I'm not a nosey person by nature (I know, that's what all busybodies say – but I'm not!) However, a few days ago, my curiosity happened to get the better of me whilst I was standing in the queue at my local supermarket.

I was out and about running a few errands. I'd gathered together a list of groceries and was patiently waiting my turn to sample the delights of the 'Mega Ba'Ir' checkout, when I heard the tail-end of a gossipy conversation between two English-speaking women at the adjacent conveyor belt.

One looked at the other, glanced furtively over both shoulders, before stating, "...and then his leg fell off!"
"It never did!" said her companion, with a facial expression that managed to convey both horror and suppressed laughter at the same time.
"It did! I swear it did"
"What on earth did you do?"
"Well, I went over and helped him to his feet – I mean foot!" at which point they both burst out laughing – and so did I!

They then grabbed their receipt and scuttled out of the store.

I've been wondering ever since what exactly was the chain of events that led to this bizarre moment. I know that the politically correct brigade will chime in and say it's not nice to laugh at people with disabilities (which is absolutely true), but in my experience handicapped people also have a sense of humour, often, in fact, better than their able-bodied counterparts, so I don't apologize for mentioning the tale.

That reminds me by the way, of that old line about the PC brigade insisting that they objected to the title of their local Christmas pantomime 'Snow White and the Seven Dwarves'. After much negotiating the politically correct promotional hoarding was raised on high, advertising 'Snow Caucasian and the Seven Gentlemen of Diminutive Stature'!

Anyway, back to eavesdropping.

A few years ago when I was living back in Leeds, England, my trusty old Ford Orion gave up the ghost and I was left having to use public transport for a few weeks. I hadn't actually been on a bus for ages and wasn't looking forward to the experience, but it turned out to be something of a masterclass in the art of 'conversation of the common man…and woman'.

I joined the bus in the fairly rarified surrounds of Roundhay Park, and the route then took me through the 'yuppie' area of Chapel Allerton, before rolling on down to Chapeltown, a primarily black and Asian district, that had once been home to most of the Jewish population of the city before World War II, and for quite a while after. Eventually the bus rumbled on into the City Centre.

On my first journey I took a seat behind too obviously Jewish ladies of 'a certain age' who were engrossed in an earnest debate about whether or not it was possible to cook pickle meat in a microwave. They seemed blissfully unaware that nearly everyone else on the bottom deck was earwigging and on more than one occasion, another lady of a similar vintage, sitting a row or two ahead of me, could be seen with her shoulders going up and down at quite a pace, suggesting that she was in near fits of hysterical laughter.

One conversation I heard though, on the No.3 bus I shall never forget. It made me wish that I had been temporarily deaf at that moment. A white woman with a pretty mixed-race daughter (aged about three years old) got onto the bus with a black friend. The two women took the seat in front of me and indicated to the little girl to sit in the row in front of them. The conversation went something like this:

'So, are you going to move in with him then?'
'I think so.'
'But I thought you said that he wouldn't have you with a kid in tow?' said the friend.
'That's right. He won't', replied the girl's mother.
'I don't get it. How's it going to work then?'
With the three-year-old certainly in earshot, the mother declared:
'I'm giving her up for adoption.'
'You're not, are you?' said the bemused friend.
'I am. D'you think I'm going to miss out on him for her sake?' said the mother gesturing towards the child.
'No, I s'pose not' replied the friend.

At which point I reached my stop and had to get off. For days I couldn't help thinking about that poor little child and what might become of her. Some people just don't deserve the privilege of having children. It was shocking.

On a lighter note, (and going back to the latest bout of eavesdropping in the Zichron supermarket), if anyone wants to write to me with thoughts on how the poor chap  I mentioned at the start of this blog ended up in such a predicament, I'd be very happy to hear from you. It did cross my mind that he might not even be a human, and could have been an animal.

By the way, let me wish everyone all the best for 2010. Let's hope it brings health, happiness and peace to us all.

