Today was filled with activities not to my liking, though I take responsibility for my dislike. We handed out flowers to elderly Russians, who were gathered back to the shelters in which they had slept during the war. Then we gave out presents to preschool children. Later we also did real work, moving insulation from one side of a building site to the other. Seriously, my issues.
But lunch was perfection. Our group's leader met an Iraqi immigrant many years earlier when the their kids were in high school. The friend, Gidon, lives in S'derot, the town with a hilltop view of Gaza and a museum collection of rockets to prove it. For years now S'derot has been under rocket attack.
Gidon took us to a simple Iraqi restaurant with barely room for our group of ten. The table was already covered in salads. Tomatoes with cilantro. Beets with cumin. Plates upon plates. Then came the (pastry) cigars stuffed with potato. And then the spiced meatballs and the grilled curry chicken and the ground lamb kabobs.
And what's good food without worthy conversation. [I once went to a fabulous restaurant where every table was discussing how fabulous the food was.] Gidon shared his story. He essentially walked from Iraq to Israel. He became a nurse serving S'derot a town with a doctor half a day a week. Gidon wooed his wife through letters he has saved. They raised four children and educated them to be professionals. He built a life and a future. And said just like the other Isrealis we met he called the Hamas a gang of terrorists.
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