#Songs of Our Ancestors

[rastronomicals]

11:46 PM EST November 5, 2024:

Steve Miller Band - "Song For Our Ancestors" From the Compilation album The Best Of 1968-1973 (September 24, 1990)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

★★★★★

Originally from Sailor, released in October 1968.

File under: San Franciscan Psychedelic Blues

--

[bittsandpieces]

lockscreen, last photo I took, last movie I watched, and last song I listened to!

@vampireghoul thank you for the tag my friend!!

Aaaand I'll tag @sluttybeanbabe, @echosofthesidhe, @hold-me-close-and-bloodied, and @deputy-h if you guys would like to share 🩷🩷🩷

[wanderxdusk]

Chak Chel by Ganja White Knight

[fakevariety]

this play is a bit of a disaster guys 😭

[useless-catalanfacts]

Something very strange happened, and I think we need to have a talk about the way some people who don't know about Catalan culture misrepresent the Tió (our pre-Christian Christmas present-bringer, a log who poops presents 🪵🎁).

I have a relative who is a teacher in an adult school, she teaches Catalan language (mostly to immigrants). Some days ago, they were doing an activity about Catalan holidays, and two of her students said that Tió should be banned and that it's the worst thing they have ever heard. My relative was very shocked and asked why they could say such a thing (imagine, it's like saying Santa Claus should be banned in the USA). Their reasoning was that they completely misunderstood everything about it. These people are native Spanish speakers and assumed that the Catalan word "tió" (meaning "log" 🪵) means the same as the Spanish word "tío" (meaning "uncle"), even though both words are pronounced differently. They believed that the Tió represents a man and that we tell children to beat people up, so much until they poop themselves, threatening them to give us things. They said it promotes violence to children and that it's disgusting. Nothing further from the truth.

This is not an isolated incident because a few days ago I saw a post on Tumblr repeating this same mistake. I texted the person who posted it saying that it's not called "Poop Uncle" but "Christmas Log" and they said that this was what they were taught by their teacher (this person is from a different continent), and haven't taken down the post. I have also seen comments on Instagram repeating the same and making fun of how gross and violent it is.

The real meaning of Tió

The Log is a way of symbolically passing down our relation with nature. This is how the tradition works:

In early December, we get a log and bring him home. We take care of him: we keep him in a warm place, with a blanket over him, and we feed him things like orange/clementine peels and walnut shells. On Christmas day, all the family comes together. Children get wooden sticks and go get ready in another room, meanwhile adults place presents under the Log's blanket. Children come back and hit the Log while singing a song. There are many local variants of the song but they all come down to asking the Log to poop us good food. When they have finished singing the song, the children remove the blanket and discover the presents that the Log has pooped. Years ago (now this is only done by some farmer families in rural areas, but back in the day this was generalized), the Log was burned in the house's fireplace and its ashes were spread on the fields, believed to act as a magical fertilizer.

Notice what this whole "ritual" has been about: we take care of nature, nature takes care of us, we are part of a whole and there's no real difference between "nature" and "us" because we all give life to each other.

We take a log from the forest and bring it home. We do this for the Winter Solstice because it's the time of the return of light and the rebirth of nature after the winter sleep, and wood symbolizes the most important things for human life: food, warmth and light. It's difficult for us to imagine nowadays because we are used to electricity, but for our ancestors who only had oil lamps, fire and candles, darkness was almost absolute for many hours in winter, and that's why the Winter Solstice was very important because it meant that light is coming back. We want something from the Log, his fire will allow us to cook, it will give us light, and keep us warm. So we offer him the same: we feed him (notice what we feed it, too: a kind of compost, which is complimentary to human food), we keep him warm, and we love him. Then, we hit him with sticks (mimicking the motion of cutting down a tree) and ask him to give us food, and he does. Then, our ancestors used to burn him for warmth and light, and then take him back to plants spreading his ashes so it will give life to the fields. Which in turn will give us food again, which we will poop and it will fertilize plants again. And it's a cycle that never ends, we're all part of a whole.

