Inbar Bakal

“Yes, top five,” I say.
“Definitely one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”
“How do you feel?” my friend asks.
I look at the Martini in front of me and I think maybe I should order another one
“Drained,” I tell him
“You should be very proud of yourself,” he said, smiling. “I know how hard this can be, I’ve done something similar to that.” and then he continues to tell me about his experience.
Today I did something I’ve been putting off for more than a year, and during that time, I was going about it in circles.  At first I was avoiding it, then denying it, telling myself it does not matter, telling myself that the other side wouldn’t care, that I didn’t care, that life goes on and it went on without me in their lives, why wake up the demons? Why open a pandora box?
The hardest thing I am writing about is forgiveness.
Today I asked for forgiveness; today I looked in the eyes of the people I hurt very deeply and owned up to what I have done. Today I thanked them for being part of my life and for loving me so long.
As I was driving to meet them my heart was beating so fast that it was the only thing I heard; my legs were shaking and I needed to remind myself to breath as I was pulling to their driveway.  And then I saw them and it was like the last year and a half have never happened; they hugged me and I started to cry.
I had done it; and the response was beyond everything I could have dreamed of.  They were as I remembered, loving and kind, their generosity overwhelming. I don’t know if we will be again in each other’s lives; I would like to think so, but the result as I am learning in life is not the focus here.
I have discovered that in my life so many things were depended on others people’s reactions, responses and the likely results and that most of the time blocks me from being my truth, being what I stand for and ‘honor my spirit’ like my friend Maggie Pazant always says.
Think about it – How many things did you put off or haven’t dealt with because – why bother? it wouldn’t change anything, the other side doesn’t care, I can’t change them, I can’t change what happened and on and on your train of thought continues moving.
The truth is that it does matter, it so very much matters, it matters for who you are, what you stand for and what your life is about. Sounds a little grand, I know, but it starts from this.  Owning up to whatever you have done, and once you admit your smallness it ceases to have a hold of you. Once you shed a light on your darkness, it is no longer there; simple as that.
The truth is that I love these people, no matter how they feel about me. I will always remember the good times we had and that’s the only thing I engrave on my heart
The truth is that I have done all the things that I have done, some of them I am really not proud of, some of them were selfish; but you know what? It is part of me, part of my story and I am moving on, finally.  It’s amazing how sometimes forgiving ourselves is the hardest thing. But it gets easy, well not easy but easier, easier once we bring to the surface everything that happened with no drama, face the people who were affected the most and ask for their forgiveness, and if they don’t to still forgive ourselves and to put that chapter in the past.
“So?”
“What?” my friend interrupts my reverie.
“What now?” he asks.
“Well, I am packing a bag and going cross country tomorrow” I respond smiling.
“You know what will cheer you up right now?”
“What?”
“The new Harry Potter movie.”
“hahahaha” I laugh “You got me, let’s go.”
And I go submerge myself in a world of magic.

I was taking this picture in Kula Maui, an old family house in a coffee bean farm.  The house stands there, in the middle of the farm, alone and empty yet you can still feel the love that was shared inside once upon a time.

שלוש בבוקר. הר המנוחות ירושלים

אני יושבת על האדמה, לחיי צמודה למצבה, גופי תשוש ומאחורי אדם שצורח צרחות אימה
“אהההה, אהההה” הוא זועק
‘אלוהים’ אני פוקחת את עיניי
‘איך בדיוק הגעתי לכאן?

שש עשרה שעות לפני כן, בוקר יום רביעי

“בוקר טוב יפתח
הוא מסתכל עליי בשקט לא אופייני “אתה רעב?” שוב אין תגובה אני צועדת למטבח באיטיות ומפהקת, קפה קפה קפה, עוד פיהוק לילה ארוך יפתח התעורר, הוא מלקק את רגלי וממשיך לנשיכות קטנות “אוקיי אוקיי הבנתי” לרגע אוכל החתולים מריח לי טוב , ואני יודעת שזה סימן ללכת לשאוף קצת אויר, ירושלים, אח איזה אויר של עיר הקודש.  מזה כבר חודשיים שאני עובדת , כותבת , נושמת, כואבת  את האלבום החדש שלי בין קירות קדושים ואבנים עתיקות, בין קולות של סליחות וצלילי המואזין אני יוצרת והתהליך הוא קסום, לעיתים אני מרגישה שזה לא אני, לא אני כותבת, זה משהו אחר מלמעלה ויש לי את הזכות לתרגם את זה.  הנסיעות היומיומיות הרצליה-ירושלים החלו להתיש אותי , ומישהו למעלה שם ראה, וביום אחד סטטוס מקרי של חברה בפייסבוק קיבלתי במתנה דירה בירושלים עם חתול אנושי ששמו בישראל יפתח. “תזרמי” כולם אמרו לי שהגעתי, הנה אני זורמת וכל הנחלים מגיעים לכאן, גם אם הם לא זורמים בקצב שאני רוצה. ‘סבלנות עינבר’, אני חוזרת ואומרת לעצמי, סבלנות, העקבה של  אלוהים זה לא הדחייה של אלוהים. אבל בחזרה לאותו יום רביעי
אני בכותל מתפללת ומאחורי עומדת אישה עם קול מאוד גבוה ומבטא אמריקאי :”אם את רוצה אנחנו יכולות לקחת אותך” הנערה שעימה היא משוחחת נשמעת מהוססת  והאישה ממשיכה:”ניסים, ניסים קורים במקום הזה את לא מבינה” הנערה רוצה לדעת על אילו ניסים היא מדברת “לפני 12 שנה היה לי סרטן סופני, אף אחד לא נתן לי יותר מכמה חודשים לחיות ואז הלכתי לשם ונרפאתי”
“ואני לא היחידה” היא ממשיכה , קולה מושך אותי, כזו התלהבות אמיתית מזמן לא שמעתי
אני מסתובבת ורואה עיניים כחולות בפנים מחייכות.  האישה מבינה שהנערה עדיין לא בטוחה, והיא מורידה הילוך ומדברת על דברים אחרים בסוף שיחתן היא חוזרת ואומרת לה: “אני אומרת לך ניסים רק ניסים קוראים שם, את מבינה את האמת”.  בשלב הזה, סקרנותי פשוט גברה על ההגיון ואני מתערבת “סליחה, על איזה מקום את מדברת?”
היא מפנה אליי את ראשה בתנועה מהירה “על סבא כמובן”
“סבא?”
“כן סבא”
היא מתחילה לספר לי על צדיק האמת סבא – הרב ישראל אודסר בעל הפתק שאותו קיבל מנחמן מאומן. היא מתארת לי שוב את הניסים שקרו לה ואנשים אחרים, ואני מקשיבה.
“מה שמך?”
“עינבר”
“איזה אור יש לך, איזה חיוך”
אני מסתכלת בעיניה וחיוכי גדל
“אבל יש לך עצב בעיניים, למה?”
אני לא עונה
“כן, את מחייכת הרבה אבל יש בעינייך עצבות”
שתיקה
“משהו בך מאוד עצוב על משהו”
אני בולעת את הרוק, מרגישה חשופה ועיניי מחפשות מפלט מעיניי הרנטגן הכחולות.
אנו ממשיכות לדבר ואני שואלת אם אני יכולה להגיע לאותו מקום ששם שוכנת האמת.
“בודאי”
היא מחייכת ועשר דקות לאחר מכן אני מוצאת את עצמי במונית עם ארבעה נשים זרות ויעדנו – הר המנוחות
מדוע הלכתי אתם תוהים? הלכתי כי הלכתי.
הלכתי כי עיניה היו טובות, ועיניי היו עצובות.
הן ממשיכות לספר לי על עלילות סבא, הן כל כך מאמינות שהגיעו לאמת, שמצאו את האמת שזה רק עיניין של זמן שכולם יגלו בעצמם.
אנו יורדים אל הקבר, שנמצא בין הרבה מצבות שכיתובן כבר דהה. יש שם ספסלים, ספרי קדושה ונרות.  מספר גברים נמצאים ליד הקבר מתפללים ונכנסים לתוך טראנס עמוק שנמשך עד השעות הקטנות של הלילה, אני יושבת ומסתכלת על אלבום תמונות של סבא, רב חייכן ונעים פנים, אין פלא שקוראים לו סבא, אני חושבת, כל אחד היה רוצה סבא כזה.
כשהגברים עוזבים אני ניגשת אל הקבר, אני פוסעת באיטיות ומסתכלת בחשש ‘מעניין איך ארגיש’ אני תוהה, אני נרכנת על הקבר וממלמלת תפילה.
‘אני לא מרגישה כלום’ אני מסכמת לעצמי ושומעת את הנשים סביבי מתפללות, אני נאנחת וחושבת על הגעגועים לסבא שלי, מעניין מה הוא היה אומר על האמת הזו, סבא שלי שהיה קם בשעות הקטנות של הלילה ללמוד בספריו העתיקים, שהיה גנן ביום וקבליסט בלילה, שהאמין שאנו הנצר האחרון של שבט יהודה, שאמר לי שיום אחד אמצא את ה’ש’ שלי, זו היתה האמת שלו והוא האמין וחי אותה עד יומו האחרון.  הזמן עובר ואני מסתכלת לשמיים ומחפשת את הירח, רוח נושבת ומביאה איתה ניחוח אחר ולפתע אני מרגישה את קדושת המקום.
אני מתיישבת על האדמה ותוהה על פשר ההרגשה, אדם מתקרב אל הקבר ומתיישב לידינו
“הוא נמצא כאן הרבה” האישה עם העיניים הטובות אומרת לי והוא מתחיל לצרוח. עם הצרחות והקברים סביבי אני מרגישה שדי והותר לי עם האמת הזו ללילה.  אני פונה אל הנשים: “תודה שהבאתן אותי לכאן, תודה על האמון ותודה שהראתן לי את האמת שלכן”
“אולי תבואי אלינו?” הן מפצירות, אני בקושי עומדת על הרגליים וחושבת רק על המיטה ויפתח שמחכים לי.
“פעם אחרת” אני מסכמת. במהלך השבוע אני מתחילה לקרוא על הסבא בעל הפתק, על “צדיק האמת” “האמת המוחלטת” של החסידים .

