Sivan Quotes

She probably thinks Troye Sivan's songs are about girls.

I tell you a secret about Chopin, piano is his best friend. More. He tells piano all his secrets.” - piano teacher Eleanora Sivan.

Let yourself be the person you've secretly always wanted to be

Can you imagine if social media websites were people and just how fucked up those people would be?

If you wanna make cool shit, you gotta make cool shit!

Only fools fall for you

Cut cakes, not wrists

Love your body Let your mind wander and be the person that you've secretly always wanted to be.

You make my heart shake bend and break

Don't give it up just yet stay grand for one more minute

I calli it viewing from afar, they call it stalking.

Only through the ancient tradition of storytelling can we enter the magical minds of one another.

I'm angry because it's not socially acceptable to wear my onesie in public

There's still too long to the weekend, too long till I drown in your hands, too long since I’ve been a fool

For one thing, Abby’s embarrassingly hetero. She’s the type who’d watch all of Sailor Moon and come away thinking Haruka and Michiru were just good friends. She probably thinks Troye Sivan’s songs are about girls.

Don't let people stifle you because your doing the shit that they have always been to scared to do

And my hopes they are high I must keep them small

No literally the only thing that's stopping us from getting married is the fact that we haven't 'met yet

Anything hurts less than the quiet

the art that I appreciate and the people that I appreciate are not your average people. You could take away their money and take away their fame, and a week later, they would be wearing a garbage bag like they had just come off a runway in Paris

Playlist 1. Wild Honey - U2 2. Like Real People Do - Hozier 3. Colorblind - Counting Crows 4. Oh Darling - Gossling 5. Breathing Underwater - Metric 6. Let It Die - Foo Fighters 7. I’m Sorry - Imagine Dragons 8. Fools - Troye Sivan 9. Don’t Mess Me Around - Clare Maguire 10. Heal - Tom Odell 11. Unbreakable - Jamie Scott 12. I’m The Man Who Loves You - Wilco 13. Creep - Radiohead

Until you feel that you achieved, you are a Endless Achiever

If you want to make cool shit, make cool shit!

My best memory of school was probably leaving school. Because I hated that fucking place.

And I've told you before are you deaf I've fallen in love with a gif

Tell me all of the things that make you feel at ease

Dark perversions grow at the empty corners of the soul.

Which one of us, went and fucked up?

We take jokes way too far.

Oh how precious it is… to allow yourself get shuttered in to million fragments, so that you can then rebuild – a better one!

We moved all around, and I was very worried I would not get a chance to show her what I had planned. Here was the children's home, here was the library, here was a furniture factory of the  kibbutz. I tried to squeeze a few words in about everything we saw, as someone who makes himself known and unversed in the ways of the  kibbutz. The highlight was when I gave her a tour, on the tractor, to the pear groves where I worked. I drove the tractor and she sat beside me, in a very unsafe way, standing on the shaft as she rested on one of the wheel's wings of the tractor. The groves were just a few minutes away from the  kibbutz, on a dirt road that led south towards Acre. I kept explaining to her about new life on the  kibbutz the entire time.

Chapter 17   I was on my way from Rambam Hospital to Tiberias, when the news first came across the radio about a suicide bombing in Tel Aviv. Maggie was still at the Hematology  Ward. I tried to imagine how she felt listening to the news. Surely she was as shocked as everyone else. There in the ward, patients were fighting for their lives, and now in another place in the country, people had perished in seconds. The entire country was horrified by the horrible scenes that aired on all the media. Gradually, the magnitude of the disaster started to be known. A suicide bomber detonated a charge inside a bus, while travelers were going up and down the bus at the heart of the city. It was a few minutes before nine in the morning. There were over twenty dead and dozens wounded. At home, sitting in front of the TV, I watched the extensive coverage. This transition from the sick atmosphere of the hospital in the morning, to the atmosphere of the evening suicide bombing, was depressing. The TV coverage was painful and brought an atmosphere of sadness. I had a feeling that the broadcast intended to clarify to all the people who were still healthy  that their health would not help them. That their end could come just as it did to those victims of the terrorism act on the bus. People did not stop thinking about the event, and the harsh images which were shown repeatedly on the television. Reporters broadcasted from the scene in heightened excitement and everything was filmed live. It seemed that someone was afraid, lest, God forbid, there would be a single person in the country who did not watch this horror. It was appalling. It was one of the first suicide bombings in Israel, and perhaps one of the largest ones.

