In the end I had such a good time being a tzemach (Heb. Literally: bush; colloq: vegetable - eg, veging out) over the long weekend that I lost all interest in following up on the Madonna story. There I was, lolling on the beach just a few minutes' walk away from the hotel in which she was staying, and I couldn't even summon the energy to go over and visit. The sun was shining, the waves were splashing, the noisy diesel buses were silent for three whole blissful days, and Tel Aviv seemed to be suffused in a glow of well-being and relaxation. I guess it should've been a big deal: prior to Esther's visit, no major pop star had been to Israel since the Red Hot Chili Peppers cancelled their much-anticipated appearance at the beginning of the second Intifida, in the fall of 2000. But in the end it just wasn't. A big deal, that is.

On Saturday a group of Israeli Hare Krishnas were hanging out on the tayelet (beach promenade), opposite Mike's Place. With their infectious chanting and dancing - accompanied by Oriental drums and harmonium - they competed successfully with an old guy who likes to stand there with a battered mike and croon old Israeli folk songs, karaoke style, to recorded musical accompaniment. A group of Indian (dots, not feathers) diamond dealers and their families paused during their late afternoon stroll and sat on a bench, looking rather bemused, to enjoy the performance. It was nearly sunset, and I stood there, squinting a bit as the sun's rays bounced off the windows of a nearby high-rise, watching the tide go out and thinking about the remarkably unremarkable strangeness of this scene. Jewish devotees of Krishna were entertaining Indian Hindus with a paean to the latter's god on the Jewish New Year; opposite was Mike's Place, which was full of people drinking beer and enjoying live music; in April of 2003 the famous pub was bombed by Muslims from the U.K., and for the first time I actually knew someone who was killed in a terrorist attack. But looking at the place that afternoon, one would never know that it was once - quite recently, in fact - the scene of death and destruction.

My ruminations on death and cognitive dissonance did not interfere with my enjoyment of the day, though...

On Friday evening I was invited to dinner at Karen's. She and her husband Ezi cooked up a gorgeous holiday meal, and conversation around the dinner table was great - funny, intelligent and warm. At one point one of the guests, a U.K. native who has lived in Israel for many years, mentioned a controversial letter (scroll down to Sept. 17 entry) she'd received via a series of email forwards. (I agree with Karen's commentary on the letter, by the way). The ensuing discussion of the letter was characterized by an interesting generation gap: the woman who'd received it was outraged, but her daughter, who was born in Israel and is currently completing her military service, was bored by the whole topic. Who cares what they think? she asked. Let them drink their tea and shut up.
My reaction was somewhere in the middle. Clearly the guy who wrote it is neither well-informed nor emotionally balanced - and he might want to consider brushing up on his spelling and grammar. Since I tend to be condescending when I'm pissed off at someone, the letter obviously got on my nerves. But I've heard so many people all over the world spout off their cuckoo half-baked and ill-informed opinions based on so many topics that I just can't get really excited about letters like this one. There will always be conspiracy theorists, people who are ignorant, people who don't like me personally or my tribe in general. All I can do in response is to represent myself, as an individual, as best I can. And to live a good life.