[as if in dreams] A newsletter from Joseph Zitt #001
as if in dreams #001: A newsletter from Joseph Zitt
18 September, 2020
This is the first, experimental instance of my new newsletter. I've created it to send out the items from my as if in dreams series of daily posts each week. This way, they can get to people who don't necessarily have or want Facebook access. Feel free to pass them around.
If someone sent you this newsletter and you like it, you can subscribe here. You can also subscribe via RSS.
If you'd like to unsubscribe, there's a link at the end of the newsletter. No hard feelings.
The posts appear first on Facebook. I usually post them late at night, and sometimes do some small edits in the morning.
I also put the posts up, with a bit of a delay, at israel.josephzitt.com. That site is still under construction, but all the posts are there, including the complete contents of the first book, as if in dreams: Notes following Aliyah.
Each week's email will also include other items. These may change over time, as I see what people think. I intend that the newsletters will go out each Friday by 2 PM Israeli Time (early Friday morning in the US), so that, for example, people might have time to print them out to read on Shabbat.
Contents
This Week's Posts
Friday, September 11th, 2020
The traveling band moves through the city square, playing in ⅞ time.They all wear bright colors and white chef’s hats. Those whose mouths aren’t making music wear flamboyant masks. The singer, guitarist, and bass guitarist carry small amplifiers on their backs. The tuba player, saxophonist, and drummer move around them. A tall man tosses juggling clubs in the air. A woman in a furry tutu dances with a hula hoop. When they get to an open space, the musicians form a circle around the juggler and dancer. The two toss the clubs between them, spinning and jumping as they juggle. A woman with a toddler stands near me, watching. The tall juggler calls out to us, “Come, mother and child! Come, uncle!” I figure that they’re busking for donations, but I don’t see anyone collecting them. This doesn’t appear to be an official event. The shops haven’t turned their overhead music off. The band sits down in chairs around a table outside the shop with the cryptic sandwiches. They continue to play. After a while, they rise and cross the street. Outside the Heart of the City, two men from Chabad stand at their usual table, trying to get people to put on tefillin and say some prayers. The band sees them and launches into a chassidic tune, a cappella. The men join in, singing and clapping on the one and on the three. The band surrounds them in a half-circle behind the table as they sing together. They gradually switch to their instruments, accompanying the chabadniks. At the end of the song, they all wish each other a good Sabbath. The band plays another tune and dances into the open space at the center of the mall. The song plays in my head for the rest of the day.
Saturday, September 12th, 2020
The Sabbath cafe has returned to paper menus. The scannable icons are gone. The tables on the patio are also much closer together. I’m surprised at these changes. Word has it that another major lockdown will start next week. The indoor seating and patio will shut down again. Maybe they figure that they might as well set things back to how they were. A server whom I don’t know brings me the English-language menu without asking. I decide to be a bit extravagant. I probably won’t be here again for a few weeks. I try to order the Israeli Breakfast. I can’t. They now only make it before noon. So be it. I order the shakshuka again. I want to order an American-style iced coffee, without all that milk. After some negotiation, I get a large cold Americano over ice. It’s just right. A couple with a young child comes in after me. The server brings out a high chair. The couple cleans it themselves, using wipes from a container in the back of their stroller. Another woman talks to people at the next table. She stands so close to me that all I can see of her is her round bare midriff. A bandage covers her navel. A metal stud sticks through it. Near the patio entrance, two large dogs lie under a table. Men in muscle shirts sit in the chairs. The two dogs play with each other and lap up water from a plastic container between them. When other dogs walk past with their humans, the two dogs bark. The men pat them on their sides and ask them to calm down. One of the men sees that his dog’s leash has gotten tangled around its leg. He squats next to his chair, lifts the dog’s foot off the ground, and slides the leash off of it. The dog licks the man’s face as he rises. The man and the dog sit back as they were. Another man dressed in white, with a white yarmulke, dangling tzitzit, and a white-covered prayer book, walks past the cafe. Neither the dogs nor the men notice him. Our eyes meet. He nods toward me. I nod back. He walks on.
