You want a back story? I’ll give you a back story. This was years ago, and we and The Levines were standing in front of the small supermarket on Emek Refayim (in the Jerusalem neighborhood of the same name). We probably had just come from brunch at the late, sorely missed café, Tal Bagels, across the street. And there in front of the market was a volunteer for the J.S.P.C.A., offering at a modest price the organization’s calendars for the new (Jewish)year. Of course, Barbara and I wanted one, as did The Levines. Every year since then, I have made it a point to obtain a few of these treasures, which I then distribute to those who want.

What’s so special about these calendars? They are lovingly done, each month featuring a photo and a bio of a cat or dog who has either been already adopted from their shelter or is still waiting to find a ‘forever home.’ But these calendars are useful as well as ornamental – at least for us some of us. While Modern Man will use his phone to keep track of events or appointments – as well as do everything else except open cans – we of the troglodytic persuasion make cryptic markings on our wall calendars to help us remember where we’re supposed to be and when. (As in, ‘N&G dinner 6:15’ on Sun. Aug. 13, meaning that’s when we were to meet our daughter and son-in-law for dinner at Nocturno.)

There have been times recently when I had to hustle to get the new batch, searching out obscure bookstores in Jerusalem that might not even be around the following year, but sometimes I would get lucky – as in, Maya, a J.S.P.C.A volunteer, would be available to deliver them to me. Sometime in July, she Whatsapp’ed me to the effect, The new calendars are ready; do you want some? I promptly responded, What kind of question; of course I want. How about 4? (In the end, I wound up needing six.)

She’s been available to bring them to me in years past, but now she was stuck at home with her kids during school vacation, and try as she might, it wasn’t going to work, certainly not by my deadline, Thurs. Aug. 3. Why then? Because on that date, The Levines were scheduled to descend from their hilltop up north and grace us with their presence. I wanted to have their copy available for them when they came. The alternative would have been to mail it to them later, which would have meant dealing with the Doar, the Israeli post office. I didn’t want to do that; you don’t want to do that; nobody wants to do that if there is any other way…

I so much didn’t want to deal with our local post office that I travelled all the way out to the J.S.P.C.A clinic in Talpiot to pick up the calendars in person. I was there once before, and I remembered where it is. But to explain how to get there to someone else – like my wife – that would be as heart-rending as going to the post office. Start at the Hadar Mall; go to the end of the block; turn right; go down one block; make a left, and near the end of the block there’s the clinic. But it’s not marked. So you wouldn’t know it’s there. Sort of like an abortion clinic in London in 1935.

But I located where I thought it had to be. Hesitantly, I peered through a glass door and noticed a sign for dog food on the facing wall. This must be the place. I could see a well-worn copy of what had to be the new edition on the front desk, behind which sat a young man whom I assume was there for a reason. Can I have six copies of the calendar?, I inquired naively.  The young fellow got up and started scrounging around in a cabinet behind him. I only have four, he advised me. Well, I guess I’m taking four. (That’s me being the pragmatist.) Out of curiosity, are you expecting to get any more?  He didn’t know but suggested that I try their animal shelter in Atarot, far north of Jerusalem. They may have them there. He did have a plastic bag for my four calendars, so the trip wasn’t a total failure.

When things haven’t gone your way, and you feel a little out of sorts, a trip to Power Coffeeworks is the place to go to soothe the spirits and calm the mind. I would have had to head in that direction anyway. Since The Levines were coming on Thurs., I needed to do my shuk shopping on that Wed. After my usual perambulations, with my two Ikea shopping bags filled to the brim – including a few more bottles of rosé for The Levines– I headed back to Ma’ale Adumimim. What happened next was not what I expected.

As our bus entered our fair city and stopped at the mall, a young woman, the wife of someone I know, got on the bus and sat down on the other side of the aisle a few seats behind me. She promptly got into a conversation with another Anglo woman. In a voice loud enough for any fellow traveler to overhear, she began expressing her disdain ‘for Leftists,’ and that in the coming days of Moshiach, all such benighted individuals would be banished, removed, eradicated from the face of the earth. Usually I remember the usual words of self-censorship, My silence does not indicate assent; I have been left speechless by your stupidity. But there are times, and this was one of them, when I felt the undeniable, uncontrollable urge to say something. Does that include me?, I yelled back across the aisle. I could see the look of panic on her face. Are you a Leftist? Yes, I replied. I didn’t mean you, she said. (Frantic attempts to walk back her statement as I left the bus and shlepped my Ikea bags up to our apartment.)