 

 

 

'How'd you like to join me for a night on police border patrol?' asked my good friend Ilan. 'We meet at 10 o'clock at the gas station at Givat Ada junction and then go off to try and catch some criminals!'

'As long as I don't miss out on my chicken dinner, you can count me in' said I.

And so it was that this British, former racing journalist and jazz musician, found himself in 'in the thick of it' in rural Israel, on a chilly Friday night.

The kneidlach had not long been digested when I joined the merry band of men that make up the Alona 71 volunteer border police. The guys trundled into the café at the gas station one by one, a variety of shapes and sizes, ranging in age from 28 to 'around 60'.

Ilan introduced me to Yehuda Zarka, 55, commander of our unit, and a genuine local hero. For 30 years Yehuda has been organizing a roster of 120 local men and women who volunteer to support the work of the local police force in the pastoral areas around Pardess Hanna, Binyamina and Zichron Yaakov. With the exception of Yom Kippur, he hasn't had a night off for an astounding 10 years! Yehuda's men go after the petty (and not so petty criminals), who populate this mixed Jewish/Arab area.

Making up the team was Aron, 28, who works for the Internal Security ministry (on something of a busman's holiday), and Shimon, 58-ish, a local farmer, who had his tractor stolen some months before and was determined that the same wouldn't happen to others in the area. Oh, and then there was Albert (named after Einstein), Aron's dog, a cross St.Bernard/Husky creature, who apparently has a good nose for a criminal, and teeth to match.

They give up their free time on a regular basis for a number of reasons. All want to give something back to the community. Many miss the army days and like to put on a uniform and join the 'boys' (and girls) out on patrol again. Many others are of the opinion that without this organization, the regular police would let many crimes go undetected and unpunished.

We jumped in the patrol car and left the gas station, with two packs of sunflower seeds and a bottle of soda for night time rations.

'I made some hot, sweet tea for us all' said Shimon.
'Lovely,' enthused Ilan.
'But I left it on the table by the front door!'
'Not so 'lovely', said I.

First stop, less than half a mile from 'base' was a eucalyptus forest that borders a series of pomegranate and avocado groves.

'What are we doing here?' I asked Yehuda.
'We've had word that there are thieves around looking to steal pomegranates. They're worth plenty of money at this time of the year' he explained.

The car rumbled down a country path, lights turned off. We pulled over and Aron, Albert (the dog) and Shimon leaped out like the Dukes of Hazzard. 

'I saw a flashlight a few hundred metres ahead' whispered Aron, taking his pistol out of its holster. Shimon produced what appeared to my untrained eye to be a hunting rifle.
'Is that an antique?' I asked.
'My father used it to fight the British in the '40's!' he smiled.
Was he trying to wind me up?

I stayed by the car with Ilan and Yehuda. We spoke in hushed tones.
'How much danger are they in?' I enquired of Yehuda.
'None whatsoever' he replied with absolute certainty.
'Really!'
'Really' he confirmed. 'In 30 years, I've never met one criminal carrying a weapon. They're frightened of us, so the last thing they want is to get into a fight. They always try and make a run for it, and believe me, they can run really fast!'

'Who are the criminals? I mean, are they Arabs or Jews?'
'80 percent Arabs, and 20 percent Jews,' Yehuda stated. 'They often work together though, Jews 'fencing' the stolen goods that the Arabs bring, and vice versa.'

The regular police pulled in next to us, headlights on full beam and police lights spinning, clearly having overlooked the element of surprise. Yehuda and Ilan just tutted and shook their heads.

'What was the most exciting day in your 30 years?' I asked Yehuda.
'Oho!' exclaimed Ilan. 'Yehuda is a big hero after what happened four years ago.'
Yehuda took up the story.

