the nuclear intensity of the sunlight that burst into my room and blinded my eyes. After a few seconds of adjustment I started comprehending what was beyond the glass.
A jungle hillside across from my window was inhabited densely. Shambles. Old ruined buildings, filthy walls. Rags hung out to dry, garbage everywhere, children running up and down crumbling soot covered stairs, and the sound of traffic and omnipresent horn honking that even high quality triple plated glass could not keep out. I could not help thinking what the people on the other side of the hill thought every day when they gazed at the behemoth edifice with its gates and guards right in front of their face. I felt the urge for going.
We discovered, through Aimee, an American Israel journalist living in Goa, that an Israeli musician we’d met years ago name Ori Balak has been living here for almost 10 years…so he and Aimee, who made the connection, have been our guides. They are both very special people and we are deeply grateful to them.
Ori and Aimee took us to Anjuna, where we met Moshe, an Israeli who runs a very cool joint in the village. Bar, restaurant, coffee shop, library, yoga place, arts and crafts boutique, workshop, playground, furniture store all in one, under the trees and sky, very laid back like everything is here. We were supposed to stop for a few minutes which became two hours of smokes talk drinks and passing time (Moshe made us some mean burekas ). yes, yes.. India is a good exercise in patience and letting go. Whoever knows my Yemenite temperament and control freak nature will be smiling imagining this lady biting her lip not to ask “nooo?(Hebrew for: “well??), and gasping for breath in a sea of relaxaaaaation.
From Moshe’s hang we drove to the beach. On the way we had to stop several times for the cows. Yes, you’ve all heard about it, I had too, but seeing it first hand is just incredible. Cows meander along the roads, free to do as their hearts desire, taking strolls and naps, holding meetings, chatting away with each other, and what better place than right in the middle of the road? And the Indians wait patiently, until the cows see fit to move on. The whole town can be jammed and nobody will touch the cow. I wanted to jump out and say: “excuse me, your royal cowliness, do you think you could possibly just budge a few centimeters so a few hundred vehicles could pass through? Oh thank you so much your bovine holiness!”
Driving here is just so hair raising I can’t get used to it. Not only do they drive on the left, pass insanely, stop for cows, speed, and honk, the roads are narrow when they exist at all and there are no sidewalks or streetlamps, as I mentioned earlier, so you can’t see anything!! Ohmygod. BUT, as opposed to Israel, here, they don’t get upset. No yelling cursing or fist waving They simply flow. They do it…naturally.
After the beach we went to Ori’s place for shower before dinner. His house is old and beautiful, high ceilings, large rooms, jungle all around, three dogs, musical instruments and a lovely Russian girlfriends, Anoushka. I asked to use the toilet, and quickly discovered there was no toilet paper. I stepped out and asked Anoushka for some. She said they did not use any. Not that it had run out: it had never existed. Instead there was a bucket of water and a plastic cup. Ohmygod. I went back in and tried to use all my mental powers to figure out the engineering, execution and ventilation dilemma I had before me. Finally I gave up, apologized to the God of cultural idiosyncrasy, and asked for some table napkins. Sorry, India. I am still an ignoramus.
Dinner was surprising, a totally new-age yuppie restaurant outdoors with sparkling lights under big trees, chill out music, chef Chris Saleem wearing a desigual shirt and cooking fine ultra fusion fare, very far from Indian food but very nice. Unexpected.
Ah..there’s another keyword. Unexpected. Expect the unexpected. Everything is so strange here, the contrasts so huge.
For example:
The next morning, Gil and I decided to take a walk and see the local market. We were told Panjim was relatively prosperous. As soon as we walked out of the hotel, I was shocked (Gil wasn’t, as he’d been to India before and he keeps telling me this is really nice by Indian standards. Nice? ohmygod). In the 40 minutes that we survived outdoors, we almost died of heat and humidity (35 that feels that 45 degrees!), we almost suffocated in the market as it stank so badly and had no air circulation (though it was beautifully colorful), we saw a dead rat, a dead cat and a dead bird all swarming with flies right at the door of the academy of pharmacy(!!), we almost got run over six times (you guessed it, no sidewalks), and we were followed by a beggar girl that would not leave me alone (I had given money to another beggar woman earlier who was carrying a child that reminded me of my daughter…it choked me up… I gave the young woman 100 rupees, which is the smallest bill I had...but considered a fortune for those circumstances. From that moment I was bait. It was depressing). And all this, in what my Goan friends had described as an Indian Beverly Hills! Oh my God. I had never been so happy to see a hotel lobby in my entire life!
More contrasts:
The women.
The women here dress in the most beautiful clothes I have ever seen in my entire life, they are so stunning in their colorful Saris, they look like rare flowers drifting through the filthy streets. Even the poorest of the poor will have a flowing scarf around her, jangling bracelets, sweeping material in the brightest colors…how amazing!! In all the piles of garbage and stench, they shine like jewels these women. How I envy them! How drab and boring, even ugly, jeans and a t-shirt appear next to these exotic queens and their royal apparel. I see the ‘modern’ Indian girls trying to imitate the west and I just want to cry. But alas… Saris would look ridiculous in tel aviv, and even if they didn’t, who in god’s name understands how to tie the darn thing? 6 meters of fabric!! oy vey. I guess it’s back to jeans and t-shirts for me.
And more about women here: they have balls. I won’t generalize, but I have met quite a few women here who are sharp, outspoken, super clever and efficient. Just after my own heart. You go girls.
More contrasts:
Paolo our sound engineer had been waiting for weeks to get technical information about the show. None ever came. We were worried as hell..you know, third world, what do we know?? Then, as we were all on a day off, he waited for the sound engineer to meet him at the hotel for a meeting. He waited ALL DAY, as the guy was a “tiny bit late”, “just arriving!”, “almost there!”…from 10 am to 8pm!!! (sweet Goan revenge for the Portuguese occupation ) But then, the next day, when the staff went to check out the stage…it was all perfect. Best equipment, all set exactly as we asked for, sounded great… perfect.
And the convention itself, the one we were invited to attend, The THINK festival (a title I communicate well with ). I cannot describe to you how impressed I am with the organization, the program, everything! Incredible guests from all over the world, intelligent publications and brochures, tip top program and production, sophisticated, controversial, deep… beautiful.
And the hotel where the convention is taking place…ohmygod. The Grand Hyatt Goa. A brand new resort, pools and lawns and sea and very high-end architecture, Super splendor and luxury, as high-techy as they come without losing the authentic flavor of the area and its history (as much as a humongous five star hotel in the middle of a jungle with slums right outside it gates can do).
The stage was set in front of the sea, overlooking the lawn with huge Indian Fichus trees that were lit beautifully. Our concert was very well received, though it was the opening night of the convention which is in its first year and there were a lot of glitches to be worked out.
The Indians, all English speakers, blessedly connect to the English lyrics…halleluya!! After years of performing mostly in Europe and Israel, where people rarely have a clue what my English songs are about (those being the bulk of my original repertoire), it is so relieving and satisfying to perform for an audience that actually listens to what you’re saying, and reacts accordingly. Both Mira and I, who put great emphasis on the lyrical content of our compositions, were overjoyed. For an artists there is no greater joy than feeling understood…and appreciated.
Today we had another short performance in the main plenary hall of the convention where all the talks were taking place, and we were once again very well received. tomorrow we are moving to that hotel and hopefully listen to some interesting people speak, amongst them Frank Ghery the famous architect. There is a British theater production taking place too, believe it or not, a comic satire about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict! I’m curious about that one..
The only real difficulty I am experiencing so far is my irrepressible longing for the warmth of my children’s bodies, and my husband’s embrace. It’s alike a fist in my stomach that cannot come unclenched. We Skype every day (though the hotel charges criminally high rates for internet access..they are ruthless in that sense). But whoever has loved anyone across the sea in the 21st century knows Skype is a pathetic substitute for a hug and a soft, loving whisper.
With this I leave you, for now.
Namaste.
Noa, Goa, Nov 4 (almost 5) 2011
Scent is a pretty word. Smell is it’s pejorative cousin. I say scent because what I experienced was strangely un-repulsive to my senses. Even on the contrary. It was bitter and spicy, sour and salty, sweet and moldy and totally overwhelming. It reminded me of the old corridor of the moldy NY building of my childhood, where immigrants of all sorts lived and we amongst them...everyone’s cooking smells wafted from under their doors and fused into the old carpets and peeling wallpaper That smell was always there to meet me when I came home from school. It told stories…and this one did too.
