HIV Prevention is Personal

I feel so passionate about my work, that sometimes I forget to draw lines between my work and my self. It’s not good, but it could be worse. I don’t work at a bank, a modeling agency (surprising, I know), a paparazzi magazine or a high-tech for-profit company. I run an HIV testing center, I am passionate about LGBT health, women’s health and I am worry about the spread of STDs and AIDS in Jerusalem, Israel and the world.

It’s only appropriate that this week is both World AIDS Day and my birthday, the holy 28th anniversary of leaving my moms V-G so as to go out into the world and eat, sleep, crawl, walk, run and change the world. With World AIDS Day just 2 days before my birthday, I am trying to think of it as a gift. As I organize events and work with service providers and activist to ensure that message of prevention gets to the maximum amount of people possible, I realize that this makes for a stressful birthday- but also a meaningful one. I am giving myself the gift of changing at least one person, but hopefully more- to hand them a condom and convince them that it only takes one incident of unprotected sex to get HIV.

I believe that with the guidance of my staff at the Open Clinic and every other wonderful activist that has gotten involved in the clinic’s work and the Open House’s health initiatives, we are changing people’s approach to sex, we are pushing the trends of rising  HIV infections and we are the change that needs to happen in society in order to stop the spread of this otherwise preventable disease.

So on my birthday, all I wish is that  tonight at our benefit party for the Open Clinic, we will raise more money to support more free HIV tests in Jerusalem, while having a great night. I hope that you will join us or go here to support the clinic’s work. I hope that more dedicated activists get involved in HIV prevention work- because for everyone one activist or donor there is at least one but probably hundreds of newly educated, sexually active young people who are taking responsibility and valuing their lives.

I know that personally I must set boundaries between my work and my personal life- but when I do blur the lines, as I am faulted to do, I am glad I do it for the right reasons. Join the fight against the spread of HIV- it will be the birthday gift you give to me, to yourself and the world.

Strategy: Girls Scare Boys

Tired of being a strong, independent woman inside your apartment and then a shaky, scaredy-cat girl walking home at night?

Even in safe-city Jerusalem and especially in creepy New Brunswick, NJ I haven’t always felt self-assured on the streets at night. I’ve marched in some amazing Take Back the Nights- and it is so important to experience the unifying feeling of a women’s march against violence and rape. But we can’t always be lucky enough to be surrounded by hundreds of dykes while walking home from work (we should only be so lucky!). So I have taken two steps towards feeling stronger and more confident on the streets at night:

Step 1: IMPACT. Learn self-defense and IMPACT is the only way. It is a real life, real experience kick-ass course that builds confidence and teaches the moves while convincing you that you can do it. And believe me, I could if I had to. So find an IMPACT course near you and take it up ASAP (for Jerusalem and Tel Aviv go here).

Step 2: Act like a crazy lady on the street. It’s my new thing. I’m working out a way of scaring the scaries and freaking out the freaks.

Now, I know you might be embarrassed to do this but it works.

Case and Point: Last year, I was walking my dog at night in the field behind my house. The field is dark but my dog, Jersey, likes to poop there, so what can I do?I gotta go there. So, a young man comes up to play with Jersey and takes a step near me in the dark, invading my personal space and asking me if I live in this building. I can’t see the man’s face and I am feeling vulnerable to this potential threat. So I start yelling at him, like a crazy person. Using my IMPACT skills of telling the person violating my space that I want them to stop and walk away… but a bit loonier that they taught is in class. It’s my personal spin on the defense tactic.

He walks away.

A week or so later, two men walk by and the same thing happens- they play with my dog and then come up to me, asking where I live and why am I out here alone at night. I feel threatened, scared, so I started to yell at the guys. As they skulk quickly away in the shadows, I hear one console the other, “Don’t worry man, she did the same thing to me last week.”

Moral of the story: the roles are reversed now. I am the creepy neighborhood stalker now. I am the one who is freaking out the boys on the streets, late at night, skulking in the shadows. I love it.

Understand the tactic here: I am yelling normal, sane commands like “don’t step any closer to me” and “stop!”, “back up!”, but my eyes and my voice are conveying a slight crazy that implies a danger that women can’t always convey to men. Because, untrained, we are physically vulnerable, acting like a nut job gives us the necessary intimidating factor to feel safe.

It may not get you elected neighbor of the year or community prom queen but it helps me feel confident on the streets at night.

