Friday Fictioneers: Lost In the Music

friday-fictioneersEach week, writers from all over the world join in the 100-word flash fiction challenge, that is Friday Fictioneers. Rochelle Wisoff-Fields herds this collection of kool kats, and this week, David Stewart provided the photo. If you’d like to join in, or read the other stories, check out Rochelle’s blog: Addicted to Purple. Warning: Friday Fictioneers is highly addictive!

In my usual goofball state, I forgot to post this when written…  As always, I welcome positive or constructive feedback. Please leave a comment and tell me what you think.

© David Stewart

© David Stewart

 Lost In the Music (100 words, exactly)

“Come on Betts, darling, try a bite of this; it’s your favorite.”

Frank studied her dreamy blue eyes and waited for his wife of sixty-two years. 

“Honey, Suze made this especially for you. Remember how much you loved to pick berries each summer in Kennebunk? Of course I’d never say it to her, but our girl’s piecrust can’t hold a candle to yours… Still, she baked it with love.”

Their song came on the sound system and Betty smiled.

“I love this song, it reminds me… Tell me again, who are you? It’s so kind of you to visit me.”

*     *     *

GIPYHelp Me Reach My Goals! I’d love to see the Tales From the Motherland Facebook page reach 700 likes in 2015. Have you stopped by to spread some fairy dust? Follow me on Twitter, where I’m forced to be brief. Most importantly, if you like a post I’ve written, hit Like and leave a comment. I love to hear what readers think. Honest, positive or constructive feedback is always welcome. Click Follow; you’ll get each new post delivered by email, with no spam.  If you see ads on this page, please let me know. They shouldn’t be there.  ©2014  Please note, that all content and images on this site are copyrighted to Dawn Quyle Landau and Tales From the Motherland, unless specifically noted otherwise. If you want to share my work, please give proper credit. Plagiarism sucks.

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Friday Fictioneers: The Shade of Our Years

Fits and starts– that’s what seems to be at the heart of my writing right now. Stuck, unstuck, stuck.

But each week, Friday Fictioneers pulls me out of my rut and hands me an option. Rochelle Wisoff-Fields does an epic job of herding this group. If you’d like to join us, check out her blog Addicted to Purple, where you can join in or read the 100+ stories (this week, I’m 107!) that are contributed each week.

As always, I welcome honest, constructive feedback; please leave a comment!

© Rachel Bjerke

© Rachel Bjerke

The Shade of Our Years (98 words)

 

When I was young, the green– oh the green! It lit the world with possibility and hope.

We lay for hours upon the green, breathing in its freshness and beauty.

We made love on the green.

I read to you; you read to me,

On the green–

surrounded by a universe of plenty.

Clover was our blanket– the pot of gold within our reach.

Now, in the twilight of our years, green covers those memories and buries our love– in layers of green decay.

What is left, lies beneath the green, aching for light…

and a new color.

*     *     *

GIPYHelp Me Reach My Goals! I’d love to see the Tales From the Motherland Facebook page reach 700 likes in 2015. Have you stopped by to spread some fairy dust? Follow me on Twitter, where I’m forced to be brief. Most importantly, if you like a post I’ve written, hit Like and leave a comment. I love to hear what readers think. Honest, positive or constructive feedback is always welcome. Click Follow; you’ll get each new post delivered by email, with no spam.  If you see ads on this page, please let me know. They shouldn’t be there.  ©2014  Please note, that all content and images on this site are copyrighted to Dawn Quyle Landau and Tales From the Motherland, unless specifically noted otherwise. If you want to share my work, please give proper credit. Plagiarism sucks.

 

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On Becoming a Mother… After 25 Years As a Mom

I started as "Mommy" to this little girl

I started as “Mommy” to this little girl

It’s that “Empty Nest” issue again- rearing it’s head like a unflattering shadow that you can’t shake. You notice that it doesn’t look the way you want or think it should: following you around looking chubbier, not standing up as straight as you’re sure you do… a shadow that doesn’t reflect what you want to see. You try to ignore it, understanding that it is a trick of light and movement, but it continues to follow you- leaving you questioning what’s really there. The Empty Nest, doesn’t happen all at once, when your last child leaves home; it isn’t clearly defined or obvious. It evolves over time, in bits and confusing pieces that cause you to question the life you’ve lived and are living, and your sense of identity. It follows you– it’s huge!