When my manager Ofer told me just a few months ago that Mira Awad and I had been invited to perform in India, I thought he was joking. India? We’ve hardly recovered from China! India all of a sudden? Just like that?
After years of reading Indian literature (ardent Rushdie fan), admiring the rich culture, wondering about the enigmatic subcontinent and being mistaken for an Indian on endless occasions…the word “India” suddenly became a date on my calender. Two cities only, Goa (not a city I later learned but a region) and Delhi, for 5 days each.
I have now been in Goa for 4 days. I discovered a sub tropic climate, jungle vegetation and endless beaches, colors exploding in your face at every turn, from the plants, the painted houses, the people, the signs, the Hindi temples…color is everywhere. Color, and scent…
We landed in Goa just after sunset. Driving from the airport to the capital of Panjim, we saw houses and shacks, cars and rickshaws and old noisy scooters, groups of people walking along the main road in a way that made me gasp (with nothing resembling a sidewalk in view..that phenomenon would repeat itself over and over), then, in almost total darkness as there are no streetlamps to speak of, whole families in bright clothes crossing the highway with their small children in tote as if they had some kind of a death wish! The drivers just honk away at anything at all (except cows)…people, other cars, the moonlight..whatever.. and they pass each other on the highway in trio or quartet formation any air force could envy..two from each side…as if it were meant to be so, naturally.
Naturally, I would discover, is a key word here. people connect to nature in ways beyond my comprehension. I do not mean only to the trees and plants, as of course they do, but to “the nature of things” as they see them. They accept their fate with a sort of uncanny compliance, surrendering to destiny as part of the greater scheme…the master plan of nature. This is something unique to India I have never seen or felt before. Not that people here don’t strive to better their lives, of course they do...but not with visible anger, not with violent rampant ambition, rather, with a smile..with a flow that seems almost, well…natural.
Don’t get me wrong. I am not trying to understand India. I have no such pretensions whatsoever. I am just sharing impressions…
The poverty here is mindboggling (as is the wealth I am told), yet people do not go around looking miserable. Is it the Hindu faith? Or something else they know that we don’t? the chaos is magnificent, the scent I described earlier is often transformed into an unbearable stench by garbage everywhere and a very free interpretation of the public toilet concept. The streets are filthy, a large part of the population lives with hardly any creature comforts whatsoever, yet there is something alive here in the most tragically symbiotic way.
They say China and India are on their way to becoming the new superpowers of the world. Visiting China, I could see how that was going to happen. Big brother had it all worked out. but here in India… the feeling is so far from that. No ‘super’ and no ‘power’. I do not feel mobilization from above, rather from within. There is a heightened state of awareness, and a great state of confusion, which smells like fertile ground after a monsoon. Like in China, this country makes you feel very small, an insignificant bug on the tree of life. But there is a feeling that wisdom, culture and the quest for deeper meaning transcend all else, replacing the common rat race with a quest for sustenance and subjective happiness. India feels to me like a billion individual streams trickling down the mountain side, where china felt like one huge ominous tidal wave. I may be wrong (I probably am), it may all change tomorrow, but…that’s the scent of it…
We arrived at the hotel quite late. We were met at the great iron gates by about six security inspectors who checked our vehicles top to bottom as if we were late for a meeting with President Obama. Entering the “white house”, our luggage and bodies were checked with metal detectors, our documents inspected, and finally we were allowed into the luxurious 5 star lobby, where we were met with cold drinks, sea-shell necklaces and a thousand polite and smiling ‘yesmams’ from some pretty gorgeous young men and woman, a small part of the enormous staff at the Vivanta Taj, ready to serve 24/7.
What are we doing here, I asked myself? How did we step out of one dimension and into another?
I woke in the morning not knowing where I was (any touring musician recognizes that sensation). No children were tugging at me (ah, but I wish they were ), nobody to be dressed, hair combed, breakfast made, kissed hugged and sent to school.. no errands to run meetings calls endless to do list so who and where am i??? ah yes, India!! Open your eyes girl..
I gently pulled the drapes slightly opened and was stunned by the nuclear intensity of the sunlight that burst into my room and blinded my eyes. After a few seconds of adjustment I started comprehending what was beyond the glass.
A jungle hillside across from my window was inhabited densely. Shambles. Old ruined buildings, filthy walls. Rags hung out to dry, garbage everywhere, children running up and down crumbling soot covered stairs, and the sound of traffic and omnipresent horn honking that even high quality triple plated glass could not keep out. I could not help thinking what the people on the other side of the hill thought every day when they gazed at the behemoth edifice with its gates and guards right in front of their face. I felt the urge for going.
We discovered, through Aimee, an American Israel journalist living in Goa, that an Israeli musician we’d met years ago name Ori Balak has been living here for almost 10 years…so he and Aimee, who made the connection, have been our guides. They are both very special people and we are deeply grateful to them.
Ori and Aimee took us to Anjuna, where we met Moshe, an Israeli who runs a very cool joint in the village. Bar, restaurant, coffee shop, library, yoga place, arts and crafts boutique, workshop, playground, furniture store all in one, under the trees and sky, very laid back like everything is here. We were supposed to stop for a few minutes which became two hours of smokes talk drinks and passing time (Moshe made us some mean burekas ). yes, yes.. India is a good exercise in patience and letting go. Whoever knows my Yemenite temperament and control freak nature will be smiling imagining this lady biting her lip not to ask “nooo?(Hebrew for: “well??), and gasping for breath in a sea of relaxaaaaation.
From Moshe’s hang we drove to the beach. On the way we had to stop several times for the cows. Yes, you’ve all heard about it, I had too, but seeing it first hand is just incredible. Cows meander along the roads, free to do as their hearts desire, taking strolls and naps, holding meetings, chatting away with each other, and what better place than right in the middle of the road? And the Indians wait patiently, until the cows see fit to move on. The whole town can be jammed and nobody will touch the cow. I wanted to jump out and say: “excuse me, your royal cowliness, do you think you could possibly just budge a few centimeters so a few hundred vehicles could pass through? Oh thank you so much your bovine holiness!”
Driving here is just so hair raising I can’t get used to it. Not only do they drive on the left, pass insanely, stop for cows, speed, and honk, the roads are narrow when they exist at all and there are no sidewalks or streetlamps, as I mentioned earlier, so you can’t see anything!! Ohmygod. BUT, as opposed to Israel, here, they don’t get upset. No yelling cursing or fist waving They simply flow. They do it…naturally.
After the beach we went to Ori’s place for shower before dinner. His house is old and beautiful, high ceilings, large rooms, jungle all around, three dogs, musical instruments and a lovely Russian girlfriends, Anoushka. I asked to use the toilet, and quickly discovered there was no toilet paper. I stepped out and asked Anoushka for some. She said they did not use any. Not that it had run out: it had never existed. Instead there was a bucket of water and a plastic cup. Ohmygod. I went back in and tried to use all my mental powers to figure out the engineering, execution and ventilation dilemma I had before me. Finally I gave up, apologized to the God of cultural idiosyncrasy, and asked for some table napkins. Sorry, India. I am still an ignoramus.
Dinner was surprising, a totally new-age yuppie restaurant outdoors with sparkling lights under big trees, chill out music, chef Chris Saleem wearing a desigual shirt and cooking fine ultra fusion fare, very far from Indian food but very nice. Unexpected.
Ah..there’s another keyword. Unexpected. Expect the unexpected. Everything is so strange here, the contrasts so huge.
For example:
The next morning, Gil and I decided to take a walk and see the local market. We were told Panjim was relatively prosperous. As soon as we walked out of the hotel, I was shocked (Gil wasn’t, as he’d been to India before and he keeps telling me this is really nice by Indian standards. Nice? ohmygod). In the 40 minutes that we survived outdoors, we almost died of heat and humidity (35 that feels that 45 degrees!), we almost suffocated in the market as it stank so badly and had no air circulation (though it was beautifully colorful), we saw a dead rat, a dead cat and a dead bird all swarming with flies right at the door of the academy of pharmacy(!!), we almost got run over six times (you guessed it, no sidewalks), and we were followed by a beggar girl that would not leave me alone (I had given money to another beggar woman earlier who was carrying a child that reminded me of my daughter…it choked me up… I gave the young woman 100 rupees, which is the smallest bill I had...but considered a fortune for those circumstances. From that moment I was bait. It was depressing). And all this, in what my Goan friends had described as an Indian Beverly Hills! Oh my God. I had never been so happy to see a hotel lobby in my entire life!
More contrasts:
The women.
