ihath

I have a credibility problem. People don’t believe the things that I tell them. There must be something about me that makes people not believe me. It all started from a young age.

I was a teen, maybe 13 and I was spending my summer holiday in the Czech republic with my family as we did almost every year. I was hanging out with Tomash the next door neighbor kid. He tells me that when he grows up that he will travel to the US or anywhere in the west and become rich. I tell him that not everybody in the west is rich. I tell him about the homeless people I had seen on the streets of Paris. I tell him about how in the US some people are so poor they have to eat out of a garbage dump. I tell him about the prostitutes I had seen standing in the streets of Madrid. He shakes his head, “I don’t believe you, you are just saying these things.”, he tells me. I swear to him that these are things, I had seen with my own eyes and that not everybody that lives in the US is wealthy. “How come they never talk about these things on Voice of America?” he asks me. “You are making things up”. It bothers me that Tomash won’t believe me since we essentially grew up together. We spent many summers climbing on trees, playing hide and seek and sharing meals, you would think he would learn to trust me by now. You would think he would rather believe me than a propaganda radio station. To this day, Tomash continues to live in the same town and the same neighborhood he grew up in. Some people prefer the fantasy world.

Many years later, I was talking with a dear friend in Canada. Somehow we got on the subject of socialism. He tells me how socialism will solve all of the world’s problems. I tell him about my personal experiences in the Czech republic. How everybody hated the socialist regime. He mentions how he visited the Czech republic himself few years earlier, how under the socialist regime, streets were clean, no homeless people on the streets, no prostitutes on the streets, free health care and everybody he asked told him that they loved the socialists. I tell him that people told him that they loved the regime because of fear of imprisonment. That although you didn’t see prostitutes on the streets, prostitution did exist. I tell him how although the health care was free, each person was expected to pay a fortune in bribes to doctors and nurses if you ever expect decent care. I tell him how when my grandfather got sick we had to bribe everybody who came in contact with him to ensure that he would get adequate care at the hospital. I tell him how you could bribe almost anybody in the Czech republic. Yes! to a tourist spending just two weeks things looked just fine, even great. But to anybody who lived there a different picture would emerge. That is why I love the Russian movie “Burnt by the Sun”. It depicts a super happy almost dream like reality that is only interrupted for brief moments with little glimpses of awfulness. To me the socialist regime was exactly that. Everything was wonderful until you scratched the top layer. By the end of the movie your stomach is churning even though most of the movie is one happy scene after another. I also like the play on the words, socialism was often described as the “rising sun” by the regime. Surely, if the majority of people were miserable under such a regime it is a good indicator that there was something wrong. My friend is shaking his head, he tells me that I have allowed my brain to be corrupted by the capitalist and imperial propaganda. I want to tell him that if socialism was so great, why not move to one of the socialist countries, but I don’t, because I don’t want to offend him. Socialism was great, nay! wonderful….. on paper and as long as you didn’t live under it.

When you are an immigrant you invariably end up meeting other immigrants and you invariably will have the nostalgia discussion. The discussion where everybody goes on and on about how things were just perfect back home and how everything sucks in Canada. On one of such nostalgia talks I had, with my friend who is originally from Egypt. He starts with the standard nostalgia stuff: food tasted better back home, people are warmer and kinder back home … etc. Then he graduates to “Canadian society is a sick and depraved because of all the homosexuals” argument. I mention that probably there are just as many homosexuals in his home country of Egypt. My friend gets deeply offended and tells me that he has lived in Egypt of over 20 years and that in all that time he hasn’t encountered a homosexual not even once. My friend is certain that there are no homosexuals in Egypt, not even one. I tell him how homosexuality exists in every culture, through out human history. I try to argue that the only reason you never see homosexuals in the middle east is because no homosexual would dare be open about it for fear of prosecution. I tell him about all the famous Arab people in our history who were probably gay. My friend shakes his head. He tells me that there is no way there are any homosexuals in the middle east and certainly not in Egypt because of our superior religion of Islam. Islam protects us from the depravity that exists in Canada. He tells me that I have allowed my brain to be corrupted by western Christian media who is bent on discrediting Islam. I wanted to tell him that we the Muslims do such a good job of discrediting ourselves with our own idiocy, others don’t have to do it for us, but I don’t. I have already offended his national pride by suggesting that some of his country men might be gay. Plus we all just enjoyed the delicious fish dish he made for dinner, so it would be rude to insult him any further after eating his food.

I must have the most corrupt brain in the world. Capitalist and imperial propaganda, followed by the western Christian corruption. I wonder if there any further corruptions I could possibly add to that. Why stop now? A corrupt brain is a terrible thing to waste.