So walk that dog in your dark field, girl… just get you some crazy eyes and stay safe!

Jerusalem of Trash

Holy Dirty Streets, Batman. What the fuck is happening in Jerusalem?!

The holy city is a mighty stinky this week due to a municipality workers strike, and as a part of that, a municipal sanitation workers’ strike.

The big green garbage bins, fondly referred to as “frogs” by Jerusalemites, are overflowing and their tadpoles and tadpole-mommas are overflowing too. I’m all for unionization but it’s all sorts of nasty up in the Holy City.

So we say no to a quiet, peaceful march for human rights, but we say yes to overflowing garbage bins? Oh, I see, we’re that kind of holy. Mayor Barkat claims the strike is an attempt to get two fired municipal workers suspected of  corruption back in their jobs. I say, two more corrupts assholes in that operation or two less- does it really matter? I mean the city is filled with fucking trash- and not just the trash sitting on the municipality council anymore, that was bad enough. Now it’s overflowing onto our streets. So we’re the kind of holy where political power struggles masked as fair-labor fights trump public health? OK, I get it now. I was confused before.

Because by my reasoning, it would be top priority to get garbage collectors back to work. Don’t get me wrong, I love seeing last week’s leftovers as I walk home from work. More than I like seeing it, I like smelling it for blocks. Yum.

What’s hysterical here is that the country is so hung up on the terrifying possibility that schools and daycare won’t open on-time due to striking. So, people have kids and  then they can’t fucking wait to get them out of the house, so much so that they don’t see the trash on the streets and what bothers them is that their kids might be home for a few more days this summer?! I love the irony! I can’t complain about your kids ruining my day because it’s insensitive, but you can and it’s a totally rational reason for national panic?! Back to school, back to school… not if the overflowing garbage frogs eat your kids, first!

Here’s my contribution to this situation: I’m not picking up my dog’s poop so long as he does in on grass. Here’s my reasoning:  Do you really want one more plastic bag of shit in the garbage? Even a bio-degradable bag is just adding to the stench of human and animal waste that is permeating Jerusalem’s holiness. So I leave the dog poo on the grass, where it can fertilize and give back to the earth. Plus, this way I don’t have to come into close contact with my pup’s poop. Win-Win!

Here are some ways to cut down on waste, while the city workers sleep the day away and watch daytime TV:

1. Go here to evaluate your personal waste basket
2. EPA love
3. Some suggestions on cutting down
4. More suggestions
5. Stop Procreation Now (Population Control. Don’t blame me. I didn’t write it. I just wish I did.)

With much love for sanitation workers, parents of stinky kids driving them nuts at home, and Leo Hickman, who has the balls to suggest population control as a real solution to our problems!

Now that is a holy, hot mess!

I AMsterdam

I’ve been living in Israel for 5 years, as of September ’09. I love my life here, but it might be time for a change. I’m thinking about making aliyah to Amsterdam.

It’s not just this brilliant branding:

Has there ever been a more beautiful city? I love Jerusalem but there is just something so relaxing about having an ever-abounding, flowing source of water everywhere. No war here, there’s enough water and weed to go around, my friends!

If you haven’t been to Amsterdam, it should be on your short list of future destinations. If you have been here, then you know what I mean. The food is amazing! Mexican, Italian, Indonesian, Asian, Indian. Oh and Belgian, the waffles, the chocolate! The population and culture in this city are so diverse, there are so many colors, languages and people here, just working, living, drinking coffee, touring, eating.

And the fashion! The bags and the shoes and the high end stores! At the risk of sounding petty and materialistic, I saw great fashions this week, I can die now and meet my Longchamps dream bag in heaven. Seriously, in Amsterdam there is an entire museum dedicated to Bags and Purses. It was awesome. Best museum ever in the world. I am a serious fashionista in my mind… but I admit that I was the kibbutznik asshole traipsing around Europe in Crocs last week. It was awful, but my ass was so comfortable, I just had to.

The only thing I don’t understand is the mixed messages I’m getting: on one hand, you would like me to eat the ice cream, the frites (french fried served in a cone), the waffles and pancakes, but on the other hand, as a country, you produce more tall, skinny, blond, gorgeous amazon women per-capita than any other country. If you are going to cause me to gain 20 lbs in a week, then at least spare me the super-model local hot moms and hot dads who just ride their bikes with their babies, with no helmets, and look good doing it. So Amsterdam, please make up your mind- I can eat frites or I can ride a bike in a mini skirt with my sexy legs pumping away- but I can’t do both!

