On Valentine’s Day, a French spelunker emerged from a two-month stint in an underground cave in southern France — and he did it for love.
Michel Siffre, 61, had intended to stay beneath the earth much longer, according to a Reuters report, but after 76 days of total darkness with no watch and no human contact, he decided to abort his subterranean experiment on Feb. 14 because he missed women.
“I am very, very happy to be back amongst you,” he told the journalists and scientists who came to greet him as he emerged from the grotto. “Believe me, it was very long — and all these smiles, how long I dreamt of them.”
Siffre, who indulged in similar burials in 1962 and 1972, claims to have been researching the effects of isolation on the human aging process. According to his theory, youth lasts a little longer in the absence of company.
He commented on how good it was to feel sunlight again, and, when asked what was the most difficult aspect of his life underground, Siffre said, “What I missed most was women, and hygiene to an extent as well.”
Here’s hoping he had a good shower and a little lovin’ to boot. In that order.
This Valentine’s Day, I live in fear of being separated from my wife by the force of the Israeli state and the whim of bureaucrats enforcing a discriminatory law that can separate Palestinian citizens of Israel from Palestinian spouses from the occupied West Bank. This fear will hang over us for years if the “Citizenship and Entry Into Israel Law” is not revoked as the state can use this law to separate me from my family.
Lana, my wife, is from Jenin in the Occupied Palestinian Territories. She has a diploma in economics from Al-Najah University in Nablus. We met and fell in love in Jenin in late 2002 after Israel’s destruction of the Jenin refugee camp during the second intifada. She moved to Israel in 2005 to live with me. We now have two children, Adnan, who is 4 and a half years old and Yosra, who is 3 and a half years old. My family means the world to me and yet our standing in Israel is extremely tenuous because of my ongoing failed effort to secure citizenship for my wife.
Despite the might of the Israeli government arrayed against us, Lana and I persevere because love is a force far more powerful than the state. No matter the government responsible for repression, whether in apartheid South Africa, the Jim Crow South, or elsewhere, love has always been more powerful. We knew the risks when we married after the law passed in 2003. But we were determined not to allow an apartheid state that discriminates against Palestinians on both sides of the Green Line to disrupt our love.
Lana’s residency has so far been possible only through yearly extensions of her permission to stay in Israel. Yet these have been entirely subject to the arbitrary discretion of Israel’s Interior Ministry and its security services. She has no legal or social rights, nor the possibility of obtaining health insurance or social security. She is not allowed to hold a job or drive a car. She is, by any fair reckoning, a third-class resident of Israel.
Lana used to be an independent woman – having worked for four years in the Palestinian Ministry of Health in Jenin – but today, in “modern” Israel, she is now totally dependent on me. Our home, rather than a haven, has become her prison. She is stuck and there is no immediate prospect of release. This situation causes her and us permanent frustration. “I feel my freedom was stolen from me by this racist law,” she says. “It doesn’t matter where you live, you are always controlled and denied rights by the state of Israel, [merely] because I am Palestinian.”
We are not alone. There are tens of thousands of other Palestinian families targeted by the so-called Citizenship Law. Originally promulgated in 2003, it prohibits Palestinians without Israeli citizenship from joining their spouses in Israel or seeking eventual rights of residence. There is no comparable prohibition against family unification for non-Palestinian citizens of Israel, i.e., the country’s present-day Jewish majority.
The law explicitly discriminates on the basis of race. Notwithstanding this fact, the Israeli Supreme Court of Justice earlier this year rejected a final appeal against the law. As a result, my wife could well be denied the right to live with me, a Palestinian with Israeli citizenship, and our two children in my hometown of Akka.
