Letters To Friends

By Meira bat Erachaim

Through letters to her friends, Mia tells the story of her family’s triumphs and heartbreak, her adjustment to life in a new country and her quest to find true love. She travels to Africa, Europe, India, China, and the United States.

Mia invites us into her life and speaks to us in a straightforward and humourous style about a wide range of topics, from religion to politics to her sex life or frequent lack thereof. Her views on South Africa, Israel, China are often controversial but always sincere. Her views on dating and relationships are formed from life with three sisters and a strong mother.

There is also a little bit of adjusting to life as an expat and immigrant, a lot of balancing ancient cultural traditions with the demands of modern society, a few tablespoons of running away from love, and a pinch of finding it. There is adventure, romance, mystery (her mother did it), drama, lunch with porn stars, a helicopter crash, and full frontal nudity. Though not all on the same day.

There is also enough room left over for some sex, drugs and rock and roll. Mostly on the same day.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Meira bat Erachaim
• Release date: Apr 13, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301437696

Meira bat Erachaim

Meira bat Erachaim was born and raised in South Africa, went to university in the United States, and lived and worked in China before settling in Israel. She has worked as a helicopter pilot, documentary filmmaker, English teacher, and is currently a casualty extraction and medical evacuation combat support officer with the Israeli Air Force. In her spare time she climbs mountains, swims naked and irritates her mother.Her first published book, "Letters To Friends", received high praise from the five people who read it. Her second book, "Fortnight in the Philippines", details search and rescue missions in the aftermath of Typhoon Haiyan.

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Letters To Friends

Keeping in Touch While Living Around the World

By Meira bat Erachaim

Copyright © 2008-2013 Meira bat Erachaim

All Rights Reserved

ISBN: 9781301437696

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, Licence Notes

This book is protected under international copyright law and is licensed for personal use only. No part of this publication, including its cover artwork and photography, may be copied, reproduced in any format by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner.

To Erachaim ben Eliyahu, zikhrono livrakha

and

Hizkiah ben Nachum, alav hashalom.

Table of Contents

Introduction

It Took Off Into the Sky Leaving a Trail of Smoke Behind It

Die Familie und das Fischernetz

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Can You Take Me Back Where I Came From?

Orgies, Architecture and Hardcore Pornography

The Bravery of Being Out of Range

The Final Rattle Rocks Its Empty Cage

A Girl Can Get Burnt Playing with Matches

We Can’t Rewind, We’ve Gone Too Far

All Roads Lead to Home

About the Author

Introduction

I am reasonably well travelled. I have lived in four countries on three continents. This shall not break any world records, and is the kind of thing that only matters to people who want to break world records or impress people to whom this kind of thing matters, but I think it gives me a different perspective of people and their little cultural idiosyncrasies.

I know people who have only lived in one place their entire lives. Everything they know about the world around them is heavily influenced by their own local beliefs and customs. That is starting to change with the internet, and I am sure there shall come a time when it really is one big global village, but for now I think we are all still very much limited by our borders and territorialisms.

I also know people who seem to pack up and move once a year and have lived in places of which most of us have never heard. They are invariably either eager to discuss anything with anybody and are amongst the most open minded people I have ever known, or they are completely burnt out and want nothing more than a nice long nap.

We want to label each other and ourselves. Other than race and religion, nationality is one of the easiest ways to do that. When I tell people that I live in Israel they can quickly put me in the column with all of the other groups that have long been targeted for annihilation or they can decide what kind of person I must be based on their own political and all too often racial views.

When I tell people that I was born in South Africa there are more labels based on race and politics. Ironically, I have never met anybody outside of Africa who was well versed on current South African politics. Everybody wants to talk about Nelson Mandela. Nobody wants to talk about Helen Zille.

When I tell people that I went to university in the United States the assumptions get a lot more interesting. Before going to the United States I always thought the world looked up to its educational system. Any American can tell you that they have the best schools in the world. After spending a small fortune on an American education I found that much of the world is not all that impressed with an American education. Any European can tell you that America has the worst schools in the world.

Now seems as good a time as any to point out that all of the Chinese here was originally written with Chinese characters. This was not an attempt to seem pretentious, but done so that Chinese speakers could read it. Romanised Chinese words are mostly meaningless to Chinese speakers while both Chinese characters and romanised words are meaningless to people who do not read Chinese. It makes sense to use the Chinese characters.