The women here dress in the most beautiful clothes I have ever seen in my entire life, they are so stunning in their colorful Saris, they look like rare flowers drifting through the filthy streets. Even the poorest of the poor will have a flowing scarf around her, jangling bracelets, sweeping material in the brightest colors…how amazing!! In all the piles of garbage and stench, they shine like jewels these women. How I envy them! How drab and boring, even ugly, jeans and a t-shirt appear next to these exotic queens and their royal apparel. I see the ‘modern’ Indian girls trying to imitate the west and I just want to cry. But alas… Saris would look ridiculous in tel aviv, and even if they didn’t, who in god’s name understands how to tie the darn thing? 6 meters of fabric!! oy vey. I guess it’s back to jeans and t-shirts for me.
And more about women here: they have balls. I won’t generalize, but I have met quite a few women here who are sharp, outspoken, super clever and efficient. Just after my own heart. You go girls.
More contrasts:
Paolo our sound engineer had been waiting for weeks to get technical information about the show. None ever came. We were worried as hell..you know, third world, what do we know?? Then, as we were all on a day off, he waited for the sound engineer to meet him at the hotel for a meeting. He waited ALL DAY, as the guy was a “tiny bit late”, “just arriving!”, “almost there!”…from 10 am to 8pm!!! (sweet Goan revenge for the Portuguese occupation ) But then, the next day, when the staff went to check out the stage…it was all perfect. Best equipment, all set exactly as we asked for, sounded great… perfect.
And the convention itself, the one we were invited to attend, The THINK festival (a title I communicate well with ). I cannot describe to you how impressed I am with the organization, the program, everything! Incredible guests from all over the world, intelligent publications and brochures, tip top program and production, sophisticated, controversial, deep… beautiful.
And the hotel where the convention is taking place…ohmygod. The Grand Hyatt Goa. A brand new resort, pools and lawns and sea and very high-end architecture, Super splendor and luxury, as high-techy as they come without losing the authentic flavor of the area and its history (as much as a humongous five star hotel in the middle of a jungle with slums right outside it gates can do).
The stage was set in front of the sea, overlooking the lawn with huge Indian Fichus trees that were lit beautifully. Our concert was very well received, though it was the opening night of the convention which is in its first year and there were a lot of glitches to be worked out.
The Indians, all English speakers, blessedly connect to the English lyrics…halleluya!! After years of performing mostly in Europe and Israel, where people rarely have a clue what my English songs are about (those being the bulk of my original repertoire), it is so relieving and satisfying to perform for an audience that actually listens to what you’re saying, and reacts accordingly. Both Mira and I, who put great emphasis on the lyrical content of our compositions, were overjoyed. For an artists there is no greater joy than feeling understood…and appreciated.
Today we had another short performance in the main plenary hall of the convention where all the talks were taking place, and we were once again very well received. tomorrow we are moving to that hotel and hopefully listen to some interesting people speak, amongst them Frank Ghery the famous architect. There is a British theater production taking place too, believe it or not, a comic satire about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict! I’m curious about that one..
The only real difficulty I am experiencing so far is my irrepressible longing for the warmth of my children’s bodies, and my husband’s embrace. It’s alike a fist in my stomach that cannot come unclenched. We Skype every day (though the hotel charges criminally high rates for internet access..they are ruthless in that sense). But whoever has loved anyone across the sea in the 21st century knows Skype is a pathetic substitute for a hug and a soft, loving whisper.
With this I leave you, for now.
Namaste.
Noa, Goa, Nov 4 (almost 5) 2011
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Words I must say before Sept 20
It is the middle of the night. My breath comes quickly. I grab a suitcase, throw in whatever my hands can reach, run to the children’s room and wake them, tell them to dress quickly for we must leave immediately. I take the baby in her sleep, I almost fall down the stairs, we run into the night, it’s cold, I hold the children close to me. My breath comes more and more quickly. My baby is crying, the older ones try to be brave, we run, in the distance I can hear helicopters, sirens, others like me running.. the sky explodes in a blinding, brilliant red…
And I wake, sweating...
For weeks now, this scene has repeated itself almost every night.
This is what we have come to.
The situation in the Middle East is today is frightening to say the least. Nobody could have predicted what happened in the last months, and nobody knows exactly where it is all going, but I can say one thing for sure: there were options… there were different roads that could have been taken. There were signs that went unheeded.
A wise man once said to me, when you point a finger to blame someone, remember, three of your own fingers are pointing back at you.
When the Arab spring started, there was hope and apprehension. Hope that these social-network incited demonstrations lead by young people who seek entry passes into the global community would lead to the toppling of dictatorships, the establishment of democracies and the improvement of living conditions for all; Apprehension that in the wake of the commotion , in lack of an alternate leadership, religious extremists (who always seem to be organized and ready for action) would hijack the revolution and pounce on to center stage, trampling hope and igniting the region to more violence.
Almost inevitably, both hope and apprehension have played out their predicted scenarios.
The Islamic brotherhood , Hamas ,Hezbollah, Assad, Ahmedinejad, Gaddafi and the likes, and their atrocities against their own people along with their denial of Israel’s right to exist are enough to instill fear and suspicion in the hearts of most Israelis and enhance the “never again” bunker attitude.
But, I will under no circumstances use their extroverted evil as an escape route into self-righteousness, letting my own leaders off the hook. This unfortunately seems to be common practice in Israel, starting with our government and seeping down into almost every corner of society.
I am tired of being politically correct. Now is not the time. Now I must fight for my home, for my children’s future, for their security!
Now is the time to say things straight.
No matter what side of the political fence you are on, there is no denying one simple fact: The present Israeli Government, led by Netanyahu, Barak and Leiberman, has led Israel to the cold isolation we are experiencing today, and to the brink of a political catastrophe that will very likely bring us to war.
From my point of view, the blame for this terrifying state we are in lies squarely on this government’s shoulders.
I have a whole arsenal of adjectives for the Netanyahu-Barak-Leiberman coalition, most of which I will leave to your imagination, but I will say this: they are extremely dangerous.
This government has consciously chosen the safe path to oblivion rather than the dangerous path to hope!
I am so deeply disappointed by the majority of my compatriots for allowing themselves to sink into a comfortably numb, comatose state of being, as everything we hold dear is systematically destroyed. How can it be that we will march the streets in the hundreds of thousands demonstrating against the high cost of living, but not to oust the government which is endangering our very lives??? What disease has thus blinded an entire society??
In just a few days, the Palestinians will go the UN to ask for recognition of statehood. Just as we did all those years ago.
I say: good luck Palestine! Good luck President Mahmoud Abbas!
(by the way, here is a quote from President Abbas that I find to be admirable: “Our first, second and third priority is negotiations. There is no other way to solve this. No matter what happens at the United Nations, we have to return to negotiations. We don’t want to isolate Israel but to live with it in peace and security. We don’t want to delegitimize Israel. We want to legitimize ourselves”...)
I say to the Palestinians: if you are recognized, as well you should be, I congratulate you! I wish you all the best for your new state. I wish for fruitful collaboration between us on every level, for peaceful borders and constructive relations. Let us quickly sit and resolve all our issues: we are already so close, the solutions are well know, let’s sign a treaty and get on with our lives alongside each other.
What a shame that this moment comes without negotiations, without an agreement, without a blessing from Israel?? How have both sides managed to avoid the inevitable for so long? How has Israel’s government missed every opportunity presented to it, ignored the numerous invitations, implorations, desperate cries of its allies and neighbors, to take the road of dialogue and compromise? How can this be accepted??
So since this is a democracy (at least for now), I, Noa, am raising my lone voice to say: this government does NOT represent me!! I find their behavior to be shameful and ineffective, and the consequences, detrimental , even catastrophic, for the state of Israel and for the security and future of every citizen here, including my own children!
I say, “Love your brother as you love yourself”. I believe there is no substitute for dialogue and compromise. I believe that if we courageously and responsibly begin a dynamic of peace, it will grow exponentially and seep into the hearts and minds of every individual in the Middle East. I believe it is in our power to change our reality. I refuse to succumb to the politics of fear and loathing, the poisoning of minds happening everywhere in our region and in my country as well. And if peace fails...well, we can always go back to war, can’t we? We seem to be good at that in the Middle East.
War is the cowardly choice of men who lack the courage, the integrity, the elegance and wisdom to make peace.
I am a woman and I have plenty of the above. So here I am, raising my voice for whoever will listen.
If there is a God, or any other power of love and kindness in the universe, I call upon her now. She is desperately needed.
Noa
And I wake, sweating...
