Break a leg! - do I have to?

 

We could put the question to this amazing almond tree in its full blossom. It had every possible branch broken by a merciless snowstorm and was literally crushed to the ground. Not only did it prevail, it seems to have found a new way to define its own beauty.

These days nature in and around Jerusalem is beginning to dress itself in its spring colors and it is hard to image what it looked like two months ago, when it was attacked by the heaviest winter weather in about 100 years.

Last weekend I was drawn outside by the spring air to take a glimpse at the beauty of nature being born again. This incredible almond tree instantly caught my attention and fascination. At first I did not even understand what I was looking at. Only upon getting closer did it become clear that the branches of this lovely princess of trees had been bent under the weight of the snow and simply brought to the ground. Yet, the suffering princess did not lose her determination to pioneer spring and brought forth an abundance of blossoms at first chance. Since she stands at a slope, the delicate blossoms seem to flow down the hill, thus decorating it in a most elegant fashion.

“How profound”, I thought. Doesn’t this tree express something that philosophers have tried to put in words far as long as words exist? It holds a wisdom in it that people are constantly rephrasing. Just recently I read an article about having to fail in order to succeed.

As I walked on I came across an even clearer illustration of the same message. This fragile youngster was affected even more severely; its crown seemed completely fallen. But that did not keep its flowers from opening up in a call for the continuation of the life cycle.  

 

What profound aphorism would I use as title to the picture, when I share it on my Facebook page? Who should I best quote to express in words what happened here?  Could I even find something that isn’t already completely chewed up and make everyone go “awwwww” and scroll down to the next profound bla on their walls? Probably not.

 The truth is we’d all rather be beautiful and successful without having our branches broken and crowns crushed. But the trees are still awesome.

 

 

Coexistenz im Jerusalemer Familien-Garten (Deutsche Version)

(Here's is the German version of the post from Feb. 9th)

Solltest Du einen Garten haben, so bin ich sicher, dass Du grosse Freude daran hast. Selbst wenn Du nicht der ergebenste Gärtner bist, oder von chronischer Grill-Sucht befallen, so wirst Du trotzdem die Freuden Deines eigenen kleinen Freigeländes zu schätzen wissen. Die Zeit, die Du dort drauβen verbringst mag zwar gering sein im Verhältnis zu dem Aufwand, den es bedarf es ansehnlich zu halten, aber das ist nicht, was wichtig ist. Wichtig ist, die Möglichkeit zu haben. Ein Garten bedeutet ein bisschen mehr Platz und wesentlich mehr Freiheitsgefühl zu Hause. Normalerweise ist man drauβen im Transit, entweder auf dem Weg irgendwohin oder irgendwoher. Ein Garten ist der einzige Platz an dem man in Ruhe drauβen sein kann.

 

Ich lebe im zweiten Stock eines Wohnhauses in einem relativ eng bewohnten jerusalemer Viertel. Kein Platz für einen eigenen Garten. In Jerusalem jedoch, hat man die Möglichkeit die Vorteile eines Gartens trotzdem zu genieβen, solange es einem nichts ausmacht ihn zu teilen. Eine riesige Wiese zieht sich von einer der Hauptkreuzungen in der Nähe der Stadteinfahrt, den breiten Ben-Tsvi-Boulevard auf der einen Seite und dem Knesset Gelände auf der anderen Seite bis fast in das Stadtzentrum hinunter. Sie ist talförmig angelegt und mit Bäumen und Büschen eingerahmt. Spazierwege führen darum herum und kreuzen das Grün an einigen Stellen. An der breiten Nordseite befindet sich ein Skatepark, sowie Basketball- und Fussballplätze, auβerdem sind Schaukeln, Klettergerüste und alles, was Leute für die Unterhaltung ihrer Sprössling in den Garten stellen, zu finden. Auch für die Fitnessfans ist gesorgt, unter schattenspendenden Bäumen gibt es Kraftsport-geräte. Des Menschen bester Freund, der bekanntlich das Leben im Freien besonders mag, wird nicht vernachlässigt. Für ihn gibt es eine eigene, abgetrennte Wiese, etwas weg vom Schuss. 