Each time I think I’ve got a handle on this evolution of parenting, this transition in my role within my children’s lives, and my new place in the world, I find another stumbling block; I catch myself swatting at imaginary boogie monsters. I lose my way for a moment and have to reconfigure the role I fill, all the while trying not to give away the fact that some days I’m distinctly flailing in the water.

I was having lunch with friend last week. Her youngest son is about to graduate and we were talking about the changes that come with that.

“I was with some other women recently and they were complaining about having to organize sporting events and school meetings, and I realized that this phase is almost over for me,” she told me. “He rarely needs me to be there anymore already, but in a few months it will be over for real. It feels so strange to think about not doing those things I’ve done for so long.”

She looked at me, uneasily- something I remember feeling so often last spring, when my youngest (as well as our exchange student) were transitioning out of the high school.

“How have you moved on so easily?” she asked me. “You seem so busy all the time, I worry that I wont be able to fill that much time.

I laughed. I groaned. It hasn’t been easy… at all.

“Man, it doesn’t seem possible that I’m not in the same place that those mom are anymore,” I told her. “It changed so fast. I thought that when Little Man (my youngest) graduated, there’d be more of a transition period. Now, I barely see him; he doesn’t really need me, and while I like having time to myself, that reality still feels strange. It’s like I went from being ‘Mom’ to a mother, overnight.”

And that’s when it really hit me. I have stopped being ‘Mom,’ ‘Mommy-‘ the person who my kids come to with everything. There are no more Band-Aids to apply; no teachers to talk to; no waiting up; few moments in the car, when I can connect with my kids and share their inner worlds. I do not hear “what’s for dinner,” every God-forsaken day anymore- something I thought would be more joyful. These things have all passed… in the blink of an eye.

There was a time when these guys all called me "Mom!"

There was a time when these guys all called me “Mom!”

Now I’m their mother. I’m the person they call when they want to run something new by me. When they need a modicum of advice or affirmation, but don’t want to be told what to do. They may still check in with me when life throws them curve balls, but they lick their own wounds; they figure out their own strategies. They don’t need a mom to hold their hands anymore. They need and want a mother- to watch from a distance and provide the slightest echo of the cheer squad I was for so many years, but they don’t want me to mommy them.

I get it; I really do. I’ve been transitioning for several years now, since my eldest, my daughter, went off to college and slowly began making her way to Israel- where she now lives. Nothing reminds you that you’re not needed in the same way you were, like watching your child move 7,000 miles away. As each of my three children have finished high school and moved on to new phases, I’ve worked on letting go of the roles I’ve cherished, and that I’ve been so comfortable in.

I’m grateful that I have good relationships with all three of my kids. We have certainly had our moments, including disagreements about various elements of those transitions. I’ve had times with each of them when I felt pushed away, and I struggled with that- not always handling things the best way I might of, and also shining in other challenging moments. And each of them has had their moments to sparkle and show me that they are becoming strong, independent, capable adults who I am proud to know- just as they too have had their moments to not handle these changes as well as they could have.

However, it is these moments, like the one at lunch with my friend, when all of that rises up and grabs me by the collar. <em>How have you moved on so easily… I worry that I wont be able to fill all that time</em>, she said to me. It’s amazing how our own struggles can look so easy to others. How these transitions, that leave me tearful, angry, proud, touched, empty, confused, exhilarated, or a power-punch of all those things at once, can look “easy” to someone else. It isn’t easy; it hasn’t been and may never be easy. It just evolves and stops being brutal. I find myself increasingly content in a quiet house, without a long list of things to do for others. I am less troubled when I don’t know what my babes are doing- every minute of every day. I feel excited when I find new things that are about my own passions, my own interests and not just about cheering on others. Honestly, I don’t miss “what’s for dinner.” It’s an evolution, and I’m evolving. After 24 years as a Mom, I’m learning how to be a Mother.

Bring it on!

Bring it on!

*     *     *

GIPYHelp Me Reach My Goals! I’d love to see the Tales From the Motherland Facebook page reach 700 likes in 2015. Have you stopped by to spread some fairy dust? Follow me on Twitter, where I’m forced to be brief. Most importantly, if you like a post I’ve written, hit Like and leave a comment. I love to hear what readers think. Honest, positive or constructive feedback is always welcome. Click Follow; you’ll get each new post delivered by email, with no spam.  If you see ads on this page, please let me know. They shouldn’t be there.  ©2014  Please note, that all content and images on this site are copyrighted to Dawn Quyle Landau and Tales From the Motherland, unless specifically noted otherwise. If you want to share my work, please give proper credit. Plagiarism sucks.