Unfortunately the software used by the publishers cannot seem to go back and forth between English and Chinese. I had the choice of doing it all in English without any Chinese characters or all in Chinese, which would have been a serious undertaking on my part. Obviously I chose English.

Similarly, the small amount of Hebrew is also romanised since printing English and Hebrew together is difficult at best. I did not bother to translate any of it. It you can read Hebrew then you should be able to read the romanised version. If you cannot read Hebrew then it really makes no difference.

My American friends are quick to point out that I neither speak nor write like an American. This is primarily because I am not American. Nor do I speak British English as I am not British. My primary education was in South Africa. As such, I adhere to many of the Commonwealth rules of English spelling and grammar whilst ignoring most British slang and idioms. Doing such a thing would set my friends at sizes and sevens. This often comes across as unnecessarily affectatious to people who prefer more casual speech patterns. But I went to university in the United States where a dozen commas in a single sentence are preferable and taught American English for a few years in China where verbs are alien. My proper RSA English, never entirely proper to begin with, was corrupted as a result. Then I moved to Israel and my English was shot to ribbons.

As the title suggests, these are letters of sorts to my friends all over the world. These are not the personal letters that I wrote to individual family and friends but rather general accounts of whatever was happening in my life at the time. I may reveal intimate details of my life but I never betray the confidence of anybody I know. Or even those I do not know. If you know me you might find yourself mentioned here but there are no addresses or bank account numbers given. Such as Charles Scallington of 465 Innes Rd, Windermere, Durban 4001. In some cases, names have been changed to protect the guilty.

Like pretty much everybody else in the world I like to discuss various current events with my friends. Some of them happened years ago and as such are no longer all that current. But I think in many instances that only makes them more interesting. We all have our opinions about whatever is going on during the storm but how often do we look back on those opinions after the dust has settled? I like seeing how easy it is for me to change my mind on some issues whilst remaining unwaveringly obstinate on others. Even more amusing is looking back at something I felt strongly about a few years ago and wondering just what the hell I was thinking.

I also cannot help but notice that virtually all of my predictions on pretty much any subject were incorrect. Such as my sister’s ability to conceive and the results of every national election.

But this is more than old op-ed columns. I talk about my family and friends more than I talk about the world’s goings on. Anybody who knows me knows that nothing is more important to me than my family. So it is only fair that I spend a good deal of time bitching and moaning about them. I am just narcissistic enough to give myself equal time.

There is also a little bit of adjusting to life as an expat and immigrant, a lot of balancing ancient cultural traditions with the demands of modern society, a few tablespoons of running away from love, and a pinch of finding it. There is adventure, romance, mystery (my mother did it), drama, lunch with porn stars, a helicopter crash, and full frontal nudity. Though not all on the same day.

There is also enough room left over for some sex, drugs and rock and roll. Mostly on the same day.

This book is not likely to have much interest to most of the people on this planet. And possibly less interest to those on other planets. Unless you are me, and you are probably not, or you know me personally, or I mention you, or you have travelled extensively, or you have lived and worked in other countries, or you are thinking about living and working in other countries, or you are a pilot, historian, nudist, theologian, linguist, or you like reading things from other points of view, or you love reading everything you can get your hands on, or you simply like run-on sentences, then this may not be the book for you.

Or this might be the perfect book for you. Who am I to judge.

It Took Off Into the Sky Leaving a Trail of Smoke Behind It

1 June 2008

I might as well let everybody know that David and I are no more. I am not saying that we died in some horrible accident. I am saying that our relationship crossed the centre divider and swerved into oncoming traffic. There were no survivors.

We had a good run but decided to part ways after thinking long and hard about it and having a big fight that involved lots of stomping and crying. I did not take it well either.

In my mind, our decision to break up was mutual. But in reality he dumped me. We want different things at this point in our lives. He wants to settle down, buy a house, have a family, talk about plumbing. I want to keep sowing my wild oats. I want to have wild uninhibited romps in fields of wheat.

He does not like the idea of other farmers ploughing my field. I do not like the idea of waking up next to the same face every single day until death mercifully leads me to freedom.

Part of the problem is his stubborn refusal to act like a teenager. He does not think it unreasonable that the woman he loves only get naked with him. In the dark, in the bedroom, on the bed. I think it is more interesting to sleep around like a common zonah. That is how my mother describes it anyway.

Is there any way I could dump her?

