A few people have been asking me where they can read articles I've written for publication. Not many of them are available online, so here is one of my favourites - it was published last April in an Israeli newspaper (in a supplement that few people bother to read). There are photos of the event described at the beginning of the article here.

Writing about the human condition

Two months ago, I met Etgar Keret at a literary event called "Voices From Two Sides of the Bridge." The "bridge" was the Sheikh Hussein border crossing between Israel and Jordan. Here, in this no man's land, a group of Arab, European, Israeli and Palestinian-Arab writers sat in front of a multi-national audience and talked about how place and language affect a writer's identity. It was supposed to be a non-political event; however, most of the Palestinian writers who initially accepted the invitation declined at the last minute to attend - lest their presence be interpreted as a step toward normalisation of relations with Israel.

In their rush to report the "sensational story" - the absence of Palestinian writers whose names appeared on the program, most of the media neglected to mention that some Palestinians did attend. Among them was Samir el-Youssef, who grew up in a Palestinian refugee camp in Lebanon. This year, the Swedish PEN granted el-Youssef the prestigious Tucholsky Prize.

Shortly after the Passover bombings of 2002, el-Youssef called Etgar Keret, who is a best-selling author in Israel, and suggested that they produce a collection of short stories together. The result is called Gaza Blues. It was published last year in the U.K., by David Paul Books, and has gained wide critical acclaim.

Keret and el-Youssef first met and became friends in 2000, at a meeting of Arab and Israeli writers in Switzerland. While everyone else at the event was busy flinging out the usual tired old political slogans and playing the blame game, Etgar and Samir discovered that they had a lot in common. They were both born in the 1960s and came of age during Israel?s invasion of Lebanon - an event that affected their lives profoundly. Neither identifies with a political leader: El-Youssef is critical of Yasser Arafat, and Keret of Ariel Sharon. And both believe that the human connection is more important than politics. Change, said Keret, will come from the bottom up - when people from both sides of the conflict transcend the political framework, leave aside conventional ideas and thus humanise each other.

Keret?s stories are anything but conventional. He has a wild imagination, a fantastic sense of humor, and he takes his readers on crazy trips with totally unpredictable twists and unexpected endings. He writes about intimacy, love, death, grief, and friendship - all the things that are so much more important than the most recent speech given by a famous politician. And he makes you think.

In Surprise Egg, a pathologist performs an autopsy on a woman who was killed in a suicide bombing and discovers that her body is riddled with malignant tumors. If she hadn't been killed in the bombing, she would have died in a week. Should the pathologist tell the woman's husband? Would knowing that his wife was about to die anyway make the man feel better or worse?

Keret's second book to be translated into English is The Bus Driver Who Wanted To Be God. The title story is about a man who wanted to be God, but settles for being a cranky bus driver who never, under any circumstances, opens the doors for people who are late -not even old ladies carrying bags of groceries. For the bus driver, this is a matter of ideology. But one day he takes mercy on shlumpy Eddie, who is late for a doomed date with the girl of his dreams. The date is supposed to be at the Dolphinarium. And no, you can't guess the end of the story: It was written in 2000, more than a year before the infamous suicide bombing in the Dolphinarium parking lot.

All of Etgar Keret's books have been bestsellers in Israel, and critics commonly count him as one of Israel's most important writers. He has received the Prime Minister's Prize for Literature, and the Ministry of Culture Film Prize (he has written scripts for and directed several prize-winning films, and teaches film-making at Tel Aviv University). He is often referred to as "the voice of Israel's youth."

To which Etgar responds, "Which youth? The ultra-Orthodox girl from Jerusalem? The Arab boy from Taibe? The Jewish girl who lives on a settlement in the West Bank?" He has received letters from them all.

Readers from diverse backgrounds identify with his stories, says Keret, because he does not pretend to know and understand the "Other." He is unafraid of admitting that he doesn't know the answer and not concerned about being ambivalent.

Listening to Etgar Keret tell a story is a fascinating experience. He has a knack for seeing the humour and absurdity in ostensibly banal events. At "Voices From Two Sides of the Bridge," he told a story that made the audience roar with laughter. It goes like this:

Recently, he and Israeli-Arab writer Sayed Kashua appeared at a reading in France. While waiting to speak, they discovered that they were both worried about the event. Keret told Kashua, "The audience is sure to be full of anti-Israelis. There's always someone who stands up and accuses me of being a baby killer."

Kashua responded, "But there are so many right-wing Jews in France. There's sure to be someone who will accuse me of being a terrorist, or supporting suicide bombers."