Sunday, September 13th, 2020
These fresh dates are a revelation. When I first saw them in produce shops, I had no idea what they were: hard tan fruit, an inch or so long, still attached by slender threads to flimsy branches. I had brought some home in the past and eaten them. They were crunchy and somewhat sweet, with a large seed in the center. I got another bunch of them a week or so ago. They got lost on my kitchen table. Today, they have emerged from behind a forgotten plastic bag. They have turned a deeper brown and gotten wrinkled. Some are further along than others. None are moldy. I try one that looks roughly like it looked when it was new. It’s quite good, a bit softer and sweeter than before. I decide to risk one that is further along. It’s now mahogany brown with deep creases. I pop it in my mouth and gently bite down, wary of the pit. I am amazed. The inside has turned into a soft paste, with a texture rather like apple butter. The flavor is smoother, with a deeper sweetness that lingers on my tongue even after I have swallowed the fruit. This is the missing link, the stage between the fruit that I get fresh here and that which I had known in the States. Dates apparently don’t grow on their trees as sticky, tooth-challenging masses that look like vegan waterbugs. They go through stages, and end up in that form, in which they are easily packaged and shipped and are found in stores. I try another of the darker ones. It’s equally good. I’m tempted to eat the whole set of them. Most haven’t reached their finest form yet. I can wait.
Monday, September 14th, 2020
I can’t turn off the water to my shower. There’s one simple faucet. The water runs from it into a heater near the ceiling, then out again. I had known that the faucet would fail sometime but didn’t know when. While the water turns on easily, part of the faucet has been coming loose. It’s been getting harder to push in on it clockwise so that it moves whatever doohickey inside actually controls the water flow. Now it does nothing. I put all of my weight into it. It doesn’t help. I think about telling my landlady. In the year and a half that I’ve been here, I’ve never complained to her about anything. I don’t want to break that streak, but I can’t let it run all day. I put on some clothes and pick up the phone to text her. I pause and put the phone down. As far as I know, she hasn’t been in here since I’ve moved in. It’s a mess. I do a quick clean up in the kitchen, sweeping up the dead bugs in the corners and wiping down the counters. A tiny lizard darts past my broom as I sweep. I let it run free. I type the text to her into my phone’s translator. I have to do one fix: by default, it chooses masculine forms for the words addressing her. I send the text, along with a photo of the faucet. My phone rings almost immediately. It’s her. I go to my kitchen door and open it to get a better phone signal. She’s sitting at the top of her steps, which zigzag up from mine. No need for the phone, then. I describe to her what’s happening. I demonstrate the connection within the faucet with hand gestures, trying not to make them look obscene. She understands. She turns off the water leading to the apartment. Her husband will be home in half an hour. He’ll fix it. I can go off to work if I’d like. I do. I get a text from her a couple of hours later. The faucet is repaired. I thank her. When I get home, I see a pair of gleaming new faucets in the shower. The one that I use works beautifully. I’ve never figured out what the other one is for. Someday, I’ll have to ask.
Tuesday, September 15th, 2020
I wake up in the morning, looking forward to easily taking a shower. I’m excited that the faucet worked last night. The water goes on again well. When I try to turn it off, though, it fails, in the same way as it had yesterday morning. I step out, frustrated. I put some clothes on, then send another text to the landlady. After a few minutes, she hasn’t answered. I have to go to work. I text her again to tell her that I’m heading out, but that I’ll leave the door unlocked. I leave. About three blocks from my house, I see someone pass me wearing a mask. I realize that I’ve forgotten mine. I head back again. Right when I get in, she calls. She seems to be in traffic. She wants to know if I’m home. I am. She is talking quickly, in a mix of English and Hebrew. I can barely follow her. She tells me to go turn off a faucet outside. I don’t understand where it is. She repeats herself a few times. I gradually figure out the words that I couldn't make out: garbage can, parking spot, water meter. Her voice guides me to a hidden gate in the outside wall, between the main gate and where we stow the trash can. There’s a spigot inside. I also note that there’s a cable connection in there that doesn’t look all that solid. I turn the spigot all the way off. I head back to my apartment. The water is still running. I may still be misunderstanding something. Neither she nor I can figure out what. She has to get off the phone. I go to work. A couple of hours later, she sends me a text: “The faucet is fixed.” I thank her. When I get home, I turn it gingerly. A bit later, I think of testing it and taking a real shower. If it fails again, though, I would have to wake them. They are early risers, getting up at about 5 AM, and I don’t know when they go to sleep. I’ll see how it goes in the morning.
