So I got up early and accompanied a European journalist to Nazareth, where we had an appointment to interview the Palestinian-Israeli* Carrie Bradshaw. Her nom de plume is Salma Malak, and she writes a weekly Sex and the City-style column in Arabic for a Haifa newspaper called Madina (City). Among the subjects she has written about are her visit to a sex accessory shop to pick out a gift for a friend who was getting married, and her mother's attempts to find her a husband. And yes, her column has gotten a lot of attention.

On the way we stopped for a desperately-needed coffee at the restaurant on Kibbutz Mizra, which is famous for raising pigs. The restaurant, of course, specializes in pork products. And I am enough of a "nice Jewish girl" to find it sort of...tacky...to see Jews eating bacon and eggs (and bread and butter and cheese) for breakfast on shabbat. (so I'm provincial - shoot me).

Just as we were entering Nazareth, which was packed with weekend shoppers from all over the Galilee region, a Palestinian journalist called me from Ramallah: the IDF had targeted two cars carrying senior Hamas leaders in Gaza, in response to the dozens of Qassam rockets that had been launched from Gaza on Sderot over the previous night.

My first response was: Oh for heaven's sake, it's a beautiful sunny day and I really don't want to hear about this. Can't we have a little peace and quiet, please?

Then we went to meet Salma in a cafe. Our driver's eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw that she was a beautiful, sexy young woman with dark wavy hair, who was wearing figure-hugging jeans and a sleeveless black lycra top. He whispered to me in Hebrew, "She must be Christian. No Muslim girl would dress like that."

Salma turned out to be charming, articulate and very intelligent. We had a fascinating 90-minute conversation, and then she had to leave for a family luncheon. I went inside to use the washroom, and ran into Maya, the Palestinian-Israeli woman who had been one of the Arabic-Hebrew translators at the Amman workshop in June. She looked at me as if I'd come from Mars and asked what I was doing there. An interview, I explained, as we hugged each other and exchanged greetings.

And so the journalist and I went to take a quick, obligatory look at the churches that were built over Jesus's childhood house and Joseph's carpentry shop before driving back to Tel Aviv. The churches were not terribly aesthetic, so if they don't have any spiritual meaning for you then you might as well give them a miss.

And now I'm sitting here, realizing that I've been rolling three separate posts around in my head for the last month. I just don't know which one to write first, so I'm putting the decision to a vote. The choices are listed below; please indicate your preference in the comments section:

1) What really happened that day in Gaza City and Jabalya?
2) What was it like in Netzarim on the day of the evacuation?
3) And why am I so fascinated by the article I linked to in my previous post?

*She does not like the term Arab-Israeli, 'though she agreed with me that "Palestinian-Israeli" is problematic because it should include Israeli Jews who are descended from families that lived here before the establishment of the State of Israel.

...and said that if I don't start writing more frequently, people are going to forget about me.

I confess, I am bad at managing my time. Every time I sit down to write, I get distracted by emails, phone calls and last-minute invitations to go out with friends. This will end. Tonight! Um, after I get back from a social event. ;)

Meanwhile, my friend Shira sent me this fascinating article from the Columbia Journalism Review, on how the Israeli media have been covering the conflict for the past five years. It raises a lot of important issues and makes some points that I've been thinking about rather intensely lately. Go read it - it'll make you think.

It's not that I don't have anything to say - it's that I have too much to say, and I need to sort my thoughts out a bit more. Meanwhile, for your amusement (and to keep you coming back to check for my next post), here are three versions of machismo that I photographed during the disengagement. [Originally I posted two, but I decided to add another one for balance. Scroll down to the bottom...]

Neve Dekalim army base closing ceremony, September 11. This IDF officer stood guard behind the podium on which the top army brass stood: Dan Halutz, Dan Harel and Aviv Kochavi. (click here to see some more photos of the closing ceremony at Neve Dekalim. Unfortunately I couldn't figure out how to upload them in chronological order).

An American photojournalist at Shirat Hayam, on the first day of the disengagement. (His backpack was full of snacks; when I got hungry, he gave me some of his Sesame Snaps).

Palestinian soldiers at the PA army base near Netzarim, August 19 - less than one week before Netzarim was evacuated.

Okay, I know I keep promising to post more about Gaza and then I keep you waiting, but you'll have to forgive the delay 'cause I've got a lot on my plate lately. The comments regarding the photos of Gaza were fascinating; they made me realize that I do have a lot to say about that day.

I really think, by the way, that a few people might consider anger management and etiquette classes. Hello? This is a personal blog, not a political treatise or a newspaper. Someone suggested that I should close the comments box completely, but I enjoy the supportive and intelligent comments way too much to do that. But I will (and have) delete truly nasty and irrelevent comments. Ruthlessly.

But let's leave all that aside for now, shall we?

Meanwhile, I'd like to draw your attention to two wonderful new blogs. Go check out the wisdom of Judy K at Adloyada, and our beloved and sorely missed Noorster in her new incarnation as Shutterfool.

That was the praise part.

The vanitas part is here, here and here. My inbred Canadian modesty prevents me from elaborating. You'll just have to click through and scroll down (where necessary) until you find...moi. ;)

 Gaza City seen from the fourteenth floor of a downtown office building.


A street scene in Jabalya refugee camp.

Grandfather and granddaugher at the beach.


 
Lunch at a local fish restaurant.


 
Family picnic at the beach.

 
Girl in white party dress.

Imagine that you are interviewing a Very Important Israeli Politician in his spacious and well-appointed Tel Aviv office. A security officer stands near the door behind you, arms crossed over his chest and a little communications device stuck in his ear. There are dozens of framed photos of the VIIP shaking hands with various world leaders and VIPs hung on the walls.

Then imagine that the VIIP, while mulling over the answer to a question, slowly raises his index finger to the side of his nose, scrapes off a piece of dry skin, rolls it between his index finger and thumb and then examines it as he answers the question.

Would you be, perhaps, a little disconcerted?