A Flowering of My Own

Neat.
Three days after I throw a line back to the olden days in Romania, Bat Ayin has become a flowering haven. Witness: Flowering trees, mustard flowers on the hill, and the first of the tulips that Eliezer Zinn and I planted in front of my trailer in December.

The tulip bulbs were a donation from a group of Dutch Christian pilgrims who came to see the West Bank. Or something like that.

The trees smell heady, intoxicating.

One from the Vaults: In Search of Flowering Trees

Here's a piece from an old email that some of you may have received from Romania back in 1997. It's kinda nice, kinda melodramatic and depressed, kinda Stu. I remember the passion of those Romanian dusks and the heartbreaking beauty of those trees in the purple darkness. Don't know if I've felt beauty like that, so comprehensive and deep, since then.

{note to bobtaco: see, i was crying 9 years ago as well!}

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I was asked about the flowers in Romania,

and as Spring finally decides to commit fully

(after six weeks of cold rain sun rain no-rain)

this city which I described as so drab and colorless

bursts into life.

Tiny, vibrant, fragrant love.

In the flower market just across the street,

I have seen Gerbera daisies in colours that I never dreamed of.

Lavender-grey-blue. Ocean-green too rich to be real.

I roamed the aisles sticking my face into every bunch

to be sure that they weren't fake.

I had found a cloth Lily in a cemetary.

what are the Dead to do with a flower that won't decay into dust?

In every square,

every plot of once sparse grass,

delicate faces so many shapes

that the air takes on a tint,

the dull buildings reflect the hue

and a slight song of joy pries its way into the souls of Buzau.

Lying in a field of golden splendor,

eye to eye with the bees

as diligently engaged as I was deliciously indolent,

rembering the sun that I left

ages past.

How to tell of the flowering trees?

With every wind's whisper,

a summer snow in purple and white

and a scent I can only describe as home.

Belonging, familiarity, comfort.

Littering the earth,

outlining the sky

tiny-spired pinwheels

fluttering

teasing my nose

adorning my hair.

I walked through the park in twilight,

In search of a path through a tunnel of flowering trees.

I had been there before,

warned of the briefness

the retreat of their exhibition.

Bats tranversed the white-glowing sky,

Lovers strolled through strange frog laughter.

in the filthy pond they sound like ducks

chuckling at the lightness of all

chuckling at the rebirth of Spirit.

And I wander in search of flowering trees.

Once again on the path where I had passed them

three dusks ago.

Yesterday's cold rain had stolen my blooms

Verdant glowing twilight but not enough.

Seeking a place to sit

Pages open to record my sadness

if no trees, then lines to etch them.

Reeling bats, rain cross the page,

not enough for flowers to bloom,

this struggle with intention,

no realization.

So I pack it away

rising in despair

seven steps, nine

it flickers in the growing gloom,

a lone tree bedecked with yellow blossoms.

I take one to my own,

turning down another path.

Trembling in a power to overwhelming.

the brutality of my failure at craft

the ruthless wonder of nature's retort.

eyes clench, i hold myself

and stagger.

Then I have arrived

As if never lost.

My flowering path,

glowing white in the urgent twilight,

washing out the green and gloom,

a respite, a belonging.

I bury my face in the branches

hot rain pours from my eyes.

scraped cheeks and tongue tastes

breathing my mother,

enveloped by my lover,

in search of flowering trees,

crying desperately in the park as night settles in



goodnight friends.

love,

stuart

This ain't my momma

It turns out that Bugsy Siegel's wife was named ESTA-- unreal. Does Esta know this? Did Alex? He woulda loved it. I remember these pictures of Alex from the 70s with a kind of roguish cuban hat cocked to the side, a real gangster look in his eyes.... Of course, Esta was the long-suffering wife, who was abandoned for Annette Bening or something like that/ Well- my Esta dealt with Alex for long enough, here's hoping she finds her Warren Beatty...

EMERGENCY JEWISH FREEDOM APPEAL-- IMPORTANT!!

I need some help.

I might need to stay in the States through Passover, for the sake of saving a lot of money on the flight. If this is the case, I need a place for Seder in either Atlanta or New York.

HELP ME FIND A SEDER!!!