 

 

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Friday Fictioneers: Never Again?

Warning:  Political strong political content. I’ve left my thoughts for the end, so you can think your own thoughts.

Friday Fictioneers is run by our own Energizer Bunny, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Join in, or read many more stories, at her blog Addicted to Purple. As always, I welcome honest, constructive feedback. Freedom of speech: use yours and leave a comment.

© Sandra Crook

© Sandra Crook

Never Again (99 words)

First they came for Blacks, but I didn’t speak out–

Because I wasn’t black.

Then they came for the Jews, but I didn’t speak out–

Because I wasn’t a Jew.

They came for Boris Nemtsov, but I didn’t speak out–

Because the Russians don’t concern me.

Then they came for the cartoonists–

And I marched; I yelled; I let everyone know that this was wrong,

Because freedom is sacred.

But, I was left alone with cartoons–

The Jews were quietly slaughtered, again, and around the planet Blacks were massacred or put in prisons.

But I was free to speak.

*     *     *

My thoughts: 

First, read the original poem that inspired this, here.

I saw this bucolic scene and thought of many things… but the news got the better of me. It’s hard not to feel like the world is imploding– there are some very dark things going on around the globe and in our own yards. Some of it, admittedly, feels more personal… and I am aware, that we all to some degree, care most about what effects us directly. But I can’t help but feel that “Winter is coming.”

I want to be clear (as this is a very political piece) that I do not in ANY way condone nor minimize the murder of the Charlie Hebdo cartoonists; it was barbaric and wrong in every way. However, they were artists exercising their right to free speech, by throwing rocks at sleeping lions. Many of the cartoons in question, were deeply offensive. Lions don’t stay asleep, and I don’t believe that freedom of speech means we should use that freedom to insult and incite. The same day, those same terrorists went to a Jewish market in Paris, and killed people, simply because they were Jews who were shopping for food. On that same day Islamic extremists slaughtered 2,000 Africans– men, women and children who did nothing that day but tend their crops, walk to the market or see their children off to school. Yet it was the slain cartoonists that dominated the news.

Throughout France, the rise of Anti-Semitism over the past nearly 2 years has been extraordinary. More Jews have left France than in any other time other than WWII, in direct response to persecution and harassment. Children have been threatened at schools; synagogues and stores have been defiled with swastikas. Copenhagen got a taste of this, a month later– again, the murder of a cartoonist and an attack on a Jewish school.

It is not Muslims– who are simply living their lives and practicing their faith, who are doing these things. ISIS, and other Islamic extremists, do not care about cartoonists nor freedom of speech, in the big picture. They targeted specific people who they felt had defamed their Prophet and their faith. They used violence and terrorism, because that is what they stand for. However, they do target Jews; they would in fact like to see all Jews wiped out. Who is speaking out about that?

For more on anti-Semitism in France, watch this shocking video. Check out: this story about the Nigerian massacre, this (US Colleges), or this (Black men in America). Personally, I believe Russia is only as stable as its leaders, and Putin is one scary guy, perhaps criminal. Read this. There are countless other sources; do your own reading, and share your thoughts.

And I will now step off my political box; you can share your thoughts in the comment section.

*     *     *

GIPYHelp Me Reach My Goals! I’d love to see the Tales From the Motherland Facebook page reach 700 likes in 2015. Have you stopped by to spread some fairy dust? Follow me on Twitter, where I’m forced to be brief. Most importantly, if you like a post I’ve written, hit Like and leave a comment. I love to hear what readers think. Honest, positive or constructive feedback is always welcome. Click Follow; you’ll get each new post delivered by email, with no spam.  If you see ads on this page, please let me know. They shouldn’t be there.  ©2014  Please note, that all content and images on this site are copyrighted to Dawn Quyle Landau and Tales From the Motherland, unless specifically noted otherwise. If you want to share my work, please give proper credit. Plagiarism sucks.

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Friday Fictioneers: This May or May Not Be Fiction…

I’m late, I’m late… just struggling with my writing. Stuck like mud on boots.

If you’re interested in joining the Friday Fictioneers, or you’d like to read the other wonderful stories in the series, check out Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ blog Addicted to Purple. Rochelle single-handedly wrangles this mad collection of kool cats and dynamic writers. Warning: highly addictive!

