Jimbo J - Crazy

 

It's day 28 of the war with Iran, and I keep thinking about how I've always heard that it takes about a month to form a new habit, how we've already gotten used to so many aspects of the "war routine": functioning on just a few hours of sleep, taking super quick showers, and using a setting on Waze to find the closest shelter while driving. It feels like there's a general timeline of when the war with Iran will end, but the escalation in Lebanon is a whole other story. There's a very real possibility that life will soon go back to normal, more or less, but not in the North. This keenly relevant song is from Jimbo J's new album "It's All Good", written after he returned with his family to Kibbutz Or HaNer in the Gaza Envelope, eight months after being evacuated on October 7th. In his words, he describes in the album "the crazy day-to-day lives of small people living in the shadow of a huge war."

You and I are used to turning off the news every night to not let the sorrow seep through

To live alongside reality and not to let violence pollute the water of the well in our souls

It's crazy that in the midst of all this, another season has begun

And routine is fighting as hard as we are not to give in

Almost half a lifetime has passed since the day we met 

And most of it has been spent in war

It's crazy that in the midst of all this, gel polish

And packages from Shein

Washing machine and dryer, an air conditioning technician

Shawarma Hakosem

And all the while a guitar and a piano

And a question

When will it end

And at night, I hold you and there's noise over there beyond the fence

At first, I would still wake up and ask, what the hell?

And the truth is, I don't really remember anymore

Time passes, time passes

How crazy it is to get used to it

You and I are used to dropping the kids off every morning at the kindergarten

Against a backdrop of smoke mushrooms, we are used to the questions

Of our two princesses who want to know 

What makes us so sad when we hear a helicopter

It's crazy that in the midst of all this you and I want

To watch a show and we give in to tiredness like babies

And the sun wakes us up again on the couch

We haven't had nights for many days

It's crazy that in the midst of all this, a spare key

A swimming pool in Or HaNer

A barbecue, a baby chair, and reformer pilates

Glenlivet shots

In the midst of this, what sound does a tiger make

And a question

When will it end

And at night I hold you and there's noise over there beyond the fence

At first I would still wake up and and ask, what the hell?

And the truth is, I don't really remember anymore

Time passes, time passes

How crazy it is to get used to it

It's crazy that every day I move

Between giving up and dreaming of staying

To plant roots

Every day that passes I only love you more

My love

In the end it will end

Dudu Tassa - Emmanuel

 

When the siren catches me outside, I'll take shelter either in a community shelter, a store, or in another building, whatever's available. I was walking my dog this morning when it happened, and found myself sitting next to a man with two young children, and realized that he was taking on the "Life is Beautiful" approach I've seen many parents adopt in the past few weeks, calmly saying to them "It's meet the neighbors time, and look, we have a special guest and her cute dog, how fun!" I lifted my eyes from my phone to smile at them and tried to remove any hint of worry as we patiently waited for the all-clear. I thought of this video, which was such a delight to see yesterday on my feed amidst all the posts about the war. Here is what Dudu Tassa wrote: "A new video for Emmanuel. In a chaotic world that doesn't give quiet and doesn't allow for a routine, I wanted to stop for a moment and see things through the eyes of a little, innocent girl, who looks at everything with curiosity. I hope she still doesn't feel all the wars that are happening around us."

Watching it, I think of the little girls like Emmanuel over here and in Iran, in Lebanon, in Gaza, and in the West Bank, hoping they will grow up in a much more peaceful world.

Emmanuel laughs at
A bird in the garden, at light and shadow

At the man who walks with her in the city

Emmanuel is a little girl

She doesn't remember what was

She doesn't know that the heart is fragile

Eyes open to see

A smile through the tears

And she always falls asleep

With another song

What Emmanuel dreamed of

No one will know

No one asks

And she doesn't have words yet to explain

Emmanuel

And all the windows are open

In the skies of the city of angels

Only you see them blooming slowly

Emmanuel with the sunrise

Quietly, quietly and not crying

Sees how a shadow passes over the face

Slowly reaches out a hand

One woman and one man

Sleeping deeply between the sheets

And all the windows are open

In the skies of the city of butterflies

Only you see them blooming slowly

dudutassalink.lnk.to/newalbum

Tamouz - I Don't Know How to Tell You

I was very sad to hear today about Meir Israel's death at 73, after battling cancer. Meir was one of the country's leading drummers and was a member of the legendary rock band Tamouz, together with Shalom Hanoch, Ariel Zilber, Yehuda Eder, and Ethan Gedron. I immediately thought of this song and how the drums play such an important part here, echoing tense heartbeats.