I’m not really a ‘Leftist.’ It is a fact that I am left-handed (although I can do most tasks with either hand), but I am on good terms with a number of fellow lefties who are political conservatives – so there’s no correlation between how you comb your hair and how you vote. Over the years, I’ve considered myself as a member of the Center-Right, but since that political brand seems to be vanishing faster than the polar icecaps, I’ve slowly and deliberately moved across the dividing line to the Center-Left. But my exchange with this not-quite-all-there lady gave me pause to think. Maybe I’m a real Leftist after all? What do I actually believe?

First of all, in no country in which any of us would care to live is there any rule, law, ordinance, regulation, mandate, or diktat obliging us to despise the people with whom we don’t agree politically. We can even like them without fear of being scorned or ridiculed.

But beyond that, there are a few bed-rock ideals I think are important, as in:

All inhabitants of this planet should have access to clean air and water, a safe environment, appropriate opportunities for education, and reasonable health care. If these requirements need the involvement of governments, so be it.

On the other hand, all individuals should be empowered to make decisions about their bodies and souls without interference from the government or any other group of Nosy Parkers. Likewise, any religious, political, or social participation, affiliation, or activity should occur only because the interested party is so inclined.

I could go on and on, but you get the idea. How would the young lady on the bus feel about my proposals? To tell the truth, I don’t know and I don’t care. I just hope my ideas don’t make me a ‘lefty,’ because that would mean lots of folks out there would not be in agreement. And that would be more fraught with peril than dealing with the post office.

With my adrenaline flowing, I went up to our apartment, unloaded my shopping bags, and then headed straight to my computer. Maya, I wrote, would you please forward this message to the appropriate people at the J.S.P.C.A. I described my excursion that morning and noted that if they had anyone with some business sense running the place, they would have lots of calendars available (only 30NIS apiece!), the idea being, that if they couldn’t or wouldn’t be selling them to the humans who patronize their clinic, whom else did they expect to buy them? (No response, as far as I know.)

Is this not a cautionary tale: a world filled with products and ideas taken halfway, and then the ball gets dropped?. That’s the name of the game here in the ‘Start-up Nation.’ Have an idea, sort of get it going, and then sell the kit-and-kaboodle to somebody who has the know-how to make it work. But who would bring the J.S.P.C.A. up to speed? Marley (the mixed German Shepherd pup, featured on the Sep. 2023 page), Noni (the blind kitten featured on the Oct. page), and their many furry friends are not in a position to step up and assume responsibility for promoting the calendar to local friends of animals and potential adopters. (‘Cats like Puma arrive at the Shelter because someone cares.’ Feb.’24) Let’s take the caring and sharing through to the end, shall we?

Coda

I’m sure that someone who lives far from here but has a good memory will be wondering, Didn’t he say something in his last post about a terrorist attack? What was that all about? Never let it be said that I leave my loyal readers hanging. Here’s what happened. First the back story. (Always the back story!) About seven years ago, there occurred the one and only previous terrorist attack within our safe haven, a little bit east of Yerushalayim. A young Arab man working in the mall attacked a security guard, someone he had known for a while, seriously injuring him and leaving him unable to work again. The recent incident involved Muhannad Muhammad Suleiman al-Mazara’a, who began working recently at a community center, having gotten his position because his father has been working there for years. One day, the young man mentioned to his father that he didn’t feel well. The father asked a Jewish guy who volunteered at the center to drive the son to the edge of Azaria, the next-door Arab village where they lived. A short while later, the young man returned with a knife and a gun (How he got past security at the entrance to our city is not clear) and started shooting people, until an off-duty policeman offed him. And who was the volunteer who had the misfortune of driving the terrorist to Azaria? None other than the victim of the first incident, the one whose life had already been shattered and was now being forced to relive his painful memories. Some people just can’t seem to catch a break.

On that sobering thought…