Old Writing: The Beach (an ongoing love story)

While I am procrastinating about finishing some new pieces that I have been working on for a while now, I have been reading some old stories I wrote about nine years ago, just after I got back from Israel. This is one that just happens to be timeless, as it is a love story of mine that will never end or go away. Thankfully I don't live too far from the ocean nowadays, but I would love one day to live right by it, so close that every day when I wake up it is the first thing I see and hear.

(Written in August 2004)
What is it that draws me to the sea? I wasn’t born near the sea, I’ve never lived by the sea, well not until I went to Israel anyway. I just have an immense love for seas, oceans and beaches. The constant waves soothe me, the sand under my bare feet massages my unsteady spirit, and the sun making its way over the water releases a feeling of utter freedom in my heart. If I stay away from the beach too long I miss it terribly, I dream of sitting on the sand watching the waves, of searching for shells along the edge of the water, of making gigantic sandcastles with walls and moats.

The first two months I was in Israel, I spent them in the middle of the desert. On a beautiful moshav literally in the middle of nowhere, a kilometre off the main road, bang in between Be’er Sheva and Eilat. Oh yes, I developed a love for the desert, miles and miles of sand, mountains looming in the distance, a dry bush or tree here and there and a pounding, relentless sun, but I missed the water and waves.

So when I went to the Kibbutz Programme Centre in Tel Aviv in the beginning of September (2003) I knew I wanted to go north. Preferably by the beach. That’s what I asked for, and after being told there was room on a kibbutz on the road to Jenin the lady brought out another folder and handed it to me with a little smile.

There was no choice to be made really. Evron is situated 1km or so south of Nahariya, right up north, a very short distance from the Mediterranean and the train could take me all the way there. An hour and a half from Tel Aviv, a ten-minute walk from Nahariya and the station, 6 hours from the moshav, but no need for endless bus rides. A short phone call and it was all arranged, I was off to Evron. And for 7 months I lived on a beautiful kibbutz 10 minutes by foot from the sea. When you’ve lived by the sea once, you just dream and dream of living by the sea again.

I worked in the Dining Room most days, and there was a special part on the path going from the Dining Room to the Volunteer House where the sea appears suddenly on the horizon. Every day, rain or shine, when I got to that part of the path my heart would suddenly lift and everything would seem so perfect, even if only for a moment.

The first time I went to the beach I went alone. I had arrived in Evron the evening before, worked in the kitchen on my first day and was ready to explore the area. I walked into Nahariya, along the main road (I love walking, I’ve never seen the point in using a car or bus for short distances) and strolled along the main street, knowing that it had to end up at the beach at some point. There is a “river” running through Nahariya to the sea. It runs right down the middle of the main street and it was never really more than a trickle if not completely dried up (it did overflow once during a flash flood though).

I walked along the beach for a while, kicking off my flip-flops and rubbing my feet into the hot, coarse sand. The sand in Nahariya is unlike sand on most beaches around the world, its grains are big and coarse and stick to your skin like glue. Many a time I would come back from the beach with it stuck all over me. Knowing my love for the sea it was pretty obvious after my first contact with the beach in Nahariya that I wasn’t going to want to leave very quickly.

The weather was hot all the way until November, and I made many trips to the beach. Often with other volunteers. On Yom Kippur Andrea, Erica, Lotti, Haun and I walked in the middle of the empty main road, even sitting in the middle of it at one point for a perfect photo moment, and spent the whole afternoon sunbathing, paddling and searching for shells. It was on the beach that Andrea and I really bonded, and we would often walk along the water edge, chatting away for hours, making these outings into our own special moments together. I have to say that the friendships I made in Evron are some of the most special friendships I had made that will always be a part of me, even if we never meet again.

During the short winter months I made less trips to the beach, but still often enough. After my trip to Egypt in January, Isabel arrived in Evron and I made it my job (and pleasurable it was too) to take her under my wing and show her all of the things I loved. When I learnt she had never been to Nahariya I rounded up Fernando and Helge and we took her into town, along the “river” that had risen so high it had flooded the pavements and left them full of mud. We walked all the way to the sea on the little walls so as not to get stuck in the mud. The sea was particularly rough that day; I’d never seen the Mediterranean like that before, waves crashing onto the beach, the wind roaring. We walked along the mini pier, getting splashed by the salty water and took a picture of ourselves with the lights of Haifa in the background.

