Bleeder of the Pack


Happy International Women’s Day! Here’s to being a proud female, a fierce feminist, and a crafty creator! To all my fellow sisters of the revolution, you’re fucking beautiful!|

Treat yourself or the lovely women in your life to an IWD gift from the PMS Mess Etsy Shop. Use the coupon code IWD2016 and get 20% off any purchase!

PMS banner

PMS Mess is my new Etsy Shop. There, you will find all the items that I produce by hand, sell with freebies, and ship with love!

Messy and magical items in the shop include:

Purple Myrtle Squeegy – my PMS Perzine

PMS cover 1 PMS issue 4 DSC02449 DSC03041

Fallopian Falafel – my compilation zine

Fallopian Falafel Fallopian Falafel Fallopian Falafel Fallopian Falafel

Alternative Jerusalem – a series of awesome postcards I designed

Draining1 Metal Proud1 Slut

Kickass care packages

PMS collection Care Package FF

All items come with freebies such as feminist zines or minizines or stickers or patches or my band’s CD!

Peace, love and feminist forever!


Slutwalk Jerusalem 2013


So I went to Slutwalk in Jerusalem this past Friday. It was hot and sunny and awesome, and I totally forgot to bring a water bottle. That was bad because after shouting a bunch of slogans and walking around for an hour in the sweltering scorching sun, your throat turns into the Sinai desert.

But the rest was cool. There were great people, lots of male support, which was incredible, and there was even this one woman wearing modest clothes, which was even more amazing because of the diversity displayed.

The only thing that kind of bothered me (and that’s the same thing that bothers me in any feminist initiative in Israel) is how left-wing the crowd was. I understand that feminism is a left-wing movement, but in Israel, it always comes loaded with pro-Palestinian, sometimes even anti-Zionist overtones and rhetoric. I tried my best to avoid that and focused on the purely feminist aspects.

I wore my t-shirt with the slogan “Think Outside the Cocks” surrounded by a square of dicks. And my friend Deb wore one that says “I ❤ female orgasm”. Both of us got some really nice compliments about these and some people took pictures of our t-shirts.

Here are the pics:


Note the tall guy with the heels!

Note the tall guy with the heels!







A photo by Guy Butavia. In this one you can see the religious lady with the headscarf and modest attire.

A photo by Guy Butavia. In this one you can see the religious lady with the headscarf and modest attire.

Me and Deb and the shirts

Me and Deb and the shirts

Peace, love and consent

Humor Me


The other day, one of my (now former) Facebook friends posted a picture of a woman wearing something that exposed much of her body, squatting on the sidewalk, with the tagline, “Kicking a bitch is sometimes necessary for social order.”

At first, I tried to check if this person, being a guy for one reason, and being a dimwit for another, posted this picture and made this comment as a lameass joke. So I came across the comments, which were even more offensive, some of them reading “with her tits hanging out, that bitch had it coming.”

This isn’t the first time my newsfeed was contaminated by this guy’s sexist posts, so I finally defriended him.

I don’t exactly go around looking for public nudity, but being a sexually liberated feminist, I sure don’t have anything against it. But that’s besides the point. Even if the picture wasn’t there, I would still find this post utterly offensive. A woman wearing something provocative is a good enough reason for kicking her? Violence against women is necessary for society’s welfare? Are you serious or are you simply so intimidated by women’s sexuality that you need to wave your dick around and make such offensive statements to demean us? And if you are serious (then you must be more stupid than I thought) please explain how violence against women can benefit society?

This guy uses the word bitch as a synonym for woman on all his posts, so in this case, all women are bitches and all women deserve to be kicked. That includes me, all my girlfriends, all my female family members, 52% of the world’s population, and this guy’s mother.


And despite all the violence, abuse and humiliation that women suffer on a regular basis, and all the men who deliver these blows, women are still the ones who deserve to be kicked.

Even if it was this guy’s idea of a joke, it’s gotta be the worst joke on the planet. You do not joke about rape, you do not joke about abuse, and you do not joke about violence against women.