As always, I welcome honest, positive or constructive feedback.

© Erin Leary

© Erin Leary

 

This May or May Not Be Fiction (97 words)

“ This sunrise is amazing! Look at all those colors!”

Todd swept his arms across the skyline and whooped.

“Whoa, seriously… there’s like pink, and purple… green… Man this is unreal!”

Beside him, Kelly studied the fine lines in a fall leaf.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything this beautiful… the mountains, the trees, and that sky– I feel so alive!”

Kelly remained quiet, engrossed in the moment and her boyfriend’s enthusiasm.

Dana watched from a few feet away and laughed.

“Man is right; Todd you’re a riot!” she chimed. “Clearly the ‘shrooms have kicked in.”

*     *     *

GIPYHelp Me Reach My Goals! I’d love to see the Tales From the Motherland Facebook page reach 700 likes in 2015. Have you stopped by to spread some fairy dust? Follow me on Twitter, where I’m forced to be brief. Most importantly, if you like a post I’ve written, hit Like and leave a comment. I love to hear what readers think. Honest, positive or constructive feedback is always welcome. Click Follow; you’ll get each new post delivered by email, with no spam.  If you see ads on this page, please let me know. They shouldn’t be there.  ©2014  Please note, that all content and images on this site are copyrighted to Dawn Quyle Landau and Tales From the Motherland, unless specifically noted otherwise. If you want to share my work, please give proper credit. Plagiarism sucks.

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Friday Fictioneers: Out Into the World, She Boldly Walks…

And sot it continues…. forgot to link up, and lost a day!

My dear Friday Fictioneer friends, I’ve missed this so much! I took off last minute to Israel, to see my daughter and help her move. She is expecting our first grandchild, and there was a lot happening all at once– so I surprised her for her 25th birthday, and showed up to lend a hand. Besides a lack of hot water, there was limited wi-fi and virtually no free time– so I’ve missed the past couple of weeks of writing and reading… and I really did miss it! What a thrill to tune in this morning and see that my photo is featured this week! It was taken on the final state of our trek to Machu Picchu, three summers ago. That is my daughter and dog that followed us for several miles. We named him Machu. This story is dedicated to my daughter, who has always walked boldly in the world.

In the meantime, a post I wrote just before I left, about my work at Hospice, was featured on Huffington Post while I was away. I was informed that it “officially went viral.” I was so grateful that the patient whose work was included in the piece, got to see it do so well. He died on Saturday, feeling very good about his poem being featured.

Friday Fictioneers is masterfully run and wrangled by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Find more details, more stories, and join along by visiting her blog: Addicted to Purple. Sorry for the long intro! Just excited to be back with my FF peeps! Honest, positive or constructive feedback is always appreciated. 

© Dawn Quyle Landau

© Dawn Quyle Landau

 Out Into the World She Boldly Walks (100 words, with effort)

Sarah packed her favorite sweater and her softest t-shirts, tucking socks and underwear near the top of her bag. Her journal, filled with her dreams and thoughts, she placed in last– knowing there would be new pages to write.

She kissed her parents at the door. “I’d really like to walk to the train station on my own,” she told them.

She didn’t want teary goodbyes and drama.

Callie, her faithful companion for 15 years, followed her to the end of the street. As Sarah walked away, the old dog’s tail thumped, her soft whimper filled with love and loss.

*     *     *

GIPYHelp Me Reach My Goals! I’d love to see the Tales From the Motherland Facebook page reach 700 likes in 2015. Have you stopped by to spread some fairy dust? Follow me on Twitter, where I’m forced to be brief. Most importantly, if you like a post I’ve written, hit Like and leave a comment. I love to hear what readers think. Honest, positive or constructive feedback is always welcome. Click Follow; you’ll get each new post delivered by email, with no spam.  If you see ads on this page, please let me know. They shouldn’t be there.  ©2014  Please note, that all content and images on this site are copyrighted to Dawn Quyle Landau and Tales From the Motherland, unless specifically noted otherwise. If you want to share my work, please give proper credit. Plagiarism sucks.

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Jerusalem… It’s Hard.

DSC_0684Israel is a hard place. As I fly over Turkey, Bucharest, Czech Republic, Germany, etc, (each hour a reminder that just getting there is hard– that my girl lives very far away) that is what runs through my head, over and over: Israel is a hard place. It’s something that hit me the first night I arrived there nearly two weeks ago, to visit my daughter, and a statement that played out many times with people I spoke with in Israelis– lifelong citizens, as well as those who are new there, Arab and Jew alike: Israel is a hard place… to live, to understand, to leave, to support, to deny.

