Tuesday, August 25, 2009
August 2009
Visionaries and thought leaders of the telecommunications industry warn that companies that do not innovate will stagnate. The result is a hectic drive to change, which constantly forces us out of our comfort zone and challenges us to learn, experiment and dare – creating a state of mind of inescapable uncertainty and instability. Coupled with geo-political concerns – the Korean threat, Islamic extremism, emergent anti-Semitism – and the daily trials of health and happiness of loved ones, we seek refuge in the constancy of things rock solid that have stood the test of ages, and that are not rendered obsolete by ubiquitous mobile broadband, Facebook, Twitter or the iPhone. And where is this island of refuge to be found? In our faith, and in our summer holiday camping trips at Hurshat Tal.
Hurshat Tal is tranquility.
Now our concept of tranquility is not exactly everyone’s cup of Earl Grey – sleeping in tents, no fridge, air-conditioning or lights, public showers and toilets, and five children (Ari was is in the army). But we wouldn’t swap our annual week in a tent for the presidential suite at the Hilton, or our barbecued sausages for the finest banquet - although if there is any chocolate mousse, I would like some, if I may.
Now to the children.
Ari’s Army (21)
Ari is still in officer’s course. I say “still” advisedly since his position there is precarious. Among Ari’s many gifts, which include a superior intellect and good looks, is the Scottish virtue of straight-talking. He is a say-what-you-think kind of guy. This is not a quality revered in the military which educates to “Yes Sir, No Sir, Three bags full Sir”. Ari amusedly informed us that he had recently shared with his commanding officer some concerns regarding his leadership (Ari’s actual words were something more along the lines of “you’re an idiot”).
Elon (19)
Elon returned today to his mechina after a relaxing summer of outings, surfing and borrowing Daddy’s car. The last year has been good for Elon. In mechina he has mellowed, and found new avenues for spiritual growth through studying the works of Hasidism, Rabbi Kook and the intellectual intricacies of tennis, basketball and ping pong, all of which prepare him well for his military service starting in March 2010. This leaves Elon six more months to further develop his long curly blond hair, which has already grown well past his shoulders, before merciless military barbers return him to a short back and sides.
Naphtali (16)
Naphtali is learning to drive. As I have reported in the past, Naphtali is the family handyman. He fixes things. He knows all the tricks on mobile phones. He re-programmed a broken TV remote control. So for him driving is easy peasy. It’s a given that he will be the youngest to qualify, the best driver in the family, and probably the first to break the family jinx and pass his test first time.
The sons of Akiva and the sons of the sons of Akiva
Naphtali was madrich (counselor) at Bnei Akiva camp this summer. The kids all love him. After he shared his philosophy with me, I understood why. On the very first day he set down the ground rules firm and clear. “I don’t care if you skive off trips. If you want to leave the camp, go. Don’t even tell me. Just enjoy yourselves”. The kids enjoyed camp and Naphtali took it easy. Sounds like a win-win situation to me.
Naphtali belongs to Glasgow
Naphtali’s Scottish roots were exposed recently. From time to time he gets together with his friend Ariel late on Friday nights for a harmless beer or two. At a shiur (lesson) I gave to the youth of our synagogue a couple of weeks ago - which Ariel attended - on the topic of restrictions preceding the fast of the Ninth of Av, I jovially noted that although drinking wine was forbidden, fortunately for Naphtali and Ariel, drinking beer was permitted. Well, the news that Naphtali and Ariel indulge in a tipple spread like wildfire among Elkana youth. Naphtali was more amused than annoyed. I guess the story bolstered his teenage manhood.
Orli (14) and her not-so-secret admirer
A friend came up to me after shul (synagogue) a few weeks ago and told me with great hilarity of his son’s interest in Orli. The young gentleman in question – whom I can assure you is from an excellent family – never actually confessed that he had “taken a shine” to Orli – I was told – it is just that for several weeks at Friday night supper he just happens to comment “Did you see Orli in shul? Wasn’t she dressed nicely? Didn’t she look good? Doesn’t she have a nice smile? Isn’t she the prettiest of all the girls?”. I found my friend’s hilarity inappropriate. I was impressed with his son’s discerning eye and excellent judgment of character, since from my (entirely objective) view point, Orli is indeed the local belle – plain and simple fact.