Scanning the audience, Keret spotted a restless woman with an aggressive, pointy chin. "I said to myself, that's the one who will stand up at the end and attack me." But as soon as they were finished speaking the woman stood up and said, "I've been sitting here for an hour, listening to you both, and I'm confused: Which of you is the Arab, and which is the Jew?"

Keret's stories have been translated into several foreign languages, including Arabic. Keret says that The Bus Driver Who Wanted to Be God sold out of Ramallah bookshops during the height of the second Intifada. At "Voices From Two Sides of the Bridge," he told reporters that the book was a bestseller in Ramallah because the title led West Bank purchasers to believe it was about suicide bombers. I'm still not sure whether he was joking or not.

Last month Keret's third collection of stories translated into English, The Nimrod Flip-Out, was published by Chatto & Windus, and can be purchased at English-language bookshops in Israel. Reviews of the book have been excellent - even from the venerable Times of London.

But reading these reviews, one has the impression that non-Israelis don't really know what to make of Keret's stories - that they are so accustomed to thinking of Israel in terms of its violent conflict with the Palestinians, they can't quite wrap their minds around the idea of an Israeli author writing stories with non-political, universal themes.

Israeli commentators have also tried to pigeonhole Etgar Keret. Leftists have called him a fascist, and rightists an anti-Semite. "Everyone," commented Keret, "Is looking to see what bumper stickers I have on my car. But the thing is, I don't have a car."


Addendum: Farrar Strauss Giroux published Keret's "Nimrod Flipout "shortly after this article went to print. Etgar and his wife, the actress Shira Gefen (sister of pop singer Aviv Gefen), are expecting their first child in December 2005.

When I'm in East Jerusalem I like to drop by a well-known English bookstore that's owned by a Palestinian man who lived for a couple of decades in the USA. He and I first made contact when I was assigned to write a puff piece about his shop for an Israeli newspaper. The deadline for the piece was too tight to allow for a trip to Jerusalem, so I just interviewed him over the telephone. "Iyad" was charming and he loved to tell stories. I could tell that most of his tales were apocryphal, 'though he told them well, but since the point of the article was to advertise his shop I didn't mind writing up his yarns - as long as they were prefaced with the caveat "he said" or "he claimed." And besides, I've always been more interested in why people tell certain stories than in whether or not they are true.

Several weeks after the piece I wrote was published, I stopped by the shop and we finally met face to face. Iyad turned out to be a well-dressed, immaculately groomed middle-aged man who clearly fancied himself a bit of a skirt chaser. He greeted me warmly and we ended up talking for quite a long time.

Among the many stories he told me was the one about the time he took his mother on a trip to the Golan Heights. Shortly after they started out on the return drive to Jerusalem, Iyad's car started acting up. He drove to a nearby garage and was informed by the mechanic that the repairs would take several hours. By then it was already quite late, so Iyad told his mother that they would have to spend the night in a nearby Zimmer, which is what Israelis call a country B&B.

"Stay in a place owned by Jews?!" exclaimed his scandalised mother. "Absolutely not!"

Iyad explained to his mother that the only other option was to sleep in the car, and in the end she capitulated.

The proprietor of the Zimmer, which Iyad said was a beautiful place, turned out to be a 60-something woman named Aliza who had been born in Yemen and immigrated to Israel as a teenager. And to Iyad's surprise, Aliza - who spoke fluent Arabic - and his mother got along fantastically well. They spent hours sitting on the porch of the Zimmer, gabbing away and sipping tea with fresh mint.

Early the next morning, Iyad left his mother - still sitting with Aliza on the porch - and went to fetch the car from the garage. When he returned to pick his mother up for the journey back to Jerusalem, she told him she was having such a lovely time that she'd just as soon stay for another day or two.

Iyad laughed heartily after delivering his punchline, clearly delighted by this little tale of unexpected friendship between putative enemies.

After a while I told him that I had to go and took out my wallet in order to pay for the book I'd selected. He made a pushing-away gesture with his hands, and insisted on giving me the book as a gift.

I thanked him and he shook my hand with a warm grip.

"Well!" he said enthusiastically, still holding my hand, "I must say, this has been absolutely delightful. It's not often that I get to meet such charming young ladies from Tel Aviv."

Still smiling, he added, "But tell me, you're not a Zionist - are you?"

This afternoon I participated in a phone survey for Bezeq, Israel's national phone company. A woman who spoke Hebrew with a strong Russian accent asked if I had 30 seconds to answer her questions, and she ran through them with admirable speed.