Welcome to Israel! At the Ben Gurion Airport, Tel Aviv

Welcome to Israel! At the Ben Gurion Airport, Tel Aviv

To be clear: I didn’t “interview” people about this. This is something I noticed, living in Jerusalem for twelve days and traveling back and forth to Tel Aviv– different from my one other trip, two years ago, when I was very much a tourist (read here, here, and here). Then, I was free-falling with my girl. We explored places around the country, taking in the beauty, the history and the people– me a traveler and tourist, as my daughter showed me the country she loves and has embraced as a citizen. I spent two weeks, and I left besotted, bewitched– knowing I would return. This time I went to help my girl move from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv, where she will join her fiancé. We were not playing around this time, and the experience was very different.

To be honest, I hesitate to even write about Israel or Jerusalem; the response to this topic can be very heated– as I learned in a Huffington Post piece. This is not about politics, or taking a position about the many complexities that Israel encompasses. The politics of the area is a topic that is too big and potentially volatile. I am not an expert, and my feelings on the topic are as complicated as the many and varied details that can be thrown from both sides. This is about one mother, an American, who visited her daughter (who is an Israel is citizen) there and got to see what others have been telling me for a long time: living there is hard.

Sometimes, you take a short cut... which is also a hill to climb

Sometimes, you take a short cut… which is also a hill to climb

I met friendly Israelis and unfriendly Israelis. I met and spoke with Israeli Jews and Israeli Arabs in Jerusalem. My guess is that neither trusted me entirely and gave me only an inkling of what they really feel. But over and over the word “hard” was tossed into the mix. Getting around is hard work. I logged an average of 13,000 steps on my FitBit (a geeky pedometer that folks at home rely on like a watch… or oxygen) daily. I logged almost 26,000 one day (that’s nearly 13 miles of walking) and my least active day was 9,000+ steps. In Jerusalem, everything is up one hill and down another. Repeat. The hills are not small. As I got on the plane to go home, I realized that my calves and legs are sore; they’re also stronger than they were when I arrived.

(I didn’t lose any weight, because the food along the way is just too great to pass by. )

Getting around is harder because so many people don’t have cars. More Israelis have cars now than they ever have, I was told. However, with Israel’s average price for gas at $8.28 per gallon ($2.12/liter), it constitutes 8% of the average Israeli’s daily income to buy a gallon of fuel. (Jerusalem Post*) Israelis don’t drive as freely as Americans do. It’s very expensive; traffic is very challenging– in Jerusalem, all of those hills come with windy streets that are one way this way and blocked that way, and there’s a charge to park most places. Drivers are aggressive and fearless; driving there is not for the weak of heart. Fortunately, I learned to drive in the Boston area; I was not daunted when we rented a car to move my daughter’s things to Tel Aviv. Each time we drove from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv with another load, my daughter shook her head and said again, “Wow! This bus ride takes me at least 2 hours (each way) every time I make it.” We did it door-to-door (to the furthest Northern section of Tel Aviv, much further than the bus takes her) in under an hour, twice, and in no more than an hour other times– with frequent traffic, and waiting a very long time to get gas. Getting gas was hard too. Fortunately, we had a very fuel-efficient rental, and used barely ½ a tank for all of those trips. So while more people are driving, driving doesn’t always translate to easier.

And then sand storms come in off the desert... and everything is harder, and dirtier!

And then sand storms come in off the desert… and everything is harder, and dirtier!

I walked a lot while I was there. I enjoyed walking around Jerusalem; it’s an infinitely fascinating city, and walking is a great way to really see it– but walking is not easy either. Those aggressive drivers do not always stop for pedestrians, unless there is a very clear light forcing them. Inevitably, a driver stops for you, but it’s not a given; the pedestrian does not have the right of way, as so many people at home take for granted. It’s not uncommon for a driver to honk at you as you cross– a straight-forward nudge, admonishing pedestrians to not keep them waiting any longer than needed… as if I wasn’t already hurrying, lest another driver speed around the stopped driver. That happens a lot too. For three days, a sand storm came in off the desert and everything was covered in a thick, brown dirt coating. The air was brown; cars were covered in brown, and breathing was hard. As an asthmatic, it made all of that walking that much more challenging. The residents of Jerusalem simply plod on. If they’re struggling with air quality, I found few people openly complaining. Most acknowledged that it was unpleasant, but just something (else) they needed to work around.