I immediately transmitted to Orli the honourable intentions of her suitor, in the most discrete manner possible i.e. in front of the whole family at Friday night supper. She found the compliments embarrassing rather than flattering. Apparently, the boy’s interest in Orli is far from new news. He made the beginner’s mistake of opening his heart - in strictest confidence - to a close and reliable friend. I don’t know what happened next, but one of Orli’s friends published the story on facebook – so now the whole world knows. Sadly his love is not returned. Orli is growing up so quick. Only 14 and already breaking hearts.
Abigail (7) and Elisheva (4)
It’s tricky to separate Abigail and Elisheva in family news. These two do so much together. Most days this summer, Judy took them, and any other children lolling around the house, for a swim to the beach or to Boobie Barbara’s pool. During our recent camping trip, Abigail asked if we could stay for another week at Hurshat Tal. Elisheva suggested we just move in permanently.
The rest of the lazy summer days the girls split between computer, TV, friends and playing. On TV they love Sponge Bob and Avatar. When Avatar is on, Abigail calls me to watch. It’s great. The supply of computer games is endless. Every time I peak over their shoulders, another weird creature is leaping over and ducking baddies on a treacherous obstacle course.
Abigail is a second mother to Elisheva, or rather a second father. When I want to wash or comb Elisheva’s hair, or dress her, Elisheva frequently asks Abigail to do it instead, and Abigail always obliges. Shame this preference for Abigail didn’t surface when I was still changing soiled nappies.
The end of the school holidays is but a breath away, so I’m going to stop scribbling and go back to sunning myself. Wishing you all a happy and especially healthy New Year.
Michael, Judy, Ari, Elon, Naphtali, Orli, Abigail and Elisheva Isaacs, Elkana
Hurshat Tal is tranquility.
Now our concept of tranquility is not exactly everyone’s cup of Earl Grey – sleeping in tents, no fridge, air-conditioning or lights, public showers and toilets, and five children (Ari was is in the army). But we wouldn’t swap our annual week in a tent for the presidential suite at the Hilton, or our barbecued sausages for the finest banquet - although if there is any chocolate mousse, I would like some, if I may.
Now to the children.
Ari’s Army (21)
Ari is still in officer’s course. I say “still” advisedly since his position there is precarious. Among Ari’s many gifts, which include a superior intellect and good looks, is the Scottish virtue of straight-talking. He is a say-what-you-think kind of guy. This is not a quality revered in the military which educates to “Yes Sir, No Sir, Three bags full Sir”. Ari amusedly informed us that he had recently shared with his commanding officer some concerns regarding his leadership (Ari’s actual words were something more along the lines of “you’re an idiot”).
Elon (19)
Elon returned today to his mechina after a relaxing summer of outings, surfing and borrowing Daddy’s car. The last year has been good for Elon. In mechina he has mellowed, and found new avenues for spiritual growth through studying the works of Hasidism, Rabbi Kook and the intellectual intricacies of tennis, basketball and ping pong, all of which prepare him well for his military service starting in March 2010. This leaves Elon six more months to further develop his long curly blond hair, which has already grown well past his shoulders, before merciless military barbers return him to a short back and sides.
Naphtali (16)
Naphtali is learning to drive. As I have reported in the past, Naphtali is the family handyman. He fixes things. He knows all the tricks on mobile phones. He re-programmed a broken TV remote control. So for him driving is easy peasy. It’s a given that he will be the youngest to qualify, the best driver in the family, and probably the first to break the family jinx and pass his test first time.
The sons of Akiva and the sons of the sons of Akiva
Naphtali was madrich (counselor) at Bnei Akiva camp this summer. The kids all love him. After he shared his philosophy with me, I understood why. On the very first day he set down the ground rules firm and clear. “I don’t care if you skive off trips. If you want to leave the camp, go. Don’t even tell me. Just enjoy yourselves”. The kids enjoyed camp and Naphtali took it easy. Sounds like a win-win situation to me.
Naphtali belongs to Glasgow
Naphtali’s Scottish roots were exposed recently. From time to time he gets together with his friend Ariel late on Friday nights for a harmless beer or two. At a shiur (lesson) I gave to the youth of our synagogue a couple of weeks ago - which Ariel attended - on the topic of restrictions preceding the fast of the Ninth of Av, I jovially noted that although drinking wine was forbidden, fortunately for Naphtali and Ariel, drinking beer was permitted. Well, the news that Naphtali and Ariel indulge in a tipple spread like wildfire among Elkana youth. Naphtali was more amused than annoyed. I guess the story bolstered his teenage manhood.