So forewarning to all my current Facebook friends, if you’re gonna post anything that condones and encourages violence against women, especially while using women’s choice of clothing as a reasonable excuse for this violence, kindly fuck off from my list of friends. You are stupid and pathetic and in desperate need of feminism in your life. You say a feminist has no sense of humor? Is it any wonder that when sexist jokes are all I have to laugh at, I kind of lose faith in your so-called sense of humor?

Fuck you. I’ll be at Slutwalk if you need me.

Peace, love and kicking sexist assholes is always necessary for social order.

Not Funny


Yesterday, a couple of women came over to see the offices we have for rent. One of them was rather on the curvy side and when my boss introduced me, all she could think of saying was “You’re so skinny, it’s so unfair!”

When I responded that it’s not exactly my fault with an offended tone, my boss says “Don’t worry, she was just joking.”

My boss then proceeded to walking them around the office. As they were walking away, I hear the plump lady saying “OK, so the reception is where Hadass the Skinny works.”

When they came back to the reception area, the same woman turns to me again and says “Tell me, do you ever eat anything?”

I got offended yet again, so I went on the defensive and reiterated the fact that I’m not responsible for the way I look. “It’s genetics,” I said. “My mom is like that too.”

Then, the woman responded with an even more offensive statement: “Such chutzpa!” Chutzpa in Hebrew generally means arrogance or disrespect. “Such chutzpa that you have good genes and I have shitty genes!”

This time, I knew that if I responded with how I actually felt, which was not only offence but humiliation, my boss would again dismiss me by saying she was only joking.

Yeah, a joke, sure. My sides are splitting.

So I boiled within, and was almost on the verge of tears.

I wonder how it is that some people can say such horrible things, such insulting and hurtful things, and then make them sound ok by adding “I’m just joking.”

Some members of my family have picked up the habit of telling the younger family members that they’re ugly, when they actually mean that they’re the cutest thing on the face of the earth.

My older cousins keep talking this way to the four or five-year-olds in my family:

“What an ugly face!” They say, and then throw a fit of laughter. The little ones take it lightly as well, and laugh along with everyone else.

So maybe I’m kinda touchy on that subject, but what I do know is that if I ever have a child one day, I would never let a comment like that pass. Nobody will call my child “ugly” and get away with it. Especially if my child is a girl, because growing up, she will no doubt have enough body issues drilled into her mind without having to deal with family members calling her ugly, even as a joke. In fact, being bombarded with so much beauty propaganda from society and the media, my future daughter will actually benefit from a kind word from her family.

“You’re so beautiful!” Doesn’t that sound so much better?

When I was little, my family used to make fun of me because I had a lisp. They thought it was cute and imitated me whenever I said something with a lisp. I was obviously offended by that and as a result spent hours in my room practicing talking without a lisp.

I lost my baby fat and my skinny genes kicked in at a very early age, so my family also used offensive language when they commented on my weight.

I never got over it, as proven by my reaction to the curvy woman’s comment. And I never will get over it. Joking about my appearance and saying I’m arrogant and disrespectful because I happen to be born this way is totally inappropriate.

And no, I’m not joking about that.

Peace, love and beautiful words go a long way.

I <3 Bloody Fashion


Bust Magazine is amazing. I signed up to their mailing list a few years ago and I am still not tired of it. Every once in a while, they send an email with excerpts from their latest issue, or an ad for another Craftacular art fair to take place in the States. Back when I was writing Fallopian Falafel, they provided me with great story ideas or topics of debate for readers.

Today, I received an email featuring gift ideas for V-Day.

Living in Israel I don’t really celebrate Valentine’s Day. But V-Day is also the day to end violence against women. So that, I do celebrate. So I checked out the gift ideas, not really expecting to find anything that will tickle my fancy.

But I did!

One of the featured items was period panties from the online shop Broken Cherry. Now, so far, I’ve only been using cloth pads but always wanted to try out period panties. And the panties I found are not only special because they’re made especially for bloody days, but they are designed with cool motifs and lines.

I browsed through them and saw three that I liked and couldn’t decide which one to get, so I bought myself all three! They’re $7 a pop, and shipping to Israel was a fortune, but it’s so worth it!

Here is what ended up in my cart!

Bleeder of the Pack



Dawn of the Red

dawn1 dawn2


Best ever: Cunt Dracula



Peace, love and Red, Blood, Fire, Burn!