I just had an amazing week in Amsterdam and I feel so lucky to have had it. I am recharged for what may come upon my return. This year, short of a few awesome visits, weekends and dinners, I have worked hard and been on a rockier journey than I’d have preferred. I love the pace of Amsterdam- relaxed, come as you are, stay as long as you’d like, and hey, drink a beer while you’re here.

I have traveling on the brain these days, dreaming up my next big trip, which I’ll take when all is said and done. When the judge makes his final decision and this chapter of my life comes to close, I will turn the cell off, leave my new baby MacBook, which I cannot afford, at home and go somewhere far, far away. Until then, we’ll always have AMsterdam!

Nightlight

Last night I slept with the lights on for the first time in a long time.

In the wake of an attack on my community last night, when a shooter opened fire on the LGBT youth group in a Tel Aviv community center. The group leader and a group member were killed, others were wounded, hundreds, even thousands, were traumatized and saddened by the murders, injuries and brual homophobic assault.

I was in the car when I heard about it and I clenched my heart in shock, feeling as if my own family had been attacked. I felt like my own kids were shot at- and seeing how as I have no maternal yearnings or instincts, I’d classify this as a very strong reaction.

As I slowly come out of my own little closet of sorts, I reveal more and more on my blog: I have been working in various awesome jobs in the Jerusalem Open House, the J-city LGBT community center for over 2 years. It’s my home away from home… a little because I’m a workaholic but mostly because I love it there.

This attack, that I understand barely made international news, is a heinous beating on the safety and security of all the citizens of Israel. Now no one can blame Jerusalem, or religious differences and holy sites, or sexual acts, or questional behavior. This act, in cold blood and blind, ignorant hatred targeted growing children and the sweet young adults that wished to ease them comfortably into their teens, as comfortably and happily as possible.

In the Open House I have seen young people blossom and stretch their potential in the youth groups. I have seen roudy, musical, fun nights of Open House youth group activity turn just kids into young activists, compelling, caring community members, budding leaders and family members. I’ve seen them come out, get on stage and rock a drag show like its their job.

I love this community and I love our kids.

I reject bigotry and homophobia, violence and blind hatred.

I join the community, and all freedom loving people in mourning the senseless victims of last night’s attacks.

92 Days

Well, it’s done. I got my get- my divorce is finalized .

It’s over and I’m so relieved. It was a surprise- a pleasant one that got thrown together when the opportunity presented itself- and the quiet in my head is tangible. I think I actually saw the weight lift from my shoulders as he repeated the words after the rabbi in the rabanut.

To my surprise, the rabbis were sympathetic to my place in the unwanted relationship with an unstable man and they seemed to understand the urgency of this ceremony, allowing the arrangements to go on for hours, once the opportunity presented itself.

That having been said, the process in the rabbinic system is RIDICULOUS. The ceremony of divorce involved the man doing a lot of  ‘repeat after me’s and the woman doing a lot of ‘waiting outside so as not to worry my pretty little head over this big man business’. I spent the better part of the time in the hallway/waiting room. It’s mildly offensive. Also, I have not counted out the possibility that there was a game of circle jerk going on inside the courtroom while I waited outside during the “writing of the get”. I’m just saying, it’s possible. The sexual tension in that room was overwhelming!

At the very end, when they recalled that my ex was actually divorcing me and not the 9 bearded old men in the room, I stood up and did my part- no talking, no words, no voice- just catching a paper and walking to and from a door (that’s actually all true). As a part of the ‘repeat after me’s, my ex said the words that freed me from him and freed me for others. Thanks to no will of his own, while repeating after rabbi oldie mcoldberg, my ex acknowledged our divorce, my desire to get out and be free, out loud and in my general direction. It wasn’t heartfelt- it didn’t need to be- but it gave closure in retrospect. Somewhere, hidden deep in that nasty patriarchal world, I found something symbolic that only made that sweet day sweeter.

The rabbi informed me that it is now illegal for me to marry a Kohen- a Jewish man who is a descendant of the bibalical Aharon- and that it is illegal for me to get married within the next 92 days. So unfortunately for you, you will not be receiving a wedding invitation from me in the next 92 days- well, i guess 90 days now. Brilliant.