We give to the forests, the forests can grow with the remains that all living creatures leave on its ground: leafs, excrements, the remains of parts of our food like nuts and fruit peels. These things give life to the forest. And the forest gives life to us: gives us fruits and wood (=light and warmth). We take these things, and in return we give to forests once again.

Nowadays, the part about warmth and light is often lost to kids, but the part about food is still obvious, even if subconsciously. This is why the Log is not the horrible barbaric tradition that the "haha poop and violence" crowd would make you believe.

And don't get me wrong, it can still be funny! We're the first ones to make jokes about it. And you can, too! But don't spread false ideas: the Spanish word "uncle" appears nowhere near this tradition because it doesn't have anything to do with uncles nor with Spanish-speaking cultures. It's called the Christmas Log (Tió de Nadal, Soca de Nadal, Tronca de Nadal, Tizón de Nadal, etc depending on the area, all meaning "Christmas Log") and it's celebrated by the Catalan people and a part of the Occitan and Pyrenean Aragonese people. The word "poop" (as an imperative verb, as in "please poop for us") appears in the song, but not in the name.

I know that, now that misinformation has gone viral, a post won't stop it. But I hope at least people with a genuine interest can learn some more. By all means, keep laughing! Make all the memes you want! But knowing the whole story will give you understanding. And, please, don't argue in favour of banning our cultural practises, we've had enough of that for centuries.

[lycandrophile]

in 2024 i want to see more songs sung in t voices, more grown-out t scruff, more hairy tits and top surgery scars, more gay sex involving t dicks and pussies, more cutting each other’s hair when the hairdressers can’t get it right, more helping each other with t shots and sharing extra bottles of t gel, more passing down binders and post-surgery pillows like family heirlooms, more crackly laughs and excited voices that don’t know how loud they are now, more proudly showing off phallo scars like we show off top surgery scars, more teaching each other how to shave and tie a tie and all the other things our dads didn’t teach us, more sheer shirts over post-op chests, more skirts and short shorts on hairy legs, more moving the fuck out instead of living with transphobic parents, more breaking up with partners that wanted girlfriends not boyfriends, more pregnant dads, more twinks turned into otters and bears by t, more scars and binders on the beach, more romanticization of t dicks and meta dicks and phallo dicks, more rage and resistance against anyone who would try to rob us of our history or our ancestors, more pride in complex manhoods and queer masculinities, more getting louder every time someone tells us to shut up about the things that are important to us, more searching for transmasculinity in every piece of media and injecting it into anything that failed to consider us, more cuntboys and boygirls and transfags and butch dudes and transsexual men, more jumping headfirst into masculinizing transitions, more delighted reactions to realizing “holy shit i think i’m actually a guy”, more trans manhood and transmasculinity as force of nature and fundamental truth and fact of life that cannot under any circumstances be ignored.

[wandeel]

I have the Brave song "Noble Maiden Fair" in my head, problem ? I DON'T SPEAK OLD GAELIC !

[grecoromanyaoi]

i made a post like this a few years ago on another blog but anyways. you DONT want a hanukkah section at walmart. you DONT want hanukkah hallmark movies and shitty songs. you DONT want hanukkah to be sold to you. you DONT want hanukkah to be commercialized as the "jewish christmas", you DONT want it to be commercialized at all.

you want to celebrate the spirit of hanukkah? rebel. protest occupation. protest genocide. protest imperialism. protest religious coercion. fight for indigenous rights and religious freedom. fight for it, like our ancestors did.

[chanaleah]

Today's Israeli claim to self-determination has no sense, since the vast majority of Israeli are Askenazi. They are litteraly mixed! And, have emigrated back to their land after over A THOUSEND YEAR. How can we still take seriously a claim to a land, you, supposevely, have habitated after a thousend? Gheddafi was right. Israel is a Rhodesia who has been succeful to replace the native population with white Europeans. Again, Askenazi are to be considered white Europeans, as they lost all of their middle eastern traits and completely mixed up with Europeans

again y’all let’s use our bestie Google!

the vast majority of Israelis are not Ashkenazi, which again, you would know if you took 5 minutes to do a quote Google search. But that doesn’t matter, because indigenity doesn’t expire.

