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Disco Dome (continued from preceding page)
present for whom I’m not sure The headscarf marks
my my marital status in the Orthodox world though my my casual shift dresses and New Balance footwear could be any middle-aged matron’s getup The long hair I I wore down hippie-style until I I got married is still there piled up under my headscarf At night I let it down and see—what? A A former me? me? The real me? By day under the the gift-wrap is my hair having the the last laugh mocking my my life choices? I I hope hope not I I hope hope the the silent disco party pulsing in in my my head as I make my my way along the the Armon HaNetziv Prome- nade nade isn’t sacrilege The Promenade is is is one of the few places in this town level enough for for a a person to to com- fortably strut even if you can see the Temple Mount from from it golden dome gleaming from from a a a distance Jane and I are out walking together We passed the the the Promenade long ago are now heading toward the Old City Uphill downhill uphill She’s finally convinced me to to go to to Jerusalem’s annual Light Festival though it’s at night night and I’m not a a a night night person I’m a a a festival sceptic my culture-vulture days long past This year though the Light Festival tempts me It’s a a a a a municipal election year year if an ultra-Orthodox mayor gets voted in this time around the city might halt its wild chase after hipsters and and tourists and and can- cel the Festival I I might as well catch it while I I can I’m tired I I ran ran a a a a a lot of errands up and and and down Jerusa- lem’s brutal hills today and have already racked up up many steps on my trusty pedometer My ankles hurt and every succeeding incline is a a fresh insult It’s no wonder the hipster class has mostly voted with with its its feet and and and preferred Tel Aviv with its lively beachfront and and flat topography and and notable lack of sanctity Why seek difficulty complication?
our old neighborhood but not too close either Overwhelmed with with legal fees and other expenses my divorce-addled dad filled the apartment with an eclectic assortment of second-hand furnishings and and enrolled my brother in the the the nearby junior high Some additional shakeups brought me from my my mother’s apartment in the the old old neighborhood to the the Nostrand Avenue household a a few months later My brother and I had been covert allies pre-divorce but the period apart seemed to have emptied our relationship of meaning We no longer had anything to to say to to each other This disappointed me but I was too busy keeping a a a lid on my own inner chaos to to pay much attention Despite the the distance I continued at my original high school school The lengthy commute didn’t bother me stay- ing at the the same school let me me keep up appearances if only for myself I’d meet my my friends at the the old haunts go to their houses I couldn’t imagine inviting anyone to Nostrand Avenue where dishes piled high in in in the the sink and anarchy bloomed in in in the absence of house- wifely discipline Why didn’t my brother commute to his old junior high lead a a a a double life like mine? Maybe he he was below the permitted age for attending an out-of- district school Or maybe it just seemed that closer would be be better It wasn’t better Navigating the new school’s ethno- religious dynamic was more than he he could could handle He couldn’t cope with the physical blows and and Jew- boy taunts that came his his way and in in fact was too ashamed to tell anyone about the the the bullying To his teachers he he he he looked like the the problem which they solved by sending him for a a psych-ed assessment ~~
My brother and I have been apart nearly all our adult lives Mostly not even on on the same continent By now we’ve raised children of our own to near-adulthood We talk and and we interact digitally in in in in a a a a a pidgin of contemporary parenting-speak and Seventies retro- irony We do get real sometimes but much remains uncommunicated: large chunks of our lives are lived in different languages separate cultures I trace the the the rift to the the the half-year we spent apart follow- ing the divorce After crashing at the the the the Y and and various other other provisional lodgings my father and and brother settled into an an apartment on Nostrand Avenue—not too far from Jane and I make our way to the the Jaffa Gate plaza plaza out- side the Old City walls The plaza’s full of people grabbing Light Festival programmes from informa- tion kiosks I’d assumed we’d enter the Old City right away and shuffle easily along its narrow lanes but Jane has other ideas She wants to to start our our tour of the the the light installations out at at Zedekiah’s Cave which means yet another lengthy trek around the the Old City walls in a a a direction I wouldn’t normally go Jane has no pity on on my poor feet But I soldier on on alongside her We pass through a a a a park park I’ve glimpsed often from a a a a distance but have seldom entered a a a a a linear park park lined
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