'Back in 2005, I was patrolling just a couple of miles from here, when I saw a covered truck rumbling across some farmland, with no lights on. It was late at night and looked suspicious. I approached with my lights off, and when I got close enough I spun the lights on and jumped out of the car. Two guys slammed the brakes on, got out and started running. We gave chase, but they ran far too fast for me and my guys to catch them.'

'So what were they up to?' I asked, intrigued.
'I pulled back the cover and saw lots of plastic containers. At first, I thought it was   stolen paint, or something like that. Then, I realised it was explosives – more than 500kg of high explosives! 

'We'd received a message earlier that week that a terrorist cell had got through from the West Bank and that Hadera (only five miles away) could be a likely target. These were the terrorists. There were fuses and timers together with the explosives hidden inside the paint containers.'

Yehuda received a top award from then Prime Minister Ariel Sharon, to go with many previous commendations for his work in apprehending criminals in the area. If the terrorists had got through, there would have been carnage.

Aron, Shimon and Albert returned empty handed.
'As soon as they saw the police lights they 'legged it' they said accusingly, within earshot of the boys in blue. The regular police just laughed.

We were busy munching sunflower seeds when a call came through that a fire had been spotted close to a nearby army base. We jumped back in the car and were off again.

It was now approaching midnight and we were bouncing around on rocky ground heading towards an elite, high security training base. On the radio I could hear plenty of action back at the Givat Ada junction, where I had been issued with my uniform only a couple of hours earlier.

'Yossi, block the Binyamina road before the train station' said the controller.
'Zvi is chasing a black BMW down the Pardess Hanna road. The car came up on the computer – he's moving really fast.'
'Sling the 'teeth' across the road at Ada junction.'
'Will do' said another voice.
(A few moments later) 'Here he comes. Oh my G-d, he's all over the place. He's in the ditch now!'
Silence for a few moments more. I could barely draw breath.
'We've got him. He's OK.'
'Stolen vehicle is it?' asked one of the patrol cars.
'No. He's an army deserter - a Druze!'

Most of the Druze join the Israeli army and are much respected, but this guy clearly had had enough and was making a run for it. I was told that he was handcuffed at the scene and taken into police custody.

We arrived to find four Israeli soldiers had apprehended and searched a group of 14 young Arabs, none of whom was carrying a weapon. We jumped out of the car and approached.

'What are you boys up to?' Yehuda said with a disarming smile, as he lit a cigarette. They all started talking at once.
'Only one person can speak for you' Yehuda said, and one of the guys stepped forward.
'We're from Kfar Kara, and we were just out here having a few drinks together around the fire. We didn't realize we had drifted onto military ground.'
Despite the guns, army and police presence, I sensed no hostility in the air. Everyone was relaxed, almost certainly due to Yehuda's informal approach.

'You know it's against the law to start a fire on, or next to a military base' Yehuda continued. 'You should know better.'
'If we had realized where we were, we wouldn't have done it. We'll put the fire out now and go home.'
'Good' said Yehuda. 'But don't let me catch you lot around here again, do you hear?'
'Understood. Thank you.' said the Arab, as he gestured to his friends to tidy things up quickly.
'The army will escort you off their land' Yehuda added.
'Shabbat Shalom' the Arabs called. 'Toda Raba (Thankyou), T'hiyu briyim (Keep well)' added more of their number, and they came over to shake hands with me and my colleagues before heading off up the hill.
 
'Were they really just having a drink round the fire?' I asked suspiciously.
'For sure,' said Yehuda and Ilan together.
'They are forbidden to drink alcohol by Islamic law, and if they are caught in their village, they'll get beaten up or horse whipped.'

Away again out of the army base, we hadn't been going more than two minutes when Aron told us to stop as he had seen the lights of a vehicle up ahead. We rumbled along in first gear and then witnessed a young guy forcing the lock on a farm gate. Immediately, Yehuda spun the police lights and we shot forward to the gate where the man was standing looking shell-shocked at being caught.