When I traveled to Palestine with my husband, I met his uncle for the very first time. The uncle welcomes me with open arms. Hello, hello, hello he says. I hear you are Iraqi, I love Iraqis, I love Saddam Hussien, welcome to my house. I tell him that I hate Saddam Hussien, that Saddam is a terrible tyrant who has caused harm to his own people. Uncle says, “that is no good, that is no good at all”. He then looks at my husband and tells him that he doesn’t like me anymore. My husband responds by telling his uncle, “Yeah! but she is religious and fasts Ramadan”. I was religious at the time, it was before I renounced organized religions. The uncle responds by saying “your wife is half good then”.

I was surprised by how positively many Palestinians thought of Saddam Hussien. Many bought the idea that he is some big Arab hero who wants to liberate Palestine. I spend so much time telling people about the horrible crimes that Saddam committed against his own people, the fact that he used chemical weapons on the Kurds. I would argue that any leader who treats his own country so badly can’t possibly be good to any other nation. That Saddam’s support for Palestinians is nothing but empty slogans and efforts to boost his image. Most people would shake their heads and refuse to believe me, you would think they would believe these words considering the fact that they were coming from an Iraqi. I never understood the source of support for Saddam among the Palestinians, was it desperation? was it a desire to believe that somebody somewhere cared about their plight? Was it the fantasy that some powerful heroic leader would show up and give them freedom? Was it ignorance? My father in law, was one of the few people whose opinion on the matter shifted. After many discussions, between him and I, on the subject I would hear him arguing with his brother and other friends telling them what an awful dictator Saddam is and that they shouldn’t pin their hopes on him. I was very flattered to hear my father in law use the same arguments that he heard from me in our discussions. I have the coolest father in law in the world. He is the “salt of the earth” kinda guy. The fact that he had only 4 years of schooling makes me admire his ability for critical and objective thinking even more. For an uneducated man, he has more wisdom and smarts that many educated people I know.

The real surprise came when I joined the local anti war crowd in Vancouver. There was a quiet support for Saddam among some individuals. I was frequently criticized about my vocal denunciation of the Ba’athist party. I was told that I am playing to the hands of the pro war gang. I was told that I wasn’t being committed enough to the anti war ideal. It was implied that I was a traitor. I was told that the crimes of Saddam were exaggerated in the media to support the war. I heard one person say that Saddam was the only world leader who dared fight imperialism. I would argue with people and tell them just go and talk to any recent refugee from Iraq, I guarantee that you will get nightmares for weeks. I would quote amnesty international reports on human right abuses in Iraq, I would mention history books and personal accounts. You would think that people would believe an Iraqi on such matters, you would think that the activist community would have an open mind. People would just shake their heads and tell me that I got it all wrong.

To all the people that send me hate mail, telling me that I got it all wrong on my blog, you might be a bit surprised by how little I argue back and by how little effort I exert in attempting to convince you of my point of view. It is because I have learned the following lessons the hard way.

1. People believe what they want to believe.

2. The majority of people don't want to know the truth, the want to know things that they already know.

3. The vast majority of people are too emotional to form opinions based on objectivity.

4. There is nothing I can do, absolutely nothing, to change the view of somebody who is not objective.

5. I can’t even change the mind of a childhood friend what make me think I can change the mind of anybody else.

To the rest of you reading this blog, consider yourself sufficiently warned. I have a credibility problem, I had it all my life, you should take everything you read here with a grain of salt.

Former Israeli prime minister Ehud Barak said in a televised interview that; had he been born in Gaza he would have joined Hamas. Several days later he apologized for making that statement following controversy over it. Given his military career and the fact that he never shied away from a good fight, I suspect that he meant what he said in the first place.

Rachel Corrie on the other hand, believed in non violent resistance. She didn’t believe in Hammas. She went to Gaza to protest the occupation through no-violent means. On march 16, 2003, Rachel Corrie’s skull and chest were crushed by an Israeli driven, American made bulldozer.

When I feel down I will listen to the song “I will survive”, It has magical powers over me. I just have to listen to it once to turn everything around in my mind.

At first I was afraid.
I was petrified.
I kept thinking I
could never live
Without you by my side.
But then I spent so many nights
Just thinking how you'd done me wrong.
I grew strong.
I learned how
to get along.


And so you're back from outer space.
I just walked
in to find you here
Without that look upon your face.
I should have
changed my fucking lock.
I would have made you leave your key
If I'd
have known for just one second
You'd be back to bother me.

Oh now
go.
Walk out the door.
Just turn around now.
You're not welcome
anymore.
Weren't you the one
Who tried to break me with desire?
Did
you think I'd crumble?

Did you think I'd lay down and die?
Oh not I.

I will survive.
As long as I know how to love
I know I'll be
alive.
I've got all my life to live.
I've got all my love to give.
I
will survive.
I will survive.

It took all the strength I had
Just not to fall apart.
I'm trying hard to mend
The pieces of my
broken heart.
And I spent oh so many nights
Just feeling sorry for
myself.
I used to cry.
But now I hold my head up high.