Again, indigenity doesn’t expire.

The ancestors of today’s Ashkenazim were forced out of our land and prevented from coming back. But they never assimilated, and this can be seen in the food we cooked, songs we sang, and languages we spoke and prayed in.

How long must someone be prevented from returning to their land before they lose their indigenity? Are the Cherokee no longer indigenous to the southeastern US because they’ve been forced out of their land?

Not to mention that Jews maintained a consistent presence in א״י throughout the diaspora despite the constant empires trying to force us out.

Furthermore, while indigenity is not determined by genetics, genetic studies consistently show Ashkenazi Jews as plurally Levantine, and most every other Jewish diaspora group’s DNA is majority Levantine. This is corroborated by pretty much every reliable study of Ashkenazim.

Also, self-determination doesn’t require being an indigenous people. For example, Italians aren’t considered an indigenous people, but they do deserve self determination, and they currently do self determine in Italy. Jews have remained a distinct ethnoreligious group for around 3000 years, so just like any other ethnic group, we have the right to self determination. And our right to self determination doesn’t and shouldn’t alienate the rights to self determination of any other group.

Your blood quantum BS isn’t appreciated here, anon.

[mylight-png]

Today, my school's Chabad held a Jewish joy/pride festival right in the middle of campus. They set up a bunch of booths with Jewish activities. There was a booth for braiding challah, making bracelets with our Hebrew names, various Jewish pride stencils to spray paint Chabad shirts. There were tables to pick up shabbat candle kits or wrap teffilin. Jewish music played loudly (but without disturbing nearby classes of course) and people were dancing along to songs like Am Yisrael Chai, I'm a Jew and I'm Proud, Very Narrow Bridge, and other blatantly Jewish songs.

Most of my friends and I couldn't stop smiling. This spot in campus where just last year people were shouting for the destruction of our homeland and our families and us, after nearly a year of being shamed for our Jewish pride and being told we shouldn't be proud, and so much time spent on a campus filled with hate, we were bringing joy back to campus.

I feel like most of my latest posts have been fairly negative. It's hard not to write my heavy heart onto the screen, especially after the murder of Hersh and the other hostages, and just everything going on overall. But this festival reminded me of how much power Jewish joy holds.

If you're feeling upset about the war, I'm with you. Few days go by without tears shed or pain felt. But remember that being Jewish is infinitely more than antisemitism and loss. Being Jewish is joy, and it is pride. We are our ancestors' wildest dreams, we are all miracles, and we cannot forget this for a single moment.

Be joyful in a world filled with sorrow, and bring light with you wherever you go.

[rastronomicals]

8:36 PM EST December 5, 2024:

Steve Miller Band - “Song For Our Ancestors” From the album Sailor (October 1968)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

Great album covers are a dime a dozen, but great album *backs* that actually surpass their front covers are more rare. The back to the Steve Miller Band’s Sailor is one of the best of this breed.

And one of his immaculate first five, musically

Capitol ST 2984 if you were wondering.

–

[ezrazone]

i was so frightened when i saw the fires outside al aqsa martyr’s hospital in the center of the strip. a hospital still standing, one of the last, named in honor of the palestinian dead.

this is where my dearest friend mohamed, his wife manal, and these three beautiful children have been sheltering. i waited in dread and fear to learn if these children were among the human beings burned alive. i couldn’t eat. i paced and shook.

when the intensification of the genocide on palestine began on october 7th, 2023 (a continuation of the nakbas, “catastrophes” “disasters” that the illegitimate entity has visited upon the people of the land since its inception less than a hundred years ago), i struggled to pray.

god seemed all around in the silence, but i felt insecure at the prospect of shouting into that darkness with all of my heart. it seemed petty, somehow - what did i have to pray for? my ancestors escaped a catastrophe in europe. many, many died, but enough survived to drop me in this white skin in the richest country in the world. what does a winner in a global bloodsport have to pray for?