לפני כשבועיים, ביליתי מספר ימים קסומים במדבר. באמצע חולות זהובים ולילות מלאי כוכבים פגשתי אנשים עם אמת אחרת.  המקום נבנה ברוח אושו, פילוסוף ומיסטיקן הודי שפיתח תורה סינקרטית המבוססת על מודעות, חיפוש אינדיבידואלי וכוחה של המדיטציה האקטיבית.
פתיחות, אהבה, קירבה, קבלה הם חלק ממה שבאי המקום מבקשים שבאים לכאן.
ביום שישי שאלתי אם אפשר להשתתף בקבלת השבת
“אל תשירי שירים דתיים”
מישהו אמר לי לפני שעבדנו על השירים
“לא רוצים שירים על דת, רק על רוחניות”
אני נעה באי נוחות על המזרון
“זו שבת, אנחנו עושים קבלת שבת מה יותר טבעי מלשיר ולקבל את השבת את השכינה?” אני שואלת.
“לא אוהבים את זה כאן”
ידיד שלי מסביר לי
“אלוהים ודת, אלו מילים גסות, יש הרבה כאן שלא מקבלים את זה”
ואני תוהה על האמת הזו.

ישנו מדרש של חז”ל אשר התרחש במהלך הבריאה, כאשר אלוהים אמר :”נעשה אדם”.  ארבעת מלאכי שרת נצבו לפני אלוהים: חסד, אמת, שלום וצדק.
מלאכי חסד וצדק היו בעד הבריאה בעוד מלאכי אמת ושלום עמדו כנגד.
מלאך האמת התנגד נחרצות וטען שהאדם לעולם לא ידע מהי האמת, האדם מלא שקרים וסתירות.
אלוהים את האמת השליך ארצה ופקד על האמת לקום מהאדמה “אמת מארץ תצמח”.

ואז אני חושבת על כל האמיתות שאני רואה בחיי בין אם של הסופים והשבטים בסהרה, הצוענים הצבעוניים, חסידי ברסלב, הסנייאסים של אושו ובין משפחתי שלי.
אין שני אנשים עם אותן דעות או השקפות הזהות בדיוק זו לזו. כל אדם הנולד מחדיר לעולם מערכת אפשרויות ופרספקטיבות ייחודיות על העולם. כל אדם והאמת שלו. ואמיתות רבות לנו בעולם.
וראו מה קורה – ראו את שגיאותינו: אנחנו מאמינים שאנחנו ורק אנחנו מצאנו את האמת המוחלטת ואנו מוכנים להילחם עבורה, ואנו חשים הצדקה לייסר אחרים ולהוכיח אותם על טעותם הלא ‘אנו ראינו את האור‘  בעוד האחרים עדיין בחשכה.  אילו חיפשנו בכנות את האמת המוחלטת ודאי היינו נרתעים ונמנעים ממחלוקת, ודאי היינו שוקלים שאולי אנו לא יודעים ומבינים הכל ושסכסוך והפרדה אינם משיגים דבר, עלינו לשים מרחק בינינו לבין אמת שכזאת.
הלא האמת המוחלטת היא אחת, היא האיחוד של הכל.
האם האמת שלנו כזאת? מהי האמת שלכם?
את שלי אני מגלה כל יום מחדש.

When I was 20, my best friend lost her dad.  It was Tu Baav the Jewish Valentines day.  He was in vacation in Tiberius, took a nap and never woke up.

I remember the shock, I remember the tragedy, I remember women wailing and men praying, I was serving in Lebanon at that time and they released me to go to the funeral.

I remember I tried to be there for my friend, but really what could I say ? She was surrounded by family and friends and I especially remember her beloved grandfather, a 70 year old man religious Yemenite who kept by her side and kept whispering in her ears some words we couldn’t hear. It seemed like he was the only one who could give her comfort, revive her grieving face.

Short while after, she was telling me what her grand father said, he said only two words to her: “accept with Love”
“he said that??” I said in complete shock
“yes” my friend replied.

how could he say that? I was thinking what insensitive thing to say to a girl that just lost her dad.  Accept with Love ? how can you talk about love when my friend is not going to have her loving dad at her graduation, at her wedding day? when her kids are born?
I remember being very angry and thinking this is the extremism of religious people who have blind faith.

Sigh…… I was young.

In my family my mom’ my sister and brother experienced loss first hand – one day their father went to work and never came back, he was hit by a drunken driver.  My mom was left with two young kids and at the age of 26 her world came upside down.  They never talked about him much, even as a young girl I knew it was a subject not to be spoken of – too painful.  I don’t know if someone whispered in my mom’s ear “accept with Love”.

Now, 10 years later I think I am starting to scratch the surface, starting to get what the grandfather said, although I did not experience that kind of loss, I am dealing with other kinds of losses.
“Accept with love”two parts of this – accepting and love.