'What are you up to?' Aron asked as he got out of the car with Albert chafing at the leash.
'I can't get out' the man shouted, 'I'm locked in!'
'Locked in!' said Shimon. 'What are you talking about?'
'I came to a wedding this afternoon at the event hall over there, and fell asleep after having a few too many drinks, so I slept it off.'
'More like smoked too much 'stuff', Ilan whispered to me.
'I must have been asleep for more than five hours' the young guy continued, 'cos when I woke up, everyone had gone home and the place was locked. I'm breaking out, not breaking in!' he reasoned.

Ilan started chuckling. Yehuda glanced around towards us and winked as he tried to keep a straight face.
'Where are you from?' Yehuda asked.
'Kibbutz Maayan Zvi' said the young guy, looking embarrassed.
'I think you better go home now, don't you?' said Yehuda, and the guy (having given us his ID number) rushed back to his car, agreed to come back the next day with a new lock, waved a timid wave, and disappeared down the lane.

Yehuda radioed the farm owner to tell him what had happened and that the gate would be left closed, but not locked. The farmer thanked him for the call.
'Poor kid' said Shimon, and we all started laughing in the back.

We took another rocky route towards Bat Shlomo on our way back to base. The radio waves were red hot.
'Covered vehicle spotted heading across farmland towards Kfar Kara.'
'232, on our way.' 
'Report that a lamb has been stolen.'
Could the thief be of Welsh descent, I wondered to myself, whilst thinking how long it had been since I'd had chops for dinner.
'They've seen us' said 232 to base. 'They're getting out and making a run for it into the woods and back to the village.'
Siren heard wurring. Then silence.
'232. 232. Any news?' asked the operator.
A few moments later.
'How many 'lambs' were reported stolen?' asked car 232.
'Not specified'
'Well, there are ten massive sheep in here. They must weigh around 60 kilos each!'
'Unbelievable' said Ilan shaking his head. 'They steal anything they can.'

Pomegranate thieves, an army deserter, Arabs lighting fires on military ground, a tipsy kibbutznik breaking out of a locked wedding venue, and, to round it all off, sheep rustling.

Just another routine night for the Israeli volunteer border police.

 

 

I'm getting more than a little fed up with the way that Israel is portrayed by the international media and the insistence on negative/anti-Israel bias at virtually every turn.

This week's attempt by the British courts to have Tzipi Livni arrested as a war criminal was truly shocking. At least their Foreign Secretary David Milliband came out, shamefaced, and offered a seemingly sincere apology on behalf of the British government.

I would suggest that the next time the Brits come knocking on Israel's door for help with intelligence about Islamic terrorists on their patch, they should be squarely informed that as 'war criminals' we're not in a position to offer any assistance!

Of course, there are serious problems over here, but there are also many good things happening as well. It's a crying shame that good news doesn't sell papers or attract satisfactory viewing figures, we all know that.

Here's an example of some good news from my part of Israel. It's a small anecdote, but is worth passing on, I feel.

My friend's 12-year-old son plays for Binyamina basketball team. They're a pretty fair side and are doing well in their league managing to win both home and away. For those of you that don't where Binyamina is, well it's a few miles inland from Cesarea and is one of a number of small towns in the area that are in close proximity to Israeli Arab communities, such as Jisr-az-Zarka, Fareidis, Kfar Kara and Umm-El Fahm.

Amongst those towns, Umm-El-Fahm has long been regarded as the most problematic. The town has a reputation for housing some of the most radical Israeli Arabs and has often been cited as a base for Palestinian sympathizers and aggressive Islamists. During the last Intifada, driving on Route 65, the road that passes by 'Umm', a town sited on the steep hillside above the main road, was no laughing matter.  Rocks and stones were reportedly thrown by residents of the Arab town attempting to 'pick off' Israeli vehicles - it was very much a no-go zone.

Bearing this in mind, it was particularly heartening to hear that for the first time ever, Umm-El-Fahm has entered the Israeli junior basketball league, and last week paid a visit to take on Binyamina.