As many as 30,000 Palestinian-Israeli families (approximately 130,000 individuals) are under a similar threat of separation. On either side of Israel’s unilateral line of separation, many are already living apart from their spouses and children. They have no voice in Israel and face a Supreme Court that seems to think allowing them into Israel, and upholding human rights, is akin to “national suicide.” Israel’s nonstop security emphasis has turned all members of its Palestinian minority – and their spouses – into would-be security threats. Of course, settlers who have repeatedly employed violence from Gaza (prior to September 2005) to the West Bank to Israel face no similar restrictions on their married lives. Violence against Palestinians counts very differently in Israel.
The recent Israeli Supreme Court decision means that Lana can no longer hope, however tenuously, to acquire citizenship, or even permanent residency. In the best case, she might obtain further extensions of her present status. Meanwhile, the threat of those extensions being suspended will hang all the more ominously over us. Each time we go to the Interior Ministry to renew her permission, and each time Lana goes to renew her permission from the Israeli military administration near Jenin, we face the possibility of being told the permit will not be renewed due to security reasons or some other excuse. It is a dreadful climate in which to raise a family. There is no certainty and stress pervades our lives.
The would-be harmony of family life is further disrupted by the fact that we cannot choose to live in Jenin. According to laws introduced after the 1993 Oslo Accords, Israeli citizens are not allowed to live in or even visit Palestinian cities in Palestinian Authority-administered areas of the Occupied Territories. We, and tens of thousands of our compatriots, are caught in a truly Kafkaesque dilemma. The fear of being torn apart as a family has become a daily part of our lives.
While many of us have since childhood suffered discrimination, dispossession and violence at the hands of the Israeli state, and have watched with dismay as the international community fails to hear and address the difficulties of Israel’s non-Jewish minority, we see the new “Citizenship Law” as marking a particularly ominous regression for Israeli society. It is clear, and explicitly acknowledged in the Israeli public arena, that the purpose of this law is to further compound the difficulties confronting the country’s Palestinian minority, to make that community ever less viable, and ultimately to secure an Israel empty of Palestinians. In recent years, and especially in this current Knesset, more that 25 laws and law proposals were passed or advanced that discriminate against Palestinian citizens of Israel. Many Palestinians affected are convinced that the law aims to make life so unbearable for families that they will permanently leave Israel.
Foreign Minister Avigdor Lieberman, who met last week with Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, is a proponent of the legislation. So far as I know, Secretary Clinton said not one word to him on behalf of the Palestinian families negatively affected by the “Citizenship Law” Lieberman touts. Thanks to the American silence, the United States abdicates its position as self-described “leader of the free world.”
Lieberman, who is a staunch advocate for the ethnic transfer of Palestinians out of Israel, regularly employs language that reminds Israel’s Palestinian population of the climate of violence in which our parents and grandparents were evicted from their homes in 1948, while those who remained were reduced to clear minority status. In fact, the “Citizenship Law” has been forced upon us by a Supreme Court put in place by an Israeli democracy that holds hegemony only because over 700,000 Palestinians were expelled and never allowed to return at the time of Israel’s creation in 1948. Such is the reality of the Middle East’s self-proclaimed “only democracy.” It is a democracy built on ethnic cleansing that to this day is pulling apart Palestinian families from either side of the Green Line. Meanwhile, Jewish couples from inside Israel and the illegal settlements of the West Bank face no such fears.
This Valentine’s Day I hold little hope for a steady and certain future with my wife and children. Even venturing to share our situation – and that of thousands of other couples – endangers my family by exposing us to the whim of that faceless bureaucrat who may consequently be leaned on by an elected official unhappy that Israel is being exposed for its discriminatory laws.
This is a far cry from the Israel that Prime Minister Netanyahu described last year to Congress. In his make-believe Israel, the one delightedly indulged by an out-of-touch Congress, Palestinians enjoy full rights equal to those of Jewish Israelis. This is a lie as the state’s discrimination against me and my family attests.
The United States has some experience with such laws through its own miscegenation laws of previous decades. That American racism was best addressed by the civil rights movement and its success in guaranteeing equality for all citizens without regard to their race, religion or ethnicity. On Valentine’s Day it is long past time for Israel to address its own racism by promulgating similar laws that will promote the legal equality of Palestinians and Jews alike.