Acceptance – We have no control in our lives. period.
Yet we act like we do  -we try to control situations, circumstances, people, feelings.  We go about in our lives arrogantly thinking that we have a 100 more years to live.  But then, at some moment in time, something happens, rain pours on our beautiful sunny day and we start to question.

with that questioning process we have a beautiful opportunity to grow, to some of us it takes a while, some get it right away and some of don’t get it at all  and there’s no right and wrong behavior – this is part our life’s journey, part of the roads we are taking.

I haven’t experienced losses like my mom or my friend, and I would never dare to start explaining death and tragedy, yet I am applying this to other aspects of our lives  – losing a job, getting sick, losing a loved one.
In all this process we realize that the only thing we do have control of is our reactions, our frame of mind and our perspective, how cliche but it is so true.
Wherever you are in life – choose it, own it, accept it, no matter how painful your situation is in life.  ironically with that acceptance comes room, comes some space and now you are free to react however you like.

What do we really know? What do we really understand? are there some rules written somewhere why things go or turn the way they do? Do we really understand creation? or the wonders of the world?

The biblical story of Job deals a lot about pain and acceptance.  Job is a righteous man who gets many trials from above -death, sickness, pain, misery.   He question God about his pain and suffering and he seeks justice.  At the end of the story God finally answers but not directly to the specific questions:

“Who is this that darkens my counsel
with words without knowledge?

Brace yourself like a man;
I will question you,
and you shall answer me.

“Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation?
Tell me, if you understand.

Who marked off its dimensions? Surely you know!
Who stretched a measuring line across it?”

(Job 38, 2)

Understand that we don’t understand, and acceptance will follow.

The Loving part is the hardest one to touch – I have yet to reach that level of acceptance, that my heart will be full of joy and wonder when I experience loss, maybe one day.  But sometimes I do imagine my grandfather whispering these words in my ear: “Accept with love” and I start smiling.

This blog is dedicated to Yehiel Shaaltiel (in the picture) may he rest in peace, he comes to my dreams every once in a while and to Shlomo Raibi RIP, my brother and sister’s dad.

טו בא”ב. לפני עשר שנים. החברה הכי טובה שלי איבדה את אבא שלה

הוא נסע לטבריה עם אישתו לבקר חברים, עלה לקחת תנומה שממנה לא התעורר.  אני זוכרת את השוק, אני זוכרת את הטרגדיה, אני זוכרת את ההמון וההיסטריה, אני זוכרת נשים מקוננות בתימנית וגברים מתפללים ערבית.  אני זוכרת איך הייתי בלבנון שקיבלתי את החדשות ואת הנסיעה בחזרה הבייתה , אני זוכרת שניצבתי מולה והרכנתי את ראשי – מה לומר? איך לנחם
במהלך השיבעה ראיתי שסבא שלה בא אליה לעיתים קרובות ולוחש דברים באזנה, הוא היה היחיד שהצליח להרגיע אותה ולהחזיר קצת חיים לפניה
לאחר זמן מה היא סיפרה לי מה סבא שלה אמר לה:”תקבלי באהבה” היא אמרה
“מה??” שאלתי
“תקבלי באהבה” היא חזרה ואמרה
“איך הוא אמר לך את זה?” זה כל מה שיכולתי לשאול והיא משכה בכתפיה
איך אפשר לקבל מוות באהבה? איך אפשר להזכיר את המילה באהבה כשהוא לא יהיה שם ללוות אותה בחייה? שהיא תצעד  בלעדיו בחתונתה ? שילדיה יוולדו בלי להכיר אותו? שהוא לא יכול לראות את חיוכה עם גומותיה הכובשות?  איפה האהבה כאן?  אני זוכרת שסיכמתי את זה לעצמי כ: ‘קיצוניות דתית ואמונה עיוורת’, המבוגרים התימנים שבאים מעולמות אחרים
איי יאיאיאיאיאיי……… הייתי רכה בשנים ורכה בבינתי
בגיל 26 אימי איבדה את בעלה, הוא יצא לעבודה ולא חזר. נהג שיכור פגע בו אחותי ואחי נותרו ללא אב.   בשנים שחלפו לא שמעתי הרבה עליו ואיני יודעת כיצד אימי התמודדה עם חורבן עולמה.  אני תוהה אם מישהו אמר לאימי את המילים הללו וכיצד היא הייתה מגיבה

כעת, עשר שנים לאחר מילותיו של הסבא, אני חושבת שאני מתחילה לגרד את השטח. מתחילה להבין “לקבל באהבה” אמנם לא חוויתי כזה אבדן כמו אימי, אחיי או חברה שלי וקטונתי מלדבר על מוות ושכול, אך מדברת אני על אבדנים אחרים שכולנו חווים במהלך חיינו

לקבל באהבה

אין לנו שליטה בחיינו. נקודה
ולמרות כל זאת מתנהגים אנו כאילו אנו מכוונים ושולטים בכל – אנשים, בעיות, מצבים, פתרונות.  ביהירותנו אנו חושבים שיש לנו את כל החיים, שעוד נחייה מאה שנה ויש בידנו את החכמה.
אבל מתישהו במהלך מסע חיינו, הבועה מתפוצצת,  מגדל השן מתנפץ ואנו חווים משהו שלא מתיישב עם דעתנו או ששובר לנו את אמונתנו, ואז צצות כל השאלות,  וכאן לנו הזדמנות מופלאה של גדילה אדירה, יש מביננו שגדלים מיד, יש כאלה שהתהליך הוא יותר איטי ויש שלא כלל.  אין כאן נכון או לא נכון, זה הכל חלק משבילי מסע חיינו ולא כל פרח פורח באותו זמן.  הדברים היחידים שעליהם לנו שליטה אלו תגובותינו.  כל כך נדוש אבל כל כך נכון
היכן שאנחנו – גם אם זה במקום מאוד כואב – עלינו לבחור את זה, להפסיק להילחם בזה, ולמרבה האירוניה כשעושים זאת אנו מקבלים קצת חופש קצת רווח קצת אוויר להתמודד עם מה שקורה.
הלוא מה אנחנו באמת יודעים? מה אנחנו מבינים? האם אנו יכולים לתפוס כיצד נברא העולם? האם אנו מבינים את סודות היקום ופועלם? צאו וראו גשם של מטאורים וכוכבים נופלים – מה באמת אנו יודעים למה ואיך דברים פועלים ?

בספר איוב,  ישנן מספר רב של תובנות והסיפור בין היתר דן בסוגיה ‘צדיק ורע לו רשע וטוב לו’ מדוע דברים קורים כפי שקורים, שכר ועונשו.  איוב ורעיו מייצגים דעות שונות בסוגיה זו.  לקראת סוף הסיפור אנו מקבלים את התשובה המיוחלת מאלוהים, הוא אינו עונה ישירות לשאלות איוב וחבריו מדוע קיבל את כל הרעות.  הוא עונה כך

אֵיפֹה הָיִיתָ, בְּיָסְדִי-אָרֶץ;    הַגֵּד, אִם-יָדַעְתָּ בִינָה.
ה  מִי-שָׂם מְמַדֶּיהָ, כִּי תֵדָע;    אוֹ מִי-נָטָה עָלֶיהָ קָּו.
ו  עַל-מָה, אֲדָנֶיהָ הָטְבָּעוּ;    אוֹ מִי-יָרָה, אֶבֶן פִּנָּתָהּ.
ז  בְּרָן-יַחַד, כּוֹכְבֵי בֹקֶר;    וַיָּרִיעוּ, כָּל-בְּנֵי אֱלֹהִים

מה אתה יודע בנאדם? איפה היית ביסוד הארץ? האם אתה יודע את ממדיה? חכמת הטבע והעולם היא מעבר לבינה האנושית
עלינו להבין שאנו לא מבינים, ברגע שמבינים אנו זאת נותר רק דבר אחד – לקבל.
על החלק השני – באהבה, קטונתי מלכתוב, לא הגעתי לרמה כזו של אמונה, עודני בקבלה.  אך לעיתים אני מדמיינת את סבי לוחש את המילים הללו באזני: “קבלי באהבה ילדתי. זה כל מה שניתן לעשות” וחיוך עולה על שפתיי

רוצה להקדיש את מילים אלו ליחיאל שאלתיאל ז”ל (בתמונה) שמגיע אליי לעיתים בחלומות ולשלמה רייבי ז”ל אביהם של אירית ואידן

When you are asking too many questions, it is time to stop, rewind and be quite for a while.
When your future seems vague and you are still haunted by the past, it’s time to concentrate on the present.