Understandably, with limited experience to call on, the Arab visitors found the home team rather too hot to handle, the final scoring being Binyamina 73-24 Umm-El-Fahm. What was particularly encouraging to hear though was that the game was played in a very good spirit. Kids on both sides chatted before and after the match and parents from both sides engaged in friendly conversation.

In a few weeks Binyamina will travel to Umm-El-Fahm for the return game, and, having expressed serious doubts (prior to the initial meeting) about going into the Arab enclave, most Binyamina parents are actually looking forward to the experience.

It might not be worthy of international news headlines, but this is one of many positive stories coming out of Israel. Wouldn't it be nice for a change to see a fairer balance in the reporting of what is actually going on amongst the everyday people of the region.

Wasn't it Chairman Mao who said something like, "a march of a thousand miles begins with a single step". I'm sure it was, or at least it was someone with a red book - maybe it was Eamonn Andrews (that's one for the more 'mature' readers).

The point that I'm rather clumsily trying to make, is that everyone has to start somewhere. Even Microsoft, Google, Ford and Virgin probably began with the chief protagonists working out of a backroom or from the shed at the end of the garden - you know, the one next to the badly tended vegetable patch.

Well, 'er indoors (Paz, my long suffering better half) has this week taken the very first step to making her first million. It's a delightful thought, as being a major shareholder in this family I very much hope that I might be able to sit back and put my feet up in a year or two and watch the money just roll in.

Paz has always been something of a local legend in the kitchen department. Over the years friends have become increasingly uneasy about return invitations to their abode, feeling that they can't come close to matching her culinary excellence. At least, that's what I think makes them uneasy. Maybe it's time for reflection, time to consider whether or not my after dinner jokes are getting just a little too 'near the knuckle'!

When Paz first made a special birthday cake for our older daughter Tami, there were audibly sharp intakes of breath from the gathered throng. A chocolate steam train with different goodies loaded into each carriage, well and truly stole the show. Since then there have been any number of raging successes as Paz has combined her excellent cake making, with artistic skills that have now led her to creating icing sugar sculptures that can so closely resemble the person/creature/even bicycle in question, that folks at first glance think they are crafted in porcelain.

After much thought we've decided to 'go for it' and have launched Paz's new busy 'Cake It Easy' - www.cakeiteasy.co.il  Take a look for yourself at the new website. (photo right, for example)

Here in Israel the standard of catering is tremendously high so competition is notably stiffer than in the UK where Paz first honed her skills. Israelis don't mind paying for quality, but it has to be spot on, or they let you know about it.

Paz's cakes, cupcakes, and designer biscuits are already causing waves. Apparently they not only look astonishing, but they taste amazing. I say 'apparently', because I have never had the pleasure of eating one.

Four years ago I was diagnosed with gluten intolerance and am now a card-carrying coeliac. That means no wheat products whatsoever! No cakes, biscuits, bread, pies, pasties, quiches, pasta, sometime even no falafel. It's not always been easy saying 'no' but now I'm used to it.

What a cruel irony then that my wife's new business requires someone other than myself to be the cake tester. Ironically, the only time of the year that I'm in my element is Pesach (Passover), when it is forbidden to eat bread and regular wheat products (other than matza). Whilst everyone else if cheesed off within two days of eating coconut macaroons and almond slices, I'm in my element.

I'm more than happy to take the word of others that have 'tasted the goods' so to speak. We, or rather 'Cake It Easy', can deliver anywhere in the world, so if you're looking for a unique gift idea that can be designed to your very own specification ( I sound like a bloody copywriter now), don't hesitate to get in touch via the website.

I'm off now to make myself a 'yummy' rice cracker sandwich - delicious - not!

PS. If anyone else tells me (with a smirk) that my wife's buns are delicious, I'll deck 'em!

Most major cities around the world have their particular sporting rivalries.