Remember, that even cows that are used to produce meat are injected with B12 these days. The cows don't eat grass anymore. They are deficient in this vitamin.

Why do people worry about veganism being unhealthy more than we do about eating pizza and sitting washed out in front of the television?

A vegan diet can be just as healthy as any other diet plan as long as you keep it well balanced.

I'm angry cause mornings.

I hope that people like 14-year-old Troye are going to find this video. (in his coming out video)

Criticism without solutions is useless. It's not going to change anything

The Torah is teaching us that by keeping the Holy Torah, we receive Hashem’s blessings: Yevarechecha—Hashem blesses us and protects us. Yaeir—Hashem shines his face towards us and makes us favorable, in the eyes of other nations. Yisa—Hashem forgives us for everything that should not have happened and grants us true peace. And when the Kohanim mention Hashem’s name in these blessings, Hashem not only approves, but gives additional blessings of His own. (Based on Sichas Rosh Chodesh Sivan 5741; Sefer Hasichos 5751, vol. 1 p. 42)

Rien dove into her own extinguished eyes, surrounded by two wrinkle stripes , engraved to serve as defense moats, should anyone plot to snick in through the windows of her soul".

Few are the birds who fly pass through the human heart

Jealous—Labrinth when the party’s over—Billie Eilish White Rabbit—Jefferson Airplane Piano Man—Billy Joel Iris—The Goo Goo Dolls To Build a Home—The Cinematic Orchestra The Good Side—Troye Sivan Nevermind—Dennis Lloyd What It’s Like—Everlast Hi-Lo (Hollow)—Bishop Briggs bury a friend—Billie Eilish Sorry—Halsey

Relationship is the brand name of trust between two animals.

In my mind I imagined that all communist students were bald, and here was my interlocutor, a handsome guy with long hair. He did not match any of my images of the communists. Perhaps it is a product of the revolution that has just started in Czechoslovakia and was nipped in the bud, I thought to myself.

It was clear to me that the transition from a healthy and active person in the family as Maggie was, to a state of limited and hospitalized patient, was not easy. Maggie was a central and dominant figure in the family, and this stay within the hospital walls, whether it was for testing, treatment, or hospitalization, forced her into a new reality; making her into a marginal and helpless figure.

I remembered how as a result of the Soviet invasion of their country, all of a sudden the media was interested in Shomrat. It went from being an almost unknown Kibbutz, to the center of attraction for the media. All eyes were fixed on it, or rather on those Czechs staying there at the same time. When we first learned of the invasion there was a spontaneous gathering of members of Shomrat Kibbutz. The assembly was in front of the dining room, where members expressed their protest regarding what had happened in Czechoslovakia. The volunteers themselves were scattered in different places on that same day, and some were even on a trip to Jerusalem. Immediately upon publication of the invasion, they began to find each other, to decide on their steps, and cope with the difficult dilemma they faced.

I noticed a Swiss volunteer standing next to a tree and his hand was holding the base of the tree. I saw the volunteer, a young man, who was impatient and occasionally replaced his hands, making sure one was always pressed to the tree trunk. I approached him and asked what he was doing. "I'm guarding the tiger moth," he replied in English, saying 'tiger moth' in clear Hebrew. "Guarding what? What are you talking about?" I asked, puzzled. "Elijah asked me to watch over it, so it won't get away. He went to get something to kill it." I looked at the volunteer and I knew he had fallen victim to one of Elijah's jokes. "I have been in this state more than half an hour now. Please tell Elijah to hurry!” the volunteer begged. Elijah loved to laugh, but he never exaggerated his pranks.