as i have watched israel’s unmasking, it is as if the scales have fallen from my eyes with hashem. i know now that i cannot gaze upon the lord god’s silent face in the abyss but look instead upon my muslim brothers who are my own family. my own flesh and blood.

when i finally received a text from mohamed, i quietly left the room i had stood in and dropped to my knees in the quiet dark. there, i made god. here is god’s face:

how we care for these children. look into their eyes. how will you honor them? do you have a skill? will you write a song for them? draw a picture for them? so the world knows their story and loves them enough to tear this wretched world open and build one that keeps them safe?

my favorite drawings i have ever made are my drawings for mohamed’s family.

how do we meet what empire is doing to our family?

throw sand in its gears by any means necessary. love the living with all of your heart.

give your money away. it’s only money. give your time away. that’s what time is for. give your heart away. that’s what that’s for too.

Y'varekh'khah Adonai V'yishm'rekha; a free Falastin, B’ezrat Hashem, Adonai Adonai Amen.

[inthehouseoffinwe]

It always gets me that literally *everything* hinged on the Fellowship getting this *right.* All the battles with Morgoth, Sauron, the events of the last Three Ages and beyond.

This was the final chance.

Either they succeed. Or all those battles and all that pain was for nothing, and Middle Earth falls to darkness.

And if ME does. It’s not far fetched to assume Valinor would be next.

-

But like it was always about the value of the little people. A value which historically, most people, the Princes of the First Age most of all, didn’t really… realise.

They dragged everyone into their wars and feuds and at the end of everything, everyone suffered for it.

They were out for themselves, because *they* wanted to be kings and queens, *they* wanted revenge, *they* wanted to go back to the wilds of Endorë and doomed everyone alongside them, cajoling and convincing them until they were riled up and probably not thinking straight.

They had to be right. If the rest of their people suffered for their bad decisions… too bad. There was so much pride and arrogance across the Sindar and Noldor both that their power, the thing that made them so great became their downfall.

The people of the Third Age, men and elves and dwarves, might have been ‘diminished’ but that meant they took time to appreciate their people. It means Aragorn at the Black gate sees there are young men from Rohan who are *terrified*, and entirely genuinely without judgement, allows them to leave. It means he goes around place to place, city to city, getting to know everyone as people. Seeing their value, seeing their worth as equal to his own. And he treats them accordingly as just as important rather than making everything about him.

It’s what allows him to deceive Sauron into thinking he’s acting as his ancestors did, proud and self assured whilst the whole quest and everything he does is about helping Frodo. About making sure he succeeds.

As he tells Frodo. “Deeds will not be less valiant because they are unpraised.” And that’s where these great heroes of the past fell short. For them, especially the elves of the First Age, everything was about valour and glory and victory. Literally Fëanor: ‘our deeds will be a matter of song until the last days of Arda.’

We needed the king who knew what it was to be a ranger, scorned despite being the only thing keeping them alive. The king who was a healer rather than a warlord. The man who only wanted his people safe, would pass all great deeds and live hated and homeless if only they could live without darkness.

The hobbits who were so pure of heart, who found joy in the little things. Even Legolas who would’ve grown up seeing Mirkwood steadily fall further and further into darkness, Spiders and orcs steadily encroaching, forcing the elves further into their last stronghold. The Dwarves who’d lost homes and knew their fortresses could only hold so long if Sauron enslaved everyone else.

All of these guys who held family and love for their people above all else. Who wanted a world free of war, who didn’t care for great deeds or ballads speaking of them. Who respected those of lesser official standing and saw them as people with opinions as valid as their own.

They just wanted their homes. They wanted their family and friends alive.

They longed for peace. Not glory or land.

And that’s where those of the First and Second Age failed.

[chrissy-kaos]

Blessed Samhian to you!

I invite you to enjoy this blessed day at the end of the harvest. To feast with family and friends. Celebrate what this beautiful earth has provided. To live and laugh through song and dance.