I would like something Halakhic (ie "Orthodox," as they say).
but most most most important is something creative and deep,
that is to say, a Pesach experience that is truly about going through the process of being liberated from our personal slaveries, and feeling a deep sense of freedom and rebirth.

That is to say, the real deal....

Think far and wide, and someone lend this wanderingjew a hand....

Thank you.

That Pasty Dude in the Evil Suit with the Cut-Up EggHead is my Dad!!

I was in a classic stuart mood last night, really down and on the verge, and Ariel Elisha (the Clown Prince Prophet) was cutting into me in his violent and loving way of Holy Guidance and Truth, and we were arguing about the Force (a very very common topic here at Bat Ayin). And just as I remembered that:

a) I had been thinking earlier about watching Return of the Jedi
b) Ariel Elisha just got the triology on DVD in the mail from mom,

that Tzadik and prophet asked, "you wanna borrow the disk?"

So I did. And started watching it, after breaking down in my room in the dark and crying for 10 minutes, and missing an international phone call in the process-- (who called??? call back!)

I tell you, that flick is good. Real good. This time I even got into the simple populist beauty of the Ewoks and their triumph against modernity and oppression, rather than thinking that they were a bunch of dumb Chewbacca terds with dull spears and grotesquely big lips. But most of all, I was deep in Anakin and Luke's struggles against the Dark Side. And after seeing last summer's Episode III, I really did feel the full weight of Darth Vader's pain, the ultimate darkness that must have been in the heart of broken, broken Anakin.

And when Luke says, "I'm going to save you," to Anakin, and he replies, "You already have," then dies, I lost it. Man, oh man. I shed some Star Wars tears for sure.

I still wasn't fully convinced that the Force "loves" us, and that it isn't a neutral presence. But I do know that the whole inyan (Hebrew for "the core esssence" or something like that) of Luke is that he will do anything for his friends, even kill. And it is that love, and his faith, not in God or the Force, but in his father's capacity for the same love, that saves the day.

The day? Hell, it saves the whole durn galaxy.

Go watch Return of the Jedi again-- then give someone you love a big fat hug.

I'm-a gone kick me some Anti-Semitic Ass

This is the stele of Merneptah. A stele is a big stone. Merneptah used to be the Pharaoh. In Egypt. His stele, which records many of his great military victories, is in the Cairo Museum in Cairo, just behind and to the right of the colossal smiling statues of Akhenaten's parents (whose names I don't remember). Here's an image of Merneptah, enjoying some pleasant time with foreigners:


The most notable feature of the Merneptah Stele, which dates about 1220 BCE, is that it is the only mention in Egyptian texts of Israel. It says something like, "Israel is desolated, his seed is not; Palestine is become a widow for Egypt."

We learned about this thing back in the first HUC year in Cincinnati, in a Bible/History sort of class. I never thought I would see it, never really thought about it. But there I was, in the Cairo Museum a few weeks ago, and there it was. Somehow, on first glance, I knew. And you know, friends? I just started all crying and stuff right there in the Cairo Museum, and sending text messages to folks in Israel--

"AM YISRAEL CHAI!!!! (The People of Israel Lives!!)"

Because I was, standing there, all living, vital and filled with Israelitic seed, and Merneptah, well, he was hanging out in the mummy room upstairs, all--friggin--dead:

It was a real moment of pride. And identification. Merneptah can take his skinny elbow and kiss my Jew tuchas. For real.

----> so here's a good time to apologize to Brian Bernius, who was our teacher back there in Cincinnati. We gave that poor cat a really hard time, and complained a lot about him, and acted in a totally unprotorabbinic and unrighteous way. Shame on us, and thanks to Jeffrey Weill for keeping me honest.

Next topic...

some bad words ahead, read at your own risk:

So anyway, I was out in the woods tonite, crying up to heaven, and was thinking about all these sweet Jews here in the Land who are working hard to better themselves and serve God and serve the community, yearning to find and give love, who try, really try to be good people, who are conscious and conscientious and kind and caring and know how to party without acting like shmucks. I was thinking about that, and I started thinking about Merneptah, and his misplaced sense of pride and victory, all giddy about wiping us out three thousand two hundred and twenty years ago, and then I thought, you know what?