Today's marbles were then called,  ‘blorot'. It is possible that the source of this strange name came from the language spoken by the people of  Tiberias. The  blorot  was an entire world. There was no self-respecting child who did not have them in his possession. There were those who walked proudly with a fixed 'Rasiot'. The Rasiot was a special brand of  blorot,  usually larger, but what was important was that they were trusted by the user, who could rely upon them when shooting. The  blorot was in abundance and appeared in different forms, in different colors, and in different sizes. There were giants and small  blorots, there were those that were made of glass or ceramic. There were transparent  butterflies, some that were decorated in a way that only someone with a wild imagination could design. Every  blora was more beautiful than the other, but most beautiful of all, was no doubt the variety of games you could play with them.

I understood reality. Everyone had gone mad. They found a reason not to go to work. There was snow in the city, there was no transportation, so there was no work. No one thought it possible to walk a little. It seemed I was the only righteous one in the department. I was so embarrassed and angry; I took off my camera and snapped pictures of the gate that remained wrapped with the white snow. These pictures of the gate were etched in my heart. I do not know if I took them because of the beauty of the snow that enveloped the metal arches of the gate, or if I only wanted proof that I, unlike all other Jerusalemites, came to work on this day. Looking back I think it might have been a combination of both.

Every summer, we used to clean and prepare the stoch for the overnight sleep accommodations. I imagined the atmosphere on those roofs - quiet, without noise or the sound of our home appliances. No buzzing fans, no refrigerator’s groans, and no air conditioner rattling. People enjoyed their sleep. I thought it was fun, at least on those nights when I used to sleep at my grandmother's in the transit camp. The overnight stays under the open sky were fascinating. Even there on the roof they must have watched the stars and their movements up in Heaven. I could not hide my smile when I remembered the time I was on my way to see my mother, and  I noticed a woman going up to sunbathe on the roof with only a tiny bikini on her body. It was in the summer months, in one of the adjacent streets. I realized that my mother was right. There were many uses for flat roofs. I remembered, of course, the biblical story of David and Bathsheba. Yes, King David made an intelligent use of the stoch. He was on one when not far away, while on another roof, Bath-Sheba pleasantly washed herself. It turns out that she knew how to take advantage of the roof too.

I could have been in that naive status the same as the volunteer in front of me.

I knew Acre like the back of my hand. I loved every opportunity I had to explore the old city there. The walls reminded me a bit of the walls of Tiberias. Later, I learned that they had a common constructor. I would suggest to everyone who visited me at the  kibbutz, a short tour in Acre or in the immediate vicinity of the  kibbutz. Over time I developed a regular route, which included the Acre and the Bahai Gardens in the south, and up to Nahariya and Rosh Hanikra in the north –  stunning views of western Galilee. Everything was new to me. I was relieved by the presence of my youth members from Tiberias. They were in the picture in front of me, helping me with their advice on how to capture Jacob when he was carrying the Lohamei Hageta'ot Musiem, somewhere over the aqueduct of Shomrat.   ***

In my heart I was hoping that the dead were not buried by their love for a soccer team, too. Where would they bury me?

I tried to explore the likely possibilities of any one of my brothers having the tissue type that would be a match for Maggie. Maggie and I were born in Iraq, maybe we were made of different material. We certainly had a lot in common. I definitely had a good chance of my tissue being a match for Maggie, more than that of my brothers. I immediately ruled out Haim. It seemed he would not fit. He was a redhead, like my father. His chances seemed slim.

She described tirelessly to me how effective the flat roof was, and how it was useful. I found that the stoch was also used as a place to dry food, such as tomatoes. They used to put the tomatoes on the stoch, when they were cut, crushed, and soaked in large bowls. Soaking them on the roof would cause the fluid content to vaporize. What remained of the fruit was preserved in jars for regular use over time. To the tomatoes, which turned  very thick, we used to add a little salt, and it was enough to preserve them for a long time. They layed it out on the stoch and that was it. I laughed when she added a story from her childhood as well, when she used go up on the stoch with her friends and throw pottery off of it, throwing it down to shatter as a mark of the end of summer.