Dieser Platz heisst „Gan Sacker“, was so viel wie Sacker Garten bedeutet. Offiziell wird er als Park Sacker bezeichnet, aber ich finde Garten wesentlich passender.

 

Wir verbringen dort gern den Samstag Nachmittag. Wir, das bin ich, eine in Deutschland aufgewachsenen Blondine aus einer Familie von Geschäftsleuten, mein Partner, siebente Generation in Jerusalem, aus einer Musikerfamilie mit jemenitischer Orientierung und usere weisse Hündin Kika, die den Groβteil ihres Lebens in einem Hundeasyl verbracht hat. Unsere erste Station ist die Hundewiese. Nachdem wir Kika frei lassen machen wir es uns auf einer, der am Rand aufgestellten Bänke gemütlich und beobachten Hunde aller Arten, Gröβen und Farben wie sie umher toben. Andere sitzen selber auf dem Rasen oder den Bänken, quatschen oder lesen, wir trinken unseren Tee. 

Als nächstes machen wir uns auf zum Tischtennis, gleich neben den Sportanlagen. Dort sind immer eine Menge Leute und Kika zieht viele neugierige Kinder an. Besonders die Haredim (jüdisch-orthodoxen) kommen um unsere gleichmütige Gefährtin zu streicheln während die Eltern aus der Ferne wachen. Auβer Hebräisch hört man Russisch oder Arabisch, einige Kinder sind farbig. Wir spielen ein paar Spiele Ping-Pong und normalerweise finden sich rasch Mitspieler. Da ist der Typ, der ununterbrochen israelische Folkslieder singt oder redet und nur dann den Mund hält, wenn er am Verlieren ist. Oft kommt der nigerische Fremdarbeiter, der alle mit einem freundlichen Lächeln besiegt, oder die amerikanische Dame, die nicht will dass ihr Mann erfährt, dass sie hier spielt.  Neben uns macht immer irgendein muskulöser Jüngling seine Liegestützen und sobald er damit fertig ist kommt sofort der nächste.

 

Danach gehen wir eine Runde um den Garten, bevor wir uns auf dem Rasen ausruhen. Ich bin immer wieder erstaunt über die enorme Diversität der Menschen und derer Aktivitäten hier. Auf den Sportplätzen ist immer etwas los, aber damit ist es nicht genug. Ganze Gruppen von Leuten spielen alle möglichen Ballspiele, auch solche, die ich noch nie gesehen habe und deren Regeln ich nicht auszutüfteln vermag. Jung und Alt spielen Baseball oder Frisbee, einige machen Yoga oder Tai Chi, manche ringen sogar oder machen Akrobatik. Der neuste Trend ist ein spezielles Seil in etwa einem Meter Höhe von Baum zu Baum zu spannen und darauf zu balancieren.

Kinder radeln auf ihren Fahrrädern die Wege entlang und Erwachsene joggen, junge Paare laufen Hand in Hand oder schieben ihre Kinderwagen, ältere Paare laufen ebenfalls Hand in Hand oder mit ihren Laufstühlen.

Die Meisten feiern das Drauβen-Sein mit gastronomischen Genüssen. Paare bevorzugen ein romantisches Picknick. Aber auch ganze Sippen sammeln sich um Grills und Tische voll mit hausgemachten Köstlichkeiten. Würde man von einem zum anderen gehen und überall einen Happen probieren, so käme das einer kulinarischen Reise um den Globus gleich. Die aufsteigenden Gerüche vereinen sich über dem lebendigen Treiben. Einige gehen sogar so weit die Geburtstage ihrer Kinder im Garten zu feiern. Entweder machen sie selber Musik, oder sie bringen kleine Lautsprecher mit, damit sie singen und tanzen können. Wem diese Art von Freizeit-Fun nicht zusagt kann sich fern halten. Der Garten ist groβ genug für Alle.