Most of the questions were standard: How many telephones do you have in the house; what age category do you fall into (18-25, 25-35, etc.); are you self-employed or do you work for someone else; what company is your mobile service provider; how long have you lived in your current apartment; do you rent or own; are you a high school or university graduate.

But the final question was definitely of the only-in-Israel variety.

In the dry, disinterested tone of someone who has asked the same questions over and over without giving much thought to their significance, the woman asked me: "Are you religious, traditional or secular?"

Note: The new GVO post on Israel is up. Haitham says it's a tad long (2,000 words is long? Who knew?). Anyways, go on and click here to read.
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Eretz Acheret (Another Land) is a bi-monthly periodical "about Israeli-ness and Judaism," according to the masthead. It is edited by Bambi Sheleg, a religious Zionist woman who attracted a lot of attention last summer with this article that was highly critical of the direction religious Zionism has taken. Each edition of Eretz Acheret is dedicated to a single subject - like democracy, or Israel's relationship with Europe. A variety of opinions on each subject is expressed in a collection of articles, written by journalists and authors who represent a broad political spectrum.

The May-June 2005 edition is called "A Letter to the Palestinians." Contributors include Avi Gisher, the rabbi of the West Bank settlement of Ofra; Gur Solomon, a journalist for the right-wing Israeli newspaper Makor Rishon; Sayed Kashua, the Israeli-Arab novelist (and Haaretz columnist) who wrote Dancing Arabs; and the renowned novelist A.B. Yehoshua, as well as many other highly respected writers. I was so impressed by "Letter to the Palestinians" that I called Bambi and asked if she had plans to translate it into English, because I wanted to send it to some of my friends. She laughed with pleasure at my enthusiasm, then sighed and said she did not have the budget for a translated version. Then she added half-jokingly that if I knew anyone who'd like to volunteer to translate, I should please call her.

I wish I had the skill and time necessary to translate all 85 pages of this periodical, but I don't. So I decided to translate just one article - written by Nazir Majli, a journalist who was born in Nazareth and lives in London. He is a commentator on Israeli affairs for Al Sharq Al Awsat as well as several Arab television stations. The article is called "Enough With the Hatred," and if you've already read it in Hebrew then please forgive my less-than-elegant translation. And please note that the article was written before Israel's withdrawal from Gaza; you'll understand why I mention this when you read the text.

I had another opportunity to participate in the BBC radio programme World Have Your Say last night. (I'm really getting into this radio stuff -unlike writing, it's so angst-free).

This time the segment was about reactions to Ariel Sharon's decision to leave the Likud and form a new political party. To listen - go to the webpage, click on the audio link and then click twice on "fast forward 15 minutes." I come in toward the end of the segment.

The link will be up for only a day or two, but one of the producers kindly agreed to send me an MP3 attachment. That way I can listen to my voice over and over again, send it to my mum so that she can listen over and over again, and realise that I do have a kinda funny accent.

Oh yeah, and something else I should've said - and maybe would've if Elizabeth-from-Ramallah-who's-not-actually-Palestinian hadn't interrupted me (such chutzpah, my goodness!): Of course Sharon's decision to quit the Likud was pragmatic - is there any such thing as a politician who is not a pragmatist? I thought pragmatism was the name of the game.

UPDATE: As noted by commenters, the segment has been replaced. Once I get an MP3 file, I'll see if I can figure out how to post it (how-to advice welcome).

I didn't post on the GVO site last week ("technical reasons") but the latest one is up now. Please forgive the typos - perils of being Mistress of the Last Minute.

So there I was at an ultra-cool North Tel Aviv hair salon, sitting in front of the mirror and watching as Liraz used a brush to spread a new colour over my prematurely gray roots. Gorgeous blonde television startlets who'd come in to have their long tresses done before proceeding to the recording studios strutted around with bits of their hair wrapped in silver foil, mobile phones pressed to one ear and a cigarette in one hand, carefully angled away from their faces. Banks of televisions were tuned to Fashion Television and pop music floated out of the recessed stereo speakers.

"Don't make the red highlights too light," I reminded the tall and handsome 27 year-old colourist, who sported a tattoo of a Sanskrit word on one of his biceps.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he answered soothingly. "You'll be more beautiful than ever when I'm finished."

"Yalla," I said jokingly, "Enough with the sticky flattery."

"Nah, I never lie," he said earnestly. "Especially since I started to get in touch with religion again."