I never understood the place of the workers all that time, which was proudly called, 'The Spring of Prague'. It is quite possible that he was right. It is possible that it was actually the students who managed to drag the country into these reforms. If this is true, I thought to myself, they are also guilty of the Soviet occupation. After all, they caused it.

The more I tried to delve into the issue and understand the mood of their country, the more obscure things became. Our language difficulties may have contributed to this quite a bit.

It was one day in August 1968, when the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia took place and crushed the hopes of his people, for liberty and freedom, it all came to a stop. The  kibbutz was in turmoil. An atmosphere of sadness came over it. It was in solidarity with the volunteers of the Czech people. Members, former Czechoslovakians, tried to encourage them, helping them with the blow they suffered by their country. All of their dreams were shattered. Since the Soviet invasion in their country, Czech volunteers were in shock. Stress and fear gripped them. The members often stayed with them and talked to them in their language.

There was a widespread rumor that there was an attempt to absorb an Arab youth movement into the  kibbutz. It seemed that the attempt failed. Perhaps Muhammad and Nazmi were the remnants of that Arab youth movement. They may have belonged to the Arab youth movement pioneers. The movement succeeded in establishing a number of cores, and one of its training groups was in Shomrat. It was not talked about often in the  kibbutz, but rumors always reached us, and Mohammed and Nazmi had ties to this movement. Muhammad loved to read Arabic poetry and occasionally enjoyed translating the words into Hebrew for us. It always amazed me how he sat, he never needed a chair.

His idea was clear – you should not continue to teach the other person, that would be useless. Nothing positive would come out of it. He just won't understand you. It is the brain that God gave him. It is his mind and he will not change it. His ability to understand is limited to what you see before you. In short, 'Let him be'.

A sense of responsibility accompanied me my whole life. Nothing is more important or more valuable than saving a person's life. When it comes to a family member, it certainly has deeper meaning.

I was not so clear on how such things can calm a person who is in recovery from a serious illness. While it is clear that in the end everyone must die, I know no one is in a hurry to get there. No one is rushing there. We all want to get to death  as late as possible. "This is the way of the world," continued Yigal quoting, in a not so clear way, what Dr S. said. "Look, Nahum," Yigal said with a frown. "He told her that even Moses died.” Yigal repeated this sentence several times and in different ways, to make sure I understood Dr. S.’s intentions. "He managed to do what others have failed to do before him, he managed to calm her down." Maybe Maggie longed for such words from an expert physician. Perhaps she expected someone from the medical staff would talk to her at eye level and explain things to her in a simple and understandable manner. She did not want to settle for dry statistics that only confused her. It seemed to me that indeed Dr. S. succeeded. He strengthened her impressively  by planting a sense of peace in her.

I remembered how Maggie did not want to give up on seeing the cows of the  kibbutz. I knew she would love to see them, and Altar did not disappoint. He took advantage of our visit to the barn and showed us the distribution of food there. Maggie followed his agile activities closely, as he threw the packs of hay in front of the calves. It seemed that the smell of manure and the aromas of the hay did not deter her. Altar went further, calling a number of calves by their names and also tried to talk with them. Although they did not answer him, or answered with a monotonous mooing, Maggie laughed to high heaven again.

Sometimes I got the impression that the attitude towards her from the medical staff was more positive because of our  presence.

Unfortunately, this insurance did not include the special blood donations, which Maggie needed due to her illness. There was a need to turn to other factors for blood donations, and so Isaac initiated contact with Ezer Mitzion Association, a volunteer organization that worked to help patients and their families. The organization offered help and expressed their willingness to recruit people for blood donations. Isaac settled for modest help. He asked them to send him warm meals during his stay with Maggie at the hospital. For the blood donations he enlisted his colleagues from Israel Electric Corporation. Employees traveled in small groups of up to five people, from Tiberias to Hadassah Hospital, and donated the blood needed. More volunteers were not lacking, among them were neighbors. Everyone chipped in and enlisted as one for the task. They had all the blood units needed, to be delivered to the hospital.