Wednesday, September 16th, 2020
Lou Reed speak-sings “Walk on the Wild Side” as I wait for my mushroom burger. The music inside the shop was so loud that I had trouble ordering. Outside, it is almost drowned out by the sound of the giant fan blowing onto the patio. The unintended remix brings out details in the music. The percussion is more varied than I had thought. I don’t recall having noticed the way that the women’s voices appear for the first time: rather than a fade-in, it sounds like they are walking up to the mic. The song segues into “Freefalling.” Most of it is a blur, but Tom Petty’s voice rings out when he hops the octave for the chorus. After that, I’m not sure that anything is playing at all until I hear unmistakable whistling. Even separated from its context, I know that it’s “Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay.” I’m not sure whether to bus my own tray or leave it when I’m finished. When I let go of things, they start to blow toward the street. I catch them and bring them to the trash bin myself. As I shovel them in, the burger wrapper comes loose, flies into the air, and smacks the guy at the next table in the face. I apologize. Both he and the woman with him laugh. I return to my table, pick up my bag of groceries, and continue on home.
Thursday, September 17th, 2020
The whiteboard at the ice cream shop shows unexpected combinations: “Figues & Roses,” “Peach with Amber” (though I may have read the last word wrong), “Oasis Bananas & Dates.” The card for their strawberry sherbet suggests “Try it with pepper on top!”. I’m here for the cinnamon affogato. It’s as good as it was when I had it before, two days short of a year ago. I’ve taken the day off from work to get some things done before the lockdown. Most of the shopping has been for naught, but it’s good to relax. This cobblestone street has changed since then. More shops are empty. More buildings are being renovated. Fewer tourists go by, though I still hear conversations in English. Four scooters roar past together, each with a cooler from a different delivery service. Two tiny girls in tights and tutus try to pilot a foot-powered scooter together. They fall off, but they don’t fall hard. They get right back on. A large man in a black hat and white beard ambles up behind a party at the coffee shop two doors down and blows a shofar. The people look neither inspired nor amused. Five young people emerge from behind an ornately carved door across the street. Were it anywhere else, I would assume that the building was a synagogue. A large Star of David is centered at the top of the carving. One panel near the bottom appears to have been kicked out. One of the women is saying to one of the men, in English: “You know her. She’s my roommate. You’ve been in her bedroom.” My phone buzzes with a text from work. They’re having a ritual “raising of the glass” in the afternoon, ahead of the New Year. For those of us who aren’t in the office, there’s a Google Meet link. I think of connecting to it, but forget until afterward. When I’ve finished the affogato, I put the paper cup in a metal trash bucket on the table. I put on my mask, and walk around some more, taking photos. Later on, I’ll want to double-check my memory.
On Writing as if in dreams
I started these posts in January, 2018. I didn't realize that I was starting a series. That first post was a single sentence.
This eventually grew into a daily practice. On some days, I would write more than one. During the time covered in the first book, I was working a full-time but erratically scheduled job, answering phones in a hotel. That gave me a lot of time to wander around both my own city of Herzliya and Tel Aviv-Jaffa, which is just south of it. I was able to see a new and constantly surprising places and events.