And
you'll see me with somebody new.
I'm not that stupid little person
Still
in love with you.
And so you thought you'd just drop by,
And you expect
me to be free.
But now I'm saving all my lovin'
For someone who's lovin'
me.

Oh now go.
Walk out the door.
Just turn around now.
You're not welcome anymore.
Weren't you the one
Who tried to break
me with desire?
Did you think I'd crumble?
Did you think I'd lay down
and die?
Oh not I.

I will survive.
As long as I know how to love
I know I'll be alive.
I've got all my life to live.
I've got all my
love to give.
I will survive.
I will survive.

My favorite part in the song is when she says [Oh now go. Walk out the door.] That is when I imagine myself dancing wearing big leather boots ready to kick somebody in the behind. That is the turning point in the song for me, that is the point where darkness lifts and hope begins. [ Just turn around now. You’re not welcome anymore.]

Speaking of sick fantasies. I sometimes fantasize that I am driving in car when a rocket hits my car. CNN reports “Blogger code named ihath was assassinated today by the CIA on her way to work this morning, she was suspected in corrupting the minds of our youth with her blogging.”. Images of the burning car and firefighters in the background. I figure, if I am gonna go, I would rather go with a bang. It seems so glamorous to be assassinated by the CIA or the Mossad.

One person who didn’t have to fantasize is Sheik Ahmed Yassin. An Israeli strike helicopter fired three missiles at the wheel chair bound, blind and nearly deaf quadriplegic Yassin and his entourage while on their way back home following the dawn prayers.

I will always remember the first time I heard Sheik Ahmed Yassin’s name. I was at work in Jerusalem and one of my coworkers had the radio on listing to the news. It was Sept 25, 1997. The news reported that several mossad agents were caught red handed after an attempt to assassinate Khalid Meshal in Amman Jordan. They managed to hit him in the neck with a dart that contained a deadly but untraceble poison, somehow the Jordanian police were able to catch them. Apparently this poison makes the victim die few days later in what appears to be a heart attack. In return for the release of the mossad agents, Jordan was asking Israel to provide an antidote for the poison injected into Meshal’s body and also a demand was made to release Sheik Ahmed Yassin from prison. The reason this news release drew my attention had nothing to do with Hammas, Meshal or Yassin, I was worried about my husband whom I had just said goodbye to, that very morning. He had just boarded an airplane to Canada going through London. The mossad agents used Canadian passports to enter Jordan, my husband was carrying a Canadian passport as well. A Canadian passport that states he was born in Israel, he has an Arabic name, brown skin and he is traveling on the same exact day mossad agents have been caught in an assassination attempt. Surely my husband will be a suspect in something or other. I kept praying that my husband gets to his destination safely with minimum harassment.

Later on, my husband told me that in London Heathrow airport he was interrogated, except he hadn’t heard the news and thus had no idea why they were interrogating him. He thought that maybe the English security officers were looking for drugs, he kept telling them, just search my luggage, let’s get this over with. But they were not interested in his luggage they kept examining his passport carefully and took photocopies of each page from it. Eventually he was able to board the plane. Once he arrived in Canada he heard the news and finally understood the extra handling.

Few days later Sheik Ahmed Yassin was released from prison. On the news they showed him being carried by supporters. He looked frail, weak and all shriveled up. His wife was standing in the door in anticipation, huge smile on her face. Later on, he gave an interview with a journalist, he could barely speak, he would pause between the words, the simple act of talking was putting him out of breath. I thought to myself, this guy will die in few weeks, he looked nearly dead already. Weeks later he looked invigorated and more energetic. As if the release from prison breathed a new life into him In some arab media, Yassin’s release was likened to the release of Nelson Mandela. I am a big admirer of Nelson Mandela and it always irritates me when people compare lesser men to him. Sheik Ahmed Yassin, was a demagogue. He believed that establishing an Islamic state was the only solution, he believed that secularism was the enemy and I can’t imagine that his views on women rights were all that enlightened. In short, he disapproved of everything that I believe in. Everything, except for one thing.

Some people call Gaza the biggest prison in the world, the small strip of land is surrounded with a security wall from all directions. By security wall I mean ditches, flood lights and barb wire. Inside this prison live 1.5 million Palestinians, whose lives are made bitter by 5,000 Israeli settlers, who in turn need to be protected with a bazillion soldiers and Jewish only roads. Gaza is one the most densely populated areas in the world.

I am not grieving his death. The man lived by the sword and died by the sword. I am not grieving because I shall miss him or miss his speeches. I am grieving because I know what will come next.

In Gaza, you can die like a dog or you can go with blast.

Some go one way and some go the other.

Choose, everybody must and yet life goes on.

Despite me and you.

People who know me in person say that I am a hopeless optimist.

People who know me say that I always look on the bright side.

People who know me say that I always have a laugh or a smile to spare.

So on this day, I will play my song, but this time I hear it say something that wasn’t there before.

