These are my people

Last night my husband and I met friends for dinner at the Tel Aviv marina. I must confess, I was never there before. Aside from the worrying about finding a parking space (you pay the money, you find the space), it was a delightful experience. At the water there are any number of cafes and restaurants. There was also a concert going on and the music wafted across the water. But what amazed me most was the people– laughing, smiling, enjoying life. The place was hopping with people of all ages, singles and families and older folks too. And people were happy and lively. My people. It gave me such joy to be among them. Israelis know how to work, how to innovate, and how to defend themselves. We have not forgotten how to just have fun!

And then this morning I saw this wonderful video.
These are my people.

I wonder

I was brought up to be a rich girl.

When I was four years old, my mother sent me to dancing school where I was taught by a personal friend of Anna Pavlova. I danced a toe solo at five and a half at the Academy of Music in Philadelphia, accompanied by the Philadelphia Orchestra. In the summer, we would go to Atlantic City, renting a home there for the entire summer and taking the maid with us.

By the time I was in my teens, I had not a room of my own, but a floor of my own in the house. I had a bedroom, a study area, a sitting room and a bath. My clothes were as expensive as the clothes I buy today– in 1960! I was taught to appreciate the finer things in life like fancy restaurants and new cars.

My mother dressed in clothes that were high fashion. She was always ahead of the trends and many times I went with her as she took her new dress or suit with her to the milliner to have exactly the right hat made to match it, often taking some material from the garment to draw the outfit together.

That privileged stance was in direct opposition to my experience at high school. There I was the outcast, not having moved into the same neighborhood as the other Jewish girls in our school. We Jewish girls were a real minority at our high school, the first of a vanguard breaking into the formerly pristine suburbs. In our class of 675, we were probably fewer than 20. Antisemitism was not encouraged by the school, but its subtle and not-so-subtle appearance among the other students was ignored. Being rejected by the small minority of Jewish girls was very painful.

I had most of my social needs met by my friends in Hebrew high school, and later Hebrew college. With them I was on an equal footing and their unaffected manner and their acceptance of me, the misfit, allowed me to feel normal for the first time.

It was probably through them that I acquired my values. They were kind, unselfish, open, accepting, and full of fun. By spending time with them, I began to realize that my discomfort with my upbringing was well-founded.

Shedding the privilege I had been given was liberating. Instead of disdaining the world as not meeting my expectations, I could appreciate it and even love it. Suddenly I could enjoy new things, new experiences, and new people.

Recently, I have been to the Galapagos Islands three times. It was interesting to see how different people responded to the experience.

Mother sea lion and newborn infant

Mother sea lion and newborn infant

I was overcome with emotion, actually each time I visited. I was astounded by the beauty of raw, unspoiled nature. I loved watching the birds and the sea lions and the iguanas and the land tortoises. Unthreatened by humans, they had no fear and allowed themselves to be photographed, even posing for us, it seemed sometimes. There I was with G-d’s creation. What could be more awe-inspiring!

Nazca booby

Nazca booby

Most of the people I was with reacted that way.

But some did not.
“Where are the flamingos?” “Why aren’t they here?”
“Why aren’t there more animals?”
“Why can’t I walk around alone instead of having to go with a naturalist?”
“I already saw a blue-footed booby; what’s next?”
“OK, so I have seen the albatross babies. Enough already!”

At first these reactions made me feel angry. What do they want! But then I just began to feel sad for these people. Their privilege was blinding them to the beauty of the world. They were unable to share the awe of seeing a newborn sea lion nuzzling its mother. They couldn’t enjoy seeing the boobies protecting their young. They couldn’t share the excitement of seeing the magnificent frigates puffing out their red pouches.

Blue footed booby feeding her baby

Blue footed booby feeding her baby

I am grateful that that veil has been lifted from me and that I can look beyond myself and share the wonder of the universe. I hope someday that our privileged travelers will be able to do the same thing.

Watercolors and water, part 2

About a month after I returned from Peru, I left once again on a similar tour. I could hardly wait to get to the market in Pisac. Pisac is a small city located in the Sacred Valley along the Urubamba River. Here is a picture of the nearby terrain.

Sacred Valley, Peru

Sacred Valley, Peru

In fact, when we finally pulled up the market, some of the people were not interested in seeing it and said they would stay on the bus rather than wander around the market. Fortunately, most said they would get off the bus and in the end, all of them did.

I quickly oriented myself and headed straight to the pace where I had bought the watercolor pictures. I found the woman who painted them with very little trouble. I asked to see some pictures and she had some, but none was even close in quality to the ones I had bought the first time. Since I was there, she had focused in painting larger pictures with faces of individuals on them. They were nice, but they were not what I wanted.

So, it seems that the two paintings I bought in June will be the ones that hang on my wall, paint drips and all.

Oh, and the market? Still magical.

A small part of the market at Pisac

A small part of the market at Pisac