Once you arrive someplace in Jerusalem, you need to be prepared to go through security many places– generally an armed guard and a metal detector (think city court in most US cities), at nearly any mall, historic landmark or crowded place. Going grocery shopping? Security. Entering the mall? Security. Entering the Old City (Western/Wailing Wall, Dome of the Rock, Church of the Holy Sepulcher), lots and lots of security. If you aren’t prepared to open your bag and wait, to overlook the large gun… well, then it’s just hard… er.

Fresh produce: generally boundless and inexpensive...

Fresh produce: generally boundless and inexpensive…

Buying most things costs much more. We saw coffee, not great coffee mind you, for about $40 p/lb; we buy it for about $10 p/lb average, for good coffee at home. Fresh produce, is ironically, much less overall; good street food is inexpensive, but restaurants are not. I must have heard my daughter say “I don’t buy that, it’s too expensive,” or “that… is two hours’ wages,” many times each day. It was a sobering reminder of just how much I do in fact take for granted at home. Shopping for her new apartment was, yes, hard. Hard choices again and again: vacuums are a luxury; microwaves are a more important luxury; choices must be made.

So many structures in Jerusalem are built out of the classic “Jerusalem stone,” and insulation is not good in most homes. Heat is something you turn on for brief periods; it too is expensive. It was really cold, inside, nearly everywhere we went. Hot water is not available on demand in many homes. If I wanted a hot shower, I had to wait an hour for the water to heat up or set a timer for specific time later, and then I’d better not dally. Forgot to set the timer? No shower. Showing my daughter photos from a day in the city, she warned: “Your hot water is getting cold. If you want that shower…”

Eating, getting around, shopping, hygiene, driving, walking; it’s all hard in Jerusalem; it’s hard in much of Israel. It’s hard, in part, because it’s so different at home; we have it so much easier and so many of us don’t actually get that.

The people of Israel reflect the reality of these hardships. They are direct and to the point, a less prone to chitchat and pleasantries. What do you want? Get to the point?– they say with their eyes. Those eyes flash irritation with delays, inconveniences, or indecision– Or their abject acceptance that this too will be hard. Upon arriving at my Tel Aviv hotel, a cab driver yelled at me for three minutes, at 1AM, because I had no cash… as I’d said when I got to the cab stand at the airport… where I was told “A credit card is no problem.” It was– a problem. But these looks, the yelling, is not personal; a moment later, Israelis are wishing you boker tov, yom tov, erev tov, Shalom!– good morning, good day, good evening, Peace: hello/goodbye. This idea that it’s not personal was explained to me… over and over, as if I was hard of hearing.

This is all balanced by the beauty of this ancient land, these ancient places. The blossoming olive and almond trees; the food that is so good you are constantly thinking about your next great meal; the history; the blend of immigrants from all over the world, along with Orthodox and Secular; the colors, smells and sounds of the Arab and Jewish markets– existing side by side, despite conflict elsewhere– all of these elements lure you into Jerusalem, into Israel’s magic. The challenges are many; the complexities of living in Jerusalem in particular, and Israel as a whole, are endless. Have your bag open at security; don’t ask where things are; don’t stand staring at the fantastic menus too long; place your order and move along. Don’t take things personally, but be prepared to stand your ground. Don’t make things harder and Israel will do what it does best: get under your skin, cast its spell, and call you back… despite the hardships.

There are so many things that make the hardships worth the effort:

 

*     *     *

GIPYHelp Me Reach My Goals! I’d love to see the Tales From the Motherland Facebook page reach 700 likes in 2015. Have you stopped by to spread some fairy dust? Follow me on Twitter, where I’m forced to be brief. Most importantly, if you like a post I’ve written, hit Like and leave a comment. I love to hear what readers think. Honest, positive or constructive feedback is always welcome. Click Follow; you’ll get each new post delivered by email, with no spam.  If you see ads on this page, please let me know. They shouldn’t be there.  ©2014  Please note, that all content and images on this site are copyrighted to Dawn Quyle Landau and Tales From the Motherland, unless specifically noted otherwise. If you want to share my work, please give proper credit. Plagiarism sucks.

Posted in Beautiful places, Blog, Daily Observations, Israel, Life, Musings, My world, Tales From the Motherland, travel | Tagged , , , , , | 43 Comments