Hey, hey hey.

Oh now go.
Walk out the door.
Just turn around
now.
You're not welcome anymore.
Take your stupid little tanks.
Your
big macho soldiers.
And give us back our land
Did you think we’ll
crumble?
Did you think we’ll lay down and die?
Oh not us.

We will survive.
We’ve got all our lives to give.

We’ve got
nothing else to lose.
For each Yassin you kill
15 new will be
born.
We will survive.
Somehow, We will survive.

Can you imagine arriving in a foreign country, where a foreign language is spoken? You don’t understand a single word, except for the swear words. You walk around in happy tourist oblivion only to be jolted once in a while with some foul curse being yelled. Well I don’t have to imagine such a scenario, because I lived it. When I moved to Israel, I didn’t speak a single word of Hebrew. The only words I understood were the swear words since most swear words in Israel are adopted from Arabic. So I would walk down the street, completely ignorant of what is going on around and then once in while I would hear somebody calling somebody else’s mom a dog. I asked many people about this, Why do Israelis adopt Arabic swear words? I got many different answers ranging from “Arabic has the best swear words in the world” argument; to “Hebrew is God’s language; you can’t have foul words in it” argument. My theory is that, Israelis are excellent communicators; to the Palestinians they have to say: donkey, your mother is a prostitute, you are mentally retarded and you are a bastard. To the rest of the world they say: These Palestinians are so unreasonable we have tried, but we just can’t find a way to communicate with them. With Arabic the Israelis learned the words they needed to know. It also means that they get to hear only the words they want to hear: donkey, your mother is a prostitute, you are mentally retarded and you are a bastard. See! Those Palestinians hate us, it is in their genes. In language, as in life, you learn the parts you want to learn. Understanding nothing but swear words can be disturbing after a while and so I took intensive Hebrew language classes. On the first day of classes I learned to say: “Shalom. Shemi ihath. Ani me Canada” (Hello. My name is ihath. I am from Canada. After a while I knew a wide variety of the “Hello, how do you do?” words and I still knew the “Your mother is a dog” words. It was a rather strange mix of vocabulary that I had in the beginning. Not to worry, I am a fast learner. I picked up the in between stuff pretty fast.

Shalom is the most common greeting word in Israel, Salam is the most common greeting word in Palestine. Both words mean peace. I was living in the land where everybody said peace all the time. Ironic, don’t you think?

Hebrew is a very concise language, people use the minimum number of words to express an idea, frequently a sentence will be just two or three words but it will hold complex meaning. Which means that it’s prone to poetry and musicality. Hebrew has very powerful loaded expressions, like when somebody is boring you with something you could tell them “Ze mea’anein et ha safta sheli” (this would be interesting to my grandmother). Whenever people are about to eat they say “Bete avon” to each other which means (With good appetite). My all time favorite Hebrew expression is “Achaz oti bolmos” (I was possessed with an obsession). The best part about learning Hebrew language is the fact that I am able to understand the songs. I don’t know what is it about Israel? but, they produce excellent music. I don’t know if it is the mix of eastern and western influences, is it the Hebrew language, is it the adversity that the people faced? I don’t know, but Israelis have fantastic music. Below I provide links to two of my favorite CDs, but really there are so many more that I can recommend.

At work I asked one of my coworkers if he knew any other Arabic words, besides swear words. He told me that he learned a few expressions while serving in the army in the west bank. He recited a few for me.

1. Feen el haweya? (where is your ID card?)

2. Waqef houn. (Stand over here)

3. Uskut (be quiet)

Ok, I can imagine now what he did in the army. I could imagine him standing at a check point giving people orders. The swear words almost sounded better, all over a sudden. Somehow I can’t image him attempting to pick up a Palestinian chick with that vocabulary. In addition to swear words, Israelis seem to be fond of the Arabic word yalla, which means hurry up or come on. It is my least favorite words in Arabic. I have spend a childhood listening to: yalla wake up, yalla get dressed, yalla time to do homework and yalla go to bed. I think I am yallaed out. Israelis also like the Arabic proverb “Kul kaleb beiji youmo” (Every dog will get his day, implying that every despicable person will get his just punishment one day or the other.), I have no idea why this proverb is so popular among Israelis, since among Palestinians it is just one of many good ones. If I had to choose just one Palestinian proverb I would go with “Ele beidri, beidri. We ele ma beidri beiqoul kef adas” (Those who know, know. Those who don’t, say: a handful of lentils). The story goes that a young man was secretly visiting a young woman at night in her house. When her family returned unexpectedly, he ran out to the kitchen and placed a handful of lentils in his pockets. So that when the young woman’s father and brothers found him they would think he was a thief, attempting to steal food, therefore not causing harm to his beloved. The equivalent in English would be: Things are not what they seem. But what a beautiful way to express the concept.