Another time we were all sitting on the beach, and both Fernando and me remarked one after another, without having heard the other say it, that the sea was more like a lake, the waves pretty much non-existent, just slight ripples from the breeze. The fact that the water is so unpredictable, calm one day, rough the next is uplifting to me. Whereas I crave stability in some ways, I enjoy the instability of nature as I find it soothing. If nature is unpredictable then I can be so too without having to worry about conforming with the rest of society. I need to be free and water makes me feel as if I have the right to be.

The weather changed suddenly in February and we were faced with a heat wave that went on for a few weeks, into the beginning of March. One Friday Fernando and I decided to forego the usual Friday night partying and headed off to the beach instead. We got Isabel, Helge, Indy and Maor to go with us and set off wrapped up warm, with the radio and the narguila. Fernando and I spent the whole walk ahead of the others, talking and joking, and when we finally got there we installed ourselves near the edge of the water, smoked narguila and looked at the stars. Nowadays every time I look at the moon and the stars I often think of that moment on the beach, a moment in time that will always be part of me. We cranked up the volume of the radio and danced like idiots in the sand, play fighting, singing, relaxing. Not really a beach party, but a special evening nonetheless.

If you went a different way to the beach, past the Kanyon and the newer housing estates then you would come across an inlet I discovered with Erica, a little cove-like area protected by rocks that I proceeded to call “my beach”. It was quieter than the beach area in central Nahariya and there were many shells and slimy rocks to climb on. I would go there to read and to think, alone, with Isabel, once with Maor too. That’s the beach I miss the most. The sun setting over the endless looking water, casting coloured reflections everywhere. Images cloud my memory, sharp as it is, Fernando finding sea glass for me, Isabel and Helge making an intricate sandcastle, falling asleep with Erica under the sun, walking along the water edge with Andrea, collecting shells with Isabel…

Tel Aviv must have one of the most beautiful beaches in the world. You can walk all the way up the beach to Jaffa, look at all of the weird, beautiful, normal and downright crazy people chilling out. Strolling along there with Judith, Ella and Eden very early one Shabbat morning; sitting there on Christmas Day with a hangover with Nick, Kirsty and Lotti; Sunbathing with Fernando in May before going down to Eilat… If I close my eyes I’m there. 

My dream is to live right by the beach, to be able to hear the noise of the waves every morning when I wake, every evening when I go to sleep. I would like to be able to look out my window and see sand and water. One day I will. You can take me away from the beach but you can’t take the beach away from me. One day hopefully. One day I will sit on my little porch and write stories in the sun, above the ocean.

Old writing: Arrival in Israel & Hatzeva (unfinished)

I have been going through piles and piles of old writing and trying to categorize it all, and I recently came across the 10 or so chapters I had written on my return from Israel in 2004. I was planning on writing a novel about all of my experiences at the time, but too much got in the way, and the years went by… I thought I could maybe use parts of it for the novel that I am writing right now, but it just won’t fit – the writing is still me, but it’s not in exactly the same vein that I am currently writing in. So I shall just post random chapters here every now and again… Keep in mind, this one ends abruptly and I am not going to change that. It was written 8 years ago, a few months after I got back from my year in Israel.

Arrival in Israel & Hatzeva

How do you imagine the desert to be? Miles and miles of wind-rolled sand, a camel here and there? Yellow and brown, the occasional tree or dry bush? Hot sun burning down relentlessly on you? I think that anyone who hasn’t actually ever been to the desert has their own image of it, as did I. The thing is, there isn’t just ONE desert in the world, is there? In the US, in Africa, in the Middle East… So anyway, I had never been to the desert before and had many different ideas of what it could look and feel like.

When I’m unhappy, feeling down or frustrated and stressed I just close my eyes and imagine myself walking barefoot along the dusty roads of the moshav, dressed in a long wraparound skirt and a tank top, with two dogs by my side. This image calms me down, reminds me that I can be happy, that I can feel fulfilled and that I should always remember that my dreams can be obtainable.