2 June 2008

David and I have decided to remain friends. I know a lot of people say that and gradually drift apart but I have the ability to retain friendships. Even with people whose penises I have fondled. The first boy I ever knew biblically is still a friend. We do not see each other all that often, mostly because we live on different continents, but I think friendship can survive great distances. I have spent my entire life keeping relationships with people on different continents. I think I would be lost if I could only have friends and family in the general vicinity.

I dated David for very close to two years. That is pretty good for me. They almost never last that long. Or sometimes I almost never last that long. We laughed a lot, we cried a little, we got naked not nearly enough. He shall always be one of my favourite people with which to get happy naked.

I can understand his point of view and I hope he finds what he is looking for. He deserves to have the image of the family he has in his head. That is simply not what I need in my life just now. I want to get married, have children, get a house with a tree in the yard. But I also want one man behind me while another is in front of me and hopefully a third underneath. I need extra hands to catch me just in case one misses. The settled life and the wild life simply do not mix well together.

5 June 2008

My old blog is officially dead. They were kind enough to send out notices to their members after the fact. Now I must start over. I shall not bother to repost everything. I know that reading about the last movie I saw is not all that exciting. I suppose the world shall have to make do without all of those brilliant comments.

The main purpose for me to write a blog is to keep in touch with friends near and far. For reasons both exceptional and banal I know people all around the world. Blogging is like writing a long rambling mass e-mail to everybody. They read mine and I read theirs. We all have e-mail and phones but blogs are yet another tool to keep in touch. I say the more ways I can stay connected with people I care about the better. People who do not know me personally can still read it. I have no idea how interesting it shall be but since everybody and their dog has one we have to assume that somebody is reading them. Most of the readers at the old site did not know me at all.

I guess I could say a little something about myself but if you do not know me then you shall get to know me easily enough from whatever I write. I am not shy. I only hold back if saying something would cause pain to the people I love. I am not concerned about privacy. I am not giving out my phone number or address and I shall never use my English name. My Hebrew name is useless to stalkers if they do not write it in Hebrew. I did a Google search once typing it in English and the first few results were for hotels in Brazil.

The old site was up for a few years, with a few long gaps here and there, and I never had any privacy problems.

5 June 2008

Tuesday was my 29th birthday. Twenty Nine. 29. It does not matter how you write it. Tick tock. Stupid bloody Tuesday.

Getting old never bothered me when I was young but now that I am so dreadfully close to 30 I am getting worried. Thirty is an adult. When you are 30 you have a husband and a baby or two. And a nice house with a garden and your very own tree. I have never had my own tree. You should know that about me.

My mother cringes when I say I am old. Fair point. Wait until Ria turns 30. I know 29 is not old in the grande scheme of things but I think 30 is a psychological milestone for women. Especially if they have no children. My mother had me when she was 30. The clock is ticking. Men can have children until they die now that there are little blue pills to keep their man bits jumping. Lady bits have a limited shelf life.

Having children is important to me. Not merely the biological imperative but culturally and familially. I think most cultures put too much pressure on women to bear the next generation but Jews have an especially heavy Star of David to bear. Since my family runs a very real risk of dying out, my sisters and I have a serious burden to contend with. So far only Ellie has had a child. And only one. I know that my grandparents want more but we are only human.

What I think would be worse than never having children is to have them with the wrong man. I would rather just go to a sperm bank and impregnate myself. Finding the right man is not so easy. Ask anybody. Worse off, I still think I have plenty of time. I still think of myself as young. But I am 29 years old. Tick tock.

I think I may be having a pre-midlife crisis. I want to settle down but I want to play the field. I want babies but I do not want to be tied to a single man. Or rather one married man. I want to make my family happy and ensure its continuation but I want to live my life for me. I want to be noble and selfish at the same time.

I shall get over it. The first words out of my mother’s mouth when she reads this will be, She says the same thing every year. And I do.

Next year I am getting a digital clock that does not make that kak tick tock noise.

7 June 2008

We kill in peace, according to Prime Minister Ehud Olmert’s government.

Transport Minister Shaul Mofaz told the press that attacking Iran will be unavoidable given that sanctions are doing nothing to stop their nuclear programme.

The extremists in places like Iran have been screaming about future invasions from Israel and America for years. Because they fear us, they talk tough. Because they talk tough, we plan the invasions. Does making their worst fears come true only prove they were right all along?

Maybe there is a better way than all this sabre rattling.

Tomorrow is Shavuot, the day we remember God giving us the Torah. Jews and Muslims, including Iran’s president, believe this.