For weeks now, this scene has repeated itself almost every night.
This is what we have come to.
The situation in the Middle East is today is frightening to say the least. Nobody could have predicted what happened in the last months, and nobody knows exactly where it is all going, but I can say one thing for sure: there were options… there were different roads that could have been taken. There were signs that went unheeded.
A wise man once said to me, when you point a finger to blame someone, remember, three of your own fingers are pointing back at you.
When the Arab spring started, there was hope and apprehension. Hope that these social-network incited demonstrations lead by young people who seek entry passes into the global community would lead to the toppling of dictatorships, the establishment of democracies and the improvement of living conditions for all; Apprehension that in the wake of the commotion , in lack of an alternate leadership, religious extremists (who always seem to be organized and ready for action) would hijack the revolution and pounce on to center stage, trampling hope and igniting the region to more violence.
Almost inevitably, both hope and apprehension have played out their predicted scenarios.
The Islamic brotherhood , Hamas ,Hezbollah, Assad, Ahmedinejad, Gaddafi and the likes, and their atrocities against their own people along with their denial of Israel’s right to exist are enough to instill fear and suspicion in the hearts of most Israelis and enhance the “never again” bunker attitude.
But, I will under no circumstances use their extroverted evil as an escape route into self-righteousness, letting my own leaders off the hook. This unfortunately seems to be common practice in Israel, starting with our government and seeping down into almost every corner of society.
I am tired of being politically correct. Now is not the time. Now I must fight for my home, for my children’s future, for their security!
Now is the time to say things straight.
No matter what side of the political fence you are on, there is no denying one simple fact: The present Israeli Government, led by Netanyahu, Barak and Leiberman, has led Israel to the cold isolation we are experiencing today, and to the brink of a political catastrophe that will very likely bring us to war.
From my point of view, the blame for this terrifying state we are in lies squarely on this government’s shoulders.
I have a whole arsenal of adjectives for the Netanyahu-Barak-Leiberman coalition, most of which I will leave to your imagination, but I will say this: they are extremely dangerous.
This government has consciously chosen the safe path to oblivion rather than the dangerous path to hope!
I am so deeply disappointed by the majority of my compatriots for allowing themselves to sink into a comfortably numb, comatose state of being, as everything we hold dear is systematically destroyed. How can it be that we will march the streets in the hundreds of thousands demonstrating against the high cost of living, but not to oust the government which is endangering our very lives??? What disease has thus blinded an entire society??
In just a few days, the Palestinians will go the UN to ask for recognition of statehood. Just as we did all those years ago.
I say: good luck Palestine! Good luck President Mahmoud Abbas!
(by the way, here is a quote from President Abbas that I find to be admirable: “Our first, second and third priority is negotiations. There is no other way to solve this. No matter what happens at the United Nations, we have to return to negotiations. We don’t want to isolate Israel but to live with it in peace and security. We don’t want to delegitimize Israel. We want to legitimize ourselves”...)
I say to the Palestinians: if you are recognized, as well you should be, I congratulate you! I wish you all the best for your new state. I wish for fruitful collaboration between us on every level, for peaceful borders and constructive relations. Let us quickly sit and resolve all our issues: we are already so close, the solutions are well know, let’s sign a treaty and get on with our lives alongside each other.
What a shame that this moment comes without negotiations, without an agreement, without a blessing from Israel?? How have both sides managed to avoid the inevitable for so long? How has Israel’s government missed every opportunity presented to it, ignored the numerous invitations, implorations, desperate cries of its allies and neighbors, to take the road of dialogue and compromise? How can this be accepted??
So since this is a democracy (at least for now), I, Noa, am raising my lone voice to say: this government does NOT represent me!! I find their behavior to be shameful and ineffective, and the consequences, detrimental , even catastrophic, for the state of Israel and for the security and future of every citizen here, including my own children!
I say, “Love your brother as you love yourself”. I believe there is no substitute for dialogue and compromise. I believe that if we courageously and responsibly begin a dynamic of peace, it will grow exponentially and seep into the hearts and minds of every individual in the Middle East. I believe it is in our power to change our reality. I refuse to succumb to the politics of fear and loathing, the poisoning of minds happening everywhere in our region and in my country as well. And if peace fails...well, we can always go back to war, can’t we? We seem to be good at that in the Middle East.
War is the cowardly choice of men who lack the courage, the integrity, the elegance and wisdom to make peace.
I am a woman and I have plenty of the above. So here I am, raising my voice for whoever will listen.
If there is a God, or any other power of love and kindness in the universe, I call upon her now. She is desperately needed.
Noa
Friday, September 2, 2011
צדק חברתי
חברים יקרים, את הקטה הבא לא אני כתבתי ולא יודעת מי כתב אך חשוב מאד לקרוא ולהעביר הלאה!!
מקוה שאתם מתכננים להגיע המוצ"ש להפגנה!
צדק חברת
מה זה לעזאזל צדק חברתי ?? !! קיבינמאט !
לא טמטמנו אתכם מספיק עם איראן והחיזבאללה ? עם הכלכלות המתרסקות באירופה ובארה"ב, שתגידו תודה ותשתקו ? מה זה ? ?
צדק חברתי אומר :
ברגע שאנחנו חיים במדינה עליה חלמנו אלפיים שנות גלות, ולא בחרנו לגור בג'ונגל לדוגמא, יש ביננו לבין המדינה חוזה, כמו בכל מדינה מתוקנת.
החוזה מאוד פשוט, אבל החוזה מאוד חשוב.
אם הוא מופר בראש חוצות לאורך תקופה ארוכה, מי שהוא צריך לשלם על זה מחיר, או לחזור לכללים הבסיסיים של החוזה.
אחרת אנחנו מרגישים שהחוזה הופר בריש גלי .ואנחנו לא מוכנים לשתוק על כך יותר.
החוזה אומר כך :
המדינה לוקחת מהאזרח כסף, באמצעות מיסים ישירים כמו מס הכנסה, ביטוח לאומי, ומיסים עקיפים כמו מס ערך מוסף .
המדינה מצפה מהאזרח להיות שומר חוק, לשלם מיסים בזמן, להתגייס לצבא ובתמורה היא תספק לאזרח חינוך ראוי, מערכת בריאות תומכת, הגנה מפני פשיעה, שהיא תחלק את משאבי הארץ ואת תקציביה לכולם באופן שווה ותשמור על האזרח שיוכל לחיות את חייו בכבוד.
צדק חברתי אומר , שאמהות וסבתות ,שמתאשפזות, לא מונחות במסדרון כאבן שאין לה הופכין, אלא המדינה דואגת להן וגם לנו למערכת בריאות ראויה.
צדק חברתי אומר שאנחנו לא אמורים לשלם עוד מיסים מעבר לאלה שאנו כבר משלמים, לחינוך שהמדינה הבטיחה לנו שהוא יהיה חינם. יש לגבי זה אפילו חוק.
צדק חברתי אומר שמי שמרוויח יותר ישלם יותר מס מאלה שמרוויחים פחות .קוראים לזה מדרגות מס.
צדק חברתי אומר שאסור להקים ממשלה של 39 שרים בכנסת של מאה ועשרים חברי כנסת . ולא רק זה, מכל 39 עזי המצח, אין שר רווחה אחד במשרה מלאה.
צדק חברתי אומר שלא יכול להיות ש-39 שרים ואין אף שר בריאות אחד. כי זה פשע אזרחי מהמעלה הראשונה.
צדק חברתי אומר שאת משאבי המדינה מחלקים שווה בשווה בין כולם ולא מעדיפים חלקי ארץ שנויים במחלוקת ובטח לא נותנים ל300 אלף תושבים הרבה יותר מאשר לכל ה6.3 מליון האחרים.
צדק חברתי אומר שלא יכול להיות שנשים וגברים יעבדו כמו חמורים יום וליל עד גיל 67 ובה בעת מגזר שלם ייצא לפנסיה, שכל השאר יכולים רק לחלום עליה, מכספי המס של אלה שעובדים עוד 27 שנים אחריהם.
צדק חברתי אומר שמהכסף שאנו משלמים למיסוי למדינה , הרבה כסף שאנו משלמים לה, היא תדאג גם לדפוקים בחברה,
לנשים המוכות, לניצולי השואה, לנוער בסיכון, לשכבות הדפוקות כל כך שאין להם שום ייצוג בשום מקום.
המדינה תדאג להם!!! לא עמותות שאנו תורמים להם שוב כסף.
המדינה. זה התפקיד שלה .
