Domino Effect

Greedy bankers in one corner of the world mess around with subprime mortgages and next thing you know your shares go down and your employer (in a different corner of the world) is firing. Welcome to globalization 101.

After two nerve wrecking weeks, my employer fired 10% of its workforce and stripped the 'lucky' rest of 20-25% of their income. I won't be working every other Sunday. Yes, I have plans: from firing the cleaning lady and cleaning my place, through lunching with friends, making hairdresser appointments, touring around to volunteering. Some friends suggested learning French, some think I should find another income creating activity. Decisions, decisions.

Have advice? Comment on this post.

The Legitimate Rights of the Tung People

In the aftermath (me and my overanalyzing everything) of a great meal at friends (professors, doctors, engineers and alike from Transylvanian origin), I found a troubling lack of parallelism.

The people were really nice, the food was great, and so was the music and general athmosphere. For no ulterior motive (other than a laugh), there was some ridiculing of the ways of the 'natives' or other ethnic groups, their clothing (weird combination of nightgowns, slippers and anoraks) and their grammatical mistakes with foreign words. Someone mentioned a contestant at a trivia show on TV answering 'Tungestan' when asked about the element found in electric lamp filaments, instead of Tungsten. One could think it is a former Soviet state, like Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan or another 'stan'. In Hebrew writing there are no vowels, and so when reading a word you don't know, you might pronounce it either just incorrectly, or with a different meaning. This could be the possible cause of the mispronounciation.

The underlying subconscious assumption here is the natives' lower cultural level, compared to Europeans. At the same time, European immigrants' mistakes in Hebrew pronounciation or writing are considered chic, certainly not related to cultural level. To all hypocrites, I suggest reading Horace Miner's 'Body Ritual Among the Nacirema'.

Detachment and Fears

A few days ago I went to a funeral and noticed a distancing trend of funeral participants. In the past, people would stand right at the front, close to the mourners, the body and the Hevrah Kaddisha rep conducting the ceremony and then close to the grave itself. They would watch the body being lowered into the grave and covered with earth. They would actually participate. Not anymore. People stand at a distance, barely there, as if detaching themselves from the ugly details, would send death away. They want nothing to do with death, they are afraid of it. Or at least that's my interpretation.

I am afraid of many things, mostly of sudden incidents that would change my life in a split second. I'm afraid of plane crashes (leaving orphans), of animal attacks (not clear where would I meet them), of cockroaches (actually, I'm more disgusted than afraid), diseases, unemployment, false arrest, loneliness and war, although I'm pretty sure I can cope with most situations, should they occur. Now that I mentioned them, I'm even surer.

Two Reasons to Party

While decorating my balcony with flags for Independence Day, I'm wondering about its meaning for me, about the type of love I feel for Israel. It's not the blind, sentimental type of bursting in tears when listening to the national anthem (although that can also happen depending on the occasion), it's more of the mature type. I love it depsite its negative sides. Thank you Israel for being. I watch the fireworks from my new balcony and feel happy.

In a previous post, I complained about the missing ceremony. This time, at the open house on Independence Day, Jeff (mentioned in another previous post), in addition to reciting the blessing for setting the mezuzah, also gave a short speech that made all the difference. "Write [my commandments] on the doorposts of your house and on your gates, so that your days will multiply, and those of your sons, on the land which God promised to your forefathers, to give it to them like the days of heaven on earth." -says the Bible and we do. "This book is the reason we are here", says Jeff and makes me think.

The mezuzah housing is tasteful and symbolic. It's made of stone (natural and durable material), it has different color stripes (archeological/historical layers or stages in our life if you wish).

People came and went all the day, took Dan's guided tour, ate, drink, brought more food and drink. You can see some pictures in this album.

Lieutenant Energizer

Last Thursday Dan was promoted lieutenant (see the picture here). We were invited to the well attented (more than 50 soldiers and officers) ceremony at his base. While we waited for the ceremony to start, some soldiers spotted Tom in uniform and asked me what is he doing in the unit. 'He is attending a course', I informed them. Mentioning the course number generated a big 'wow' in response. They don't know exactly what this number stands for (neither do I), but they know it's something prestigious. This reminded me the nuthouse joke, where the inmates laugh at joke numbers rather then the jokes themselves.

I fixed his new ranks on one of his shoulders and my 'being Dan's mother is a challenge' short speech was followed by general laughter. Three of his commanders spoke highly of his achievements and attitude, and told funny anecdotes to prove their praises. The highest ranking officer summarized it all by comparing Dan to the Energizer Bunny for his relentless activity.

Reminder

Came down from the office and saw the Italian restaurant closed. Weird, I thought, the times must be really tough. The nearby coffee shop was about to close. "It's Holocaust Day", came the waiter's answer to my enquiry. I felt so embarrased I forgot it starts tonight.

Usually we go about our daily business and don't think about the Holocaust. I'm not sure even the survivors think about it every day. For me the Holocaust is not just a big tragedy that happened in the past, it shapes the way I am, think, do or don't do things, even my children's life.

My Berger (that's my maiden name) grandparents lived in the small Hungarian village of Szentjobb in today's Romania. They were a traditional Jewish family with 8 children, a village shop and a soda water filling station. My aunt Ester survived Auschwitz and my father survived labor and prisoner camps. My other grandparents were luckily on the right side of the border, and after just one week of German-Hungarian occupation (during which they already implemented anti-Jewish laws), the Russians liberated their town (looking for watches to steal and women to rape).

My parents married late and I was a late and only child. They had no energy for more. My husband's story is similar. He is also a late and only child for the same reason. Our children have no cousins. I could have had a large happy family, to be loved by and lean on.

The murdered third of the Jewish people could have bettered the world. They won't compose music, write literature, win Nobel prizes for outstanding scientific achievements, raise new generations of followers. Their potential contribution is lost forever.

It's All in My Head

I used to look at healthy appearing people claiming to suffer from migraine headaches and couldn't understand what is this mysterious invisible disease that cripples them. A few years ago when I started suffering from migraines myself, it was like the famous Schweik replica "ormester ur, alazatosan jelentem meg egy szimulans diszno meghalt" (pardon my accentless Hungarian, it roughly means "Mr. sergeant, I humbly report another pretender pig has died"). And, thanks to medical tehnology, the disease became less invisible (see its MRI image on the left), although still mysterious, despite the excellent information available in the Mayo Clinic disease index (which I use and recommend to anyone in need of medical information).

After trying all sorts of remedies (accupuncture, medication, stress free lifestyle-I wish) I still suffer from migraines, but less often than before. So how does it feel? It goes in stages:

Stage 1: Optimistic Disbelief

Starting to feel a headache creeping up, but there's no way this will develop into a migraine. I'm not taking any stinkin' medicine, it will go away by itself. It doesn't.

Stage 2: Minor Realization

OK, it's not going anywhere without some help, I'm taking my usual OTC headache pill. 20 minutes and it's over without noticing. Or not.

Stage 3: The Show is On

It hurts so much that all I can think about is finding a dark, quiet place to lie down. I crawl into bed. Time for the heavy ammunition: my migraine pills. I fall asleep.

Stage 4: Victory and Fear

I open my eyes and the pain is gone. I'm happy. How long will it last? I'm affraid of moving or doing anything that might bring the pain back. It's like walking on thin ice. One wrong step and you fall into the icy water.

Stage 5: Joining the Partisan Movement

The self-fulfilling prophecy works. The pain is back and is here to stay for another day. Ammunitionless, I surrender. I'm trying a new weapon to defeat the bastard: I'm blogging about it.