When I was a teen, I used to vacation in Europe with my family. My brother was fond of playing this practical joke on other teens we met there. He would tell people that he would teach them how to say hallo in Arabic, only he would teach them how to say “kick me in the ass” instead. It gave him great mischievous pleasure to hear his innocent victims repeat this phrase. Being the prudish teenager that I was, I would go around and tell everybody what the phrase really meant and spoil his fun, I thought it was unfair to make fun of people like that. Now that I am older, I am not so tight laced as I used to be. I suggest to all Iraqis living in Iraq to teach American soldiers to say “Urfusni alashan ana hemaar”, tell them it is a polite greeting. Yeah! they got our oil, our land, our dignity, but, unlike the Palestinians, lets make sure we get to use our language to our own advantage. Since we are on the axis of evil already, we might as well do something to earn the title. It will be our secret weapon of mass ridicule.

What can I say, sigh!

Ele beidri beidri. We ele ma beidri beiqoul: Iraq has been liberated.

Will liberation become the most common greeting word in Iraq ten years for now? That is Tahreer in Arabic. I can just imagine two friends meeting each other 10 years from now on the streets of Baghdad.

Sa’adoun: Liberation upon you brother.

Jaber: And liberation upon you too.

Sa’adoun : So how was that business trip you went on?

Jaber: It was very liberating. I nearly got killed and got liberated of my life. How is your family by the way?

Sa’adoun: My family is experiencing the mother of all liberations. We have just been liberated of all our worldly possessions, it feels great.

Jaber: Don’t worry about it, some of my best friends are liberated too, and I mean that in the best possible way.

Tahreer to you all.

Micha Shitreet - Nails And Feathers



The Natural Gathering - Waiting For Samson

“It got good reviews in both Israeli and Arab press, it must be good” says my husband. Usually Arab and Israeli press are the mirror opposites of each other. If one side praises something then the other side thinks it is the true embodiment of evil. The source of this unique harmony in the Middle East is a book called the Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. My husband runs out of the coffee shop we are sitting in, to go to the bookstore next door. “I just got to buy this book he mutters as he runs out. He then runs back into the coffee shop and plunks this little book into my hands. “You got to read this,” he tells me. “You got to read it,” he repeats several times.

I am still struggling with my vow of reading deprivation. As an avid reader, I had just realized that I am very knowledgeable about world affairs, the human condition, politics, history, philosophy; you name it I know about it. However I am not putting any of this knowledge into good use. I have read enough, I declared a mere two months earlier, I will stop being an observer and become a doer. I will do something about all this knowledge inside my head and make a difference in the world. Reading about it and then having interesting discussions at dinner parties is for idiots. For two months I have watched my husband finish one juicy novel after the next; while I held steadfast to my vow of abstaining from reading. Now the ultimate temptation, a book so highly recommended, plus it is so small, it won’t take long to read. I have been so good for two months. Would it really hurt if I deviate just a little and made an exception just this once. Oh yeah! Addictions are hard to break and mine is the hard-core kind. My name is ihath and I am a book addict --- You are supposed to say “Hello ihath” at this point.------

I start reading the first page right there in the coffee shop. Santiago, a young man has a happy and content life. Then he meets a mysterious figure that tells him that he must follow his dreams. Santiago must give up everything that he has in his current life in order to take a long and risky journey towards his dream. Few weeks later, I quit my highly paid job although I don’t have an alternative job offer, I decide to start my own project. My family thinks I am crazy. My husband thinks that I am experiencing mid life crisis in my early thirties. Such rash behavior from a mostly reasonable person. Ex “mostly reasonable person” by now.

Shortly after Santiago starts this journey, he falls flat on his face. Splat! Ouch! But now he is stuck in the middle, he can’t go back to comfortable old life style and he can’t get to his dream either. Oh man! What was I thinking? What craziness took hold of me? I should have been realistic. All this talk about following your dream and living out your personal legend, that is nonsense. There is everyday reality to content with, there are bills to pay. Wake up! You can’t just fantasize about something crazy and then expect that it will just happen. Nobody has that kind of a control over his destiny. Ok! That was pretty stupid, back track, lets work hard on getting back to that comfortable lifestyle we had before. Lets go back to square number one. Lesson learned: don’t trust crazy mysterious people that tell you to follow your dream. People like that are dangerous. Dangerous, I tell you.

Santiago has to work hard in a crystal shop for a whole year in order to save enough money so that he could go back to where he started and go back to his original life style. He finally saves up enough money and is ready to go back home, when suddenly something grips him again and he decides that he can always get back home later, Santiago’s risky journey continues.

Just Like Santiago, I have found my way to a safe crystal shop where I have been for a little over one year. I have gathered my strength back, but what now? Knowing about the ordeals the Santiago faced after he leaves the Crystal Shop. Do I have the courage to continue with the original path I set out upon, more than a year ago? Now that I know how difficult this road is, do I have the courage to walk it again? I will probably fall flat on my face again. I think I need a kick in the behind to get me out of the crystal shop. On one hand I am terrified, on the other hand I know that if I stop following the omens they will stop appearing.