כי כל החלקים האלה הם חלק מאיתנו, הם בשר מבשרנו והם הופכים אותנו לאומה חלשה יותר כשאף אחד לא מטפל בהם,
הם הזקנים שלנו, שרעבים ללחם וזקוקים לתרופות, זה הנוער שלנו, שמתדרדר לסמים וממלא את בתי הכלא שאנו מממנים,
זה הנוער שלנו שאונס ורוצח כאילו אין פה חוק ואין סדר.
צדק חברתי אומר, יותר שיטור , יותר שיויון בפני החוק.
צדק חברתי אומר ששר ואו ראש ממשלה לא יעבור לגור פתאום במגדלים מפוארים, או בקיסריה ויקנו דירות במיליוני דולרים, כי הם לא אנשי עסקים, הם נבחרי ציבור. צדק חברתי אומר ששר שנחקר כבר למעלה מעשור על זה שהוא קיבל מליוני שקלים מחברות קש, לא ישתלח באלה המבקשים את הצדק ויגיד שהמסעדות מלאות ולא בטייקונים.
צדק חברתי אומר שלא יכול להיות שנתב בנמל ירוויח פי עשר ממורה. כי בידי המורים אנו שמים את היקרים לנו מכל- את הילדים שלנו, כי המחנכים מטפלים באחד מהיסודות הכי חשובים לעתיד שלנו כעם ומדינה .והנתב סך הכל מקבל סחורה ומי כמו היהודים כדי לדעת כמה השכלה, היא היא הנותנת.
צדק חברתי אומר שאין מקום לכך שחלק קטן מהעם יקבע לחלק גדול מהעם מי צריך לזכור את הנופלים, אלוהים או העם שלשם תקומתו בארץ מולדתו הם נפלו.
צדק חברתי אומר שהמדינה צריכה לשמור על האזרח מפני קרטלים, מפני הבנקים שמרוויחים מליארדי דולרים כל שנה , מוותרים לבעלי חוב גדולים ואת האזרח הפשוט הם רודפים עד חרמה .שהמדינה צריכה למסות את רווחי הענק של החברות האלה כי הם מגיעים ישירות מהכיס של כל אחד ואחת מהאזרחים. הפשוטים.
צדק חברתי אומר שאתם לא תהפכו אותנו למדינה של אומרי הן ותשלטו לנו על המחשבות, את מי להחרים ואת מי לא. אנחנו דמוקרטיה. זו הזכות שלנו וזו חובתנו האזרחית להתריע.
תעבירו את זה הלאה בבקשה. המסר לא הובן.
מאה אלף או מאתיים אלף או שלוש מאות אלף. הם לא הבינו את זה עדיין.
תעבירו את זה הלאה,עם קרדיט בלי קרדיט, זה באמת לא משנה.
רק תעבירו. כי אנחנו לא נוותר הפעם הזו.
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Sunday, August 14, 2011
דברים שאמרתי בהפגנה בבאר שבע 13-8-2011
אזרחי ישראל הם אנשים מופלאים. הם מוכנים לפתוח את ביתם לאזרחים המפונים מאזורים מוכי טילים, להתנדב ולתרום לנצרכים בארץ ובאזורי אסון בעולם. וכל זאת ללא קשר למשכורתם. כולנו אזרחים המוכנים לשאת בעול אם זהו צו השעה. ומי שמספרת לנו מהו צוו השעה ומהן הגזרות הנגזרות ממנו היא ההנהגה הנבחרת, ואנחנו מאמינים ! או שלא ?!! המחאה הזאת חברים היא הבעת אי אמון. אי אמון בסיפור שמספרים לנו. סיפור שבו עגלי זהב יונקים מפרות קדושות ומותירים אותנו עם שוקת שבורה. העם הרב שנאסף כאן רוצה לוחות ברית חדשים. ברית אזרחית על לוח חלק. אנחנו צמאים לשמוע ספור חדש מהנהגה חדשה. הנהגה שאיננה נושאת עיניים לשררה ולמנעמי השלטון! הנהגה המוכנה לעמול קשה כדי לשכנע אותנו בדרכה ולתת לנו תקווה חדשה, תקווה שתהיה בה גם צמיחה וגם ערבות הדדית. למען תקווה כזאת תהיה בנו גם נכונות להקרבה! ומי שיצליח לשכנע אותנו בחזון וביכולתו להגשים אותו הוא שיבחר להנהיג אותנו. ולכן אזרחים יקרים אל לנו להתבייש לקרוא לילד בשמו: זוהי מחאה פוליטית ואל לנו להרגיש כאילו הלגיטימיות של המחאה שלנו תלויה ביכולתנו לנסח דרישות. אין אנו סקטור שאפשר להשתיק במשא ומתן מתיש ,בגרירת רגליים ובהענות חלקית , ״ריאליסטית״ ככל שתהיה, וגם לא בלחישה ובקריצה למנהיגי שטח. זוהי מחאה פוליטית הקוראת לכם אזרחים הגונים לחשוב להתארגן להשקיע זמן ומשאבים, ולהירתם ככל יכולתכם למען חזון חדש. למען תקווה בת שנות אלפיים: להיות עם חופשי. חופשי משעבוד כלכלי, חברתי, דתי מחשבתי ומדיני. להיות עם של אזרחים שווים בפני החוק, אזרחים שווי הזדמנויות החיים בשלום עם שכניהם ובינם לבין עצמם. זוהי איננה מחאה, זוהי התעוררות של אומה מאשליית הסיוט, למציאות של תקווה.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Thoughts on Palestinian Unity
Here’s my take on the Hamas-Fatach unity deal.
My opinion of Hamas is well known: putting it lightly, I’m not a fan.
On the other hand, they were elected democratically (for all I know) by the majority of Gazans. Sadly, in my opinion, but that’s the way it is.
My major problem (amongst many) with Hamas is that they deny Israel’s right to exist. In fact their formal decree is that every Jew should be hunted out and killed wherever they may hide. Nice guys.
Israel has often stated that it cannot deal with Abu Mazen because he is “too weak” and “does not really represent the majority of the Palestinian people”.
Well, now he has entered into a coalition with Hamas. And he is the one doing the talking. No matter how you look at it, these are not the doings of a weak man. I personally admire Abu Mazen and wish Netanyahu would exhibit half the wisdom and leadership.
We all know that as September approaches, Israel will have to deal with The Palestinian move towards recognition of their Independence by the UN. I have stated in the past that I see it as totally pathetic that Israel, rather than initiating talks and signing an agreement, is forcing the Palestinians to do it on their own and “drag” us onto reluctantly agreeing: How ignoble that is, how embarrassing, how indicative of our present governments total impotence and lack of navigational skills.
I believe the fledgling Palestinian state will not receive the recognition it desires so long as members of its government (Hamas) continue to deny Israel’s right to exist. So if they are adamant about proceeding, they will have to amend that, which is a good thing. If they refuse to, it is difficult to believe they will be embraced by the international community as they strive to be.
Further, whatever agreement is reached does not depend on radical voices within each government, as long as the agreement is signed. Israel’s government also includes parties who deny the existence of a Palestinian people or the need for/legitimacy of an independent Palestinian state. That will not stop any given government from making an agreement, IF it can. We believe the Israeli people, government and future governments will respect that agreement…and we would like to believe the same goes for the Palestinians, however mixed their opinions could be.
If Hamas, as part of the Palestinian government, continue to be set on destroying Israel, and carrying out their sinister plans after the peace agreement is signed (the greatest fear of many Israelis), then we will go to war with them. But this time, the rules of the game will be different: it will not be Israel attacking so-called “innocent civilians” who are under her “cruel occupation”, but fighting against equals: a country with an army (Palestine) that has chosen to obliterate another country with an army (Israel).
Needless to say that is a horrible scenario. But how much more horrible than what is already happening, or what could potentially happen if we do not proceed?
So: I say lets wait and see, throw our omnipresent Paranoia down the drain and go bravely into what has the potential of being a new and better future for our region.
My opinion of Hamas is well known: putting it lightly, I’m not a fan.
On the other hand, they were elected democratically (for all I know) by the majority of Gazans. Sadly, in my opinion, but that’s the way it is.
My major problem (amongst many) with Hamas is that they deny Israel’s right to exist. In fact their formal decree is that every Jew should be hunted out and killed wherever they may hide. Nice guys.
Israel has often stated that it cannot deal with Abu Mazen because he is “too weak” and “does not really represent the majority of the Palestinian people”.
Well, now he has entered into a coalition with Hamas. And he is the one doing the talking. No matter how you look at it, these are not the doings of a weak man. I personally admire Abu Mazen and wish Netanyahu would exhibit half the wisdom and leadership.