“are you moving to Israel?”
“what will you do here, where will you live?”
“artists make no money here, you will not survive”
“you really need to study something, are you looking for a job?”
“you don’t understand this country, you’ve been away too long, do you think you can change everyone?”

There isn’t a day that goes by and I don’t hear some of these questions, and it’s not that they are not already played in my head over and over again like a broken record.
It’s been three weeks that I am in Israel.  At moments it seems like three days other moments like three months.
Holy Land; I am reading, writing, meeting friends family and strangers and all along trying to find answers.  I know better than to seek for answers outside, but I still do, I guess it’s part of my process since I am not peaceful enough to get answers from him – Where would you have me go? what would you have me do? Should I live here or not? How do you expect me to spread light when all around me is dim?

Herzelia, 12:30am:
“Here she goes again” I hear my mom mumbles as I close the door behind me.
I am walking outside, it’s a beautiful night.  Some restless dogs are barking, but even they can’t break the stillness of the night, I sigh and I can smell the honeycomb.
I am thinking of my mom – How can I explain to her that I find comfort in being alone in nature? How can I explain to her that this is where I feel closer to God? that the moon is so beautiful that it’s calling me?
I go to a deserted park and start dancing and chant the blessing for the moon. I laugh,  if any of the neighbors sees me my poor mom will hear about it for years.
I wake up one day and I feel I need to be in Akko, a northern port city.
“what did you lose there?” my mom asks.
“I just need to be there” she shrugs, by now she is accustomed to my behavior
I take the train and I go to the theater, I am meeting Khaled, an Arab Israeli
that I met in Morocco, we spend a few hours together discussing future ideas for projects, he introduces me to Moty, one of the production people and he volunteers to be my tour guide.
“let me show you the real Akko” he says and I find myself in the Ramhal synagogue. Ramhal – Rabbi Moshe Haim Luzzatto, prominent Italian Jewish rabbi, kabbalist, and philosopher.  I am fascinated by his life story and I wonder why all the great Rabbis were persecuted by people from their own faith.  While walking in the old streets I get to know moty’s story, there’s a deep sadness in his eyes that I can’t understand, but then he starts talking: “I lost both of my brothers four years ago in the 2nd Lebanon war”
He takes me to the place where they died, outside their family house, a missile hit both of them they died instantly in front of him.  “I was right there, next to them.  I am not sure where I got the strength, I am sure it wasn’t me, some other soul came and helped me that after the missile hit I helped everyone there”
“I donated their corneas to a Jewish and and Arab family” he says quietly.
“wow Moty….. “ I say
“we are so lucky to be alive” he says
“Yes we are, lately I keep forgetting” I tell him.
In the evening we see hundreds of people gathering and waiting impatiently for something
“The people are back from Mecca” a man tells us
A full bus is entering the parking lot, people are cheering, playing darbukas and shooting fireworks.
they are squeezing themselves in-front of the bus and are lining up to get special blessings from the Hag people – the ones who visited Mecca.  Arabs and Jews mixed together for a second I consider going and getting blessing as well.  I love this city, sometimes I feel like I am in morocco again.
At night I go to an exhibition of  Nada Natour , an Arab Israeli ceramic sculpture who suffers from Parkinson.
“The butterfly must be pleased to be a butterfly” she writes in her brochure.
“It flies, runs through obstacles, is forced to change direction.  Is forced to take off and to land. and so it goes…So will I go on.  with tremulous hands and dancing feet. This is my dance”
We enter the gallery and She gets up to welcome us.  I see this beautiful butterfly fighting to takeoff, with her tremulous hands and dancing feet.  “Don’t walk I will come to you” and I hurry to sit by her side.  She tells me that pottery kept her alive “I am here in a little room touching with these hands that earth gives me and trying  just trying to make it even more beautiful and return her love”
She points on a beautiful vase that is a little broken “This vase is me, I am a little broken”
“you are not broken” and the tears running down my face.
That’s all I can tell her.
I say goodbye to my new friends in Akko promising I will be back, I leave Akko a little angry with even more questions than before.
Why? How? What???

I start reading Mesilat Yesharim – Path of the just by the Ramhal, hoping it will give me some answers, hoping it will make me fly again.
“I have written this work not to teach men what they do not know, but to remind them of what they already know and is very evident to them, for you will find in most of my words only things which most people know, and concerning which they entertain no doubts.”  Mesilat Yesharim Ramhal

“The duende, is a power, not a work. It is a struggle, not a thought…the duende climbs up inside you, from the soles of the feet…  It is not a question of ability, but of true, living style, of blood, of the most ancient culture, of spontaneous creation.”