So what are my dreams? Eighteen months ago I had no idea what I wanted from my life. I was so mixed up and depressed and only felt safe when I was at home at my mother’s house. My bedroom there was like a little haven, with the most comfortable bed in the world that I always had trouble getting out of, my little cat and all of my belongings. I would panic if I had to go out and leave the little haven I had created. It was as if I had no control over my body, the idea of going out made me start shaking and I would feel all weak inside. I did force myself out a few times, although I would feel so nauseous and thought I would puke my guts up at any given moment. I wouldn’t drink any alcohol, but at the end of the evening I would feel relieved and would realize that I had actually had a good time. But then I would just forget all about that the next day and would curl right back up into my little safe haven.

What sort of life was that? I couldn’t work in the US without a green card and I had to leave the country every 3 months because my visa waiver would expire. I couldn’t even get a tourist visa on the grounds that I had too many ties in the US and not enough anywhere else in the world. It was so discouraging, I felt displaced and homeless, rootless with too many roots in too many places. So I decided to go to Israel. Lifelong dream and all that, and besides that, my aunt could do with some help with her little children. It was an easy decision to make once I had thought of it. Where else could I go to get away from everything without feeling like I was running away into the unknown?

I can honestly say that it was the best decision I had ever made in my life. One year in Israel taught me a lot more about myself than anything else ever had.

I left Mum and Dylan outside the hotel that we were staying in near Heathrow one early morning in July. They were leaving to go back to California and I was off on my way towards Terminal 4 in a taxi. Tel Aviv is just over 4 hours from London by plane, and I was lucky because there were clear skies all the way there. I’ve travelled a lot, but I had never flown over the Greek Islands before, and although I had an aisle seat, the lady next to me kept pointing everything out to me, and the views from above were just stunning. When we started to land in Israel I couldn’t believe the view. Miles and miles of different shades of brown, with spots of green here and there, and a big city on the shoreline. I stepped off the plane into the hot air and the first thing I thought was “I’m home”.

I got through immigration extremely fast. I should probably explain something that gradually dawned on me during my first few months in Israel: with my dark eyes and hair, and my skin that tans very fast I can look very Israeli. So many times I would be out and about with other foreigners, and Israelis would automatically talk to the others in English and then turn around and talk to me in Hebrew. It was quite funny, especially when their faces registered surprise when I told them I didn’t understand much Hebrew. While I waited in the queue for Immigration I chatted to the lady who had been next to me on the plane and to another man, and they both thought I was Jewish without really asking. I didn’t say anything to make them think different either.

Judith, Shimon and Eden came to pick me up from Tel Aviv and we set off on the three hour drive to Hatzeva, stopping in Be’er Sheva for coffee at the Kanyon (mall). I love words, but I am at a loss to explain my first impressions of Israel. I want words to explain all of the sights, all of the feeling and emotions I went through, but it just won’t do. All of the bustle, colours, noise and the outlines of the different landscapes we drove through just made me feel at home. The only thing that actually made me feel a bit strange was that I could not read a single thing. Hebrew has a completely different alphabet from English, French, Dutch or Spanish and it quickly dawned on me that I couldn’t read a simple shop name even if I tried. A lot of things are in English thought, and many people speak English. At times I could get away with the little Hebrew I learnt, or if I couldn’t use my English, then my French or Spanish usually worked too. There is no end to the amounts of times and ways that Israel would astound and impress me.

So, anyway, Hatzeva. A moshav in the middle of the Arava desert, halfway between Be’er Sheva and Eilat, a mile off the main road and a mile from the border with Jordan. At night there are a million stars in the sky, you can lie out in the grass and look at them for hours, lost in your own thoughts. The sky seems so much brighter in the desert, and deeper. There is no pollution but there is a lot of dust, and when the wind starts up you can be sure there will be a sandstorm; if you don’t close your windows before one starts you will find piles of sand all around the house, sand that makes it straight through the screens on the windows and doors. The funny thing about Israel is that the southern half is beautiful, but completely barren-looking, and every so often you come across an oasis type area. Moshavim and kibbutzim, built completely by man. Full of trees, palm trees, grass, flowers and fields where many a vegetable grows. It was David Ben Gurion who said that if a flower could grow in a desert then anything could, and he was right. My uncle grows watermelons, melons, peppers, onions, tomatoes… Other farmers grow flowers, mangoes and organic vegetables. There is nothing better than a meal of fresh peppers straight from the fields, with pita, hummus and an apple for dessert. We used to do that with Fernando every evening when he finished working in the fields.