Tonight we honor our ancestors. Spirits of our fathers and mothers, I call to you, and welcome you to join us for this night. You watch over us always, protecting and guiding us, and tonight I thank you.

[beardedalcoholic]

Space Cowboys

The humans had abandoned them. After seemingly endless cycles of fighting the battle was about to be lost and the war with it, and the humans had left them to fight for themselves.

‘So much for the legendary pack-bonding of humans.’ Krillna thought to himself as he leaned around his bunker to lay down some suppressing fire on the enemy. Tungsten rods magnetically accelerated to near supersonic speed ripped into the battle field and enemies died by the dozens…but it wasn’t enough.

Seemingly endless waves of the reptilian enemies known as the Slentine seemed to crawl and slither towards their position. Fields of scales and fangs greeted him every time he looked around his barrier, looks of desperation and hopelessness looked back every time he turned away from the battle.

“You would think the humans could have at least left us the weapons before they ran like cowards!” cried out one soldier before he was cut down by enemy fire.

Rollin’ rollin’ rollin’

“Did anyone else hear that?” Krillna asked after firing another salvo of rounds towards the slowly advancing enemy. Looking at his ammo counter and seeing it was empty, Krillna threw his weapon to the ground and grabbed the ceremonial bone dagger the warriors of his people were gifted upon maturity.

Rollin’ rollin’ rollin’

Holding the blade to his chest and breathing the prayers of his youth, Krillna begged the seven skies of his homeland for the power of the mighty storm, pleaded for his spirit to be flown on the winds to his ancestors. Finding himself at the end of his prayers and ready to face the enemy head on and to fight tooth, bone and claw in the ways of his ancestors, Krillna couldn’t help but think he heard something on the wind again. Looking to the forest side of the battlefield, Krillna felt a rumbling through the pads of his clawed foot.

Rollin’ rollin’ rollin’ RAWHIIIIIDE!

With the sound of thunder and snapping trees, Krillna felt all three of his hearts stop and fall.

Gierophants, mighty horned beasts weighing several tons with great crests of hardened skin behind the skull to protect the neck and a row of spines extending the length of the spine, each one several times as tall as Krillna’s seven foot frame. Easy to anger, nearly impossible to outrun, harder to damage and often found in herds of fifty to one-hundred the gierophant was this world’s largest inhabitant, but Krillna thought he saw something on the back of the lead beast.

Humans.

Humans were riding the gierophants…a herd of what looked to be sixty or more and each one had a human standing on the snout of the creature and even more behind the crest or between the dorsal spines.

RAIN AND WIND AND WEATHER

The humans were either lashed to a spine or each other with lengths of rope and each one was firing wildly into the horde of enemies, hanging sideways from the flanks of the great beasts, weaving between the spines, crouching behind the crest and all were firing their rifles.

HELL BENT FOR LEATHER

“Sir? Am I having a substance dream or are those humans riding Gierophants into the Slentine ranks in a stampede while singing what sounds like a human battle song?” A young warrior asked in disbelief as the battle field seemed to come to a stop. The pause didn’t last long as the slentine soldiers quickly turned their weapons on the stampede of human madness and animal rage.

WISHING MY GIRL WAS BY MY SIIIDEEE!

“You are most definitely seeing this pup, the crazy humans went and did the impossible again…WARRIORS OF CANTRAXA!” Krillna called out to the stunned warriors behind him, filled with a renewed hope for victory.

“DRAW YOUR BLADES AND RELOAD YOUR WEAPONS, THE HUMANS HAVE GIVEN US THIS CHANCE AND BY THE FIRE PLAINS OF OUR HOME WORLD I WILL NOT STAND BY AND MAKE NOTHING OF IT!” Holding his blade high above his head the Pack-Master let loose the battle cry of his ancestors with such ferocity that it seemed to ring from the very heavens, turned from his comrades and ran face first into the chaos of the newly evened battle.