Federico Garcia Lorca

‘Don’t cry. Don’t cry. What ever you do don’t cry’ I tell myself
“Tranquila. Tranquila” he yells and I feel these traitorous tears appearing
“No mui mal! relajate relajate Ani!” he keeps yelling. He is showing me a move that my feet are refusing to understand and all along screaming at me to relax.  Someone should explain Rin, my gypsy teacher the irony of screaming to relax.
Ani is my name here, when he asked me for my name the first day, Inbar just seemed to bizarre and difficult “all the gypsies have a nick name this is your name from now on – Ani” and so it is.
I came to Jerez 8 days ago to continue my Flamenco exploration.  Maria Bemudez was my initial reason for doing that, a few months ago while being in California I saw a documentary that my friend Aaron Gross produced “you should see it” he said “especially if you are going to Andalucia”.  The movie is about the life of beautiful Maria Bermudez, Mexican American woman who in her life’s journey moves to Jerez, Spain, the city of Flamenco to study with the real Gypsies ‘I was all alone, dancing my heart out, the gypsies didn’t accept me’ I hear her say ‘I couldn’t get a dancing job for months, and when I finally did they used to put nails in my shoes before the shows, but I continued dancing’ that line did it for me. “I have to meet her Aaron. I have to meet her I just HAVE TO meet her” I tell him.   “ok ok I got it” he looks half amused over my enthusiasm.
It is so inspiring to meet people, especially women who live their art, who follow their heart and their passion and make so many ‘sacrifices’ along their way without knowing where it would take them.  Maria took Jerez in storm, she actually fell in love and married a gypsy musician who later became a Grammy nominated singer with his band  “Navajita Platea” now he is the musical director of her show – “Sonidos Gytanos” (the voices of the Gypsies), they perform all over the world together.
Fast forward a few months and I am sitting across from her, drinking Sangria, drowning in her green eyes and talking about our passions.
“I know why you are here” she says
“you do?”
“Claro” she smiles “See, not too many people know that Flamenco is not just a passionate dance, it is an art form of connecting to your soul, and once you feel it you can never go back. You get it” she says after spending only 30 minutes with me.
“That’s why you travelled to the deep south and you came to the heart of it all – the Gypsies.  Everything you do is about that connection to your soul and it is beautiful Inbar”
“Yes ” that’s all I can tell her, I feel so honored to hear these words from her.
“You are here to get down and dirty so let’s do it.  You are going to study with Rin, he is a hardcore gypsy, very intimidating, he will kick your ass but he is a sweetheart down under”
“I am in” I tell her “I don’t get frightened easily”
“You have some balls chicka” she laughs.
The following day I hear it again “You can barely speak Spanish and you are studying with Rin??” asks Joanna the woman who owns the dance studio
“hmmm yes” I say
“Oh This is going to be interesting! you have some balls”  twice in less than 24 hours, my curiosity is growing – who is this gypsy ?
When we are finally introduced I feel his dark roentgen eyes scanning me, he mumbles something about the short time that we have together and starts teaching me the Buleria, the typical dance of Jerez, he keeps yelling that I need to calm down and relax, and I try my hardest to listen and control my emotions while the tears are appearing.
I release all my emotions alone in the practice time, with every arm movement, every stomp of the feet, every palma, I pour out all my emotions.  All the sadness, disappointments, anger, fear they are all put in motion, I am sweating so hard in that small studio that I can barley see and at times I can’t tell if it’s my sweat or my tears that are blinding me.
I wonder why I am so emotional here – maybe it’s the loneliness that surprisingly creeps up? maybe it’s listening to all these gypsies songs that talk about the hardship of life and broken hearts? maybe it’s the fear of my uncertain future that is nearly coming? or maybe it’s the Duende?
“Tienes Duende chicka” Maria tells me, we talk about it and I start reading about this phenomenon.  “God distributed a lot of duende in this gypsy town” she says
and first hand I see the power of Flamenco when we go to a Tablau, a typical gypsy show and one of the women in the crowd goes into trance: “This is what I was looking for all my life” she was crying and shaking hysterically “All my life in Germany people told me that I am too intense, enough enough Basta!  I am reborn!!!!”
‘Unbelievable’ I mumble, in this journey I have witness first hand the true power of music & dance, from the Sufi trance in the dunes of the Sahara, to the sacred music in tiny living rooms in Fes, to ecstasy in the ancient streets in Marrakesh and now here in deep south Spain, with the gypsies.
“Three months Ani.  Stay three months here, I will teach you and you will be a great dancer” Rin lays this bomb on me after 4 days of dancing and my heart is racing, to hear that from him is a true compliment.  “You have the goods chicka” Maria adds “as you are discovering it is a lot of work, you can become professional – practice at least 3 hours a day and you will get there”
3 months – why not? I will stay here with the gypsies get my ass kicked and my feet killed, why not? I wonder and a stab of sadness comes over me.  I have no home now and I can live anywhere, everywhere, I have no job, no one is really waiting for me anywhere, why not? if I do it I’ll do it right, all the way.
Should I stay should I go? It seems fitting that in a time of my life where my future is wide open and empty I will find myself living with the gypsies.  Maybe God is trying to tell me something, he always does, I just need to listen.
All we need to do is just listen.

Maria Bermudez and her Gypsy band are performing in Los Angeles on July 23th & 24th at the ford theater – Cali people you don’t want to miss it!

“Do you want me to release you?” he asks
“Do you need me to help you move on?”
Silence
“I want you to tell me how you feel” I whisper
“I love you” he says in a casual tone
“But it did not make me come and see you”
Breath Inbar breath.
I want to tell him that I don’t understand, I want to tell him about the burning, I want to tell him about the yearnings.
But instead I am concentrating on my breathing.
“Are you lonely? Do you feel like you need me?”
“I don’t need you, I want you” my voice is barely audible and even I cannot believe my own words.
“I want you to take this love and grow, fly away, let it make you happy” he says.
Silence. “Don’t let this love stop you, especially if you meet another man, I want you to go for it”
I have no air.  I can’t breath.

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Months later, his wishes fulfilled.  He got what he wanted.
I grew in ways God only knows, sometimes I wonder if my parents will recognize me coming back to Israel . I am living my days fully and I am happy.
He got what he wanted.  But I didn’t.
The wound is still there,  sometimes I wonder if it will be something forever carried with me, if it will ever be healed.
It’s been almost a year and my love did not die. “Distance makes the heart go fonder” a friend once told me “You love an illusion”.  But no one knows the mysteries and the depth of the heart.
I tried to resist this love, tried to ignore this love, tried to overcome this love, tried to reason with this love, talk myself out of this love.
Nothing helped, the pain continued.
Only in the last recent months that I got some peace of mind, while the wound is still there, we co-exist; I greet it, I make fun of it, I romanticize it, I am inspired by it and sometimes I welcome it.
I realized that the source of our suffering comes from denying love. It is denying the ultimate truth.
Earth, air, fire, water.  Like the 4 elements of nature, I love him and I accept it.
In our lives, we sell out the truth, we sell out love for the cheapest price – our ego.
Our love for one another is conditional, it is solely dependent on how the other person feels, how they react, how they behave.  Let me tell you my friends – That’s not love.
Love has NOTHING to do with it.  Love someone because they breath, love someone because you love someone.
This love is you, what you feel is in you, and it’s between you and God.  Thank God for the opportunity to have your heart open.  There’s nothing more tragic than a closed heart, life passes you by, forever a spectator in a show, closing and guarding yourself, thinking this is the way to gain control of your life and to avoid pain.  It is an illusion, we have no control in our life and more pain will come when our hearts are closed. 
“But it makes no sense” my friend Mazi told me
“How can you love someone when they don’t give you the time of day? How can you love someone who does not want you? that’s so humiliating and needy”
“On the contrary” I tell her
“Unconditional love has nothing to do with need.  The love is not dependent on anything.  You don’t need anything the love is there because it is there, you created it”
“Do you know how much strength and courage you need to have that sort of love?” I ask her.
I think that the hardest lesson to get is that even though you love someone, it doesn’t mean that you are meant to be together.  That’s our own story, we need to take responsibility that we invented these expectations, regardless if they are reasonable or not.  We are so arrogant, thinking that we know what is best for the other person that they ‘must want us’, ‘we will be so good for them’.  But the truth is that we have no clue, we don’t know what journey the other person is in, and frankly, most of the time we don’t even know what is good for us.
All we can do is have our heart open, and offer it to whomever we choose.  Trust God, if it’s meant to be, the other person will gladly accept your heart and will offer his as well. And if they don’t – mourn a little, find your creative expression, write, dance, sing, draw, paint, pray, surround yourself with people you love.  But whatever you do don’t sell out your love, do not deny truth it will only increase the pain.  Release and let it go.
At the end, I didn’t get what I wanted, but I surely got what I needed.