I was in Hatzeva from July until the beginning of September 2003 and then from the last day of Pesach 2004 until the end of the spring in 2004. I did go down there a few times while I was on the kibbutz (Evron) in the north, so I did experience the area a bit in the winter, but I was mostly there during the hot spring and summer months. Hot being the key word. From the moment you wake up until the sun goes down the sun is relentless. I was never one to nap in the afternoon, but I soon learnt that it’s all you want to do when the sun is at its hottest. Even the swimming pool was closed during the hours from Noon to 3, so the only place to keep out of the heat was the air-conditioned houses. I learnt to let myself sleep for a few hours, or at least relax in bed with a book until it was time to take the kids to the pool in the late afternoon.

The Arava is nothing like the Sahara. The Arava is darker brown, the sand more like dried mud than the yellow sand you often find on the beach. There are hills and mountains with the odd drying tree here and there and dried out lakes that fill with water when the rains come. If you take a bike (I often borrowed one of the Thai workers’ bikes when they were out in the fields) and ride a mile outside of the moshav you come across an area that looks like it fell from the moon and landed on earth. Whiteish lunar rock full of craters, somewhat alien to the rest of the surroundings. In the winter the area beneath the lunar rock fills with water after a heavy rain and this water is used to irrigate the land during the hotter months. There are areas in the desert where the rocks of sand are multicoloured in pinks and purples and blues, as if they were dyed by hand thousands of years ago and left to remain there forever.

I would go to the swimming pool every morning to swim and read, and struck up a friendship with the lifeguard who taught me how to make tea from grass and made me laugh with stories about the army and his travels to India. He taught me words in Hebrew and I taught him a few of my own expressions. The girls at the shop were always very friendly, and for the first time in a long time I felt that I could just be myself, let go of all of the barriers I had created around myself, and just live life again. I had nothing to fear or to watch out for, the desert was peaceful and incited more creativity than I had felt in months and months… Poems and stories and even drawings.

 My photos from that time can be found HERE

(you can skip over the insane amount of alcohol-fueled party photos)

Dreams (edited from a 2005 piece)

I recently found this piece I had written in 2005. I edited a slightly to be more in tune with me today, but it remains so relevant...

Dreams

What happened to your dreams? When you were younger you would sit in the park and dream the afternoon away. A joint was nice, a can of beer a plus, but neither were needed. You were just content to lie there in the sun, chatting to your friends and watching the world go by.

Not anymore. Is it all part of growing up, losing this carefree nature? I don’t mean I was happy as a teenager, far from it. I was driven by teenage angst and anger; trying to figure out why I was the way I was, why I was still alive, why I couldn’t just let go of certain parts of my past and live like a free person again. I could honestly go on and on about how depressed and messed up I was. But I also had a good circle of friends who were all going through the same kinds of problems and we all soldiered on. We felt happiness so easily, holding hands, smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee, walking barefoot through the grass, crowd surfing at metal concerts, wearing ripped jeans, pretty tops and lots of black eyeliner. Crushed but invincible at the same time.

Quiet but loud, obnoxious but so right, ready for anything, scared of everything, first boyfriends, first explorations, old minds in teenage bodies, bad poetry, wine and hash, mad dancing in the rain, staying up all night in parks… If you think about it I haven’t really changed all that much. I’m still as cynical and sweet, but just more intelligent. Actually I don’t think that is the right word. More realistic, less pessimistic but also less optimistic, but still so idealistic. I’ve learnt and am still learning, my skin has a few more lines now, but I’ll always have my smile.

My dreams haven’t gone anywhere as they have always been quite simple. Be happy and make other people happy. It’s a quest that will never leave me. It doesn’t take much to make me happy, being with those I love, being in a country I love and being near the ocean. The dreams just weren’t as defined back then, ten or twelve years ago, but they are still here. I may have spent years trying to run away from them, but the just keep following me everywhere, never giving up.