"You've become religious?" I asked, looking pointedly at his uncovered head. "What does that mean? Are you praying every day, putting on tefillin in the morning, keeping the sabbath and going to synagogue?"

"Well, some of that," he answered, as he mixed a new colour. "But I'm really focusing on the most important stuff."

"Like what?" I asked

"Like not gossiping and being kind to my neighbours," he answered, as he draped a fresh towel over my shoulders.

The hotel I stayed at in Amman (see posts here, here , here and here) was one of the three that were hit by suicide bombers this past Wednesday night. Lina, who lives in the Jordanian capital, has some great pictures of the anti-terrorism march that took place there the following day.

And last night I saw a stunning film about Palestinian suicide bombers - which was actually a very eloquent cries for peace. It's called Paradise Now, and it has won some very serious international prizes. If it's playing anywhere near where you live then I really urge you to run out and see it. Filmed in Nablus and Tel Aviv, Paradise Now was directed by an Arab Israeli from Nazareth who is based in the Netherlands. The actors are mostly Arab Israelis.

After the screening at Tel Aviv's Cinematheque, the audience and the actors mingled outside on the steps. I was chatting with one of the actors who starred in the film when a couple of thirtysomething Tel Avivis joined us and I listened to the following exchange:

Israeli Jewish guy to actor: Wow, you were totally amazing. Are you from Nablus?

Arab Israeli actor: No, I'm Israeli.

Israeli guy: No, but where are you from originally?

Arab Israeli actor: Here. I live in Tel Aviv.

Israeli guy: Wow. Well, listen, I can totally understand you. If I were a Palestinian from the territories I'd have become a suicide bomber for sure.

Arab Israeli actor, very cynically: Uh HUH...

I explode into cynical laughter and, indicating the Israeli Jewish guy, mutter to my friend, "Who is that idiot?

This week's post about the Israeli blogosphere is now up on the GVO site. (what, you're still here? Go on, read the post - I worked hard, dammit!)

Oh, and big news. Huge! Shai and I have now staked our claim to 15 minutes of fame. We were invited by BBC World Service to contribute our wise musings on Rabin's legacy for a new programme called World Have Your Say. The audio link is here, but you'll have to listen for about 30 minutes to some ramblings about Pakistan before we come in. (UPDATE: Or, as a couple of readers pointed out, you could be clever and click on "skip" to fast forward).

I'll be back in a day or two with some new stories for you. There'll be lots of stuff that's sure to rile up some commenters. Like, oh, lemme see... How about: a conversation in a Tel Aviv cafe with a couple of leftists and a Palestinian Israeli guy who drives a taxi while he tries to make it as an actor; or maybe a documentary film about an Israeli lawyer who defends Palestinian political prisoners, married one of her clients and went to live with his family in Deheishe refugee camp near Bethlehem - while he was in administrative detention and she was pregnant with their first child? Oooh, I can already hear the keyboards being sharpened. Let the controversy begin!

Or maybe I'll just write about the latest hit reality show that features a nice Jewish boy from New York who's looking for an Israeli bride.

Today marks 10 years since the assassination of Yitzhak Rabin. Shai has written a beautiful series of posts about that horrible night, when a murder broke the collective heart of a whole generation of Israelis who believed in peace. And wanted it - so, so badly.

I was living in New York at the time, and a friend of mine called from Israel just as the first reports interrupted the regular radio and television broadcasts. "You can't imagine what's going on here," she wept. "Strangers are hugging and crying on the street."

When my mother called a few hours later, I could hardly speak. Jagged little sobs kept bubbling up in my throat, blocking the words.

That was the second time I cried over Yitzhak Rabin.

The first time was while he gave his speech in the White House Rose Garden, on September 13, 1993, at the ceremony for the signing of the Declaration of Principles that led to the Oslo Accords. You can read the complete text here; below are the excerpts that I will never forget.

Let me say to you, the Palestinians: We are destined to live together, on the same soil in the same land. We, the soldiers who have returned from battle stained with blood, we who have seen our relatives and friends killed before our eyes, we who have attended their funerals and cannot look into the eyes of their parents, we who have come from a land where parents bury their children, we who have fought against you, the Palestinians - we say to you today in a loud and clear voice: Enough of blood and tears. Enough.

We have no desire for revenge. We harbor no hatred towards you. We, like you, are people who want to build a home, to plant a tree, to love, live side by side with you - in dignity, in empathy, as human beings, as free men. We are today giving peace a chance and again saying to you: Let us pray that a day will come when we will say, enough, farewell to arms.

.........

Ladies and gentlemen, the time for peace has come.