 

Jerusalem ist eine multikulturelle Stadt und das ist hier in natürlichster Weise reflektiert. Coexistenz ist nicht nur ein Wort.

 Arabisch sprechende Jugendliche sitzen unter einem Baum während kleine jüdisch-orthodoxe Mädels in ihren halblangen Röcken drumherum Fangen spielen. Eine junge Äthiopische Frau bringt ihr Kind um sich das Baby eines Europäischen Missionärpaars anzuschauen. Ein alter Herr, dessen Familie vor 40 Jahren aus der Wüste Iraks gekommen war und der jetzt mit seiner phillipinischen Pflegerin spazieren geht, ruht sich auf der Bank neben einem Intellektuellen, der ein Buch über Philosophie in französisch liest aus. Jerusalem ist das zu Hause für all diese Leute und sie bewegen sich mit Selbsverständlichkeit in ihrem Garten. Wenn sie einander begegnen lächeln sie, machen einender Platz und wenn nötig helfen sie einander aus. Und dann sprechen alle Hebräisch (mehr oder weniger) im Garten der Jerusalem Familie..

Coexistence in the Jerusalem Family Garden (English version)

(Eine deutsche Version wird folgen)

If you have your own garden, I am sure you are very fond of it. Even if you aren’t the most passionate gardener or suffering from compulsory BBQ-syndrome, you’ll appreciate the joy of your private little outdoor space. The times you go out there may be relatively few compared to the effort it takes to maintain its beauty. However, knowing that the possibility is there makes the difference. A garden means a little more space and a lot of additional freedom where you feel at home. Because usually, outside is a space you pass through when you need to get somewhere. You are either on your way to some place or from some place. A garden is the only outside space where you can slow down, stop and stay for a while. 

I live on the 2^nd floor in a rather crowded Jerusalem neighborhood. No garden here to call my own. But in Jerusalem, if you don’t mind sharing, you can still enjoy the benefits of a family-garden. A huge piece of lawn stretches itself from a major junction near the entrance of the city, along the wide Ben-Tsvi-Boulevard on the one side and the Knesset premises on the other side, all the way down almost to the center of town. It is shaped like a valley, framed by trees and bushes on both long sides, surrounded and crossed by walking paths. At the north side there is a large skate park as well as basket ball and soccer fields. For the smaller children there are swings and slides and whatever people put in their gardens to entertain their offspring. And for those who like to work out there is outdoor exercise equipment under some shade providing trees. Not to forget men’s best friend, who is highly appreciative of the outdoors, has his own free running field a little to the side and away from the crowd.

The place is called “Gan Sacher”, which translates into Sacher Garden. Commonly it is referred to as Sacher Park, but I prefer to call it a garden, because that’s really what it feels like.

 We like to spend Saturday afternoons in the Garden. We, that is me - a German-born blond from a family of business people, my partner - a seventh-generation Jerusalemite from a family of musicians with Yemenite orientation and our snow-white dog Kika, who spent most of her life in a dog shelter. Our first stop is the dog field. After we set Kika free, we make ourselves comfortable on one of the benches scattered close to the fence and just watch dogs of all types, shapes and sizes romp around. People hang out on the grass or on the benches, some read books, others chat, we drink our tea.

Next we make our way to the table tennis in the main garden right next to the exercise equipment. There are always a lot of people and Kika attracts many curious children. Especially the haredic (Jewish-ultra-orthodox) children seem to cherish the opportunity to pet our serene companion. There are children speaking Russian and Arabic, some are black, their parents watch from a distance or come to take a closer look. We play a few games of Ping-Pong and sooner or later someone usually joins in. Often it’s the guy who continuously sings Israeli folk songs or talks and only shuts up when he is about to lose the game. Sometimes the foreign worker from Nigeria, who beats everyone with a smile comes by or the American lady from a fancy neighborhood, who doesn’t want her husband to know, that she comes here to play. Next to us there is always some young hunk making push-ups or pull-ups and as soon as he’s gone the next hunk jumps in.

