I have to interrupt this blog post to make an urgent request for a dear fellow blogger and magnificent human being--from his daughter's facebook page:
Update on my father: He’s still in the ICU. He’s on a respirator and can’t move. His condition has not improved. Please keep praying for him. Menachem ben Rivka
On Sun-day I got a Linkedin message from a certain journalist lady at the Israel public broadcasting: would you like to come on my show to talk about your recent film work?
I thought about that a minute. The most recent thing you could call film work was in 2011, when I got called for a role in Rama Burshtein’s award winning movie Fill the Void and lost it because my Hebrew is so…American. So I got called for a non-speaking part, and the part was cut out—but it wasn’t my fault. Really. Lots of actors get parts cut out.
So I got another idea: maybe the lady wanted to talk about the script I wrote for Aviva Productions in 2015? Actually it was an audio script, and the actors were recording it, and then the deal my boss had made with the media people fell through, so we’re frozen in time, waiting and waiting for something to happen.
Then I got another Linkedin message from the journalist lady at the Israel public broadcasting:
Have you produced any films in the last two years? Can you send a trailer?
We’ve been warned about this: In Messianic times a brilliant light will burn everything up, but Truth will survive.
Lady, I have not produced any films in the last two years, and have never produced a trailer.
So I knew I wasn’t getting a television show. After all, what am I doing? I mean, besides feeding cats, watering vegetables, praying, making breakfast, eating breakfast, reading my email, washing dishes…
And oh yes; working on Sasson Magazine’s Free Fiction Workshop. The lady liked that; she said it was cool. So she said I should come tomorrow morning, and gave me directions by bus, and how to get to the studio.
Then she asked me to send a promotional video for Sasson Magazine.
But we don’t have one.
So she checked if that was okay, and it wasn’t.
And that was lucky, because my daughter called this morning; she had gone to Dimona, and needed me to pick up Adele from kindergarten. I usually grumble about that job, which involves crossing the street and walking two blocks. So can you imagine how my daughter would feel if she called and there I was, at 6 Kreminetzky Street all the way in Tel Aviv, a good three hour’s journey?