ALL THE THINGS IM MISSIN’

Three hardened battle packs of Cantraxa warriors, thought to be beaten down by sheer numbers and attrition, thought to be defeated and simply too stupid to understand… howled. Each and every one felt what the humans referred to as battle lust and with the feeling of fire singing in their veins each and every one reached deep into their souls and called the ancient war cries of times long past. GOOD VITTLES, LOVE AND KISSIN’

The humans sang on, swinging wildly from the sides of the Gierophants or hanging on with one hand and firing with the other, seemingly oblivious to the rounds of enemy’s fire flying past them. With every human felled the others seemed to sing louder. Krillna was in awe of these small hairless creatures as he ran towards the battle, they rode the great beasts of this world like they were born to it, they faced a horde of enemies without fear and sang their defiance in the face of death and defeat. ARE WAITING AT THE END OF MY RIIIIIIDEEEEE~

================================================

The battle was won, the slentine ranks had been broken in half by the stampede and when the front ranks turned to fire on the new threat they were drowned in an avalanche of fur and fang, bullet and bone from the Cantraxa warriors.

The humans had run over and shot down much of the enemy, the field had been churned to a bloody mud pit of broken bodies and weapons, the Gierophants were long gone by then, the humans had dismounted and returned to base.

Krillna watched in curious amazement as the humans went about their post battle chores.

Groups of humans combing the battlefield for survivors, pulling bodies from the muck and determining if they could be saved or not. Slentine and Cantraxian alike were given final honors or medical aid…mere hours before these small hairless maniacs were riding juggernauts of death into battle while singing and laughing and now, they were providing aid and respect to not only their comrades but the enemy as well.

Amazing graaaceee

A hauntingly sad and seemingly profound song floated like fog over the battle field from somewhere among the humans.

How sweet the sound

Funeral pyres and graves were dug according to cultural wishes, wounded were cared for regardless of species or alignment in the war. Bodies counted and tears were shed that day and as the last sun in the sky fell below the horizon, Krillna found himself surrounded by his warriors and humans.

Holding a strange liquid in his cup, the humans called it beer…or maybe stout?...Krillna looked to the leader of the humans as she stood upon a table laden with food and drink.

“Tonight, we celebrate our victory!” The humans cheered and the Cantraxans yipped and howled like pups.

 “Tonight, we mourn our glorious fallen!” With a silence that choked the very soul, every human raised their drink to the memory of those they had lost and drank deeply. Krillna and his warriors all mimicked the humans in their silence and honors.

 “Tonight…we honor our worthy enemies.” The commander of the humans raised her cup one last time and as one all the humans followed. Krillna could not see the reason behind the last one but was not about to comment on it while surrounded by humans.

Instruments were tuned and soon employed to their fullest extent as humans began dancing and singing, wagers were made, games were played and for a few moments Krillna could almost believe that they were simply back in his homeland celebrating the lunar convergence festival.

Spotting the human leader on the outskirts of the revelry Krillna silently approached the human as she slowly drank and watched those she had shed blood with. Stepping on a fallen can of some kind alerted the commander and as she whipped her head towards Krillna, he froze in place…the look in her eyes was not that of a celebration, but rather that of battle mad soldiers. Items within reach categorized as weapons, responses and plans ranging from peacefully violent to disturbingly chaotic flashed through her face in seconds. Her grip on the cup she held and the tensing of her muscles told Krillna that she had to stop herself from launching the cup at his face.

Raising his clawed hands in a sign of peace Krillna approached the commander slowly. As he approached the tiny human, no more than five feet tall, Krillna noticed tears leaking from her eyes in a steady stream cutting tracks through the remaining dirt and grime upon her cheeks. Hands shaking the commander raised the nearly impromptu projectile to her mouth and took a steadying sip before addressing the large warrior.

“What can I do for you Pack-Master?” Asked the commander as she turned her eyes back to the celebration before her.

“You do not celebrate victory like the others? Why do you spill tears so freely War Mother?” Krillna asked, using the honorific of the greatest female warriors of his people.

