Look Ma, I'm flying

(Just another day with Parkinson's)

Do you remember the days when we put on our Superman suit and thought we could fly?

The more daring among us (many would replace daring with stupid) would climb up onto the roof of the house and jump off. The next time we saw them was in the hospital where we signed their casts - leg cast and arm cast.

But that didn't stop others from trying what they considered to be a less dangerous flight plan. They would find a good window to step out of and then they would jump - falling onto a number of things on the way down which slowed their descent. We called them the extremely foolish. And the next day we would go to the hospital to sign their casts also.

And then there was the group I was a part of. We would run as fast as we could (usually over grass) and then take off - arms and legs spread out and then CRASH!!!!. Elbows burnt, knees burnt, we lost whatever chest air we thought we had. Sometimes a couple of teeth popped out, the chin was often badly cut. There was blood everywhere. It was then that I'd look up to see mother shouting at me madly through the front picture window. Luckily sound didn't carry well through that type of glass. But all in all, nothing was broken (body-wise). We were called the grounders.

Shift to yesterday morning. Arriving at the Tel Aviv HaShalom train station, I set out for Sarona where I would meet three very good friends from our Hebrew ulpan days, which took place many years ago. There were a number of ways to traverse the maze of traffic lights between the station and Sarona. I decided to take a route that I less traveled by. Crossing over one street, I waited on the curb for the next light to change so that I could maneuver my way past the long line of impatient drivers coming up from the highway to blend into the traffic of Tel Aviv. The light changed and I set out. I still don't know how it exactly happened but I was suddenly in the air.

"Look Ma, I'm flying."

Now I usually have good reflexes. When knocked off balance, my brain will signal the body to take up a defensive stature of some sort in order to cushion the blow which might follow. But here I had no chance to respond. "Houston, the Eagle is crashing." All I could do was unwillingly watch as my head and chin crashed into the pavement, then bounced back and crashed into the pavement again. My knees came down hard and scraped along the uneven surface together with my useless hands. All I could register for a brief moment was acute pain and the feeling that I was about to pass out. But the brain stayed conscious and scanned my body to see what was broken, but nothing was as far as I could discover. Suddenly, faces were looking down at me. "Are you okay?" "Can you sit up?"Can you try to move" "Let's get you off the road." I could feel the pain again. I didn't know what hurt more - my pride or my body. Definitely my body.

One woman stayed with me after I had reassured the others that I was okay., although I wasn't. "I'll help you cross the street," she said. "I'm not leaving until I know that you are okay." Another woman picked up my bag, seeing me looking nervously around. "I have your bag," she said. That was my next worry. I had brought my laptop with me so that I could work on my book on the train. I had convinced myself that nothing would harm it and now here I was wondering if it would power on. "I'm really okay," I said, but the women would have none of that. As we reached the other side, the second woman said that I should be checked to see that nothing was broken. The first woman said that nothing could be broken if I could move around like that. The second woman then said, "That's what I like. Someone playing Internet doctor at the expense of another.." The first woman took offense at that and left. A long time had passed since two women fought over me. Must be their motherly instinct. The second woman told me that she was going to buy me something cold to drink. She left and soon returned with a bottle of iced tea. She asked me where I was going and I told her that I was going to Sarona which was now very close to where we were - to wait for friends. She told me that she would go with me and sit with me until they came but I finally convinced her that I would be okay. So I continued alone on my way. I was feeling guilty toward the end for here Tel Avivians went out of their way to help me and I have been working on a blog, criticizing them for reasons you will find out when I finish writing it. No, guilt is not something that stays in my consciousness for too long.

After a great time with my friends, I started the journey back to the Negev. Before going to board the next train to Beer Sheva, I decided to go one more time to the toilet. When I got back to go down to the train, I saw it leaving the station. The next train to Beer Sheva would only be in an hour. Have you ever had that sort of day when one bad choice soon leads to another? My first choice that day was crossing from another side, resulting in a fall. The second was choosing the toilet and missing the train to Beer Sheva. Now, on a sudden impulse, I chose the camel train that would take me to Beer Sheva in a long round-about way. Why not? I had my computer and could utilize the time working on my book. And it should be a pleasant journey.