Shomrat Kibbutz was our targeted Kibbutz in our Hashomer Hatzair youth movement. We arrived there with a number of nests of the movement from all over the country, and together, for the first time, we tried to integrate into common life, within the frame of the Nahal's unpaid service.

In the Bone Marrow Transplant  Ward, it looked so different  that such thoughts seemed completely detached from reality. I thought about the nature of the ward and the medical staff employed there. It was a completely different world. I understood my comparison was unfair.

On one occasion, Asher told me that there were visitors who came and were on the verge of collapse, immediately upon seeing her. One of them was my brother Haim. When he went in to see her in one of his first visits at Hadassah Hospital, he was just horrified. He turned as white as a sheet, breathing heavily, and there was a serious concern for his health. Maggie's helpless appearance shocked him. Even before entering the room, when he had to wash his hands with the alcoholic device, he showed the first signs of a tremor. Because he wore the mask on his nose, it was necessary to direct him towards the room. He just lost control of himself. Maggie's appearance without her natural hair, which had fallen out due to chemotherapy, was beyond his ability to take. He could not recognize her, he snuck glances at her, having trouble seeing her as his sister. He did not dare to look at her, and only blurted out unclear words in Asher's direction. He must have tried to calm himself in his own way.

The first signs of new hope spread among the family members. Chapter 22   The Aqueduct at Shomrat was part of the ancient aqueduct that led past the Cabri Springs water to the city of Acre. An impressive part of it went through the avocado groves of the Shomrat and all the way to the Lohamei Hageta'ot Museum, at the neighboring Kibbutz.

Shomrat Kibbutz is in western Galilee and is located on a small hill. North of it there is a small stream that separates it from Lohamei Hageta'ot, and south of it is the temple of Bahá A'lláh, the founder of the Bahá'í religion. About two kilometers separate it from the city of Acre. To the west was Bustan HaGalil and the Mediterranean, to its east, endless farmland.

I remember one day, he brought to my room on the Kibbutz a considerable amount of fruit and suggested that I send some of it to my family in Tiberias. "Teach them to eat avocados," he said, as if he was someone who had been appointed as the marketer of avocado eating in the country. "Trust me, they will love it.” He was not mistaken.

Kibbutz founders were mostly friends from Czechoslovakia, Hungary and Romania, mostly Holocaust survivors and refugees. At the time the founders picked out a small group of people from abroad, among those who came, those that arrived from South America stuck out the most. There were also individual members of the Kibbutz, whose nationality we never knew, so we didn't know what group to put them in. There were also members of young movements in Israel, and then there was us, the Hashomer Hatzair youth movement graduates, staying at the Kibbutz, and trying to fit in with everyone.

We were divided into adoptive families, and there was always someone from the Kibbutz who accompanied us to immediately take care of any problem that might come up. The rooms we got were spacious wooden huts, and we were divided into two in each room. I adapted nicely after learning to switch on the boiler. I felt free in my room and the Kibbutz. I enjoyed my new place. Although I found it hard to work with the boiler, but with time I found a way to get used to the new situation. At Tiberias, heating water was done using electricity and solar panels installed on the roof, and here we heated water with a boiler, at least that is what they called the small device that operated on kerosene. In the tiny shower room there was a kind of boiler which, to me, looked like a threatening missile, and from it was an arrangement of dripping kerosene, that when it was burned, would heat the water. I loved hearing the noise the boiler made when it worked. The noise rose and fell  according to the pace of the kerosene drip. Sometimes, in my mind, I saw it taking off into the sky.

No one expected her to remain hospitalized for so long, that she would enjoy the comforts of the new ward. Maggie thought about the doctor's words and was very upset with them. Within the family, we never understood the concerns of the ward and its conduct. Here at Hadassah, the attitude toward the patient was completely different. No more feelings of strangeness, but a feeling more like being in a comfortable environment, for both patients and their families. We felt that every approach towards Maggie was humane and considerate.

Breakfast in the shed of the pear groves  was an experience, made by Mizrahi. I remember his unique and diverse Shakshuka. I remember the side dishes and refreshing coffee. Nothing resembled that stolen sandwich, I used to eat in Kinneret under the shade of the banana trees. No one here was in a rush and no one urged you to finish. There was no stressful work atmosphere. I could not help but make the comparison of the working conditions here, to my  father's in the banana plantations of Kinneret.

