In, out, shaken all about
I have just returned to Israel after a week in London. For some reason, I am reminded of a silly song popular when I was a child in Britain. Called the Hokey Cokey, the last verse goes:
You put your whole self in, your whole self out
In (woo), out (woo), shake it all about
Do the hokey cokey and you turn around
That’s what it’s all about
October 7th has changed our roles as newbie Israelis. Our rosy retirement by the sea with its occasional treats of delicious breakfasts and visits to and from grandchildren has changed. We always understood the package involved a “for better, for worse” element and being here during the war has brought its challenges and stresses which we, along with everyone else, have tried to absorb to the best of our ability. The unity we have witnessed from all sections of Israeli society is inspiring, as is the spirit of volunteerism. The preoccupation with news from the frontlines and its ramifications is universal and we have learned to limit our exposure to the inevitable toll these updates take on our limited reserves of calm. In short, “putting our whole selves in” has led to considerable ambivalence. We are indeed being shaken all about. Simultaneous feelings of pride, frustration, determination, anger, hope and worry do not sit comfortably together.
So, an invitation to present my book, Good for a Single Journey, at the Jewish Literary Foundation’s prestigious Bookweek24 was not only flattering, but very welcome. What could be better? We took our whole selves out. A week in London to catch up with old friends, present my book at what used to be called Jewish Book Week and, almost better still, invitations from Authors in Schools to speak in both Jewish and non-Jewish schools.
With low-cost airlines not currently flying to Israel, we swallowed the extra expense and were grateful for the lifeline of El Al who can be relied upon to keep flying the flag under any circumstances. London welcomed us with the expected mix of diverse weather. Icy temperatures to start, followed by drenching rain interspersed with mercifully drier grey mist and, gloriously, more or less blue skies and bright sunshine at least on Shabbat when it was most needed.
We enjoyed the ordered calm, avoided news (apart from cursory morning and evening checks), relished our friends, took in two great concerts and an art gallery. The book events went very well with varied engaged audiences with good questions and lively debates. What’s not to enjoy? I could literally feel my heartrate slow. I slept deeply and woke refreshed. It seemed part holiday, part convalescence.
Still, perhaps it’s just part of being Jewish that no matter where or when, one feels a degree of ambivalence. Walking through the streets of central London we were just any other pair of anonymous pensioners muffled up against the fickle weather. The people we encountered? Just anonymous, unsmiling passersby. No overt antisemitism. Nothing nasty. Walking along the streets of Jewish London – especially on Shabbat – we saw people who looked like us in clothes a notch smarter than everyday wear, heads covered. Not very smiley but an occasional reciprocal “Shabbat shalom.” Again, all felt calm and unthreatening. And yet…a sense that underlying the calm, we couldn’t help being aware that, somehow, London and other world capitals have been “shaken all about.”
Now, we have turned around and returned home; our whole selves “back in” once again. No more feeling of anonymity. The people on the street? Brothers and sisters. Maybe it’s the sunshine? There might be a war on, but folk are smiling in the streets. Well, maybe that’s why I thought of the song. Ambivalence! Shaken or not, that’s what it’s all about…