Later we take a walk through the entire Garden before we chill out somewhere on the lawn. I never seize to be amazed at the unbelievable diversity of people and the variety of their activities. There is always something going on on the sports fields and skate park, put it doesn’t end there. Groups of people play all kinds of ballgames, including some that I have never seen and can not figure out the rules for. Young and old play baseball or Frisbee, some do Yoga or Tai Chi, some wrestle or do acrobatics. The most recent trend is to stretch a special rope between two trees at about one meter above the ground and try to walk on it.

On the paths little children ride their bikes, grown-ups make their rounds jogging, young couples walk hand in hand or with their stroller, old couples also walk hand in hand or push their walkers.

The majority of people celebrate their time outside with food. Couples have a romantic twosome picnic. Entire clans sit around their BBQs and tables full of home cooked cuisine. If you went from one to the next and tasted a little of each, it would equal a culinary trip around the globe. The smells merge in mid-air over the Garden. Some even take it a step further and celebrate their children’s birthday in the Garden. They either play music themselves or bring their loudspeakers so they can sing and dance. If this isn’t your type of fun, the garden is big enough to stay out of the noises reach.

Jerusalem is a multicultural city and it is reflected in the Sacher Garden in its most natural way. Coexistence isn’t just a word.

A group of young Arab-speaking boys will sit chatting under a tree, while little girls in their long haredic skirts are running around playing catch. An Ethiopian woman, who barely had time to learn Hebrew, yet, will bring her child to see the baby of a European Christian couple doing charity work for a year. An old man with roots in Iraq, walking with his Philippine caretaker will take a break sitting down on the bench next to the intellectual reading a book on philosophy in French. Jerusalem is the home of all of these people and they all feel that they can be themselves in their garden. When they meet they smile, make sure to give each other space and often lend a hand. And when they meet they all speak Hebrew (more or less) in the Jerusalem Family Garden.

 

Dog Racing for a Job

During late morning hours I received a call from an unknown number. A young female voice, all cheerful and sweet told me her name and the name of some placement-agency, said she had a job to offer. If it was comfortable for me to talk now, was her question. She spoke so quickly, I never got her name and the agency I could only guess. I wonder if these girls get trained to sound energetic on the phone. I said sure, so she went on to tell me about this particular company, the job they were offering and that they want someone with this experience and those skills, and the person would have to do this and that and all the usual. Then little Ms Cheerful asked me, if I am currently working. I said, that I am self employed and she should have that on my CV. She confirmed, asked if the job was interesting for me and whether to send my CV and if I had a car and if I still lived in the same place and… she kept going on. After I “yesed” everything like a robot, there was a bit of silence, so I asked where the company was located. She didn’t have exact information. I asked what this company produced, but she wasn’t sure either. Then I asked about the approximate size of the company, also without answer. The sweetness in her voice had been fading and was now completely replaced by an impatient I-don’t-give-a-damn-I’m-just-doing-my-job-tone. Finally she wanted to know my salary expectations. The conversation lasted less than three minutes, not even enough for me to get my mind set on the subject. My brain needs some time to load stuff in order to use it efficiently; it’s not the most modern version.

What did I expect? These girls – actually they are probably young women, maybe even mothers already – get paid for placing somebody, not for knowing what they’re doing. Time is critical, not because it really matters, but because of competing agencies, who will snatch their candidates away. Competence is no issue. All that matters is who sends the CV in first. It’s like a gambling game of some sort. A CV is a card in the game with certain criteria turned into symbols that need to match. You’re no person; you’re not even a face or a name. You are merchandise, like a bunch of smelly fish on the fish market before sunrise, still beating your tails against each other while the dealers are throwing a quick glance at you as their eyes roam over the crates to see if you are good enough for them. If you are, they quickly holler a price. And if not, they move on to the next. Reminds me of a slave market, only that each slave had his own price. In this market the price is the same per placement.