“I uh…it just takes a little time for me to wind down from battle and get into the spirit of things, eventually I’ll head out and show these youngsters how to really party but for now I will just have to deal with the aftermath of the adrenalin.” The commander said with a small shake to her voice.

“I have heard of this adrenalin, most species would simply die if exposed to it but you humans produce it naturally?” The Pack-Master asked.

“Yes, our bodies naturally produce it and well…it dissipates quicker for some and for others it sticks around longer. Battle madness, bloodlust, berserker rage and more are just different names of the same thing, active or excess adrenalin…our minds are changed and muscles freed of restraints while under its influence but afterwards we have to put the beast back in the cage and deal with the mess it made, physically, mentally and spiritually.” The commander responded with a look in her eyes that said she was looking deep into the past.

“How did you humans tame the Gierophants? It was previously thought impossible to even safely approach them never mind ride them or direct them.” Krillna asked in an attempt to steer the conversation away from the maudlin thoughts the commander seemed to be sinking into.

With an almost visible brightening of her features the commander looked up at Krillna.

“We didn’t actually tame them, we were trying to find either a good escape route to get everyone out or possibly a way to ambush the Slentine army, make them fight on two fronts as it were. We ran across the herd of Gierophants by accident and sort of came up with the plan on the spot, we figured if they started to stampede in our direction the base would be destroyed but if they went just little to the side they would hit our enemies. Jackson over there used to be what we call a ‘Cowboy’ and said if you can point a bull’s nose in one direction the body would follow, so we made some lassos and climbing rigs and well, the rest is history.” The commander finished with a small shrug and a decidedly less shaky sip of her drink.

 Krillna was almost to shocked to breath.

“You found a herd of the planet’s largest and most dangerous animal, decided to irritate them into charging you with the enemy directly behind, hoping that they would run over said enemy and while they did that you threw ropes on them so you could climb onto them and ride them…you humans are insane.” with a shake of his great furred head Krillna could only thank the seven skies that these lunatics were on their side.

With a laugh the commander tipped the last of her drink back and wrapped her hand around one of his fingers, his hand being large enough to completely encompass her own, and began to pull him towards the firelight of the bonfires, a mischievous light in her eyes and a smile that spoke of wicked delights to come on her lips.

“Oh you haven’t even begun to see the madness of humanity, come and we shall sing you songs of our people.” The commander laughed as the crowd enveloped them, music wound through the air like smoke, soldiers and warriors alike danced and spun and Krillna could only laugh as he downed the rest of his drink and threw reservations to the wind with a final thought.

‘Humans are weird, but wonderful.

[adiradirim]

Karen Gerson Şarhon, editor in chief of El Amaneser ("The Dawn,") , a 32-page monthly Ladino supplement to Turkey’s weekly Jewish newspaper and the world’s only monthly Judeo-Spanish publication. El Amaneser is a project of the nonprofit she directs, the Sephardic Cultural Research Center, which acts as the hub of Istanbul’s Jewish community and a treasure trove of precious Ladino texts and translations. Included in these archives are recordings of native Ladino speakers preserved by the Center’s Ladino Database Project, and other undertakings such as the most comprehensive recordings and research of Maftirim, a musical tradition unique to the Turkish-Jewish community that emerged through interactions with Muslim Sufi orders in Edirne. Şarhon notes proudly that the center also has a variety of language-learning programs on its website, the only one on the internet with a Ladino language option. Şarhon grew up in a Ladino-speaking family in Istanbul, and her passion for the language intensified when she formed Los Pasharos Sefaradis (The Sephardic Birds), the first ensemble dedicated to researching and performing Sephardic music, in which she sang the old Ladino songs in the authentic style of her grandmothers. She went on to be a champion of Sephardic and Ladino cultural preservation. Read more about her accomplishments here.

“Ke mos biva esta lingua ermoza de muestros abuelos i el Dio ke mos de fuersa i enerjiya para luchar kontra su desaparision,” Karen Gerson Şarhon proclaims in Ladino. “Long live this beautiful language of our ancestors, and may God give us strength and energy to strive against its disappearance.”