Let’s do this backwards.
I missed the news on the car radio. Why? Because at 3pm I was in the middle of an interesting conversation with Elon that I did not want to interrupt. So I said to myself, “What the heck! I’ll hear the news at 4pm”. But by 4pm, I was already home. Why? Because on our way back from Tiberias we took Route 6. What used to be a tiresome 2.5-hour journey between Elkana and Tiberias is now a 1 hour 40 minute drive - with traffic - and just 1 hour 25 minutes (if you don’t necessarily stick to the speed limit the whole way) when you leave Elkana at 5.22am - as we had done this morning despite torrential rainfall that threatened to ruin our day.
Elon and I had been discussing the National Park of Hamat in Tiberias. You see, since the roads in Tiberias had been closed we couldn’t leave. With a couple of hours to kill, we easily sauntered the 3kms from the Tiberias Sheraton Crown Plaza Hotel to the Hamat national park to visit the remains of the ancient village and fortress, tour the ancient synagogues from the Roman and Byzantine periods and admire the very impressive, if Hellenistic, floor mosaic. Interesting as this was, the highlight of this visit was undoubtedly the soothing effect on our aching feet of the scalding hot sulphurous spring water channeled through the Park.
Although Elon and I crossed the finishing line of the “Tresarion” - a 12 km fun run along the banks of Lake Kinneret - in the very respectable time of 1hour, 3 minutes and 45 seconds, our position was slightly less respectable - joint 506th. Nevertheless, history was made. You see, Elon, at 13.5, was the youngest participant in this run by two years. And since the minimum age for participating is officially 15 (Elon received special permission to run this year), he may well be the youngest participant ever. Click this link to see a picture of us running side by side (Elon is just visible behind the old guy with the red shirt).
Our strongest challenge in the run was not the distance (12 kms is an afternoon stroll for me and Elon), nor the clock (we can’t compete with people who run a kilometer in 3 minutes) but the weather. It poured cats and dogs for the 48 hours preceding the run. We davened shacharit outside the hotel bedecked in hats and coats to protect our tefillin from the rain and prepared plastic bin bag coats to keep us dry while waiting for the starter’s gun. In the end, running conditions were near perfect - cold, and dry most of the way.
For the fun-run, the Olympic lie holds true - it’s not about winning, it’s about participating. It’s a carnival. Over 900 runners started the “Dozenathon” (suddenly joint 521st doesn’t sound so bad) and over 400 completed the full 42.4 km marathon. Hundreds packed into the foyer of the Plaza hotel, where sports vendors hawked their wares - power drinks, energy bars, protein-packed yogurts, shirts and shorts that make you whizz and shoes that make you fly. Before the marathon a school of physiotherapists gave hundreds of runners a 3-minute full-body massage - 4 masseurs at a time. The starting line is like a Bnei Akiva reunion with seasoned competitors bumping into old friends and foes, exchanging performances like football card dealers and promising great records today.
The runners come in all shapes and sizes. As you would expect, many are lanky and spindly, but there were also a few unexpected less shapely ones including a woman in her 70’s who propped herself up through the 12 km course with a walking stick. Another participant could only be described as obese; and my favourite character - an 80 year old man who gave up marathons 6 or 7 years ago but still does the “short” courses just for the fun.
After completing the 12 kms, Elon and I watched the real marathon runners as they reached the end. Many of the early finishers looked like they could easily handle another 42.2kms; others were propelled along only by willpower, physically broken, barely able to walk, hobbling painfully through the last several kilometers. It is a humbling sight. At that point, being young and healthy, but running just 12 kms seemed like cheating.
The next milestone is a half marathon (21.1kms). But I have a spell of reserve duty coming up which will destroy my training schedule and diet, and I think medical advice is against 13.5 year olds running that far. So maybe we’ll get there, and maybe we won’t. (Or more likely, my knees will pack in on me before).
My son the King
Actually, Ari (15) has the title of “Monarch” which is a sex-less Politically Correct compromise between King and Queen, but “My son the Monarch” doesn’t have the same ring as “My son the King”. In Utopia - the Internet game that Ari is addicted to, as detailed in our previous newsletter - the position of Monarch is not hereditary, but democratically elected. After the previous Monarch retired, the 20 or so citizens of his realm unanimously chose Ari as their Monarch. I have no idea what his responsibilities include and what methods of checks and balances are in place in his dominion, but I do know that recently his kingdom came under vicious attack and suffered some severe losses. So the young king still has much to learn, although I am informed that the Kingdom is growing again. The light is visible at the end of the tunnel, the economy is just about to turn the corner and all election promises I am assured, will be met.
It’s all about “dough” - some have fun with it, others have to work for it
Abigail (2) is now at that delicious age of transition from babbling to speech. Her sentences are mixed but her meaning is clear. Her brothers and sister still dote on her and she on them. I hope nothing changes there for the next several decades.
Her current joy is “batsek” which is the Hebrew for playdough. For some reason that still befuddles me despite my linguistic training, Abigail insists on pronouncing the ten or so words she knows in Hebrew with the emphasis on the first syllable (מלעיל). Thus we have BAtsek, instead of batsEK. Anyway, playdough is a wonderful toy for children and a nightmare for parents. After she has her fun, Mum and Dad spend hours trying to re-divide the playdough back into its original colours. It’s a Sysiphian task. Despite our heroic efforts, within a few short days, the original six-pack of distinct bright primary colours are mixed into an autumnal greyish-brown.
Email, the second generation
Naphtali (11) is finishing off Junior school this year and will probably join Ari next year in the religious technology school in Kfar Batya in Raanana. Naphtali, together with Elon and Orly has discovered email. All the children love sending and receiving it. So add their addresses to your personal directories and feel free to send them silly pictures and things.
Orly: Orlyi9@walla.co.il
Naphtalti: fafai@walla.co.il
Elon: elony@walla.co.il
Ari: ariisaacs@hotmail.com
Orly (9) is just fine and sends her love. I would write some more about her, but she’s busy watching TV, playing on the computer, counting her emails, and doing “chugim” in dancing and art, so she doesn’t have time to talk right now. She did pass on the message that she’ll be available to tell me what she’s up to, in a couple of years or so, if nothing special crops up between now and then.
That’s about it for now, from me. Sorry for taking up so much of your time.
Lots of love from all the Elkana Isaacs
Judy, Michael, Ari, Elon, Naphtali, Orly and Abigail
No comments:
Post a Comment