I often still feel like that teenage girl inside, maybe more worldly, calmer, braver, tougher but softer maybe, but still Jade. I can still crowd surf and dance on tables, but I’m a little more outspoken and a little more guarded. But don’t be mistaken, when I am sitting at the bar, drinking my cranberry and soda and watching the world go by, I am still dreaming away and wondering what the next steps should be...

"I was born a woman" - piece on Feminism

Written in June 2005.

I Was Born a Woman

I didn’t get into Feminism. There is no real moment in my life that I can say “that’s when I became a feminist”. I was born into it.

I was born a woman. I was going to be either a boy or a girl and I pulled the girl straw. No choice, no plan, no nothing. So there you go, you accept it and you live with it and you learn to be happy with what you’ve got. I never wished I were a boy. I never even dreamt about being a boy. I never wondered what it would be like to live as a boy for a day. I’m pure woman and I love it. Not only that, I’m damn proud to be a woman.

Feminism is not about being superior, or better, or worse. It’s not a closed discussion about how women are fighting against men. We all share this world, and it’s up to us to accept the fact that we are all different, to accept that everybody has different bodies, minds, faces and opinions. Feminism is about being a woman and being proud of whom you are. All humans are equal. It’s up to each and every one of us to fight for the consistency of this equality.

I can’t say how I “got into Feminism”. It’s always been a part of me. From a very early age both my mother and my father instilled deep in my heart the need to stand up for my rights and for my thoughts. Strong women constantly surrounded me. My whole family is full of strong women. We have not had it easy, but we have always managed to get over every mountain, build bridges over every river and make the most of every straight path. So I think it is right to say that I was born into a feminist family and make every effort to continue this line.

For me Feminism is not about ranting about how women are so much better than men, about how we should rule the world and about how we should stomp out men and male dominance.

No. Feminism is what you want it to be. In my opinion Feminism is regarded too often as something pejorative, and this is because of the way it is portrayed. Annoyingly, Feminism is looked down upon and challenged while, even today, male chauvinism is still accepted and seen as normal. This doesn’t mean that we are supposed to jump up and call all men pigs, but it means that it is up to us women to prove that we are not trying to show that we are better, but that we are trying to prove we are equal and therefore should have equal rights everywhere. We can get rid of the acceptance of chauvinism in society and move on to a new, more equal world where women don’t have to constantly fight.

Apart from the close female figures in my life; my grandmother who bought up her first three children on her own during the Second World War, who outlived her four husbands and still lives to tell her tales today; my mother who battled violent and addicted men and who has always been a role model and who shows everyone that they can accomplish anything in life; I also have a special woman in my life. She’s been by my side since I first came across her on my tenth birthday. I have never met her, but she has been a constant influence. Her name is Marge Piercy and she is a feminist and political poet and novelist. Her characters are always strong and rounded, but not without flaws. Real women who have to deal with the struggles of everyday life, who sometimes make the right choice, sometimes the wrong one, but they never let society pull them down. Whenever I feel that it is all getting too much, I pick up one of Marge Piercy’s writings and she helps me believe in myself again. We all have our own demons; it’s up to us to choose whether to fight or to flee.

We women have to deal with so much, learning to accept who we are and why we are, accepting our bodies, our wants and our needs, and learning to understand that although what we want might often be frowned upon, there is no need to not go out there and get it.

Feminism is all about being a woman and fighting for it. You want to have sex, have sex. You don’t want to sleep around? Then don’t! You want to have a career? Have one! You want to be a housewife, and stay at home to bring up your kids? Then do just that! We have to choose what is right for us, without letting pre-assigned unwritten and ancient social “laws” bring you down.

Feminism is not about fighting men, but about fighting for what’s right for YOU. This is what Feminism is to me. Being a woman is a right, and it’s up to us to make the most out of it.

We only live once, why not make the best of it, and be able to live to tell the tale to the next generations.

Be strong and be real. And never keep your mouth shut. Because once you have said it out loud someone is going to hear.