I no longer have a desire to read any more books; they all seem to be saying the same thing. The ultimate and most exciting story is the one I am creating right this minute, every minute of my life, with every breath. The book addict has encountered the ultimate fix. I am a book reader no more.

Don’t read this book, it is dangerous. It will make you do crazy stuff like starting a blog, yearning to dance and believing that your craziest dreams might come true. You will start believing that you can change the world around you and that you are not a passive passenger in this life. You will fall flat on your face again and again but keep going on. You have been warned, don’t read this book. Go back to your safe, sane and predictable life.

What was it about my wedding that made people give me stupid gifts? For example, I received a silver plated tea set with a silver plated tray. I was 22 and most of my furniture was second hand, what was I going to do with the silver plated tea set? In case the queen came to visit? However, the stupidest gift had to be a big picture book titled, “Things to make with your own hands for you new husband”. Flipping through it made me imagine myself sitting in a dark corner somewhere knitting socks for hours. As if I am ever, going to embroider pillows. One day, I am going to write a book titled “Things to do when your family is driving you crazy”. Married women will give it to about to marry women in a time sealed envelope. Seven years after the wedding day the envelope will unlock, just at the perfect time. It will be the ideal wedding present. For the book, I will collect stories from women all over the world of creative things they do when their family is driving them crazy. Here are a few of my favorite.

Story Number 1

Every Sunday morning my husband wakes up bright and early. He makes us all wake up, get dressed and march to the supermarket. He wants to be there as early as possible to beat the crowds. While my husband was on a trip abroad, I realized how pleasant it was to sleep in on Sunday morning, let the kids take their time eating breakfast. Me sitting on the couch sipping coffee and observing them giggle and make funny faces at the breakfast table. If the kids stay in their pajamas till 10 am, why is that so bad? I asked my husband upon his return. It really is very pleasant to take it easy one day of the week. I tried talking to him, but I got the “yes, yes, yea honey”, that says “ok! fine shut up now”. My husband wants to be in the supermarket before anybody else, as if we are in competition with all the residents of Vancouver. One Sunday morning he rushes us out the door before the kids had breakfast, I had to buy them muffins on the way and feed them in the car, we woke up late and my husband was nervous we would get their late. This is starting to get annoying, I decide on a passive aggressive technique. The next Sunday, I stay in bed and take my time getting dressed. My husband runs around and yelling, “yalla yalla” (Arabic for come on, hurry up, my least favorite word in Arabic). He is nervously looking at his watch, “oh no! we got to the supermarket at 8:30 instead of 8”. Next Sunday, I take my time even more. But my husband, knows few techniques as well. He gets the kids dressed and makes them ride in the car, then he stands outside in the backyard, yelling at me to get dressed. “Yalla, the kids are in the car already, Yalla, come on! hurry up”. I am in the bed room, listing to his yelling from the outside, thinking this is driving me crazy. And then, an epiphany came over me. I run downstairs and outside to the backyard…..naked. One hundred percent naked, not even socks. I pretend that I am walking into the garage to get into the car. The look on my husband’s face, just precious! He pushes me back into the house.

husband: What are you doing?

ihath: Trying to get into the car.

husband: but you are naked.

ihath: well, you were yelling so loud, I thought it was urgent.

husband: Go get dressed.

ihath: Oh! you mean there is time to get dressed?

husband: yes.

ihath: Oh! you won’t yell at me while I am getting dressed.

husband: No! Now please get dressed.

That night we had another talk about our Sunday morning routine, only this time he actually pays attention to what I say. I don’t get the dismissive “yes, yes, yes”. I always heard that nudity will get you a guy’s attention; I didn’t think it could be this effective.

Many years ago I asked somebody if he thought that I should have kids, he answered by saying: “Absolutely, you absolutely should have kids……after the hell I have been through, I want everybody else to go through it as well.” So, I listened to his wise advice and had three.

Story Number 2

My eldest daughter, who was eight at the time, asks for candy. I tell her no candy before dinner. She has a major tantrum, yelling, crying, throws her self on the ground and kicks her heels. After all the time I have invested in teaching her to use words instead of screams, after all the effort I put into teaching her how she can negotiate for things that she wants. After all the tantrums she had at age two and then age three and then age four, I was a bit disappointed in her behavior. At age eight I expect her to already have figured out that tantrums get ignored in my household. So I ignore her and go sit in the garden behind our house. An hour later she joins me and starts playing with some toys, having calmed down. I decide to talk to her about the tantrum.

ihath: Why did you became so upset over something so silly.

daughter: You don’t understand me, you were being mean.

ihath: Ok! lets play a pretend game. You pretend you are a mother and I will pretend that I am your daughter.

daughter: ok!

ihath: when I tell you to give me candy, say no. Then I want you to act out what a nice mommy would do.