I got one of the few free seats remaining, as did two girls sitting close by. The train pulled out of the station and after about five minutes we heard it:
*cough, *cough *COUGH  *COUGH
The girls got up and looked for a different place to sit. I'm not going anywhere, I thought. I'm too comfortable. Every time I move about, I bump into something with my knee and the pain is excruciating.
Another two people came to sit where the girls had been sitting. After a few minutes:
*cough, *cough *COUGH  *COUGH
This happened another couple of times and I started to see a pattern. When people were sitting close by, the woman coughed quite a bit. When no one was sitting close by, she hardly coughed. Had she not appeared to be something that the cat brought in, I might have come to the conclusion that she was just pretending to cough so that she would have more room. She finally got off at one of the stations.

A short while later, a man got onto the train and sat where she had been sitting. He started with a bit of sniffling, but not too bad. And then:
**** COUGH****
Not only much louder than any other I had heard so far, but the man didn't even cover his mouth.
"What the..." But there was nothing to be done. I knew that. I wondered whether this would have happened if I had waited for the later direct train to Beer Sheva.

Reaching Beer Sheva, I heaved a sigh of relief. Now was the last leg of a long and difficult journey. When I got to the bus station, the 65 bus to Midreshet Ben Gurion pulled in a few minutes later. "That's a good sign," I thought. as I boarded the bus. Bus 65 was not the best bus as it dropped you off at the junction, instead of going into the Midrasha. Just as the 65 bus started to pull out, the 60 bus pulled in. Unlike bus 65, it did go into the Midrasha. I could try to get onto the other bus, I thought. But I decided to stay there. "Enough with choices," I thought. The bus left the station and left Beer Sheva. Ten minutes later the bus stopped at the side of the road. It had a puncture. About an hour after that, another bus arrived to take us on the rest of our journey.

"So you did everything to stop me," I shouted up to the heavens with an extended fist. "Did you really think that you could prevent me from seeing my friends?!!
Don't mess with me. I am a grumpy, old man.

Liar, liar, pants on fire

Israelis lie.
All Israelis lie some of the time.
Do some Israelis lie all of the time?
No... but Israeli politicians do.

They can't help it. They try to tell the truth at times but it is too painful. They are indicted to lying, so much so, that they reach a point where even they don't know if they are lying or not.

Maybe that is why President Trump is so highly regarded by many Americans and Israelis alike. Trump has taken lying to new heights. Not only does he publicly admit that he is a compulsive liar, but he prides himself in being so, wearing it like a badge. This trait was witnessed only too clearly by Canadians when Justin Trudeau, the Canadian Prime Minister, came to Washington on a State visit. Trump bragged afterward at a rally that he had lied to the Canadian Prime Minister about the trade deficit, making up information. They all had a chuckle about that.

 In his Nobel Lecture titled “Art, Truth and Politics,” Harold Pinter said: “The majority of politicians are interested not in truth but in power and in the maintenance of that power. To maintain that power it is essential that people remain in ignorance, that they live ignorant of the truth, even the truth of their own lives. What surrounds us, therefore, is a vast tapestry of lies, upon which we feed.”

And where do Israeli politicians fit into all of this? Are they any better or any worse? Let's say that they are tone death. I have seen many an interview where an Israeli politician is shown what he said a few months back in another interview, which is the opposite of what he is saying now. They can't both be right. In one he must be lying. But he doesn't even flinch. "You must have understood," he says. "But it is here, in the public record!" the interviewer exclaims. The politician just shrugs, totally apathetic as to whether he did or didn't lie.

Israeli politicians have also perfected the political lie tag. Their chief sends them out, one by one, to the news shows to push a specific lie, or mix them up altogether. Spin after spin. By the time they are finished, the Israeli public doesn't know whether it is coming or going.

It appears that in today’s world, telling lies has become the new norm, which implicitly encourages us to view honest people as naïve and as potential losers. President Trump and politicians of his kind lead us to believe that it’s okay to lie and that truth just doesn’t matter anymore.