Muslims see our holiest book as the blueprint for their holiest book. Our religions have more in common than differences. It is the politicians who are cocking it all up. People follow the politicians, for whatever reason, and newer generations learn to perpetuate all the stupidity.

11 June 2008

So you want me to come back. Why now? What changed? You say you would walk through fire to get me back but you were not willing to show common courtesy when I was around. You say losing me was the worst thing that ever happened to you. If that is true then you should consider yourself lucky. And take it as a learning experience. Use it to grow. Maybe you will not take the next girl in your life for granted. I hope you do not. I really do hope that you find happiness but you must know by now that shall not be with me. When I said I would never come back I meant it. If you know me half as well as you think you do then you know that I do not say what I do not mean.

We did not break up because of a stupid argument. The argument was stupid but it is not why we broke up. The problem was not what we argued about or even what happened. The problem is why it happened. Why you felt the need to take your anger at the world out on me when I was only doing you a favour. I do not need praise when I do something nice for somebody. I do it because it is the right thing to do. No need to thank me. But what I really will not accept is being yelled at because I did not do it your way. I was under no obligation to do anything at all. That is why it is called a favour. Yelling at me is totally unacceptable. But that is only half the problem.

The root cause is your misperception that I am some kind of servant merely waiting around all day for you to say jump. If you want a servant, hire one. If you want somebody to yell at, watch TV. If you want a girlfriend, you must treat her like she is the most precious thing to ever come into your life. Because she is.

As far as you and I are concerned it is over. Move on.

12 June 2008

Everybody says that I am a good cook. They have been complimenting my cooking for as long as I can remember. My grandmother, mother and I are the lead chefs at Pesach. Those two take it more seriously than I do but I appreciate the gravity of being the standard bearer of my generation. Someday it shall be my mother and I and a child yet to be born of one of my sisters or me. Someday even later I shall be the oldest. My sisters are all jealous. They would be more reverential about it but I am the better cook. They have all admitted it. I have it on tape somewhere.

But technically I am not a very good cook at all. I never follow recipes. I almost never measure ingredients. I rarely keep track of what temperature the oven ought to be on or how long it has been in. Even if I had a timer I would not use it. I cook by intuition, experience, trial and error.

People always ask me for recipes, so here is one. It is for these dough fruit things. If they have a name I have no idea what they are and I have yet to give them one. They are like miniature calzones, only the dough is different and they are filled with fruit. I guess they could be baked simbusak with fruit.

Make some dough out of flour, water, yeast as you would any other dough. Flatten it into circles or squares or whatever sounds good.

Cut up some apples, pears, kumquats, kiwi, these little Chinese apples whose name I cannot remember. Instead of kumquats you could use clementines but do not use oranges. That is too much soft fruit and it will add too much citric acid. Clementines and kumquats are far less acidic than oranges. The smaller you cut the hard fruits the softer they will be in the end.

Mix all the cut up fruit together with some soy sauce. That will keep it from tasting like a hot fruit salad and give it a nice salty flavour. I like salt on my fruit. If you do not then I suppose you could use lime juice instead. Do not use lemon juice. You can add sumac if you really need that hit of lemon.

You should probably add sumac anyway. It cannot hurt. I also put in cinnamon and a little cardamom. Everything is better with cardamom.

Put it all on the dough and roll it into whatever shape you want. Make sure you seal the edges well. If it leaks then the juices will not cook the fruit and it will probably make a mess.

Put it in the oven for a little while on a not too hot setting. It is better to cook it slower than faster. It is easy as pie. Or whatever it is.

19 June 2008

Today would be my father’s 65th birthday.

When I was a little girl, he used to take my sisters and me to Jameson Park on his birthday. He would take the afternoon off from work, pick us all up from our schools, and we would have a picnic in the park. We always thought the park was boring and wanted to go to the beach instead. This was back when the Golden Mile beaches were still segregated and he did not want us to go. But we went anyway. You cannot live so close to some of the most beautiful beaches and never go. When you are young you do not fully appreciate moral injustices. You simply want to enjoy what is around you.

Jameson Park used to be something impressive long before any of us were born. At one point it housed a small collection of exotic animals, many of which were moved to nearby Mitchell Park. In our day it was a mostly deserted rose garden. Nobody ever seemed to go there, which made it a great location for a family picnic. We could run around screaming and rolling down the hill without bothering anybody. It was also conveniently located near our house.