I wondered often how my nest buddies, who came from financially established families, would prefer to stay and live on a Kibbutz, according to the movement's values which centered around equality. I thought such a decision would cause a decrease in their accustomed standard of living. Reality proved me wrong. These members, who came from financially established homes and apparently did not miss anything at their homes, showed eagerness about living in the Kibbutz lifestyle.

Over time I found an explanation that eased my mind. I thought I should no longer be surprised by the fact that it was my nest friends who came from well-established families, that were not hesitant to stay at the Kibbutz. They were the ones that actually did not have economic concerns. Their risk factor was  low. They could stay in the Kibbutz and leave it any time they wanted. They would have supportive parents to help them rebuild their future, whether it was in school or whether it was in finding a proper job to make  a living. I did not have these advantages. If I left, I would have to start over from scratch. I knew early on that my chances of making a brave decision and staying at Kibbutz were slim. There was a very high risk associated with that decision. If I could not make it in the Kibbutz  then everything would go down the drain. Then I would have to get out in the job market, with no financial assistance, with no place to live, and without any education. I knew my situation was different from the other nest members, and I think as that realization dawned on me, it was then that I first decided to go into the military. I remembered I had a similar dilemma when I decided not to stay in the United States any longer and return to Israel. The decision making process was long and tedious, but ultimately I chose to return to Israel. I never thought about what would happen if I would have chosen to stay in the US instead, or how my life would have turned out.

I remembered my initial enthusiasm, when I was with the youth movement members at Beit Zera Kibbutz. We were kids and had arrived for our first visit there. When we saw the drinking fountain next to the dining room, we were surprised. There were water fountains, and next to them was a soda fountain one could drink from freely, without restrictions. We were not used to this phenomenon. In the Jordan Valley heat, it looked to us as a well of vital water to those whose  thirst had almost finished them. We pounced on the soda fountain, as ones who could not believe their eyes. We drank and drank until we could not fit another drop in our stomachs. I remember when Michael, one of the Tiberias youth movement members, clung to the fountain and began drinking soda, one cup after another. Behind him stood a member of the Kibbutz in work clothes, who apparently, had also come to quench his thirst from the soda fountain. The member of the Kibbutz arrived with a pitcher, which he sought to fill with soda. Michael clung to the fountain and did not let him get near it until he had finished drinking. The member of the Kibbutz waited patiently with a smile on his face, perhaps wondering a little about these Tiberians. Maybe he thought they had never seen a soda fountain. Which we hadn’t, especially one that was freely accessible to everyone. It was something beyond our understanding. As he was sipping the soda, Michael began to explain to a member of the Kibbutz about this invention they were standing in front of. “It's free," said Michael. "Everything is free. You can drink and fill bottles as often as you want. It's  all free." "Really.?" asked the member of the Kibbutz, at the sight of the youth movement member who was amazed at the sight of soda. I do not know if he said it sarcastically or in natural simplicity, so as not to embarrass Michael. After all, he saw a group of children attacking the soda fountain, like a found treasure.

Point the camera, so it actually looks like the museum is being lifted by my hands," Jacob said. I did as I was told, while Altar and All cheered. I do not know if he was satisfied, but when I look at the picture today, I see the life we lived at the Kibbutz, during the summer of 1966, till the end of our military service, more than three years later. In the Kibbutz, Alla found his place in the avocado grove. We did not know much about this fruit. I had never tasted it before, though I knew of its existence.

The contact between the core members, most of whom were purely Sabra and Kibbutz members and Holocaust survivors, created unpleasantness at times, but both sides always succeeded in overcoming them.

There were different groups of volunteers who came in waves. There were Dutch, Swiss, Americans, Czechs and others. We enjoyed working with them all.

