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"…women who dream and for whom reality is difficult."
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The Lost Meaning of Shalom

Remember this word, 'Shalom'?
It used to mean, Peace.
No more.
It used to be the greeting and especially the good-bye word.
Well, no more!
'Shalom' is out, like it or not.
The new word is 'Yalla-bye!'
a weird, trendy concoction of 'Yalla' (Arab for getting a donkey to move faster)
and the English 'bye.'
So if you happen to speak with an Israeli and s/he quite absent-mindedly ends the conversation with Yalla-bye, don't fight back. Remember it's the most peaceful Shalom we can have around here.



Twice I've Met With Ariel Sharon and Each Meeting Was More Fantastic Than the Other
(a long title for a short story, with no moral).


Well, Israel not being a kingdom it's not rare to meet some of its knights.
Yet for an Israeli humble writer to meet Sharon would be rarest than meeting the royalty in UK. For where could she meet him? At a rally against the invasion (we're talking Lebanon)? No chance.

But even much earlier, here's what happened:

How I Met Ariel Sharon, #1

On the evening preceding the 1973 Yom Kippur Eve, some relatives from South America came to tour Israel. Remember, a few days earlier Dayan, then Minister of Defense had declared, "Never before was Israel's situation safer!" (Another reason why we feel so safe and trustful).
So on the night preceding the 1973 Yom Kippur Eve - a time when the weather is still unbearably hot - we came to pay our respects to our wealthy relatives, dressed in our best attire, which in my case consisted of a long dress with a great décolleté.
So there we were at the palatial Hilton Tel-Aviv, waiting for the elevator. And very soon indeed the click and ring and light flashes signaled it's arrival, the doors opened, and out comes, who if not Ariel Sharon himself. He was already quite large and hence impossible to ignore. I looked at his face to read what it says and indeed it spoke, actually his eyes alone, not to me but straight to the depths of my décolleté. We had to take the elevator so there was no time to say, Hey, how about the depths of my spirit… The rest is his story.



How I Met Ariel Sharon, # 2


A few years later - cannot recall if it was before or after Sabra and Shatila, The Lebanon War - the exact date was not put on record among the multitude of dates assaulting us daily.
We were invited to a colleague's son Bar Mitzvah. As an event, a Bar Mitzvah, when a son reaches the age of thirteen, is second only to a wedding in its importance. If it's a colleague's son celebration, you better attend it if you fear for your life.
But what if this colleague happens to be a member of the central committee of your party? Indeed, he might be only one of some two thousands, but still, these people are the ones who choose the leaders. If you fear for your political life, you better attend it.
So the word spread out: Arik Sharon is amongst us. Happy hour.

I went to the buffet, put a few things on my plate, and turned to go back to our table.
Rest assured I was still young and beautiful and so was my décolleté.
I turned from the buffet with my plastic plate in my hand and who do I see heading straight to the crowded buffet if not, again! The same Ariel Sharon (almost, yet much greater in stature). I looked straight at his face and again his eager eyes spoke eloquently.
He was staring straight into my hands, at the borekas on my plastic plate.

Being vain I don't want even to contemplate the burning question: What If I were to go up on that elevator at Hilton in the same dress, yet with a plate-full of food in my hands. And why, after so many men have peered into my décolleté and so many others have eyed the food on my plates, why do I still remember that one above all?

Hunger, oh Hunger, for women, for food, for power, for land, insatiable hunger cannot but touch, or break, more than one woman's heart.

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