I have a memory of a group of us dancing on a pontoon on the lake one Friday night that I think about if ever I need to reduce my blood pressure.
“You’re in the land of Zion,” now, he shouted, “you’re in the land of the Jews!” He was obviously a lunatic, but I didn’t want to back down.
It’s all quite plush, for a sex room, newly built and well maintained. It’s better finished, by far, than my flat, and spotlessly clean.
A man at another table pointed at me, his hand trembling, and said, “Itzak Stern sat there.”
He carries, at all times, a beautiful modern edition of The Art of War, which he reads during the break.
Outside the Kabbalah Centre, by Diezengoff Square, a man eating a felafel approaches me. He has long, wild hair and a huge, wild beard, like Ben Gunn, or Roy Wood from Wizard. He has, obviously, never been convinced by the merits of conditioner. Much of the tahini from his lunch has been redistributed in his… Continue reading Beggars’ banquet
Tasks always take a stage or two more than you expect in Israel.