Orli (14) and her not-so-secret admirer
A friend came up to me after shul (synagogue) a few weeks ago and told me with great hilarity of his son’s interest in Orli. The young gentleman in question – whom I can assure you is from an excellent family – never actually confessed that he had “taken a shine” to Orli – I was told – it is just that for several weeks at Friday night supper he just happens to comment “Did you see Orli in shul? Wasn’t she dressed nicely? Didn’t she look good? Doesn’t she have a nice smile? Isn’t she the prettiest of all the girls?”. I found my friend’s hilarity inappropriate. I was impressed with his son’s discerning eye and excellent judgment of character, since from my (entirely objective) view point, Orli is indeed the local belle – plain and simple fact.
I immediately transmitted to Orli the honourable intentions of her suitor, in the most discrete manner possible i.e. in front of the whole family at Friday night supper. She found the compliments embarrassing rather than flattering. Apparently, the boy’s interest in Orli is far from new news. He made the beginner’s mistake of opening his heart - in strictest confidence - to a close and reliable friend. I don’t know what happened next, but one of Orli’s friends published the story on facebook – so now the whole world knows. Sadly his love is not returned. Orli is growing up so quick. Only 14 and already breaking hearts.
Abigail (7) and Elisheva (4)
It’s tricky to separate Abigail and Elisheva in family news. These two do so much together. Most days this summer, Judy took them, and any other children lolling around the house, for a swim to the beach or to Boobie Barbara’s pool. During our recent camping trip, Abigail asked if we could stay for another week at Hurshat Tal. Elisheva suggested we just move in permanently.
The rest of the lazy summer days the girls split between computer, TV, friends and playing. On TV they love Sponge Bob and Avatar. When Avatar is on, Abigail calls me to watch. It’s great. The supply of computer games is endless. Every time I peak over their shoulders, another weird creature is leaping over and ducking baddies on a treacherous obstacle course.
Abigail is a second mother to Elisheva, or rather a second father. When I want to wash or comb Elisheva’s hair, or dress her, Elisheva frequently asks Abigail to do it instead, and Abigail always obliges. Shame this preference for Abigail didn’t surface when I was still changing soiled nappies.
The end of the school holidays is but a breath away, so I’m going to stop scribbling and go back to sunning myself. Wishing you all a happy and especially healthy New Year.
Michael, Judy, Ari, Elon, Naphtali, Orli, Abigail and Elisheva Isaacs, Elkana
Sunday, May 3, 2009
newsletter May 3, 2009
As we were taught in cheder, the Pesach (Passover) festival is blessed with four names: Passover; the Festival of Spring, the Festival of Freedom and the Festival of Matzot. I would like to propose another: the Festival of Juggling.
“Juggling?”. Yes, juggling. Because for five days of Hol Hamoed Pesach, over 1000 jugglers from around Israel converge on “Gan HaShelosha” (also known as the “Sachne”) for a juggling extravaganza. The festival is an around-the-clock school and theatre of jugglers which people who cannot juggle (Harry Potter would call them “Juggles”) can also attend.
The setting, the Sachne, is one of the most exquisite national parks in the country with natural deep pools stretching maybe for 300 metres, round-the-year warm water (26 degrees), children’s pools, toddlers’ pools, waterfalls, natural Jacuzzis, lawns and, for Elisheva, ice-cream shops.
Participants in the juggling festival all had to camp, which, as you know, is our “thing”. So we had it all–camping, swimming, barbecues and, to make the experience authentic, mosquitoes. Paradise.
The atmosphere at the juggling festival is reminiscent of the fairground from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Wherever you go, people are practising tricks. Some are highly-skilled, keeping aloft five, six or seven balls or pins or rings at a time, and juggling in pairs, threesomes and foursomes. There were those who specialized in juggling a “Diablo” (juggling hour-glass shaped bottles on a string), or rolling balls and hats on their hands and arms and backs and necks. Others did tricks with sticks, throwing, spinning and catching, sometimes behind their back or blind. At any time of day or night, in the basketball hall (mifal hapayis) you could find over 100 jugglers (and a few “juggles” such as ourselves, enjoying the show). The hall also had a tight-rope, juggling workshops and master-classes, and fun things for non-experts, like balloon twisting and trampolines.