Our picnic tradition pretty much ended when Ellie and Dara got older and too cool for such a thing and I got shipped off to high school in Cape Town. Papa would usually come to Cape Town on my birthday, which was two weeks before his, so we would celebrate both at the same time. More often than not we went to the beach at Kommetjie. Sometimes we went to Fish Hoek where the water is warmer. June is winter in Cape Town and the difference between the water in the Atlantic and False Bay is noticeable.

By the time I went to university, his daughters were scattered all over the world and we did not see each other as often. We always had phone calls and letters but actual visits were few and far between.

When we were younger we just wanted to grow up. Now that we are all adults we miss those days when we could roll down hills knowing that our father was there to make sure we did not hurt ourselves. He is gone now but I shall always be grateful for the time we had together.

Happy Birthday, Papa.

23 June 2008

"So I say live and let live. That’s my motto. Live and let live. Anyone who can’t go along with that, take him outside and shoot the motherfucker."

George Carlin died yesterday. He had a heart attack after a long series of heart attacks and several procedures to unclog his arteries. He had a long and famous history of drug use but he said his worst addictions came from the medications he started taking after his first heart attack. I have read how his drug use only made his heart worse but you have to assume that this would have happened anyway given his history of heart disease.

I disagree with his views on religion but he was always a funny guy. He knew how to tell a joke. It never really mattered what he was talking about. His delivery was unique. But it never hurt that he had a healthy distrust of government and a very subversive streak.

My only disappointment in him was his attacks on religion. Not because he was attacking religion. That should always be a fair subject for a comedian. Only people who are insecure in their faith are offended by jokes. What I do not like is that he was one of those lapsed Catholics who hated all religion because the one he grew up with did not work out for him. As if all faiths are the same thing. He often spoke as though they were all the same but he was always speaking about Christianity. That is the kind of generalisation that less intelligent people often make. George Carlin always seemed smarter than that.

But I have no idea what his personal beliefs were. What a comedian says in his act need not be true. Modern comedians mostly talk about exaggerated versions of their own lives but it is still only a performance. I also have no idea if he ever studied any other religions in depth. People who hate all religions because they hate their own almost never know anything about any others.

I saw him perform in Las Vegas during a university trip. He was very funny. I have no doubt I would have thought so even if I were not a little tipsy at the time. I think he may have had a few drinks as well. This was back when he was a raging alcoholic, so he was probably pissed.

My friends wanted me to flash my tits at him. Because that is the sort of thing university students do in Las Vegas. Why else would we pay such high prices for higher education? I did not bother because he would never have seen me from where we were sitting. I would like to say that I was too much of a dignified young lady to ever do such a thing but it was more proximity than anything else.

Now I think I should have. Now he is dead and he shall never get to see my tits.

23 June 2008

What Type of Internet Poster Are You?

Attention Whore

Attention Whores will say and do anything for attention. There is no such thing as going too far in their minds. They have either never heard of the boy who cried wolf or they think he did not try hard enough. Any and all attention is welcome. The Attention Whore truly does not care if it is positive, negative or completely neutral. As long as they get attention.

Offline the Attention Whore has no real friends and many, many pets.

The Expert

The Expert knows everything about everything. He knows exactly why you are wrong and he is not afraid to constantly point out the error of your ways. Do not try to back up your claim with facts or logic because he always has a link to some website that agrees with his point of view, no matter how insane it is.

Offline the Expert probably has difficulty maintaining healthy sexual relationships.

Grammar Police

The Grammar Police are obsessively compelled to point out all of your spelling and grammar mistakes. While most people simply read your comment, the Grammar Police scan for the smallest error for them to jump on. If you are thinking to yourself that a sentence ought not end with a preposition then you are probably a Grammar Police.

A fun thing to do with Grammar Police is to play the comma game. Americans use commas like they are going out of fashion. For example, an American, or Canadian, might use multiple commas, or other such punctuation, in a single sentence. The rest of us use a comma when not using one would alter the meaning. Such as Let’s eat, mother and Let’s eat mother.

Offline the Grammar Police are anal retentive, obsessive compulsive and generally annoying.

Drama Queen

Drama Queens are never happy unless there is conflict. Something bad just happened to them and they want the world to be the first to know. They have an uncanny knack for finding trouble. While most of us merely listen to music in our cars while stuck in traffic, the Drama Queen will get into an argument with another driver just before she spills her coffee in her lap and gets a flat tyre on train tracks