We all know that as September approaches, Israel will have to deal with The Palestinian move towards recognition of their Independence by the UN. I have stated in the past that I see it as totally pathetic that Israel, rather than initiating talks and signing an agreement, is forcing the Palestinians to do it on their own and “drag” us onto reluctantly agreeing: How ignoble that is, how embarrassing, how indicative of our present governments total impotence and lack of navigational skills.
I believe the fledgling Palestinian state will not receive the recognition it desires so long as members of its government (Hamas) continue to deny Israel’s right to exist. So if they are adamant about proceeding, they will have to amend that, which is a good thing. If they refuse to, it is difficult to believe they will be embraced by the international community as they strive to be.
Further, whatever agreement is reached does not depend on radical voices within each government, as long as the agreement is signed. Israel’s government also includes parties who deny the existence of a Palestinian people or the need for/legitimacy of an independent Palestinian state. That will not stop any given government from making an agreement, IF it can. We believe the Israeli people, government and future governments will respect that agreement…and we would like to believe the same goes for the Palestinians, however mixed their opinions could be.
If Hamas, as part of the Palestinian government, continue to be set on destroying Israel, and carrying out their sinister plans after the peace agreement is signed (the greatest fear of many Israelis), then we will go to war with them. But this time, the rules of the game will be different: it will not be Israel attacking so-called “innocent civilians” who are under her “cruel occupation”, but fighting against equals: a country with an army (Palestine) that has chosen to obliterate another country with an army (Israel).
Needless to say that is a horrible scenario. But how much more horrible than what is already happening, or what could potentially happen if we do not proceed?
So: I say lets wait and see, throw our omnipresent Paranoia down the drain and go bravely into what has the potential of being a new and better future for our region.
Thursday, May 12, 2011
The China Chronicles, 3rd and final chapter
Dongguan and Shenzen were both good concerts. Dongguan especially..i think it was probably the show I enjoyed most of all. The sound situation was wonderful…there were loudspeakers installed in the walls of the theater on both sides of the stage that were turned slightly inwards, so I got the full “house” sound, and needed only the very slightest bit of clarity and definition from the monitors on stage (sorry for the tech talk but you cannot imagine how the sound situation effects the performance! It is often critical and can make or break the show…and the singer’s spirit! Sound engineers be advised…:-)). It felt like singing in an ethereal cathedral with my head in a cloud and the feeling of warm earth beneath my feet, quite thrilling. And the audience! They were just amazing. There were tons of young people (later we discovered there was a whole class of students studying journalism who came to see us! They were so sweet and all wanted photos and autographs…. And there were young athletes too, and of course everybody’s parents:-)) and people of all shapes colors sizes, all Chinese but as diverse as one people can ever be, unified by their sincere appreciation for the music and sheer enthusiasm and excitement.
After Shenzen we had a long and frustrating travel day (our plane was delayed for two hours on the runway, and then flew three hours, so all together 5 in the metal bird’s belly with limited air circulation…yuch…) that brought us back to Beijing. After two weeks we had come full circle.
How can I describe how I felt? Exhilaration, excitement,anticipation,heart being pulled in every which direction…we had been waiting for this moment, the concert in Beijing..so many important guests and critics… we had wanted to have that little bit of time to be “tourists” finally in the morning and a half of free time we were to have in that great city… but most of all the nearness of home!...what had seemed like an eternity and light years away was now within our reach, at the tips of our fingers…one last effort and..
For two weeks I had ached and pained over the separation from my children. Now, I let it go. Knowing I would see them in just two days was so comforting I allowed myself to breath, maybe for the first time on this tour, and concentrate on one of my favorite pastimes: buying them gifts! :-) two weeks in china and I had hardly spent five minutes in a shop! Scandalous! :-)
The next morning we tool a taxi to the silk market.
What can I tell you friends? How can I describe the experience? I’ll begin by saying I was (and remain) totally FLABBERGASTED by what I saw.
Rows and rows of stalls, One after the other after the other, loaded with goods. From floor to ceiling, products of all sorts were presented, folded on shelves, hung, laid out, strapped up, taped, pinned, strung, covering every tiny patch of space, cluttered and crammed in a dazzling, head spinning array of color and sound. Vendors, vying for buyer’s attention, calling out at you from every corner, “come, lady! Here best price! Come! My store best quality! Where you from? Oh, Isaleeyuh (that’s how the Chinese pronounce Israel, if they have ever heard of it, of course)! Shalom! Sabbaba!”
The name “silk Market” is misleading. Yes, there are plenty of colorful traditional Chinese silk products on display there… but these account for no more than ten percent of what can be found in the mammoth four floor shopping labyrinth that goes by that name. What stunned me was actually all the OTHER stuff. Can you imagine rows and tows of every major designer in the world? Clothing, bags, shoes, coats, accessories, outdoor gear, cosmetics, and more and more and all Chanel, Prada, Polo, Armani, Versace, Gucci, Hermes, Burberry, Nike, whatever! And electronics, every gadget on earth, and that’s before you’ve started with the jewelry, the arts and crafts, the ceramics, the brick-a-brack and houseware and what not!!! Help!!! I kept imagining my husband in there: we would have had to call an ambulance for him for sure. My mother, on the other hand, would have been on cloud nine! For there is nothing that my mother enjoys more than a bargain!
And bargain you must….haggle or bust!
After being totally ripped off the first five minutes by a seemingly nice girl who swore on her mother’s head that her price was the best in the market (there’s at least one headless mom strutting around Beijing as we speak..), I got the idea. We Yemenite girls learn fast.
It goes like this:
Me (pointing at something I don’t need but intend to buy): how much? (one must resort to very basic English or remain misunderstood for eternity)
Vendor: How many you take?
Me: depends on price. What your price?
V: how much you want pay?
M: you tell me!
V: ok (taking calculator in hand). I give you good price, no price for tourists. You smart lady (they say that to everyone). You no stupid. No waste time. This price (types a preposterous figure)
M: what?? For this?? No, no. MUCH too high. I saw in other store, your colleague. MUCH cheaper! Why you give me this price?
V: ok, what you want pay?
M, (taking calc, typing 20% of the original offer)
V (shocked): what?? No! so low! Less than what I pay! No make money! No, no!
M: ok (turning to go).
V: wait, wait, lady, wait! You my first customer today, want start business, what you pay? You add more, give more. Good for me, good for you, ok?
……and so it goes on and on, finally we settle on something that is about 30 -40- percent of the original offer, and take our leave as friends.
And the prices? By our standards, preposterously low.
Friends let me tell you this: we in the western world are being ripped off like you CANNOT IMAGINE! We work morning to night, we pay endless taxes, and then we are sold products made in china, using cheap labor, shipped to our posh shops and priced three, four, five or more HUNDRED percent above than what they can be bought for in the silk market in Beijing, not to mention wholesale and production cost which is much lower still! It is so infuriating I could just scream! I swear, after several hours in that market, I will never again be able to buy an article of clothing in Israel, Europe or the US without feeling like a complete sucker and idiot being taken advantage of by a piggish system whose greed knows no bounds.
“Imitations” you say. Imitations of what? What is the original? It all looks amazing, it is all produced here, it all says, ‘made in italy’ or ‘made in france’ so where is it made and by whom and who cares anyway? What justification could there possibly be for spending 400 dollars on a bag that can be bought in this market for 20? Especially knowing the remaining 380 could feed a family here for several months?
As always, China forces you to throw all that you hold true high up in the air and then behold, with amazement, the strange patterns that form when gravity takes its course.
After the shopping we went back to the hotel to get ready for the show. I was so nervous, I kept puttering, arranging and rearranging my gig-bag (suitcase with all my concert things in it), reviewing my Chinese, warming my voice and ironing the dress I planned to wear (I had three, black, turquoise, white…chose the white one…for Yom ha Atzmaut, for the purity of it and the jasmine flower look :-)..but mostly to make Zhang Ying happy..she loved that one :-)). I tried to sleep a bit but felt too restless so took a shower, dressed and sat on my bed waiting until it was time to go. I felt overwhelmed by emotions and images of the past two weeks and got into that staring-into-space, ‘there-but-not-really-there’ mode that my children know so well. It comes with the “my mom the artist” package (I once told them the glazed eyes and tilted head moments are when I usually come up with all my songs). ´Ima, are you listening?’ my son Ayehli will say. “Of course I am sweetheart, sorry, I was just..yes…tell me again mami, sorry :-(”…”mom…..” sighs my ten year old.