I remember many of us getting together where we sat, each of us holding our cup and mixing the coffee powder with a little bit of water or milk inside. The more you swirled, the better the foam created in the cup. We preferred the tube milk over the fresh milk of the Kibbutz. Mixing coffee with our hands till it foamed  was a kind of a ceremony. Over time it became something of a ritual. I think in those days, there was intense activity of the commercial companies distributing instant coffee among consumers. “Ness café”, they called it. There was a great demand for milk, which arrived to us in tubes. It was imported. Maybe they were manufactured in Holland. Drinking instant coffee with that milk and the foam we created with our own hands using a simple spoon, was the heart's desire of all coffee lovers in the nest. I was moved by the very simple preparation of it – boiling water in an electric kettle, one teaspoon of this new wonder, the instant coffee in the cup, and you have your coffee. It was amazing. I used to compare this action to the method of tea preparation by my mother at home, or the rare preparing of the black coffee for guests, and suddenly I realized how debilitating and complex her job was compared to what we were doing. There in Shomrat Kibbutz I learned to drink and enjoy instant coffee.

I thought I'd meet the same tough kind of Kibbutz members at Shomrat, as I knew from the days when I worked as an employee at the Jordan Valley. But I was wrong. I did not see hired workers at Shomrat. The workers were all treated the same. Muhammad and Nazami were also employed in the Kibbutz, but were not members of it, and they were treated completely different from what I had known before. This was not the attitude I'd seen in the limited experience I had as an employee at the Jordan Valley. Here Muhammad and Nazami had their own rooms, and I felt they were involved in what was going on at the Kibbutz. I did not like the Kibbutz's talk gatherings. I went there several times to get an impression and listen, but I could not find any interest in them. It seemed to me that perhaps the issues discussed there were not significant for me or for my Tiberias nest friends. Perhaps one of the reasons for that was our fatigue after a day of labor and the activity afterward. Our priority was apparently different. Sometimes we preferred to watch the television, which was installed high at the entrance to the dining room. Our television watching would come to an end once Alla fell asleep in his chair, and he would always fall asleep in the first five minutes.

With every interaction with Maggie, they would treat her as if she was the only patient in the ward, and all their attention was directed only  her. They demonstrated special and impressive personal care. I do not remember feeling a similar attitude, with these intensities, in any other hospital. I did not feel it, even in other wards. Sometimes it seemed to me that a nurse would have a reason for going to work in a particular ward. Her choice in the ward she would work in, eventually, was a derivative of her character. The impression was that the nurses there were bonded around a clear and indisputable target - to protect patients, no matter what, to help them and their families as much as possible. I remember several incidents of violence by visitors towards the medical and nursing staff in other hospitals. It was mainly verbal, although sometimes there was also physical violence. Most cases concerned the displeasure of family over the treatment of patients, or so felt the patients or their companions. Perhaps their expectations were different from the possible reality. Maybe they thought that with the magic formula that was the nursing staff, all the pains would suddenly disappear and the patients would return home safe and sound. The reality was not like that.

I remember the hard work in the banana plantations of Kibbutz Kinneret, in stained work clothes. I remembered the hot sun and unbearable heat of the Jordan Valley, and now here those beautiful young women dressed in short and narrow shorts, covering a little and revealing a lot more, and at the top part of their body was a piece of cloth that was barely enough to cover their breasts. If anything of their bodies was yet to appear, my fertile imagination found it, and sometimes the camera helped my imagination. I thought maybe I was in another country. I think those volunteers not only fascinated me, but they also brought a different and special spirit into the work, and perhaps the entire Kibbutz spirit.

Unlike other patients, there there was a higher ratio of donors, and it was likely that someone would be a match. The competition would be over who would be most suitable. Six brothers wanted the job and one of them would certainly win.

I feel like part of getting better at writing is knowing where to find that inspiration. Right after something happens to me, the first thing I’ll do is go write when those feelings are really, really fresh.

9At once the royal secretaries were summoned—on the twenty-third day of the third month, the month of Sivan. They wrote out all Mordecai’s orders to the Jews, and to the satraps, governors and nobles of the 127 provinces stretching from India to Cush.a These orders were written in the script of each province and the language of each people and also to the Jews in their own script and language.