I don't know how to tell you

Words cannot express

I am simply a boy who sings to you

Songs will not say anything.

I don't know what is eternity

Words cannot express

I am simply one who surely

Doesn't know anything

Maybe tonight there is no way

There is just injury and pain

I don't know how to tell you

How much I love you

Don't know what happened to me

Words cannot express

And I am alone and sad

And you don't say anything

I am sitting here, waiting for you

Waiting for you and writing

Because I don't know how to tell you

How much I love you.

Thank you Moshe Kaye for the translation.

It's day three of the war with Iran, and I have a feeling we have many more days ahead. I'm still getting used to the new but familiar reality of living with the sirens, but I'm hopeful that this is the storm before the calm, and that there is a chance that we will have a safer reality on the other side of this.

Matti Caspi - A Place for Worry

Rest in Peace Matti Caspi, you are already dearly missed.

Matti's talent for composing shines in this timeless and haunting song, written by Yehonatan Gefen after the Yom Kippur War.

At the edge of the heavens and the desert

there's a far place full of wild flowers

a small place, wretched and insane

a far place, a place for worry.

Over there they tell what will happen

and think of all that has happened.

God sits there and sees

and guards over all that He created.

It's forbidden to pick the garden flowers

It's forbidden to pick the garden flowers

and worrying, terribly worrying.

Translation from Hebrewsongs.com

Rita - Waiting

"It's a dream that may be slowly becoming a reality. The protesters there are paying the highest price, the price of human life, with everything they have, in fact. These are very brave people who deserve appreciation for what they are doing against all odds. After all, they are dealing with dark forces that throw anyone they want into prison, and kill without reckoning. If the war they are waging now ends in a revolution, and the regime in Iran falls, I feel that the whole world will become brighter - certainly our lives in Israel. There is so much beauty, depth, and color in Persian culture, and I pray that one day all of these will return to be the face of Iran. Of course, I support those who are protesting, am proud of them and pray for them."

I wanted to share these words of hope from Rita, who immigrated to Israel from Iran when she was eight years old and has become one of Israel's top singers, always proud of her Persian heritage. These are days of tense uncertainty. I'm terrified of the fate of Iranians if the regime stays in place and the brutal crackdown that will follow, and how things will play out over here if there's an escalation. As a person who values freedom and secular rights, I can only hope that one day things will be different.

One day it will happen

Without our even noticing it, something will change

Something within us will calm down, something will touch us

And there won't be anything to fear.

And it'll come, like a line engraved in the palm of your hand

It'll come, self-assured

As if it had always been there, waiting for us to notice.

And it'll come, you'll see

Your tightly clutched hands will open

And the heart that guards us from pain will beat regularly again

It'll come, like nature is accustomed

To be at peace with itself.

One day it will happen

Without our even noticing it, something will change

Something within us will calm down, something will touch us

And there won't be anything to fear.

And it'll come, like a line engraved in the palm of your hand

It'll come, self-assured

As if it had always been there, waiting for us to notice.

And it'll come, you'll see

Your tightly clutched hands will open

And the heart that guards us from pain will beat regularly again

It'll come, like nature is accustomed

To be at peace with itself.

And it'll come, you know

Not everything will shake us

Not everything will strike

And what will open up for us

Waits.

Alon Eder and Band - The Future

Finally! I woke up so excited on Monday and rushed to my mom's place so we could watch the hostage release together. It felt like the whole country had stopped, and it helped that there wasn't work in most places because it was Erev Simchat Torah. Words can't explain how moving it was to see the 20 living hostages released, and to see the emotional reunions with their loved ones. Later in the afternoon, I heard and saw the helicopters bringing some of the hostages to one of the hospitals nearby. It was such a relief after I had become accustomed to hearing them only during emergencies, often carrying wounded soldiers in urgent need of care. For the first time, the released hostages didn't have to rush to send messages delivered from hostages left behind, and they didn't have to advocate for their urgent release after coming back from the nightmare of captivity. For the first time, they could focus on healing and recovery, and so can we. Now we are waiting for the bodies of 18 deceased hostages; 18 families deserve closure and a final goodbye.