This time it served as a much needed tranquilizer.
After 21 years I still get butterflies in my stomach.
Zhang Ying had us in the theater about two hours earlier than what was needed. She was so hysterical that evening….it was her big night! The Forbidden City Concert Hall is where she works, the heart of the theater chain that had hosted us. There were many important guests coming, the Israeli ambassador and a large group of his staff, our sponsor, the wonderful Dr. David Ong, and his family and guests, local musicians and journalists, friends and colleagues…Ying orchestrated it all like a real pro, fluttering about, helping this, taking care of that, making sure everything was in order, and all with her little smile and jumpy gait and enormous positive energy.
One very special member of the audience was Masami Matsushima…a girl from Japan who has been our devoted fan for more than ten years. She had a bad traffic accident a few years ago that left her in a coma and was written off as a lost case. During those long months of uncertainty her mother put headphones on her and played her our music, insisting the music would keep her alive. She eventually woke against all odds, claiming the music had saved her life! This special soul, who cannot walk without a cane and suffers from a long line of physical ailments, flew in especially from Japan just for the concert! We invited her to be backstage with us before and after the show. She is incredible.
Finally it was show time. Galia our amazing tour manager, after having scurried from here to there endlessly helping everyone and making sure every little detail was ready for a smooth take off into the skies of music, convened us all together for our traditional pre-concert ritual. Gil, mira, shai (her talented guitarist),galia,ying, gadi (our wonderful sound engineer of 18 years), Florentijn (the gifted lighting engineer) and myself all gathered all, hands in the center like a human flower, hey, hey, hey HEYYY! Hands in the air, smiles, a bit of the pressure is released and we are ready to go.
The show was wonderful. We were all at our best. The audience was warm, receptive, attentive and appreciative. As every good concert, it was a small gift from the universe.
After the show, we were embraced by hundreds who crowded the lobby of the great hall, amongst them classical, folk and pop musicians who came to listen and were all deeply impressed and enthusiastic, journalists, friends and of course the Ambassador and his entourage who were high with excitement. The ambassador and cultural attaché had been instrumental in creating this tour, actually connecting us with the FCCH and convincing them to take us on, and supporting the tour financially. David Ong then agreed to sponsor us (for the FCCH pay a very modest artist fee that cannot even cover costs), and IDB Israel gave an additional sum that finally made it all feasible. Of course David and his family were there, radiant, and as always, exuding good energy and light.
Dinner was a very gay affair, with 30 people in a special room of a restaurant not far from the theater, all organized by Ying. The food was good, spirits were high, the room filled with conversation and laughter. One of the guests was a very important classical music critic who gave us extraordinary compliments...i was beside myself with joy. Another guest was a big pop star who gave me all his dvds (he had a bit of a ‘mad max’ look Chinese version :-)) , and one other guest, Natalie Portman’s father :-) ….funny life is.
Back in my room I was on cloud nine. It was difficult to come in for a landing but after puttering, packing ,showering, thinking, smsing, emailing, skyping and whatever, my usual after show routine, I managed to fall asleep at around 2:30.
The next day our flight home was at 10 pm so we had the morning and afternoon to ourselves. Despite the late night previous, we all woke very early and left at 7:30 to visit a park with a temple in it that we were told was full of activity in the morning worth the red eyes.
And worthy it was.
We saw endless groups of ‘Beijingers’, mostly senior citizens but not only, all in envigorating motion: tai-chi, tai chi tennis, couples dancing (complete with very loud Chinese pop music played on a transistor), tai chi stretching, tai-chi with swords, tai chi with pink pon pons, singing in massive choirs, playing instruments that sounded like alien screeching to us but looked nice, singing poking opera, jumping up and down stair on one foot, line dancing, playing cards, chess, poker, badminton, crocheting and writing Chinese on the sidewalk with water and a huge brush. It was, once again, mind boggling, and I must say, it made me so envious. How I wish senior citizens in my own country had a fraction of the possibilities and the resulting stamina! I could envision my grandmother and one day, my parents, thoroughly enjoying the vibe, the activity and the company, doubtlessly the keys to Chinese longevity.
We skipped the temple. The people in the park gave us all the inspiration and mental photo-albums we needed.
After a bit more shopping (of course), and the inevitable struggle to fit it all into one suitcase, we were on our way to the airport. Saying goodbye to David Ong (who came to the hotel to wave us goodbye toting gifts, as if he had not given us enough already..) and little ying (Gadi coined the name “yingaleh” :-)), was a tearful affair..as the song goes..i die a little… but on the other side of the universe families were waiting, new life, deep love. So we wiped the tears and turned our backs to go…leaving china behind us.
And here I am.
After travelling across the land and sea, through the night that turned to day in darkness, through the airport into the taxi through the light of early morning into the little street and the house at the end of the street where they were all still sleeping…then they woke, their warm little bodies running embracing giggling eyes shining little heads on my shoulder mommy what did you buy us? And the innards of the suitcase all spill on the living room floor and yum my baby reveling in the mess and looking at me with the umbilical wisdom of a 14 month old…no more milk mommy…it’s just you and me now…there are so many ways to love….
The house is empty now. Sitting at my desk in front of the window that overlooks the sea, writing it all down…sealing it….feeling it…branding it upon my heart...
China….
i am thinking of the brilliant animated film, Ratatouille, ..and the food critic that was the terror of all Paris, and the trembling waiter asking him: have you made your selection, sir? And the answer, in a radical british accent: “do you have some Perrrrspective? I’ll have some, with a good wine to go with it”.
That is how I feel…I have been given some Perrrrrspective. And my children’s love is the best wine I can imagine to go with it.
Signing off,
Noa, Shefayim, may 12, 2011.
After Shenzen we had a long and frustrating travel day (our plane was delayed for two hours on the runway, and then flew three hours, so all together 5 in the metal bird’s belly with limited air circulation…yuch…) that brought us back to Beijing. After two weeks we had come full circle.
How can I describe how I felt? Exhilaration, excitement,anticipation,heart being pulled in every which direction…we had been waiting for this moment, the concert in Beijing..so many important guests and critics… we had wanted to have that little bit of time to be “tourists” finally in the morning and a half of free time we were to have in that great city… but most of all the nearness of home!...what had seemed like an eternity and light years away was now within our reach, at the tips of our fingers…one last effort and..
For two weeks I had ached and pained over the separation from my children. Now, I let it go. Knowing I would see them in just two days was so comforting I allowed myself to breath, maybe for the first time on this tour, and concentrate on one of my favorite pastimes: buying them gifts! :-) two weeks in china and I had hardly spent five minutes in a shop! Scandalous! :-)
The next morning we tool a taxi to the silk market.
What can I tell you friends? How can I describe the experience? I’ll begin by saying I was (and remain) totally FLABBERGASTED by what I saw.
Rows and rows of stalls, One after the other after the other, loaded with goods. From floor to ceiling, products of all sorts were presented, folded on shelves, hung, laid out, strapped up, taped, pinned, strung, covering every tiny patch of space, cluttered and crammed in a dazzling, head spinning array of color and sound. Vendors, vying for buyer’s attention, calling out at you from every corner, “come, lady! Here best price! Come! My store best quality! Where you from? Oh, Isaleeyuh (that’s how the Chinese pronounce Israel, if they have ever heard of it, of course)! Shalom! Sabbaba!”
The name “silk Market” is misleading. Yes, there are plenty of colorful traditional Chinese silk products on display there… but these account for no more than ten percent of what can be found in the mammoth four floor shopping labyrinth that goes by that name. What stunned me was actually all the OTHER stuff. Can you imagine rows and tows of every major designer in the world? Clothing, bags, shoes, coats, accessories, outdoor gear, cosmetics, and more and more and all Chanel, Prada, Polo, Armani, Versace, Gucci, Hermes, Burberry, Nike, whatever! And electronics, every gadget on earth, and that’s before you’ve started with the jewelry, the arts and crafts, the ceramics, the brick-a-brack and houseware and what not!!! Help!!! I kept imagining my husband in there: we would have had to call an ambulance for him for sure. My mother, on the other hand, would have been on cloud nine! For there is nothing that my mother enjoys more than a bargain!
And bargain you must….haggle or bust!
After being totally ripped off the first five minutes by a seemingly nice girl who swore on her mother’s head that her price was the best in the market (there’s at least one headless mom strutting around Beijing as we speak..), I got the idea. We Yemenite girls learn fast.