Taiseer Khatib is a Ph.D student in Anthropology at the University of Haifa and a teacher at Western Galilee College in northern Israel, Taiseer's story is part of a series called 'Love Under Apartheid' and available at www.loveunderapartheid.com. More Taiseer Khatib
I’ve spent the past 10 months since my mom was diagnosed with advanced lung cancer looking for solace in men, a warm body in my bed. People cope with grief in different ways and, until recently, I’ve turned to sex.
I have gone after men who were emotionally unavailable and spectacularly wounded. Pleasure wasn’t the goal; it was entirely unwelcome. I didn’t want to feel good; I mostly wanted to feel a different kind of bad. I was never a cutter, but now I understand it — the idea of dragging a razor blade along your arm in hopes of relieving the vibrations of pain, letting it flow. It brought relief — a brief, post-coital moment of comfort and calm, followed by a vertigo-inducing sense of emptiness. True loneliness is lying in bed with someone who doesn’t care about you.
I feel a certain fondness for these men. They have kept me company in my misery — even when they weren’t aware of it. They have seen a version of myself that I am not particularly comfortable with – ravenous, wild, destructive. There is intimacy there, sure. They assisted in my acting out, provided needed distraction and brought the comfort of a warm embrace, but then they were gone and the pain was still there.
As my escapades ramped up, so did my performance. Everything became a story, an anecdote. While talking to my longtime friend Margaret on the phone, I launched into a tale about how I had taken my roommate to a strip club for a sociological study of sorts and had a chance encounter with a dancer who, it turned out, was sleeping with the same man I had been casually involved with for a couple months. With the wry detachment of a soldier telling war stories at a bar, I explained how this had ended with me crying into my overpriced martini against the backdrop of men tucking dollar bills into G-strings. Margaret didn’t skip a beat: “That’s a really fascinating story, but the one thing I’m not hearing you talk about is your mom. How is she?”
What could I say — she’s dying? Again and again, I would relay these sensational stories and my friends, hardly prudes, would act thoroughly unamused. One time, I drank far too much at a party at my house and then brought a man back to my room — a man whom I’d gotten into a fight with moments earlier after he declared that he didn’t care about giving women orgasms. Afterward, when I walked out of my room, my buddy Jake, a sweet Southern boy whom I’ve known for nearly a decade and had never seen angry until then, confronted me. He was furious. “Tracy, you slept with that asshole?” He went on a terrific rant, which caused me to promptly burst into tears and I ended up sandwiched in a hug between him and his girlfriend. “My mom is dying, Jake,” I pleaded. “You know my mom! You’ve hung out at her house, you’ve eaten her food. She’s dying.” “I know, Tracy. I know your momma, I love your momma,” he said. “But you can’t do this to yourself.”
Eventually, I realized it wasn’t men that I needed, it was my friends. More than just calling me out, my friends have simply been there. Whenever I write Elissa at 2 a.m. in a frenzy of sorrow, she writes back immediately and at epic lengths. Sarah brings over wine and cries as I cry, fondly repeating, “Oh, my lady.” I give Jake branches of jade from my mom’s garden and he plants them in his yard and sends me photo updates of the plants’ progress. Susan and Katherine consistently ask me, unafraid, about how my mom is doing and what chemo she’s on now. When I come home after Christmas, shell-shocked from the realization that it is the last one I will have with my mom, my roommate Emily asks me all the right questions until I break down and sob in her arms.
Of course, the various warm bodies that I’ve had in my bed during this time have helped me to come to this revelation, but only because of what they didn’t provide. Those dalliances were educational in their emptiness, and my friends have been the antidotes. My friends are the ones who have actually supported me through this chaotic time. They are the ones who have made me feel less alone. The fantasy of having all of these things in one person — a person who can also be a warm body in your bed — is a nice one. But, honestly, the most meaningful love affair that I’ve had in the past year is the one I’ve had with my friends — and that makes Valentine’s Day not so bad at all.