Every muscle in my body is aching, even the ones I did not know exist.
“Remind me why are we doing this?” asks Devina
“I don’t know” I reply
“This is worse than a boot camp”
Devina is an Indian Canadian girl who like myself came to the school to learn Flamenco.
Escula de Carmen de las Cuevas is located in beautiful Granada in the Albayzin neighborhood, the old part of Granada, with narrow pebble stones streets.  The classrooms are actually small caves and the terrace has a breath taking view of Alahambra.
From 9am till 6:30pm I am in school, studying Spanish, Compass (Flamenco rhythm) Flamenco technique and choreography.  There are students from all over the world, and the school is known for the high caliber of teachers.
At my first day here I was in high spirits, the day went magically, the teachers were friendly and warm and I was looking forward to my last lesson of the day -  Choreography. 
We were all waiting for the teacher and I was chatting with a French girl while I was noticing a woman entering the class and throwing her Flamenco shoes on the ground.
‘That’s odd’ I was thinking.  Everyone I met was so excited to be here.
The woman looked very annoyed and she started sighing
“I hope that’s not our teacher” I whispered to the girl next to me.
The woman was fixing her hair and looking at herself in the mirror.
“No I don’t think so” said the French girl
A few more minutes passed and the woman finally said: “Todo Hable Espanol?”
I am the only one brave enough to answer: “No. hable espanol pocito, but I am studying now”
She gave me an offended look and began.
Oh great. This is the teacher.
She immediately begins tapping her feet, no introduction, no hello, no describing our class, nothing.
She starts dancing and yells at us to repeat, half of the girls are in shock and don’t know how to repeat it, myself included.
She does not really care and continues ahead.
‘What’s going on here?’ I have taken Flamenco before, and I have seen the Tango’s this is not a beginners level.
I am making the mistake of asking the girl next to me: “Is this the beginners level? am I in the right class?”
The teacher hears my question and barks something in Spanish.
The girl next to me answered apologetically: “she says there are no beginner classes in Granada, only advanced.  This is Andalucia and that’s the level, if you want you can leave now”
Oh crap.  Is this how it’s going to be? I wonder.
She continues with the choreography and all along she has that look of  – you foreigners think you know Flamenco… let me show you that you know nothing.
I was frustrated and at one point she mimics my frowning “this is not the attitude I want” she tells me in Spanish. ‘Well what do you expect angry woman?’ I was biting my lips so hard not to answer her back.
At that point I was fantasizing of dropping this class all together, go explore Granada and meet an exotic Gypsy man who will teach me the secrets of Flamenco much better than this angry woman can.  My imagination went wild and I was wondering where I will meet this mysterious Gypsy, but then the love of dance got to me and I was determined to continue.
‘This is not about the angry woman, this is about me, I am here in a cave in Granada and I am going to dance and enjoy myself even if I suffer’
The 2nd day my nails are beginning to crack and my calves are soar, but I am dancing.
The 3rd day my feet are starting to swollen and my knees are screaming but I am dancing.
by the 4th day I have to take pain killers to continue dancing 4 hours a day, I need to replace my shoes since my old ones broke, but I am still dancing.
The 5th day my thighs are bruised badly from tapping the rhythm on them, I show it to the other girls in class that are shocked but I swear I see my teacher smiling.
Every evening I have to soak my feet in salt water,  even walking in the streets on the pebble stones is painful.  I force myself to go out and see the Flamenco shows and by the time I go to bed I can’t even remember my own name.  Can I make it a whole month? sometimes I wonder.
But then I dance, and I forget everything, or should I say – I remember.  I awakening my soul as the music penetrates my body and the rhythm is taken me over.
The teacher grew on me.  She is actually the best teacher I have here. I think she wanted to shock us in the first day or perhaps she was having a bad day.  It’s funny how in our lives we judge people so quickly and blame them for the situation we are in or how they make us feel, it is so ridiculous, it’s never them, it’s always us – once I was determined to let it go and enjoy myself, that’s exactly what happened.
Swollen feet or not, I am dancing and I am happy.

There are 15 policemen around me, pushing my way
“Pardon, pardon” I say as they push me even further.
It’s a narrow way, I have all my bags with me and it is hard to maneuver but they keep pushing me.
It’s 2 o’clock in the morning. I just boarded the train and I’m trying to find an empty seat before the stream of policemen came my way.
They are holding flashlights, they are opening doors, looking in the ceiling, checking the vents.
‘What is going on?’ I wonder ‘Is this their routine check?’
They keep shouting at each other, and I can see they are not too happy that I am blocking their way
“Pardon” I keep saying, I am too tired and annoyed to give them my usual smile.
My shoulders are screaming, I am carrying way too many things for traveling, so much for my attempt to travel light, Morocco just had too much to offer.
I am looking for an empty seat and all the carts are full.  Everywhere I check there are men.
‘Where are all the women in this country?‘ I keep thinking ‘Don’t they ever travel?‘ and then I spot a few carts with women but they are completely full sleeping with their kids.
I continue checking the carts, then the heavy load is getting to me and I just enter a cart with 4 men.
“Ahalan” I say as I squeeze myself to the window seat. Yay window, I sigh and take my bags off.
Before I can even take another breath 4 men are seating squeezed tight next to me while the seats on the opposite side are open
I look at them and frown “there are empty seats there you know”
They answer something in Arabic, and then laugh.
I sigh, men are men no matter where you are, but my patience limit has exceeded.
“No.  you need to even things here, go sit over there” and I point at the other seats
I know they don’t speak English, but they understood every word.
They take a few seconds then say – “ok, ok”
Good.  We are going to get along great I think, and then we try to converse in half French half Spanish.
The train is not leaving and I wonder if the policemen that are still running around have anything to do with it.
I close my eyes and try really hard not to care about the awful smell, or my throbbing shoulders, or that four pair of eyes are watching every movement I make.
Then the door opens and a skinny guy is rushing in with a blue bag, he is half screaming to them and keeps pointing at the bag, he is sweating and his eyes are darting towards the door and the hallway.
‘What now?’ I wonder
They answer him back, they are shouting too, and they keep pointing on the bag. He is trying to find a place to put the bag, he is looking above our seats, but thanks to my bags and my developed sense of shopping, he has no where to put it.  He runs out of the cart but leaves the blue bag under the seat.
“What is going on?” I ask them
They keep shouting among themselves
“What’s in this bag?” they are still shouting 
“What’s in this bag?” I repeat, then I wonder if I should really be asking this,
maybe it’s better to close my eyes and try to sleep, but I am not known for my quietness and reservation.
“No good” one of the guys is saying
“No good? is that what the police is looking for?”
Silence
“Police? policia? men with uniform? is that what they are looking for?”
Silence
Oh dear god why did I enter this cart?
“what’s in this bag?” I ask again
One of the guys is gesturing a movement to his nose.
Oh no oh no oh no no no no.  Please don’t let it be what I think it is.
Seriously Inbar, why all these things are happening to you?
“Drugs?” I ask them.  “Do I really want to know?” I ask them rhetorically
One of them is saying a French word that I can’t understand
He sees that I am not happy so he takes his laptop and saying “diction.. diction” he wants to translate.
“Ana Doctor Doctor” he keeps saying to me like that should give me any comfort,
it takes him forever to load the computer, and I keep staring at the blue bag that’s getting bigger by the moment, should I stay should I go? Scenes from midnight express keep coming to me and then he says: “customs, customs, our friend is hiding from the customs.”
“Why? what’s in this bag?”
“smoke smoke” he answers.
“smoke?”
“cigarettes” he answers in a quite voice
“cigarettes??” I ask in amazement  “all this for cigarettes?”
“Oui. Algeria…no legal” he is saying “no pay tax”
“hahahahahahahahahah” I start laughing so hard and they look at me like I am crazy
I already learned about the Morocco-Algeria love/hate relationship, but right now smuggled cigarettes seems like the best case scenario for this blue bag.
Then the skinny man with the frightened look comes back, he starts arguing again, but by then it doesn’t really bother me.  The situation got more comical when two women came to the cart to argue with him about something and they were screaming in Arabic back and forth.  Ahhhh, what would I give to understand what they where talking about.
All along I am seating in my place and grinning, this is way too funny Algerian cigarettes…  and I think my good mood infected them, they started relax a little and we chatted.  The skinny guy came back and forth, he didn’t seem more relaxed once the policemen left, I think he feared more the two women who where screaming at him.
Hahahah, I don’t blame him, Moroccan women can be a little scary.
and my 20 hour journey to Granada continued, two trains, boat, bus, taxi and a very tires pair of feet & shoulders.
Granada here I come.