In New York it's always a big deal when the Yankees take on the Mets; in London, there are few bigger games that can draw a crowd than Arsenal against Chelsea, let's not even look north to Manchester where Utd versus City is a contest that's hot enough to cause divisions within the same family; in Milan, Inter against AC is a sporting rivalry that goes back generations; whilst in Buenos Aires, Boca Juniors against River Plate has a city of millions glued to their seats.

Now, Jerusalem can be added to the list of great weekend sporting rivalries with the newly evolved regular weekend clash between the Israeli police and the ultra-Orthodox Haredi community.

If you don't know who the Haredim are, well they're the cute little chaps in black coats and hats, sporting bushy beards and ringlets by the side of their face. Curious little fellows, often the subject of whimsical caricatures or souvenir silver ornaments that visitors to the Holy Land take home with pride to adorn their mantelpiece or collection of holiday paraphernalia.

Jerusalem's big match has only recently evolved. It's evolution seems contrary to the regular run of play as Saturday, the Sabbath, the holiest day of the week for the religious community, (especially the ultra-religious community), is a day of rest, prayer, quiet reflection and contemplation. It's against the rulebook to do anything strenuous or requiring effort (like switching on a light, cooking, digging the garden or even driving a car) so, it comes as something of a surprise to the neutral supporter that permission appears to have been given by their team management (the Rabbis) for the beating up of policemen, innocent passers-by or members of the media.

It all started during the summer when a new car park was opened on a Saturday to allow those visiting the Old City of Jerusalem to leave their vehicles outside of the city walls in a purpose built facility. This meant drivers no longer had need to abandon their cars in the adjacent narrow streets, where for decades they have caused mayhem and disturbance to the flow of traffic and the many tourist buses, and the like.

It seems that this most sensible traffic calming solution offended the Haredim and they decided to take it upon themselves to leave their prayer books and go down the Old City 'ground' to get stuck in to motorists, police and anyone else that didn't take their fancy.

The sight of a mob of grown men wearing full-length black silk coats, fur hats the size of a Chinese wok, and boots that went out of fashion when Napoleon headed east towards Russia, doing their best to harass and injure law abiding citizens, was greeted as something of a new local phenomenom. After the first contest, there were more than a few red cards handed out and a number on the Haredi team were sent for a 'night in the chokey' - a local version of the 'sin bin'.

The contest was replayed with surprising regularity (and more contestants on both sides) in subsequent weeks, until the game was moved to a new venue - the new Intel software factory, to the uninformed observer a strange location. But their is a method in the Haredi madness.

The 'Men in Black' object to the factory being open on a Saturday and wish it to be closed on their day of rest (a day that some might argue adds up to seven days a week). The fact that they are seeking to deprive fellow citizens in this democratic country the right to choose when they can and can't work, seems to have evaded the logic of the 'Black' team. Faced by the 'Blues' the local plods, the big Saturday game has been turning ever more violent, even though the Intel bosses have been seeking to find a reasonable solution.

In the end, Intel's offer to only employ Arabs and Christians (as Saturday is not their Sabbath) seemed to those with even half a brain to be an excellent solution - we'll call it a score draw. However, after initially seeming to accept the draw from the opposing team, the Haredim have decided that they can't bear the thought of missing out on their weekend pugilistic exercise and have decided to return to the pitch until they score a victory for their team of not-so-merry men.

Is it being churlish to suggest that they should be dealt with the same way football hooligans around the world are dealt with i.e. lock 'em up,  give them a lifetime ban and treat them with the full weight of the law? Is it unreasonable to wonder that if they possibly thought about doing a day's work for a change (let's say five days a week instead of the current 'zero' performed, or should I say not performed by many) they might not have the energy to stand around in scorching temperatures on Saturday afternoons looking like an army of penguins on crystal meths. They might instead prefer being at home in the bosom of their families and have a well earned kip?

This is one match I hope to see forcibly stopped by the authorities, and one team that shouldn't ever be offered a place on any pitch near me!