Is there a holiday more annoying than Valentine’s Day? Not only do you have to cram all of your “love” into some artificial gestures and dinner reservations if you’re in a relationship, but it’s also the one time of year when all the single people in the world can throw a giant pity party for themselves and not have anyone yell at them for it.
Too bad these two groups — those who hate Valentine’s Day because they’re in a relationship, and those who hate it because they aren’t — can’t just sit down on Feb. 14 and relax. Maybe pop in a movie? Though there are tons of films out there that promise you true love and a happy ending, and plenty more that tell you life is a piece of dog poop and you’ll end up an old cat lady (most of the latter are late ’90s indies directed by Neil LaBute), there are a couple movies that let you have it both ways. Movies that say, “Maybe love is both awesome and sucky.”
1. “Valentine’s Day”: Never have so many semi-talented actors been crammed into one film with such disastrous results (and I’m including “She’s Just Not That Into You” in this assessment). So weird that a movie starring both Taylors (Swift and Lautner, who were dating at the time!) and both Jessicas (Biel and Alba, who were not) wouldn’t end up being the riveting romance film of the early 21st century, or even a close second to the British “Love, Actually,” which “Valentine’s Day” tries desperately to rip off. As a nation, let’s suck this one up and blame it on Ashton Kutcher, just like everything else. On the other hand, it’s a perfect movie to watch if you want to remember how annoying everyone can be on Valentine’s Day, whether or not they have someone to share it with.
2. “8 1/2″: Fellini’s dreamscape focuses on an aging director who’s had one too many Valentines in his life, though he keeps on trucking to find that great, mysterious l’amore. It is also a great reminder that, love or not, we all die in the end anyway. Perky! (Note: This film also works as an antidote for people who pretend they are into Italian new wave but are actually just hipster posers.)
3. “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind”: A great get-together film for the entire spectrum of relationship statuses, since Michel Gondry and Charlie Kaufman’s trippy love story works like a Rorschach test. If you believe in fate and true love, the ending is uplifting. If you’ve ever tried dating your ex after you both forgot how awful the other one was, this film is the ultimate in pragmatic reminders not to do that.
4. “Leaving Las Vegas”: An alcoholic writer meets a hooker with a heart of gold. What could go wrong? A perfect Valentine for those who believe that true love can only be found at the bottom of a bottle.
5. “Vicky Cristina Barcelona”: Two girls embark on a trip to Spain, where they both are wooed by the handsome Javier Bardem (whom American audiences only knew at that point as the guy with the terrible haircut from “No Country for Old Men”). Though this movie portrays how stifling a marriage of convenience is, it doesn’t offer the freewheeling bohemian concept of romance as any type of solution. Which leaves us with the feeling that Woody Allen, like Valentine’s Day in general, is not in the habit of leaving anyone feeling good about love.
The Internet can be a terrifying, lonely place, filled with misanthropic trolls and 4chan commenters. Luckily, Valentine’s Day has given us enough reason to stop making YouTube videos where we light our farts on fire long enough to produce some actually heartwarming content. Awww!
Hanson (HANSON!!!) has some Mmmbop advice for good Valentine’s Day dates. How about seeing Hanson? (Via MTV)
Meanwhile, “Prank’d” host Streeter Seidell wants you to know there are worse things than being alone on Valentine’s Day. (Via College Humor)
And because you can’t have too many nice things without something going terribly wrong, TV Squad’s mashup of the best television smooches inspired the guys over at FilmDrunk to make their own version: the grossest kisses in film history.
Think you had a hard time coming up with a Valentine’s Day present? Imagine the pressure facing Charlie Sheen. Salon takes a look at holiday dispatches from this year’s (often troubled) celebrities.