I have no place to stay.
What the hell am I doing?
Our group tour is over and I am by myself, my funds are scarce and my initial plan to stay with my musician friend fell through.
What the hell do you think you are doing? here you are a young woman, don’t speak the language,  with minimal funds in a Muslim country, you are going to get yourself hurt, you are too naive, why didn’t you stay with a group? Who do you think you are? you and your adventures… who are you kidding? ahhhhhhha… the voices in my head continue to ramble I take a deep breath and say out load: “Thank you for sharing.  I had enough”
and it takes a few more tries before I actually believe it.
Trust, trust trust Inbar.  If you have anything in this world is that – Trust.
I talk to Jaouad and he offers his cousins place.  I am gladly taking his offer. “What are you going to do all these days alone?” Sue G asks
“I am going to sing in the streets, talk to the locals and work with musicians”
“Which streets? where are you singing?” she asks
“I don’t know”
“Which musicians?”
“I don’t know”
She is quite for a second. Then she says “you are in a real spiritual path ha?”
“yea, I guess I am”  I answer
“I wish you a lot of luck Inbar, especially in Israel”
“Thank you SueG”
My eyes are starting to water, I am the worst at goodbyes.
I stay at Abdou, Jaouad’s cousin, he is a very friendly man who is eager to please but I feel uncomfortable, all I can think of is me a single woman staying at a single man’s apartment,  but I trust and I am practicing non expectations so I let it go.
I love Fes.  So much culture, so much history, I walk in the Medina, the old part of town, about 1200 hundreds year old, there are no cars here, only mules and sea of people, hidden alleys, secret pathways and a man made maze.
I walk in the alleys with my portable recorder and I try to capture the sounds; the sounds of the donkeys, calls for prayer, radio blasting, people arguing and my personal favorite – people who keep shouting “Balak, balak”
I dream of staying in a beautiful Riad. There are gazillion of them around Medina
“It is very dangerous Ambar” Jaouad says
“You better stay with Abdou in the new city it is safer”
I take Jaouad’s word plus the cost of Riad for 8 days is not going to work for me.
At night I take a taxi and go to the concerts.  The sacred music Festival started and there’s a line up of great music.
I went to hear Najat Atabou, the Moroccan pop star.  You have not seen an excited crowd till you’ve seen the Moroccans rock out to Najat.  everywhere you go people are dancing, I don’t think I have seen so many men in my life, dancing with each other, taking their shirts off and climbing on each other’s back, let me tell you it was a trip.
The second night I go to listen to Musicians du Nile, an Egyptian group that was featured in the movie Latcho Drum.  I sit on the floor by myself and absorb the sounds, At the break I hear a woman behind me talking on a creative workshop she is doing the following day.
“Can I get a flyer?” I ask her
“Of course” She says, and she gives me the biggest smile
I like her already.
Her name is morning star, she had an ivory skin and flowing hair, an engaging southern accent, she is from Nashville Tennessee.
“I have been watching you” she says
“You have?”
“You are beautiful, you look like a Rachel”
“Rachel?”
“Yes, when I looked at you the name Rachel kept coming to me.  Rachel, the biblical Rachel”
I laugh “I will be a Rachel, I always wanted a man to work seven years for me”
She joins me and laughs.
I come to her workshop in a magical cafe in the Medina, we are on the roof and you can see the a mosque and walls all around you.
Creating cultures of peace, is the name of the workshop, it is facilitated by her and Masankho.
“You two must meet” she says, and like any great encounter, we look at each other and nod in respect.
I learn that he is a story teller and I am immediately drawn to him.
he tells me the story of seeing lake Malawi for the first time when he was 3, on his dads shoulders and it’s like I am there with him in Malawi, seeing this lake.
“Once we know people’s story it is harder to hate them” he says.  “Story telling is one of the ways for healing”
and I fully agreed.
We had a magical morning, and I learn more about Masankho Banda, he is an international peace builder, healer, educator and a story teller who lives in Oakland, he received a hero of compassion award from the Dalai Lama.
“Where are you staying?” Masankho and Morning Star ask me
“Oh, I am in this place.. want to move if you know of anything cheap around please let me know”
“why don’t you stay with us? we have an extra bed, we are staying in a Riad”
“Really? I will not impose?”
“Of course not”
Then beautiful Sara comes to the cafe, she is Morning Star daughter and she has a little girl named Kenza, Arabic for treasure. “you should come stay with us, we have an extra bed” she adds.
Kenza takes my breath away, she is gorgeous 3 year old, creation of a southern woman and a Moroccan man, just beautiful.  I realize how much I would love a little girl.
“You can have her sometimes” Sara jokes.
and so I spend time with them, my new family who embrace me so quickly. It is a magical Riad, better than what I envisioned.
The days are flying by, I walk in the medina in the morning, and in the afternoon I am in the concerts and anytime between I write.  
Ah, the music, the sacred sounds are penetrating my heart and I find myself even more inspired. I am blown away, after every concert I think – oh, this was my favorite, the Egyptian, the Tunisian, the Indian,  the Moroccan, so many flavors with only two ears.
Sacred city, sacred music, sacred encounters.

This is a story about a woman named Mimuna.
Mimuna was a very simple woman that lived by the sea.  She could only say two sentences – Mimuna loves God, God loves Mimuna.  She lived her days and she was happy.  One day a holy man came with a carpet from the sea to visit Mimuna “Do you know what are you saying? Let me teach you what it means, let me teach you the divinity“ and he did, he was teaching her scripture and asked her to repeat after him. They spent some time together and then he left.  After a while Mimuna was confused, she couldn’t remember the holy man’s teaching, she tried again and again to repeat his sentences but could not.
She went seeking for the holy man, she knew he came from the sea so she started walking, and she walked and walked and walked on the water.  Finally she found the man.  He looked at her in amazement and said: “You are the holy one. You need not learn anything else”
God loves you.  You love God.
Abdul our driver in Casablanca was telling me this story,  and I was thinking about it all my trip.
Simplicity.
How do we take everything and complicate it, when the answer to everything is so obvious and simple – faith, love.
A few weeks ago I heard Marianne Williamson speaking in LA: “complexity is from the ego…we are either a host to God or hostage to the ego” it is that simple.
When we face a situation, we usually dissect it, consider it, reason with it, play with it in our head and then end up with so many stories, fears, and voices inside our head that can rarely be quieted
All we want is some peace of mind.  Complexity will never achieve it.
Faith.  I can see so clearly in my life that when I have faith, things happen magically and usually my wishes are fulfilled.  When fear enters my mind, things do not flow and the energy is blocked.
GOD LOVES YOU.  You are in this world for a reason, what it is is between you and God, your journey will take you.
Love him back – love his creations, even if you cannot understand their meaning or purpose.
Love him back – Love yourself for he is in you.

Thank you Michael Tucker for taking beautiful pictures of Morocco and it’s beautiful people.
I saw this beautiful woman in Marrakesh and I thought she would make a good Mimuna, but Mimuna could be everyone, she is in us, she is you.