Thank god for the wisdom of… well, 90 year old Ashkenazi homo-erotic rabbis. Thank god for the strength and support of my friends and family. Thank god that part of my life is behind me.

Vaginalogue Review

As the resident self-indulgent, judgemental, feminist blog writer in Jerusalem, I have taken it upon myself to review the local performance of Vagina Monologues. After seeing the Jerusalem opening night performance, I went home and started my research, so as to educate myself further. I watched it again on DVD, I recalled the other 3 times I had seen it, I took out a hand mirror and gave my own self a good once over and the words started to flow…

A vagalicious time was had by all last night at Mercaz Hamagshimim when BamatMabat (it’s a mouthful but well worth it) put on a great performance of the v-jeej monologues. I found myself pleased as punch to be screaming CUNT at the top of my lungs with the diverse crowd; we were women young and old secular religious and men young and old, straight and questionably not.

When TWeiss politely demanded that we scream CUNT so loud that Nir Barkat look up from his desk and ask himself, “What the cunt was that?”, we obliged, giggling all the way. My favorites included “Hair”, “The Woman who Loved to Make Vaginas Happy”, “Reclaming Cunt” and The Vagina Work Shop”- they were every bit as def jam poetry meets personal interview meets character defining moment as they were intended to be. They were honest and unabashed.

As the twat fun facts were read into a HUGE black dildo, in lieu of a microphone, it almost helped you forget that these fun happy pussy monologues were interspersed appropriately with sad truths about female genital mutilation and rape. As we women know, this body we are blessed with comes with 2 sides: the sexy, curvy, fun, wonderland adventure side and the harassed, scrutinized, ogled, invaded side. The monologues were honest and brave.

Which makes what followed them a bizarre occurrence: After the amazing vajayjay monologues ended, they didn’t turn up the house lights. They introduced a manalogue. A man was to perform a monologue from Mending Monologues, a well-intentioned group of men combating violence against women with their monologues, which looks strangely like a sad ass attempt to jump on the back of Eve Ensler’s success.

The act that ended the evening undermined the entire show for me. I don’t mean to undercut the great monologues I described earlier, but the manalogue was a disgrace to them. The acting and the passion was nowhere close to the level of the brilliant women who had come before him.

The truly atrocious part was the content. The monologue was called “For Lisa” and it involved a white Joe-college who realizes that his studly friend who was always “getting laid” was actually a serial date rapist who, above all else, had raped his poor little pal, Lisa. In response to the news that the friend he once admired is a rapist, Joe college conspires to wreck the rapist’s car (you know, bash the windows in and spray paint “rapist” on it). The monologue refers to wrecking the asshole’s car as “karma”…

Newsflash:

• Being raped is not at all comparative to having your car windows smashed. The very thought of that comparison proves that a man who has not been raped or sexually abused can barely conceptualize the meaning of it.
• Trying to understand rape and trivializing it in your failure, is a real insult.
• Taking a monologue that trivializes date rape by comparing it to having your car wrecked and putting it at the end of the Vagina Monologues?! That’s just fucked up.

Towards the end of the monologue, while Joe-college reminisces and regrets never standing up to his friend, the manly stud date rapist, he proclaims, ‘Rapists are cowards who pray on the weak and vulnerable.’.

My brain screams: “WTF?! Pleeeeease tell me he didn’t just say that!!!!”

1 out of 4 women are not weak and vulnerable. Survivors of sexual assault and rape are the strongest, most persevering women I have ever met. We walk through a physical death only to come out on the other side and move on. We deal with that violation every moment of every day physically, emotionally, inter-personally and we still live fulfilled lives, we love, we hate, we party, we study, we march, we scream…

That is the point of the Vagina Monologues. BamatMabat (who I still admire for their amazing work) spent all of that time building a show which inspired me, empowered me, reminded me what I love about myself and my sisters, but then allowed a man to take a shit on all of those feminist ideals.

Because really, the point of vagina empowerment is that we don’t need a male perspective, voice or presence in order to be relevant, discuss ourselves, celebrate ourselves and be ourselves.

The existence of the ‘manalogue’ implies that the women who agreed to the ‘manalogue’ somehow subconsciously felt they needed to validate their vaginalogues by involving a man. As if the manalogue was the sigh of relief that would justify the euphoria that has just been created by an amazingly brilliant and fierce all female cast and crew. As if all of that woman powered defiance, acceptance and empowerment needed justification, and objectification by a man in order to be real.