I’ve made an amazing discovery! Food looks much more appealing and tastes a hell of a lot better when I’m PMS’ing.

I thought this only happens when you’re high, but the feeling seems stronger when your hormones are raging.

When I’m under the influence, I eat like a pig, but at some point, I actually feel full and can stop myself. But during PMS, I can eat forever.

Also, on a regular day, there are things I wouldn’t touch with a 10-foot pole. But on PMS, suddenly I’m craving it like mad.

For those who know me, you know I’m not a big fan of food in general. I don’t like to eat due to the end result on the toilet. But I become an appetite-driven hormonal beast when my menstrual tide turns. I can wake up in the early morning and crave a 400 gs. chicken sandwich with tomato, lettuce, fried onion, and sweet chili sauce from Burgers Bar, and I want it yesterday.

Or sometimes, I can walk by the downtown restaurants and want everything they have on their menu, and then I pass by a depanneur and feel like raiding their chips and chocolate aisles, as well as their ice-cream containers.

And Goddess forbid if I see someone eating something. I moan out loud and head for the nearest falafel joint and stuff my face.

Last evening, my boyfriend’s family ordered in for a change. Chicken pieces, falafel, French fries, salads, humus and pitas galore swamped the dining room table. Inner child, running on a fresh overload of estrogen, was ecstatic. I hoovered a bit more than I usually do, but not before eating the leftover caramel and chocolate bar in the fridge.

Today, things are starting to die down, but I still feel like a little hormone rat. I WANT COOKIES!

Peace, love and pea soup

Thirty Riots. One Grrrl.


As I am about to turn 30 (in less than three weeks), I am trying to assess what I’ve accomplished and what I strive to accomplish later on. Most of these accomplishments and prospective goals have to do with feminism and my activism in riot grrrl.

If I stop my activism now, when I grow old and my grandchildren ask me what DIY riot grrrl things I’ve done in my lifetime, I can say: “I wrote zines, I wrote letters to other riot grrrls around the world, I was in a riot grrrl band, I attended some riot grrrl gigs, I drew, painted, did some photography, sculpture, sewing, modified clothes a bit, designed logos and flyers, inked the spirit on my skin, joined grrrlVIRUS, participated in feminist rallies and protests representing the movement, and organized a charity event to benefit the Jerusalem Rape Crisis Center.”

Aside from that, I constantly try to think within a riot grrrl frame of mind. Activism is not worth a thing if you’re saying or thinking things that oppose what you try to represent and fight for. That includes making a conscious decision to not laugh at sexist or homophobic jokes, avoid judging other women or girls and their choices, and in fact encouraging them and supporting them in their choices, not participating in conversations that are offensive to women, and attempting to offer rebuttals in defense of women whenever possible.

This is actually much harder to do because it involves changing yourself, changing the way you see yourself in society, and breaking out of the sexist and chauvinistic social standards and internalized inferiority as a woman in this society. These are things I still struggle with, and one of the things I wish to achieve in the near future.

I also wish to write more songs, get a couple more tattoos, try to sell all the things in the Crafts for a Cause shop, and find more riot grrrl shows in Israel. Also, I recently passed by an office supplies store, and since the New Jewish Year is right around the corner, they got a fresh new supply of agendas and diaries, I almost got lost there. I want a notebook or something and hope to start writing a diary again, instead of just a blog.

I was also considering spending more time with my grrrlfriends, but their schedules are crazier than mine. Somehow we never manage to find a time that works out for us, and the prospect of a meeting retreats to the bottom of our priorities list. Maybe at one point, something will work out, but until then, I’ll stick to the things I can do solo.

More than anything, I’m scared that as I get older, apathy will take over. So my goal for post-30 activism is creating an atmosphere of inspiration for myself, being around people, places and objects that keep me riled up and ready to strike with yet another activist project. Feminist literature inspires me, the moon inspires me, my typewriter inspires me… And if I keep with this attitude, I will discover more sources of inspiration as I get older, and apathy will not stand a chance. 

Peace, love and Moked’s designed diaries.

PS – I added a new page called Mistress Distress. Check it out and turn up the volume!