The atmosphere was spontaneous. At 12 o’clock on Monday night of chol hamoed, a few guys just decided to put on an impromptu show in juggling with fire. On the Sunday night, there was a “juggling jam” – an improvised audience participation show where everyone and anyone could perform a brief, often extraordinary, often not-yet-ready trick, on an improvised stage, with disco music and a DJ to create the atmosphere. Some performers were fantastic; others were mediocre at best; but the audience cheered enthusiastically for all, especially when a trick went wrong, encouraging the performer to try again and again till the trick succeeded.
On the Monday evening, there was a show by three acrobats who combined burlesque, acrobatics, trampolining and juggling. Between me, you and the lamppost, they weren’t quite on the level of “Billy Smart’s Circus”. What was memorable was not the show, but the audience (of about 1000). They cheered, whistled and clapped incessantly throughout, rolling in the isles at the burlesque, giving a standing ovation and stubbornly demanding an encore. It was as if the audience was made up of 1000 proud mothers. In short, I have fallen in love with jugglers (even although I am still a “juggle”). Thanks to the Mellicks who brought us along.
Now let’s blow things out of proportion
At the annual Isaacs Independence day barbecue (only 30 people this year), we did a “round robin” in which each family member had three minutes in the limelight to tell the extended family what’s new(s) in their life. (Think of it as a sort of verbal newsletter). When it was the turn of our attention-shy son Elon (19), rather than telling his own news, he suggested: “Let Daddy tell. He knows how to exaggerate” (לנפח).
“Luck is good the prize is pleasant / But the glory’s in the game” (King Edward’s School anthem)
Elon’s basketball team ended the season in last place of the lowest league. All season, their only three wins were technical wins due to opponents failing to appear. On Hol Hamoed Pesach, I finally had a chance to watch Elon play in the last match of the season against the league champions. David vs. Goliath. At least Elon had the home advantage.
Elon battled like a Titan, blocking, shoving, hustling and scoring 20 points out of his team’s total of 48 (the opponents scored 96). Just as well they had the home advantage. Even if the team needs bolstering, Elon is clearly a star, a fighter, and a champion in our eyes.
Naphtali O’Isaacs
I am in awe of those who have the gift to play music effortlessly, to play by ear and to improvise. Dozens of children in Naphtali’s music school have this gift. Before Pesach, the school held their annual concert. During more than two hours, 15 different ensembles of children performed music in a wide variety of styles including jazz, rock, modern, classical and Jewish. Several of the pieces were original compositions by the children.
Naphtali put together one of the ensembles - a band of nine which performed beautifully a piece of Irish music – the sort of music that shouts “Riverdance” and makes you want to put on your taps.
How had the players learned their parts? Naphtali downloaded the music to his mobile and transferred it to his friends’ mobiles. Each listened to the piece, and then just played it, by ear and from memory, without music. This amazing feat seems to be something that musical people take for granted, non-musical people do not understand, and perhaps only failed musicians, such as myself, can truly appreciate.
Comrade Judy
You may have thought of Judy, thus far, as a sweet girl. All that is going to change. Judy is a red; a commie; a unionist; a social agitator; a rebel. You see, Judy, the “sweetie-pie”, is on strike. Power to the people! Man the picket lines! Bread and Work!
Judy has been lecturing in the Open University for 12 years. During this time, she has not received tenure and is actually sacked twice a year at the end of each semester. Enough is enough. The time for action has arrived.
Well, not really. What actually happened is some junior, hot-blooded lecturers organized and imposed the strike on an apathetic majority. (Judy’s reputation as a sweetie-pie is intact.)
Is there anybody there?
I am short of time and space to update you on the other children. I’d beg their forgiveness, but don’t really need to since they will never know. You see, like most of you, they never read my newsletters (certainly not to the end).
Lots of Love
Judy, Michael, Ari, Elon, Naphtali, Orli, Abigail and Elisheva Isaacs
Elkana
“Juggling?”. Yes, juggling. Because for five days of Hol Hamoed Pesach, over 1000 jugglers from around Israel converge on “Gan HaShelosha” (also known as the “Sachne”) for a juggling extravaganza. The festival is an around-the-clock school and theatre of jugglers which people who cannot juggle (Harry Potter would call them “Juggles”) can also attend.