Did I get a little carried away here? In any case, I am glad I am not seriously looking for a job. After all, the money I make as a freelancer keeps me going. The reason I agree to have my card played in this game is that I think one should keep the options open. Nobody can promise me, that tomorrow there will still be demand for what I do today.

 

In the late afternoon I get another phone call from an unknown number. A male voice introduces himself and his company. Again, I don’t get his name and can only guess the company name, because he is on speaker and sounds far away and kind of echoy. Then he introduces a second person with a name I do not get and a position I can only hope to guess right. He says they got my CV and would like to ask me a few questions before inviting me to a proper interview and if I had a few minutes, was his question. Well, I actually have my mouth full, because I was tasting the Bolognese that is cooking on the stove. It is my daughters favorite dish and today is one of those rare times she came to have lunch with me.

“Sure, no problem”. I turn off the stove, leave my somewhat perplexed daughter alone in the kitchen and go into my office. What is he going to ask? Flashes through my head. I am not a spontaneous person; information in my brain is not always available to my tongue, especially if it has not been called up for a while. Ask me what year I worked at a certain company and I need to count back year by year. The guy goes on to tell me the company is looking for someone with this experience and those skills, and the person would have to do this and that and all the usual. Then he asks how this sounds to me. If it didn’t sound suiting he wouldn’t be on the phone with me.  My mind has gone into alert mode and is set for something much more challenging.

“Fine, I’ve done all that.” He tells me work hours are from seven to four. They would be a bit flexible with this, but also definitely expect extra hours on a daily basis. In other words, if you come ten minutes after seven, no one will scream at you, but if you expect to leave at half past four, forget it, it’s too early. Actually, it doesn’t matter when you intend to leave, it’s always too early. The thought of having to get up early enough to be in an office at seven, makes me shiver. Rushing out off bed, when it is still dark outside sounds like an impossible mission to me, although I’ve done it for years. I don’t mind working late or at night; at least not from home.

“I have no problems with work hours; I am flexible and can do extra”. He is delighted and wants to know, how far I live and if I have a car. I am starting to feel bored with this conversation and wonder, if they spoke with little Ms Cheerful-but-indifferent from the agency at all.

“Yes and yes”. He is about to finish the conversation, while I am still waiting for some sort of professional inquiry to start. Then the female jumps in and confirms my guess about her being the human resources manager by asking my salary expectation. “Didn’t the agency tell you?” I can’t stop myself this time. The HR-gambler says that she hasn’t had time to check or something like that. I find that strange and unprofessional. But I guess since the symbols on my playing card match she expects me to take what I can get. Or maybe she wants to check if the amount I tell her equals the amount I told the agency-girl (sorry! “-woman”).

I do. She rattles on about wanting me to start immediately and needing me for an interview tomorrow, but since I was self-employed that surely would not be a problem, or would it? I have no appointments scheduled for tomorrow, meaning there are no binding time limitations. There is, however, a lot of work on my desk. I have deadlines to meet and customers to please. My time needs to be planned carefully with the different assignments and then combined with the house- and family demands.

“I have no time limitations tomorrow, whenever you want”.

Again I say what they want to hear, because I’m afraid if I don’t abide by the rules of their game they may not invite me at all. But to be honest, I am in no mood to change around my plans for some instant job-cooking adventure. What are the chances? Even if they offered it me the job, would I consider taking it? I would have stability. I would know exactly how much money I make each month. No more bad months and good months and no more living in constant fear of there not being enough income in the next month. I would have set work hours and home hours. No more sleeping in and juggling with time and tasks. I would do my shopping when everybody else does, cook regularly, clean regularly and spend the time that is left with my family. All this would be part of a routine. No more shopping when the supermarket is empty. No more dropping everything and putting it off to later, because my daughter needs to talk. No more switching off for a while until I am functional again, when the migraine hits or spontaneously taking off a few hours to cook something special and then work at night. With the job they may or may not offer me, I would lose the ability to decide how much work I want to and can do - or how much I need to do, in order to make enough money. My time would no longer be my time.