Rose Valley.  I am going to a coffee shop to get nus nus, I can barely sleep in this country, too much stimulation I need caffeine.
I smiled and thanked the guy who was making me coffee.  His name is Hajid.
After drinking his coffee, he asked if he can show me something.
“aiwa” I replied.  He takes me to the near shop and start dressing me in a Berber outfit.  I laugh and he points on a camel doll with bride and groom riding on it.
Before I know it he picks me up and runs outside towards the desert.
Everyone laughs and the cameras are clicking
“I love you” he tells me.
“Ana bachebak” I answer and his face lights up.  It’s hard not too, he has the biggest smile and the sweetest demeanor.
Now he takes my hand and walks towards his motorcycle, he really wants me to ride with him, I thank him and refuse.  He goes to the garden to pick me roses.
He gives me his phone number, email and address and ask me to stay in touch, I promise him I would.
As we were leaving, he came to our bus and gave me a ring, I didn’t want to take it but it hurt his feelings
“Marry me. I make good husband”
“I am sure you would Hajid” he would make some other Berber woman very happy.
He wants me to come back one day.
As we were driving away from the valley, all I could think of is the clearing, the clearing that was just created, here I am an Israeli woman, ex-officer in the Israeli Air Force, here in Morocco, connecting to a Muslim man.
In light of everything that happened in the last few weeks in Israel, between all the hate and the blame, there is hope.  Here we are two strangers, from the complete opposite sides that connect.  And he is not the only one, there are so many stories and magical encounters here, countless of them.  Hajid and I are merely a mirror of what can be, and how we get there is the main question, but like everything else it is about us.  How we view ourselves and from that how do we view other people.
A year ago, I would not believe the things I am writing right now, a year ago I would continue with my suspicion and resignation. I wanted to be right, all the time, because I knew better, I was morale. Now I choose differently, and my life is different, magical.  It’s a conscious decision that we need to make at every moment, at every minute.  To feel God in everything and everyone, all the rest is an illusion.
And for all of you my friends that read this and feel uneasy, know that I understand. Wherever you are, whatever path you are walking in, is exactly where you need to be.  There’s no judgment, once I judge you I judge myself, and that’s not my path.  
I will just offer a different way, a different perspective, I will not try to change you or convince you of something.  All I can do is be an example, and be a stance of love and courage.  and this is what I am offering, this is what I am giving to you.

xoxo

My 6 senses are on steroids here.
I am starting the day under  canopy of green in the Majorelle gardens
We continue to the Oureka valley, an hour drive away from Marrakech, winding roads with rose color mountains, if you look very closely you can see little villages, it seems like the mountains created the houses, men did not interfere with mother nature here.
We go to a Berber market, sea of people streaming along the dirt road, some look at you some look through you, hard working people.
There are 3 main Berber tribes in Morocco – Tamazich, Schluch and Riffi.
each one of them is very distinct, with different dialect, different kind of music and they are very proud of their heritage.
The Tamazich – are the original Moroccans “warriors of freedom”, they are the largest group and these days they mostly reside in the high & middle Atlas mountains.
The Schluch – originally came from Yemen (yay, my ancestors), known to be good business men, they reside in the south.
The Riff – came originally from the mediterranean countries – Italy, France, Spain.
Jaouad, our guide is Riff, and he goes on explaining how the Riff are different: “Our word is golden, when a Riff says something you know it’s his honor”
At the Berber market, I couldn’t stop looking at Lee, the woman from my group, she is like a floating energy that spreads her bright light everywhere, she is kind, she is smiling and she has a high voice that makes you grin, the Berber sellers are following her everywhere, she is too kind to say no and ending up buying half of their merchandise that she has no use for .
She inspired me, I write her a poem.
“Why are you looking at me funny?” she asked me in the bus, as I was writing.
“I will tell you later, promise” I answer
“Ok” she answers in her musical tone.

We continue to the grave of Rabbi Solomon Hench, a holy man, that his nick name was – Snake Hench.
The story was that The rabbi was walking to get water, and fell into a well.  He was there for 19 years (!) ,he survived because of a snake who kept bringing him food.  His burial place is inside a small building painted light blue, there is an old Jewish man who lives there, the last descendant of that family and he is asking to bless us,
He puts his hand on my head, and start blessing, his words are quick, Moroccan and hebrew,  he blessed me to be a good wife, have a family in Israel, have a lot of sons.  There are goosebumps all over my body, I close my eyes and start sobbing.
Here is this old man, can barely hear or see, lives of donations, does not know me from Adam, here he is giving me probably the most important blessing of my life and with such Kavanah (meaning).
Then I think of us in our lives – How often are we blessing people? How often we actually take the time? How often we look at someone’s eyes and really see only them? How often we actual say what we wish for them? Good thoughts & intentions are great, but our words have power, and we don’t use them often or should I say use them for healing one another.
I am inviting myself & whoever reads this to bless one person a day, to take a minute 2 minutes of our busy day and actually say it to someone, anyone and it could be anything….
I actually did mine this morning, Dror was not feeling too well, we formed a circle around him, blessed him and then went a little coocoo and start doing silly dances around him, just for fun, just to put a smile on his face.

Snake charmers, Berber magicians, beautiful women, monkeys that want to shake your hand, men that offer you marriage, honking cars, busy streets, coffee that will keep you all night, steaming tagines, hustling and bargaining at the souk.  Marrakesh.
I can’t escape the feeling that I’ve been here before, I am intoxicated just from the exotic scents, and I smell everything – jasmin, amber, mint, trash, sewage, oils, pastries.
Everything is here, just reach out and feel it.
The people are beyond friendly, they keep asking: first time in Morocco? Do you love it? Have you seen this or that? Have you been there? want to eat? want to drink?
Yesterday I went to an Herb & Spices store and I spent most of my money on spices, bought a life time supply of Rass Al Hanout – mixture of over 40 spices and herbs for meat, vegetables couscous and Tagine.  we joked that if you’re a horrible cook you really need to get this, doesn’t matter what you cook it will taste good with these spices.
I am trying to think of creative way to buy a Tagine and carry it in my backpack while traveling in Spain, ahhh the food I will cook…..
Last night, we went to a Moroccan family and I got exposed to Dekka – a typical music from Marrakesh, very up beat high energy, they describe their singing as the spirit of Marrakesh – foolish and light, they make up words as they go, in their first song they counted in French and sang-  we don’t know what to say: un… deux… trois… je ne sais pas, and somehow it sounded Amazing.  
The energy, the energy of what you give from yourself is everything.  No matter if you perform to 2000 people or 8 people.
I am falling in love with this country, it’s going to be hard to leave.

“ברוך אתה אדוני אלוקינו מלך העולם אשר קידשנו במצוותיו וציוונו להדליק נר של שבת”
We are at the hotel’s dinning room, I lead the Shabbat candle blessings in our table. Whispers and giggles from the people at the restaurant, we continue to sing Shalom Aleichem and Dror takes out his drum, silence in the room, now they are staring.
We continue with the other blessings and start to eat.  Something in the room’s energy has shifted, it was the singing or the drumming or our collective “kavanah” (meaning). After dinner a group of men & women started singing traditional Moroccan songs, Dror took his Bendir (Moroccan drum) to them and a woman grabbed it and started drumming, I join them and we start dancing, two women are taking my hands and dance with me, they are trying to teach me a certain dance, I laugh.
Everyone is into the music now, they are all dancing, singing and those who are too reserved are clapping.
Music.
The ultimate language.
Same women that looked suspiciously at me an hour before, are now holding my hand tight.
Magic.
Dance, sing, laugh. Don’t take yourself too seriously Life is too short.