Almost exactly two years ago, I got a new job, working standard hours as a technical writer and video maker for a small software company. My world shrank. I started walking to and from my office. I would occasionally take buses home, or go to the nearby mall after work. I wrote less frequently. I did take a week's vacation, visiting the Galilee area and Nazareth, but I only wrote a handful of posts from there.
In the first couple of months of this year, I only wrote two posts. I felt as if I had run out of gas. I had a feeling, though, that something big was about to change, though I didn't know what.
On March 9th, I wrote my first post about the impact of the virus. I've been writing daily ever since. Since I've started counting, I've seen that the posts run between 200 and 500 words each day. It's a lot of writing, when balanced with my job (though not as much as, say, a couple of my role models, Heather Cox Richardson and Cory Doctorow).
I hope to write weekly about things I've noticed in the process of writing these posts. The method of writing has evolved over time. Other people might find it of interest, and it might suggest things that you could find useful in your own writing.
Things of possible interest
One thing I'm watching
The annual Tel Aviv Dance Festival is online this year. Before the virus messed everything up, I went to the Suzanne Dellal Dance Center every week or so, seeing modern dance from here in Israel and, occasionally abroad. When faced with how to do a festival this year, they decided to go online. For nine consecutive nights, they are releasing premieres of dance works for video. They were only going to be kept online for five days each, but the dance center announced today that they all will be online through September 26th. I got the season pass, which cost me 99 shekels, about $30, or what I would pay to see one performance live.
I've enjoyed what I've seen. I'm not going to review them. One of the things that I like about dance is that I really don't know what is going on and how it works. I can only enjoy it on a sort of non-verbal level. (This is despite having done several works with my own dance/theater company in Austin in the early 90s.)
I do notice, though, that I'm somewhat distanced from the webcasts. I find myself second-guessing and questioning camera angles, edits, framing and the like. I can't just settle into the cloud of non-knowing.
One thing I'm hearing
This may ruin my avant-garde credibility, such as it is, but I love the current most popular album, Taylor Swift's folklore (The link is to an official YouTube playlist of the full album.)
A couple of times in the past, I've heard an album playing and known that it was going to win the Grammy for Album of the Year. They weren't necessarily the best albums, but each combined a classic sort of songwriting and emotional performance with pristine sound. This is one of those albums.
One thing I'm reading
The Tone Glow newsletter put out a special midweek edition a couple of weeks ago. containing an interview with composer Philip Corner. Phil is one of a troika of teachers at Livingston College in the late 70s (including Barbara Benary and Daniel Goode) who turned me on to experimental music. In my youthful haste, I completely misunderstood much of what he was teaching us, but his way of working and what he produced was an inspiration. He's still writing and working, now in Italy. I've been gobbling up his CDs and downloads as they appear.
One interesting bit at the beginning: when the interviewer, Joshua Minsoo Kim, asks how he met his wife, he questions the question. "I’m kind of resistant to anecdotal details." But then he speaks at length about their artistic work together.
One more thing
(Warning: incoming technobabble!)
I've been trying out the Plex software to index and play my music and media library. I'd been using Kodi for years, but it took a lot of resources on the systems (incuding my Android TV) on which I'd run it. I have my media on a NAS system now, effectively a box with hard drives and a brain. I can run the Plex software directly on it, so it does the heavy lifting while lightweight apps on the other devices just play things. It has other advantages, too, that I haven't tried yet. And the interface is beautiful.
Getting it running has been a challenge, mostly because my NAS system mysteriously wouldn't install apps. Working with the manufacturer's tech support was a nightmare. I kept sending them detailed information and screenshots about what was happening. They kept responding with irrelevant instruction sets, which started by telling me to click on something that wasn't appearing on the screen at all. Fortunately, I finally stumbled across a thread on Reddit with a hack that worked.
It will be a while before I can see how it all fits together. While it has indexed all my video, I have over a terabyte of music (mostly in 320 kbps MP3s), and it will take a few more days to index it all.
Colophon
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