October 2004

And Elisheva makes it 3-3
On the eve of the 6th of Cheshvan – October 20 – justice was finally seen, with the birth of Elisheva. The Isaacs boys, who got off to a 3-0 lead with Ari (16), Elon (14) and Naphtali (12), suffered a late equalizer from Elisheva (11 days) following two earlier second half “goals” from Orly (almost 10) and Abigail (almost 3). Orly’s joy at having a new baby is at least trebled by Elisheva being a girl. So, after more than 16 years, the Isaacs family is evenly composed of 3 boys and 3 girls. Equality, balance, harmony, B”H. (In that case, why is the house so blooming noisy all the time?)

Elisheva is a lovely and, so far, a very good baby. Most of you already received the picture Judy emailed a few days ago. Elisheva doesn’t have all that much to say for herself yet, but with the current frequency of newsletters, no doubt the next missive will tell all about her boyfriends.

Beach Bochurim
“Beach Bochurim” are those who split their time between beach and Bet Midrash; between school and sand; between ספר and surfer. My boys started surfing this summer and, it transpires, it ain’t easy. But with perseverance the boys are gradually learning to ride the waves, especially Elon for whom minor factors such as torrential rain, biting cold and flat seas cannot douse his determination to get into the water.

During a recent interview for a yeshiva high school, the hoary-headed rosh yeshiva enquired of Elon about his pastimes. Honest as always, Elon answered “surfing”. Judging from the Rosh Yeshiva’s reaction – the accurate medical description is “hyperventilation” – this was not the expected response from a yeshiva high school hopeful. Attribute it to Elon’s courage or honesty or the school’s integrity as you will, but Elon was accepted.

Grainarianism (sic)
Two years ago, I became a lacto-something or other vegetarian (meat, fish, bad; eggs, milk, good). For two years I have been ceaselessly and heartlessly mocked, derided and ridiculed by my family, at every opportunity and frequently in public for being a veggie. Then, four months ago, Ari too became vegetarian.

Ari loves (loved) meat. He dined on schnitzels twice a day and thrice on Shabbat. His greatest joy was barbecuing. But Ari is a man of principle. After a school-friend vegetarian evangelist dragged Ari (philosophically speaking) to the moral conclusion that animals should not die for him to eat he turned his back on his favourite food – you gotta respect him for that.

As with so many other projects, vegetarianism ignited Ari’s imagination. After a brief primer on the food pyramid, full proteins, simple and complex carbohydrates etc. Ari launched into shopping and cooking frenzies to prepare protein-packed high-fibre dishes based on appropriate balances of grains, lentils and pulses. Our fridge and pantry filled up with wheat, buckwheat, lentils, beans (of all shapes and descriptions), wheat germ, barley, oats, spelt, burgle, genoa, amaranth and more. (BTW, you can feed a family of 6 for 4 NIS on these grains). Most of the grains are naturally tasteless; Ari gets a kick out of experimenting with spices to make them palatable as well as healthy. He’s in the midst or a rather original “maple syrup and Indian spice” phase right now. You won’t find these recipes in the literature, but Ari was never one to live by other people’s books.

One interesting point to note. Ari’s enthusiasm for vegetarian cuisine stops with grains. He is, I am sure, the first and only vegetarian who never ever eats vegetables. Perhaps we should call him a grainarian.

The selfishness of the long distance runner
Until recently, I considered myself a reasonably decent sort of guy, moderately laid back, easy-going for the most part, honest (when there was no reason not to be), and generally nice. All this has changed. Now I know selfishness and deceit. I have ridden roughshod over others with no care, concern or compunction. You see, I need to run. I just have to run. I just have to.

Here’s the deceit. When I leave for what is supposed to be a half hour jog, I invariably “lose track of time” and return only an hour later (“Goodness. Is that the time?”; “Sorry, dear, I think my watch must have stopped”; “Silly me. I was looking at the stopwatch thinking that was the real time”). I spend my runs thinking up good excuses for coming back late. If I arrive late home from work, it’s always because of the unexpected traffic, and never because of the 45-minute sprint on the treadmill that I slipped in between locking my office and entering the car.

Judy claims I’ve become addicted - to the endorphins released by the brain after extended periods of exercise. These same endorphins are released, so I am told, by marijuana. Maybe I am addicted. I don’t know. Bit if I don’t get a good long run every couple of days, I become irritable and argumentative (normally I am sweet and submissive). Pretty soon Judy kicks me out the house: “Go run for an hour and come back a mensch!”

I try not to take my irritability out on the children, and they leave me alone so long as I don’t tell them to do homework, don’t send them to bed and let them eat as many burekas and toasted cheese sandwiches as they like. That’s a good deal for me. Let them grow fat, fail in school, never sleep. Who cares? Just so long as I get my run.

“Life begins at …” Birthdays
Judy and I have both hit 40 (it’s been a long time since the previous newsletter). Judy made me an unforgettable sumptuous surprise 40th birthday to which she invited, after months of scheming behind my back, almost every relation and friend I have in Israel. Having entered our fifth decades, the adage “life begins at 40” remains a mystery. I suspect it’s one of those meaningless phrases that catches on for no real reason (like “Peace Now”), or maybe I’m just a late developer.


Lots of love

Michael, Judy,
Ari, Elon, Naphtali, Orly, Abigail – and for the first time - Elisheva
Isaacs