It goes like this:
Me (pointing at something I don’t need but intend to buy): how much? (one must resort to very basic English or remain misunderstood for eternity)
Vendor: How many you take?
Me: depends on price. What your price?
V: how much you want pay?
M: you tell me!
V: ok (taking calculator in hand). I give you good price, no price for tourists. You smart lady (they say that to everyone). You no stupid. No waste time. This price (types a preposterous figure)
M: what?? For this?? No, no. MUCH too high. I saw in other store, your colleague. MUCH cheaper! Why you give me this price?
V: ok, what you want pay?
M, (taking calc, typing 20% of the original offer)
V (shocked): what?? No! so low! Less than what I pay! No make money! No, no!
M: ok (turning to go).
V: wait, wait, lady, wait! You my first customer today, want start business, what you pay? You add more, give more. Good for me, good for you, ok?
……and so it goes on and on, finally we settle on something that is about 30 -40- percent of the original offer, and take our leave as friends.
And the prices? By our standards, preposterously low.
Friends let me tell you this: we in the western world are being ripped off like you CANNOT IMAGINE! We work morning to night, we pay endless taxes, and then we are sold products made in china, using cheap labor, shipped to our posh shops and priced three, four, five or more HUNDRED percent above than what they can be bought for in the silk market in Beijing, not to mention wholesale and production cost which is much lower still! It is so infuriating I could just scream! I swear, after several hours in that market, I will never again be able to buy an article of clothing in Israel, Europe or the US without feeling like a complete sucker and idiot being taken advantage of by a piggish system whose greed knows no bounds.
“Imitations” you say. Imitations of what? What is the original? It all looks amazing, it is all produced here, it all says, ‘made in italy’ or ‘made in france’ so where is it made and by whom and who cares anyway? What justification could there possibly be for spending 400 dollars on a bag that can be bought in this market for 20? Especially knowing the remaining 380 could feed a family here for several months?
As always, China forces you to throw all that you hold true high up in the air and then behold, with amazement, the strange patterns that form when gravity takes its course.
After the shopping we went back to the hotel to get ready for the show. I was so nervous, I kept puttering, arranging and rearranging my gig-bag (suitcase with all my concert things in it), reviewing my Chinese, warming my voice and ironing the dress I planned to wear (I had three, black, turquoise, white…chose the white one…for Yom ha Atzmaut, for the purity of it and the jasmine flower look :-)..but mostly to make Zhang Ying happy..she loved that one :-)). I tried to sleep a bit but felt too restless so took a shower, dressed and sat on my bed waiting until it was time to go. I felt overwhelmed by emotions and images of the past two weeks and got into that staring-into-space, ‘there-but-not-really-there’ mode that my children know so well. It comes with the “my mom the artist” package (I once told them the glazed eyes and tilted head moments are when I usually come up with all my songs). ´Ima, are you listening?’ my son Ayehli will say. “Of course I am sweetheart, sorry, I was just..yes…tell me again mami, sorry :-(”…”mom…..” sighs my ten year old.
This time it served as a much needed tranquilizer.
After 21 years I still get butterflies in my stomach.
Zhang Ying had us in the theater about two hours earlier than what was needed. She was so hysterical that evening….it was her big night! The Forbidden City Concert Hall is where she works, the heart of the theater chain that had hosted us. There were many important guests coming, the Israeli ambassador and a large group of his staff, our sponsor, the wonderful Dr. David Ong, and his family and guests, local musicians and journalists, friends and colleagues…Ying orchestrated it all like a real pro, fluttering about, helping this, taking care of that, making sure everything was in order, and all with her little smile and jumpy gait and enormous positive energy.
One very special member of the audience was Masami Matsushima…a girl from Japan who has been our devoted fan for more than ten years. She had a bad traffic accident a few years ago that left her in a coma and was written off as a lost case. During those long months of uncertainty her mother put headphones on her and played her our music, insisting the music would keep her alive. She eventually woke against all odds, claiming the music had saved her life! This special soul, who cannot walk without a cane and suffers from a long line of physical ailments, flew in especially from Japan just for the concert! We invited her to be backstage with us before and after the show. She is incredible.
Finally it was show time. Galia our amazing tour manager, after having scurried from here to there endlessly helping everyone and making sure every little detail was ready for a smooth take off into the skies of music, convened us all together for our traditional pre-concert ritual. Gil, mira, shai (her talented guitarist),galia,ying, gadi (our wonderful sound engineer of 18 years), Florentijn (the gifted lighting engineer) and myself all gathered all, hands in the center like a human flower, hey, hey, hey HEYYY! Hands in the air, smiles, a bit of the pressure is released and we are ready to go.
The show was wonderful. We were all at our best. The audience was warm, receptive, attentive and appreciative. As every good concert, it was a small gift from the universe.
After the show, we were embraced by hundreds who crowded the lobby of the great hall, amongst them classical, folk and pop musicians who came to listen and were all deeply impressed and enthusiastic, journalists, friends and of course the Ambassador and his entourage who were high with excitement. The ambassador and cultural attaché had been instrumental in creating this tour, actually connecting us with the FCCH and convincing them to take us on, and supporting the tour financially. David Ong then agreed to sponsor us (for the FCCH pay a very modest artist fee that cannot even cover costs), and IDB Israel gave an additional sum that finally made it all feasible. Of course David and his family were there, radiant, and as always, exuding good energy and light.
Dinner was a very gay affair, with 30 people in a special room of a restaurant not far from the theater, all organized by Ying. The food was good, spirits were high, the room filled with conversation and laughter. One of the guests was a very important classical music critic who gave us extraordinary compliments...i was beside myself with joy. Another guest was a big pop star who gave me all his dvds (he had a bit of a ‘mad max’ look Chinese version :-)) , and one other guest, Natalie Portman’s father :-) ….funny life is.
Back in my room I was on cloud nine. It was difficult to come in for a landing but after puttering, packing ,showering, thinking, smsing, emailing, skyping and whatever, my usual after show routine, I managed to fall asleep at around 2:30.
The next day our flight home was at 10 pm so we had the morning and afternoon to ourselves. Despite the late night previous, we all woke very early and left at 7:30 to visit a park with a temple in it that we were told was full of activity in the morning worth the red eyes.
And worthy it was.
We saw endless groups of ‘Beijingers’, mostly senior citizens but not only, all in envigorating motion: tai-chi, tai chi tennis, couples dancing (complete with very loud Chinese pop music played on a transistor), tai chi stretching, tai-chi with swords, tai chi with pink pon pons, singing in massive choirs, playing instruments that sounded like alien screeching to us but looked nice, singing poking opera, jumping up and down stair on one foot, line dancing, playing cards, chess, poker, badminton, crocheting and writing Chinese on the sidewalk with water and a huge brush. It was, once again, mind boggling, and I must say, it made me so envious. How I wish senior citizens in my own country had a fraction of the possibilities and the resulting stamina! I could envision my grandmother and one day, my parents, thoroughly enjoying the vibe, the activity and the company, doubtlessly the keys to Chinese longevity.
We skipped the temple. The people in the park gave us all the inspiration and mental photo-albums we needed.
After a bit more shopping (of course), and the inevitable struggle to fit it all into one suitcase, we were on our way to the airport. Saying goodbye to David Ong (who came to the hotel to wave us goodbye toting gifts, as if he had not given us enough already..) and little ying (Gadi coined the name “yingaleh” :-)), was a tearful affair..as the song goes..i die a little… but on the other side of the universe families were waiting, new life, deep love. So we wiped the tears and turned our backs to go…leaving china behind us.
And here I am.
After travelling across the land and sea, through the night that turned to day in darkness, through the airport into the taxi through the light of early morning into the little street and the house at the end of the street where they were all still sleeping…then they woke, their warm little bodies running embracing giggling eyes shining little heads on my shoulder mommy what did you buy us? And the innards of the suitcase all spill on the living room floor and yum my baby reveling in the mess and looking at me with the umbilical wisdom of a 14 month old…no more milk mommy…it’s just you and me now…there are so many ways to love….
The house is empty now. Sitting at my desk in front of the window that overlooks the sea, writing it all down…sealing it….feeling it…branding it upon my heart...
China….
i am thinking of the brilliant animated film, Ratatouille, ..and the food critic that was the terror of all Paris, and the trembling waiter asking him: have you made your selection, sir? And the answer, in a radical british accent: “do you have some Perrrrspective? I’ll have some, with a good wine to go with it”.
That is how I feel…I have been given some Perrrrrspective. And my children’s love is the best wine I can imagine to go with it.
Signing off,
Noa, Shefayim, may 12, 2011.
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