So I am on vacation.
America is funny. First meal: a corned beef sandwich on rye with pickles, a potato pancake, and kishke. Yum.
Watched the Daily Show and laughed a lot. The regular news is a pastiche of stories about missing children, child molestors, and murderers. The news channels seem to be yearning for another terrorist attack on American soil. CNN is anchored by a bunch of sentimental airheads (or are they just faking it?). Watching Fox is like being at a party where everyone is on drugs except you. No fun unless you drink the cool-aid.
I am trying to avoid news about Iran. It’s depressing. I am too confused about everything. My cousin said to me, “I used to wonder how you could live in Iran and then I thought, ‘I live in Missouri for god’s sake. I don’t agree with any of our policies. I hate Bush. What’s the difference?’”
There is a difference. I told him. “I know,” he said.
We were at a Bat Mitzvah party. There was an open bar. Teen age boys and girls were dancing together. We were not worried about the police raiding the party. We were drinking moderate amounts of alcohol. No one got drunk. Couples were openly showing affection. (Affection, not lust.) It was relaxing, fun, low-key. I almost cried. Maybe I did cry.
Everyone said they wanted to hear about Iran. We did not really have time to discuss it. It was enough to be together.
Had lunch with my dad’s old farts club. It was me and a bunch of old men. One came over from Turkey, another survived pogroms in Poland, all had lived through WW 2 either here or in Europe. Turns out my 83-year old cousin is a veteran of the Battle of the Bulge. Why didn’t I know? How much don’t I know?
Miss hearing Persian. Miss the activitity. Don’t miss the chaos. Don’t miss pollution. Do not miss the traffic. It’s so cold that I am practically wearing hijab everywhere I go...