daughter: ok.

ihath: Mommy, mommy, I want candy.

daughter: No! you can’t have candy before dinner.

ihath: But I want candy now!

daughter: No you can’t have it.

ihath: (throws herself on the ground) I want candy now, I want candy now, I want candy now.

daughter: (her eyes widens in surprise and says nothing).

ihath: (lying on the ground and kicking her heels) Aaaaaaah! my life is ruined because I don’t have candy. (makes hysterical winning sounds).

ihath: (rolling back and forth on the grass, hitting the ground with her fists) Waaah! where is my candy….waaah!

daughter: (look of recognition, thinks to herself, did I do that? that looks so silly)

ihath: (sits up and out of daughter character) So what should you do now?

daughter: (places her hands on her hips in a defiant stance, then points with her finger) You are so unreasonable, go to your room immediately!

When young people ask me if they should get married and have children I tell them:"Absolutly, you should absolutly get married and have children, they will drive you crazy and you still love them despite it all. Because, when the moon hits the sky, like a big pizza pie..... you're in love.

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, listen up. Today! for the very first time I will share with you my amazing discovery of a miracle pill. After years of long research and tireless quest, I would like to present to you a pill that will make you happy, improve your sex life, make you look great and change your life forever. This is a one time special offer of a radical patent pending discovery of ihath’s miracle pill. Normally the one month supply cost’s 300 dollars; but for you my dear and loyal readers, I will offer you one months supply for free. Yes! you heard that right absolutely free. All you have to do is read the below post and follow the instructions to get your hands on this one time opportunity to get to true happiness.

Oh! I know what you are thinking. You are thinking this is too good to be true, if I had the miracle pill why would I be sharing it with you for free, I should use it to make myself a millionaire, either that or the miracle pill simply doesn’t work. Well I can understand your skepticism. I have been stung by false or exaggerated advertising before, but believe me this is no spam email promising to enlarge your body parts, no no, this that I offer you today is the real thing. I know, I know you have been promised happiness before only to be disappointed, kinda reminds me of a story.

When I was a kid I watched a soap commercial. A man is in the shower using a particular bar of soap when he turns around you see a mini surfing man surfing on his back, between his shoulder blades. So I told my mom that I wanted to buy the soap that will make the mini surfing man appear on my back. I was in shock to discover that there is no such thing. There is no soap that will make a mini surfing man appear on your back. You mean it’s not real? I later made my mom buy me that particular brand of soap to verify for myself that it doesn’t work. It makes you smell nice, but no mini surfing man.

I used to enjoy herbal essence shampoo, it made my hair smell nice. But then they came up with a commercial that shows women having an orgasm while using herbal essence shampoo in the shower. Look at the picture of the happy satisfied woman who has just used the shampoo. It’s funny how I am never that satisfied after using a shampoo of any kind. Maybe there is something wrong with me. So I stopped buying herbal essence shampoo, it doesn’t work as advertised. Or maybe I was using it wrong.

I realized that there was something wrong one day, when my husband and I would be chatting to each other during the commercial break and as soon as the program would come on both of us would stop in mid conversation and go back to watching T.V. Shouldn’t I be finding my husband more interesting that “Magnum PI”. My husband is right here, next to me, he is here when I need him. Plus my husband is 100% more handsome and 300% more intelligent.

I called my friend one day for a chat, she said that her favorite show “Friends” was on. She couldn’t talk to me right then because she was watching “Friends”. I thought to myself, wouldn’t you rather talk to a real friend, that really cares about you and is a real person, than watching your pretend friends?

All these questions were swirling around in the back of my mind. And then, I went to see “
Manufacturing Consent

” the movie. Well! you just have to see the movie. Shortly afterwards I took my T.V. and locked it in the closet in my bedroom and declared that no more T.V watching. My husband and I succumbed to the temptation a few times and we would unlock the closet and watch T.V. but for the most part we were good. Eventually I gave the T.V. set away.

A week ago, after dinner and homework, my three kids got together and organized a dance all by themselves. My eldest daughter who is 9 years old was the director, she organized the whole thing. Afterwards they performed the dance for me and their dad. My husband and I clapped our hands in delight. We don’t own a T.V set, my kids have to use their own imagination to entertain themselves.

People frequently wonder how I have time to work full time, raise three kids, train to be in a 10K race in mid April, be politically active, dance flamenco and write a blog. The answer is simple, I don’t own a T.V. set, I need to use my own imagination to entertain myself.

I don’t sit around watching a hockey match, If I feel in an sporty kinds mood, I go out for a run, or I go kayaking, or hiking or whatever else strikes my fancy. After getting rid of my T.V set, being the couch potato became boring so I had to get moving.

