Snow

My dad checks the weather everyday and every night. Once for Istanbul, once for New York. Last week he got snowed in. And today, I'm inside--watching snow dust whirl over sunken Carroll gardens. White speckles fill the gaps between four-story brick buildings. My dad looks down on his street and sees cars covered in absolute white. I hear the shovels scratching stoops and sidewalks.

Soon, we will meet by the water. Sun will get in our eyes. We will brace the chilling Mediterranean and swim in blue, following each other.

"Va, Vis et Deviens" - "Live and Become"

I watched a terrific movie at the Sephardic Film Festival in New York: Va, Vis et Deviens. The title translates as "Go, Live and Become." It is the story of an Ethiopian boy's journey from refugee camps in Sudan to Israel. Upon his arrival to the "promised land," he is adopted by a left-wing family whose origins go back to Morocco and Egypt. The film not only does a terrific job of highlighting modern day Israel's fissures (right-left, black-white, sephardic-ashkenaz and the Palestine conflict) but it also delves into the personal: mother-son, husband-wife, sibling rivalry, as well as the special connection grandchildren have with grandparents. In that regard, it is delivered like a mille-feuille--layer over layer. And it is a delight to uncover each, look deep in ourselves and ask where we stand on these issues of religion and race.

Here is a chance to read more about the movie and see what others have thought.

PS: Definitely bring a box of tissue.

Secret Passage

Movies haunt me days after I watch them. I inevitably cry for the mistreated heros. I relive the scenes in my sleep. I mix poignant images from critical scenes with everyday subjects in front of my eyes. So, the fact that I am still thinking about Secret Passage comes as no surprise. This is an epoque piece, about two Spanish Jewish sisters who are forced to convert into Catholocism during the Spanish Inquisition. They leave their homeland (or borrowed land of well over 1,000 years) and move to Venice via Antwerp. They want to survive and live openly as Jews. No place in Europe will grant them that right, so they must move East to Istanbul -- where Jews live in peace with other ethnic groups and are allowed to practice their religion as long as they abide by the Ottoman governance.

The story invokes a romanticized image of Istanbul at the time, despite all that I know about the Ottoman "millet" system. My ancestors in Istanbul, like other ethnic minorities, were allowed to practice their religion but their clothing had to be certain material and color. Their houses could not be as tall as those in the majority. They could deal money but did not cultivate land or serve in the army. (For more on this topic, see Bernard Lewis's Jews of Islam.) Yet the past should be evaluated in the context of that era. It took states numerous stages of social evolutions to deliver today's idea of democracy and equality.

I fast-forward to 21st century. I visit Venice in awe. The sea brush over the city center in breathtaking waves. Tourists and pigeons galore. The canals are like lacework. We play pose-click-run with my brother on the bridges connecting old pieces of land. I pass by the gates of the Jewish ghetto and peek in. I walk halfway down the first street veering by the Holocaust memorial, but I turn back - scared to get swallowed by the roar of the past. I focus on the espresso, the sing-song of Italian and the artworks that spills on the streets.

I call my parents in Istanbul. As usual, they are complaining about the everyday oddities of living in Turkey. It's either the blackout in the middle of the day, the senseless drivers or the political situation. They are perhaps no different than other rational-minded Turks who want to live in a civilized, secular country without service outages and corruption.

I hang up to read the New York Times. I lean in to read the article about the new Israeli foreign minister. The daughter of hard-core zionists is not exactly repeating her parents' idelogical discourse. She is vying for a two-state solution to the Israel-Palestine conflict. She admits it's still about the same issue that has daunted Jews since the beginning of time. It's a matter of survival!

A Love-ly Story

Isn't all romance unlikely? It takes many coincidences to align one after another for you to meet and be with someone who loves you deeply, unconditionally. My parents met when my father was on an unexpected break from his army duty, miles away from his post. I found an email in my inbox from that special singleton, who is now my boyfriend, right after I told myself that this would be the last time I would be checking messages in that account. But my friend Shiru's (I'm changing her name to protect her privacy) story beats it all.

More than 10 years ago, Shiru is touring New York in a bus full of Japanese tourists. They are out to Harlem to listen to some gospel music. As they pass in front of the Apollo Theatre, a woman passenger starts screaming, "Stop! Stop the bus! I want to see these paintings on the gates!" The bus driver indeed stops and the passengers step out to see the works of an eccentric muralist who has been painting the gates of 125th street from East to West end. Shiru gets out with the crowd and meets the artist. She doesn't talk much Enligsh back then, but somehow sparks flow between her and the localite. I am not sure if Shiru gets back on the bus or how she finds her way back to Harlem after that day. But today, she paints walls in Harlem and beyond, alongside her husband.