I just think VDay and the Vagina Monologues should be about women, by women and for women from beginning to end. I think that men can be great supporters and audience members but this one day should be ours… All Ours.

I think this review might be a bit contraversial- so please comment. I really want to hear what participants, readers and audience members think…

Self-Censored

I have so much I want to say.

I want to rip into certain institutions I will soon be facing in an up close and personal ways.

I want to tell the truth about the way I was manipulated by people I once loved.

I want to yell and scream about issues of religion and state- the lack of women’s freedoms under religious regimes- but I don’t.

I censor myself because I know that my blog is accessible to the public- which includes people who do not have my best intentions at heart (no, not you, mom!).

I censor myself because I think it’s “what’s best” for me and my various court battles. But is it really “good” for me to hold back? Is it even helping anyone to bitch on this blog about vague annoyances if I don’t just come out and name the institutions and people screwing me? I know I need to keep down this path I’ve chosen- doing “what’s best” for me– for now. I will, however, decide to fight, out loud and uncensored, when and if I need to fight. On one hand, I hope I don’t have to… but on another hand, if I am refused a get, and if my voice is silenced, I will fight.

Until then, I self-censor, I sneak, sometimes I even hide. I’m holding in anger so deep and so tight in my stomach, sometimes I forget it’s there. But it’s there and it’s going to come out eventually. Every can of whoop-ass comes with an expiration date, right?

my dry spell

It’s not what you think, pervs! I’m having an activist dry spell.

As International Women’s Day approaches, and the vomit rises in my throat while I think about how 51% of the population should not need a DAY, I feel a bit guilty. And though guilt runs both in my family and my ethnic heritage (Poland represent!), it’s an odd way for a feminist to feel about a day ear marked to recognize women. Even if it is a token Hallmark reminder of our oppression as the only majority ‘minority’, I still feel like I should be doing something, or taking part in some, and yet I’m inactive.

polish pride

I feel guilty this year because I think I’m going through an activist dry spell. I wanted to do something big this year. I wanted to organize the women of Jerusalem to overthrow the patriarchy in the Holy Land! I feel like I didn’t march enough, I didn’t make enough noise.

I don’t know if I’m too busy, haven’t found the right partners in crime, or just dealing with my divorce and bracing myself for the potential upcoming ‘fight’, but I haven’t been involved in much activism lately, and it feels like I’m on a weird hiatus of sorts.

I’ve done a little here and there, like the Jerusalem elections. My two inspirational places of employment keep me working around the clock for social change. Maybe this blog is even an effective way to reach people and preach about feminism, women’s rights, LGBT rights, sexual health and other causes I care about. But I can’t help but feel like something’s missing.

I have a few months to go before my first Rabbinic Court date. I assume that at this first court appearance I will either be “granted a divorce” by my husband (hold down vomit now) or refused one. At that point maybe I will either breathe a sign of relief and be mentally freed to think about larger struggles and my part in them– or  I will be looking at waging my own war against a national rabbinic system taking away women’s voices and power on the issue of divorce in Israel.

Either way, I imagine my dry spell will run its course, as they always do, and my ass will be back hittin’ the streets in no time…

Talking Vaginas

Tzipi Livni has one and so do I. Vaginas. And it’s that time of year again…

VDAY!

V-Day is a global movement to stop violence against women and girls. V-Day is a catalyst that promotes creative events to increase awareness, raise money and revitalize the spirit of existing anti-violence organizations. V-Day generates broader attention for the fight to stop violence against women and girls, including rape, battery, incest, female genital mutilation (FGM) and sexual slavery.

Vaginas are taking over the Holy Land.

The Vagina Monologues are coming to Israel thanks to BaMatMaBat:

Jerusalem: Thursday, March 26 20:00 & Saturday, March 28  at Merkaz Hamagshimim  21:00

Tel Aviv: Monday March 23 at Teatron Hastudio 20:00

*Performances will be coed

Tickets on sale now: NIS 50 or $14 from now until February 28. After that, including day of is NIS 55.

For instructions on how to make advance reservations, please contact vday.israel@gmail.com
90% of proceeds go to Circle of Health International (see www.cohintl.org) and 10% go to V-Day