I was just thinking that this will be the third October without the beloved InDnegev festival, when I saw an emotional post announcing the return of the festival in November:

Returning home and making hope bloom:

Two years since the world turned upside down for us.

We have all had two difficult and painful years, two years of dealing with endless pain and a lack of clarity about the future.

Work on InDnegev 23 was interrupted just before we reached our destination, and everything stopped.

We are excited and happy to announce that InDnegev is returning home, and we invite you to take part. 

This is a call to everyone who is still determined to create hope, determined to dream of peace and a normal life, of a positive and healthy reality. This is a call to activism, to solidarity, to everyone who still has a drop of faith - come make hope bloom with us.

On November 13-15, we will open Mitzpe Gvulot and hold a very special and limited version of InDnegev, a weekend of cultural and artistic activity, a weekend in which we will escape to reality, the one we want and can create.

For the past two years, we have said that we will stay in Mitzpe Gvulot, and that we will wait until all the kidnapped people return and the war is over before we hold the festival again. We have always seen this as part of our mission - to be part of the renewed blooming of the Western Negev, through music, art, and people.

And now, even though everything is still broken and the future is still unclear, we can see a small ray of light. It is time to start creating a space again where we can look deeply into the wounds and begin the process of healing and recovery, allow ourselves to create hope, and allow ourselves to feel compassion.

We intend to do what we have always done: create an open and respectful space, with a diverse and amazing community, with an abundance of ideas. We will set up our stages and, next to them, the conversation tents and the displays, we will bow our heads in the face of the death and destruction of the past two years and raise our heads together to the sounds of hope.

The future is growing in you

And soon it will be reflected

It's also mine, it's also yours

We'll give it a name, it will take the rest

Without a plan, without an introduction

It simply decided to arrive

It's also yours, it's also mine

And everything else feels marginal

The heart beats with excitement

In the head, everything is less simple

This is just a drop in humanity

We'll row, and then we'll learn to sail

The future is very close

I don't even have time to think

It's also mine, it's also yours

We'll give it a name, it will take the rest

Ester Rada, Geva Alon, and Maya Belsitzman - Hallelujah

I saw the excellent show "Who by Fire: Leonard Cohen in the Yom Kippur War" last September and remember being so moved when this song began at the end of the evening, after learning how the Yom Kippur War influenced Cohen's life and music. The yellow ribbon, the symbol for remembering the hostages, lit up in the corner, and no words were needed to explain. The show took place at the Tel Aviv Museum of Art, and before we entered, we walked through the Hostages Square, which is in front of the museum. I remember the chill down my back when I saw Aviva Siegel sharing her experiences with a circle of listeners, at the time still advocating for the release of her husband, Keith. It reminded me too much of the scenes of holocaust survivors sharing their testimonies, so we will never forget. 

When I woke up to the joyous and almost unbelievable news of the ceasefire on Thursday, I thought of all the people I knew whose lives were altered by October 7th and the war in the past two years. I remember hearing the tragic news that a niece of one of my colleagues was murdered at the Nova festival, and a friend's sister came back from it and wouldn't talk about it for weeks. In December 2023, I came to work to learn that the son of one of my colleagues had been killed in Khan Younis, a father to three young children. At the shiva, his father shared how important it was for him to bring back the security to the people living in the Gaza Envelope, and to all of us in Israel. And there was a hope among the soldiers that they would bring the hostages home. For many, it was their motivation to keep going, despite the risk and the challenges. A year and a half later, a son of another colleague began his mandatory army service in the Armored Corps, and understandably, she's been dreadfully worried about what will happen after he finishes his training. She has been going to the Hostage Square Saturday rallies almost every week since the war began, pleading for the return of the hostages and for the war to end in an agreement. And this week it will finally happen. There's a debate going on whether the agreement that was reached could have happened a year ago, or if it was really reached because of the army and the geopolitical changes in the region, as Netanyahu insists. What's clear is that an agreement was reached thanks to Trump's efforts (and we were all holding our breath that it would happen before the announcement of the Nobel Peace Prize winner), and Trump has repeatedly mentioned the protests that have swept the country, built on the principle that we will not tolerate a reality in which our people are abandoned and left behind. My thoughts are with the 42 hostages who were killed in captivity; for 42 families, this will be an understandably difficult time. And yet, hopefully, this will be the beginning of recovery for everyone affected by this war.