 

The next morning I wake up with the anticipation for the call from the gambler-woman, whose name I didn’t catch, to tell me when she wants me. I will need to prepare myself, go over my CV, over possible questions and eloquent answers, remember dates, responsibilities, tasks I have done, revive concepts, tactics and strategies in my head and formulate all kinds of intelligent ideas, that make a professional impression on players like her. I need to choose suiting clothes that make me look serious, not homely and simple, but also not extravagant or flashy. I need to appear assertive and self-confident, on the other hand not overconfident but definitely also not insecure. What a project! Why did I agree to meet them today and jettison everything that is important to me professionally at the moment?

When the call finally comes around noon I am deep into one of my assignments. I apologize right away and explain that I will not be able to make it today, because someone is relying on me. She insists that I try. I insist that it’s not the kind of person I can let down - I mean myself. Her voice sounds like that of an overconfident woman who, after flirting with who she thought was her biggest romantic admirer, is told that he would rather just be friends. And she reacts the same way as well. “Ahhh, yes. I understand” Her voice is doing its best not to reveal that she is in a pique” Well, we can’t wait, by Monday the job may well be taken.”  How dare I turn her down?! How dare I waste her time?!

 

She says she will let me know, but by the time I hang up it’s obvious that I will never hear from her again. I have moved from being a fish in the fish-market to a dog in a dog-race, being tempted into wanting to win. It’s irrelevant how professional I am, how qualified, how experienced, how suiting I may be for this job. It’s just about being first, or about pleasing the potential employer. I don’t blame her, there are more than enough dogs to choose from.  All she needs to do is put them all under pressure and make them try to sell themselves as best as they can. They will come racing for the job, as if their lives depended on it. They will run and jump and kick and bark, because their livelihood does depend on it. They will be assertive and serious and determined and impress and pretend and bluff and fake just to please, because they have no choice. It’s the only way to win the race for a job.

It’s not going to happen for me. I don’t want it enough. It is not even the freedom I have as a freelancer, because that is limited. I work all the time, no holidays, no closing hours, no going home and leaving the job at the office. My home is my office and my office is my home. I do what I need to close deals or to get the job done or I do what I am told. I have deadlines and never know if the money flow is going to last and for how long. But there is a price to my work and this price actually has a value. Each hour has a value. My time has value. Whatever I do pays, and I can decide for myself whether I need it or not. I can decide for myself what is worth my time and what isn’t.

I feel human.

 

Empty Room - 2 Poems

Empty Room 1

 

At times I’m mad

At times I’m sad

How do I fill that empty room in my heart?

                        
It was there before, behind guarded doors

Before you walked into my heart as if it was yours

           talking about colors that you would bring
           about music that would sing
           about how you’d make it beautiful, if I invited you in. 

I unlocked the doors and you turned on the light

But you never took one step inside 

No colors, no music, no beauty no more

Just the cold wind that rushed in through the door  

I shiver and shrug as I become aware

How much I wanted you there

 

 

Empty Room 2

 

At times I’m angry, at times I’m sad

again to feel the emptiness so bad

of that room inside my heart

that empty space I’ve often had 

 

It was there before, behind guarded doors

before you walked into my heart as if it was yours 

 

Talking about colors that you would bring

about music that would sing,

how you’d make it beautiful

if I invited you in 

 

So I unlocked the door and you turned on the light

but you never took one step inside

 

No colors, no music, no more

just the cold wind that swept in through the door

made me shiver and shrug as I became aware

of what I was really longing for

 

Inside the treasures lay locked for so long,

but forgotten, because my fear was so strong

 

Already there’s beauty inside that room

already it is filled with gloom

but no one inside to bring it alive

just my love buried like in a tomb

 

You made me see the riches in there

and feel the longing I can’t bare 

 

For someone to live

inside my heart and give

meaning to all that’s inside

but it’s hard to believe

 

that I’ll find

someone kind

who will admire

and not be blind