September 2006

What a perfect opportunity to wish you all a wonderful New Year and a joyful Succot. (I'm skipping the asking for forgiveness bit. I missed Yom Kippur for this year; maybe next year).

How often are you asked "ma chadash?" and respond invariably with a non-committal meaningless "beseder". In this newsletter, we'll make "beseder" into a mini soap telenovella of drama and suspense. Best news of the last two months was of course Alick's safe return – in body and in soul – from Lebanon. Next best news was Orli's batmitzva celebration, which was great fun.

The difference between "R" and "T"
For three barmitzvas I felt no guilt (though much gratitude) that Judy prepared everything herself since, hour for hour, I and the barmitzva boys invested our fair share in learning the leyning and divrei torah to justify getting off Scot (spelling?) free with other barmitzva chores. Orli is not a feminist when it comes to leyning (most girls aren't). So, for her batmitzva, with no leyning to prepare, it would only have been fair and just for me to split the work 50-50 with Judy. However, I conveniently forgot /overlooked/purposely ignored this minor difference between the previous 3 "Bars" and the current "Bat" mitzvah and basically left everything to Judy, while I watched TV and scratched my chest.

Judy did everything. She chose the venue – a most exquisite garden, near Elkana. (We've booked it again, for Abigail in October 2014, weather permitting). She chose the clothes (all the girls were dressed in pink, surprise surprise). She designed and built the invitations herself, just for the fun of it. She printed out newsletter cuttings about Orli. She found the musician, the caterer, the photographer, the benschers. It was her idea to buy confectionary and have our guests wrap it up as Rosh Hashana gifts for injured soldiers, and her idea to choreograph the memorable patented Isaacs family Batmitzva dance. So, thank you, my wonderful Judy, for organizing a fun batmitzva, from Michael, the lazy, lousy lay-about, with the well-scratched chest.

A word about a thousand pictures
Since going digital, photographers don't count numbers. My barmitzva album has 15 photographs in it, all posed, all selected by the photographer. Bruno our French paparacci supplied us with a DVD brimming with nigh on 500 gorgeous spontaneous batmitzva snapshots and placed the burden of choosing the top 200 squarely on our rounded shoulders.

As you all know, there is no such thing as a perfect photograph. There's always someone looking the wrong way, someone with fiery red eyes, someone with an artificial smile, someone frozen in frame changing gear in speech, with a facial expression reminiscent of a chortling camel. Or - and this is a family favourite - the photo is shot from an angle that captures my protruding ears or Judy's big nose.

So Judy and I spent a pleasant but very long evening sifting through near-identical near-perfect photos to choose the best. Should we prefer the family group with Elon's vacant expression or the one in which Naphtali's hair is pronouncedly unbrushed? I felt like a judge on Miss World who has to pick "The One" out of 200 stunningly beautiful dream-girls, discarding one with a freckle and another with a droopy earlobe.

Happy Birthday Four You
Four of our offspring were born within three weeks, between October 20 and November 10 (למנינם); not, I should point out, in the same year. Our children get the best deal – four birthday parties a year. You see, first of all, we celebrate their Jewish birthdays. But we can't ignore their secular birthday, so we have a little family-only thing for that, because to be honest, for our sins (and I mention this with worrying proximity to Yom Kippur), we remember their secular birthdays a lot better than their Jewish ones. In addition, we have a quaint tradition with two neighbouring families from Elkana that on the Friday night preceding any of the children's birthdays we gather together for "Afters" and a birthday cake. That's three parties already. And just in case the children feel neglected, Barbara always likes to take us out for a special birthday treat. At least this somewhat tiresome process fulfils one of Judy's parenting epithets – "Give them a good childhood". Hope it's a replacement or counter-weight to bad parenting.

Ari, eat your heart out
Faithful readers will recall that Ari turned vegetarian a few years ago. Well, the worm turned. The week he started his new pre-army academy, he asked some friends to force-feed him some chicken, and, ever since, he's been chomping his way through meat, steak, lamb, schnitzel and anything else that used to move. So once again I am the sole veggie in the family, the sole target for ridicule. Many fathers suffer disappointments with their children. I never knew it could happen over eating habits.

Elon and the age of mobility
Elon, as I mentioned last time, is attending a new school and is very very happy, making, as is his way, fast friends fast. His cellular rings all day and night and a journey from school in Netanya home often involves stop-off points in Raanana, Kfar Saba or Rosh Ha-Ayin to meet up with friends. Walk the streets of any town in Israel and Elon will bump into a friend. (Not that I suggest you take up street-walking.)

Naphtali – Drumming the truth out of Daddy
Naphtali got his wish – a full drum set in his bedroom. Reluctantly, I have to confess that his drumming isn't nearly as bad as I expected. It's not exactly Mozart, but it is regular and rhythmical, and so long as his door is closed, deci-bearable. I am amazed at his coordination. His two arms and two legs work in different directions and at different rates, keeping metronomic time. Yet another son outdoes his father with a hands-on feat.

I'm skipping Orli. She got front page coverage with her batmitzva.

Abigail, bless her, continues to bring us nachas. She's a real sweetie pie – loving, affectionate and once in a while, briefly beroygez. She draws, sings, dances. She is a wonderful baby-sitter for Elisheva and the only payment she asks for is a hug.

Elisheva is like a clockwork bunny that never runs down. Since Elon, we have not had a child so mischievous or restless. I could fill pages with her antics, but by now your attention span and my lunch-break have been stretched. As an aggregate, just believe me that she has torn more pages out of books, poured more water on the floor, toppled more yoghurts and brought in more mud from the garden than her three predecessors (Napthali, Orli and Abigail).


Would love to hear from all you too. Please forward this newsletter to other family and friends if you think they might be interested and see they're not on the distribution list.

Hag Sameach to you all.

Judy, Michael, Ari, Elon, Naphtali, Orli, Abigail, Elisheva Isaacs
Elkana