Fuck all those liberal conspiracy freaks on line who blame EVERYTHING BAD IN THE WORLD on the Jewish and/or Zionist conspiracy. They're all assholes and hatemongers, and even if it was TRUE (which maybe it is), that Herzl and the World Zionist Congress and the Mossad and Jerry Seinfeld DID orchestrate 9/11 and conspire with the Nazis and cancel Twin Peaks a season too early, it's got nothing to do with me, or Dr. B_., or Jen Webster, or my momma or my sister or any of the Yids that I know (except maybe Chazarmaveth and Leon Rosen).

No more than you or I are responsible for what the Bush Administration is doing in Cuba-- I voted for Kerry, fer Chrissakes-- you did too, right?? right?

Ahem. Just a little rant. And if you gou around reading that drivel and believing it and spending more time talking crap about the Sharon cabal than you spend saying "Good Shabbes" to your friends and loved ones, then SHAME ON YOU.

Merneptah is dead,
and someday every punk blogger with a bad attitude will be too.
And I'm not complaining about the Holocaust Cartoon Contest-- that's a hell of a lot funnier than riots that kill Christians in Nigeria over a Danish comic strip. I'm just talking about liberal conspiracy-mongering that is more hateful than fundamentalism.

Uh, yeah.

up-to-date miscellany

Like in this photo from a three-dollar hotel in Cairo, I've been a bit slack as far as blogging since my return to Israel. Forgive. Blame it on "intensive studying" or "a period of deep spiritual exploration." Just don't be so prosaic as to say that wanderingstu don't blog when he's in a cruddy mood.

Have you noticed that the rudest and most off-color wanderingstu comments come from folks who are spending or have spent significant time in a Yeshiva (one yeshiva in particular...)? If you haven't, it's probably for the better.
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THE NEWS: I will be in the States between Purim and Pesach (non-inclusive). That means approximately March 16 - April 11. I will be in the City March 24- April 2, then in Atlanta and driving around the South for the rest of that time. Book your spot now! Invite me to dinner! Offer me a couch!
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Me, the Nile, and some of the boys. The Aryan dream is Adrian who, if it was the 1970s, and I was Allen Ginsburg, you might have some curious thoughts about. But his gal Katarina (or Katrine or Katherine or Katya) is taking the picture, and I;m not such a poet. He's a fiery young thinking lad from Germany, and a great guy. She's a fiery peace trooper (who used to be) from America, and a great gal. They are still in Cairo, hobnobbing with the intellectuals. I'm telling you-- underneath the 300,000 shoestores and the seeming chaos and dirt of it all, Cairo is jumping.

If you look behind the Egyptians in the other photo, you can sort of see the amazing SWEET POTATO FURNACE. This things were by far the greatest treat in Cairo. Some guy with a cart roasting sweet potatoes on the street for 36 cents. Beats the hell out of a stale New York pretzel...
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I love Lisa Whiteman. I had a major crush on her in London way back in nineteen-ninety-something. Since then, she has become THE MOST FAMOUS person in New York City. Or at least in my eyes. Here's a great example of her blogging brilliance. And here's her photo site. Dig it.
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You can't fight The Onion. They constantly manage to offend and outrage while cutting to the ugly truth of this world's madness and eliciting a good guffaw in the process. This week's is a particularly good one, so click fast. Of note is this brilliant update on the new Hamas peace plan. note: like much (not all) of The Onion, this piece is controversial and might upset some folks. Read at your own risk.

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Photo by Aliza Hava after our camel driver abandoned us (with all our luggage), thereby making us walk the whole way out of the desert, which ain't easy for city Jews, ya know?

The desert is full of rock, friends.

Some dream of ponies...

..some dream of wanderingstu:

whoah stuart,
i just had the best dream with you in it.

i love it when that happens.

i think jonah an i were in israel with you.
and i think we were going to some sort of
premarital counseling and we went in this little car/camper
thing that you had that you were super pumped about,
but i was super nervous to be in, but you loved it because
it only cost $125.

so i just remember us being in the desert and
spending time together, and how nice it was to see
your sweet face, and those great stu eyes of yours.

Back in Jerusalem, big things a-coming, beloved friends. keep me in your thoughts, and send me love!!!! I send it back