The second most enjoyable part about not owning a T.V. is story time in the evenings before the kids go to bed. Either me or my husband will read a story to the kids, we make dramatic renditions of all the characters and watch the look of amazement in my kids eyes as we tell tales of adventure and heroism. When you don’t own a T.V. your kids become amazed and dazzled by their parents. You learn to become dazzling to them. You become the star of your own house hold.

The best part about getting rid of the TV is sex life. When you don’t own a TV, your spouse and you learn to use your own imagination.

I haven’t owned a TV set for six years. Most people are surprised when I tell them that. Here are some of the responses I got from different people.

So what do you do in the evenings after the kids go to bed? You just sit across from your husband, each reading a book? And then you discuss the books your read? Hahahaha, that must be so boring.



Is that for religious reasons? Do you belong to some kind of a cult?



What about your kids? If they don’t watch TV, they will become social outcasts at school not having the same cultural references that their peers do. They will grow up to become geeks.



I can’t live without my Seinfeld.


So what do you do when your kids drive you crazy? I would go mad if it wasn’t for the cartoon channel.



But you look like a normal person!

One day I will learn to get rid of my computer and learn to live completely in the real world. Given my profession, it will be a bit of a challenge.

Anyway I have been rambling and you are just dieing to know how to get your hands on those miracle pills. All you have to do is follow the instructions below and a one month supply of ihath’s miracle pills will arrive by mail absolutely free.


1. Turn off your TV for two weeks. No TV viewing allowed.

2. Spend time with people you like during the same two week interval.

3. Take yourself out for a date by yourself at least once on each week. All you have to do is go out and do something that you enjoy greatly and you have to do it by yourself, no friends, spouses or kids allowed to accompany you. It might be going to see a show, going for a walk, visiting an art gallery or dining in a fine restaurant. It doesn’t matter what, as long as it is something you enjoy.

4. Email this post to 5 of your friends.

If you follow the above instructions religiously your free supply of pills will arrive shortly after. How will ihath know that you have followed the instructions? Because big ihath is watching you. I will know.

Have you ever met a dead man with a sense of humor?.... I have.

We were at West Bank town of Gafna in the occupied territories, eating at a restaurant that is famous for its mesakhaan (a fabulous Palestinian dish). This town’s inhabitants are mostly Palestinian Christians. After pigging out, I decided to go out for a little stroll in the town to help me digest the chicken, ground beef fried with pine nuts and bread soaked in olive oil. Gluttony must be my favorite sin. I came across a little chapel, it is very old looking, rustic, but there was an air of serenity about it. Right next to it a small cemetery that is surrounded with a high brick wall. I usually avoid cemeteries but I think the masakhaan was effecting my brain so I went inside and started looking around at the tomb stones. On the side there was a big white oval shaped tomb stone and on it an engraved poem in Arabic, this is my feeble attempt at translating it. In Arabic it sounded better because it rhymed.

You! who is standing upon my grave.

Don’t wonder too much about my state.

Yesterday I was just like you,

And tomorrow you will be just like me.

Now that is a guy that has a sense of humor about his death. I could imagine the guy laughing as he was being buried. I wonder how many people, like me, left that cemetery with a smile on their face.

I suffer from a childhood crucifixion trauma. When I was a child we would spend a big chunk of the summer school break visiting my grandparents in the Czech republic. A huge (about 1.5 meters long) wooden crucifix was hanged on the wall across the stair well leading to the second floor. It had a wood carved Jesus figure hanging from it. Jesus is nailed to the cross from his hands and feet, there is a gabbing wound in his abdomen, blood all over. He is covered with nothing but a loin cloth and his face is looking downwards in an expression of agony. As a kid, I knew nothing about Jesus but that painted in real to life colors wooden carving gave me many nightmares. Later on, my mom explained to me the story of Jesus but it only made matters worse, the thought that somebody actually nailed somebody else to a piece of wood in real life horrified me. One night, while my mom was about to tuck me into bed, I suggested that we undo the nails and let Jesus sleep on the couch where he would be more comfortable, must he hang there 24 hours a day? Kids can say the funniest things sometimes. My mom laughed and told me not to think about Jesus too much.

I can’t understand why a religion would choose a torture and execution device as its universal symbol.

Despite my childhood crucifixion trauma, I enjoy watching movies made about the life of Jesus. I find it fascinating how the same story can be told and retold in a bazillion of different ways by different people. My all time favorite is the movie “
Jesus of Montreal

”, it is the story of what would happen if Jesus would come to live in modern day north American society. I found it to be a thought provoking and a moving movie, I think it is the best Canadian movie I have ever seen. I don’t know how to describe the movie in a way that would do it justice. You simply have to see it.

My maternal grandmother died few weeks ago. I wish she had left me the wooden cross carving. Turns out she had sold it to an antique shop a few years back for a good price. Maybe she was sick of looking at it everyday as her own end approached. Had I inherited the carving, I would have undone the nails, buried Jesus in my backyard where he could finally rest and set the cross on fire. The guy deserves a break, don’t you think?