The setting, the Sachne, is one of the most exquisite national parks in the country with natural deep pools stretching maybe for 300 metres, round-the-year warm water (26 degrees), children’s pools, toddlers’ pools, waterfalls, natural Jacuzzis, lawns and, for Elisheva, ice-cream shops.
Participants in the juggling festival all had to camp, which, as you know, is our “thing”. So we had it all–camping, swimming, barbecues and, to make the experience authentic, mosquitoes. Paradise.
The atmosphere at the juggling festival is reminiscent of the fairground from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Wherever you go, people are practising tricks. Some are highly-skilled, keeping aloft five, six or seven balls or pins or rings at a time, and juggling in pairs, threesomes and foursomes. There were those who specialized in juggling a “Diablo” (juggling hour-glass shaped bottles on a string), or rolling balls and hats on their hands and arms and backs and necks. Others did tricks with sticks, throwing, spinning and catching, sometimes behind their back or blind. At any time of day or night, in the basketball hall (mifal hapayis) you could find over 100 jugglers (and a few “juggles” such as ourselves, enjoying the show). The hall also had a tight-rope, juggling workshops and master-classes, and fun things for non-experts, like balloon twisting and trampolines.
The atmosphere was spontaneous. At 12 o’clock on Monday night of chol hamoed, a few guys just decided to put on an impromptu show in juggling with fire. On the Sunday night, there was a “juggling jam” – an improvised audience participation show where everyone and anyone could perform a brief, often extraordinary, often not-yet-ready trick, on an improvised stage, with disco music and a DJ to create the atmosphere. Some performers were fantastic; others were mediocre at best; but the audience cheered enthusiastically for all, especially when a trick went wrong, encouraging the performer to try again and again till the trick succeeded.
On the Monday evening, there was a show by three acrobats who combined burlesque, acrobatics, trampolining and juggling. Between me, you and the lamppost, they weren’t quite on the level of “Billy Smart’s Circus”. What was memorable was not the show, but the audience (of about 1000). They cheered, whistled and clapped incessantly throughout, rolling in the isles at the burlesque, giving a standing ovation and stubbornly demanding an encore. It was as if the audience was made up of 1000 proud mothers. In short, I have fallen in love with jugglers (even although I am still a “juggle”). Thanks to the Mellicks who brought us along.
Now let’s blow things out of proportion
At the annual Isaacs Independence day barbecue (only 30 people this year), we did a “round robin” in which each family member had three minutes in the limelight to tell the extended family what’s new(s) in their life. (Think of it as a sort of verbal newsletter). When it was the turn of our attention-shy son Elon (19), rather than telling his own news, he suggested: “Let Daddy tell. He knows how to exaggerate” (לנפח).
“Luck is good the prize is pleasant / But the glory’s in the game” (King Edward’s School anthem)
Elon’s basketball team ended the season in last place of the lowest league. All season, their only three wins were technical wins due to opponents failing to appear. On Hol Hamoed Pesach, I finally had a chance to watch Elon play in the last match of the season against the league champions. David vs. Goliath. At least Elon had the home advantage.
Elon battled like a Titan, blocking, shoving, hustling and scoring 20 points out of his team’s total of 48 (the opponents scored 96). Just as well they had the home advantage. Even if the team needs bolstering, Elon is clearly a star, a fighter, and a champion in our eyes.
Naphtali O’Isaacs
I am in awe of those who have the gift to play music effortlessly, to play by ear and to improvise. Dozens of children in Naphtali’s music school have this gift. Before Pesach, the school held their annual concert. During more than two hours, 15 different ensembles of children performed music in a wide variety of styles including jazz, rock, modern, classical and Jewish. Several of the pieces were original compositions by the children.
Naphtali put together one of the ensembles - a band of nine which performed beautifully a piece of Irish music – the sort of music that shouts “Riverdance” and makes you want to put on your taps.
How had the players learned their parts? Naphtali downloaded the music to his mobile and transferred it to his friends’ mobiles. Each listened to the piece, and then just played it, by ear and from memory, without music. This amazing feat seems to be something that musical people take for granted, non-musical people do not understand, and perhaps only failed musicians, such as myself, can truly appreciate.
Comrade Judy
You may have thought of Judy, thus far, as a sweet girl. All that is going to change. Judy is a red; a commie; a unionist; a social agitator; a rebel. You see, Judy, the “sweetie-pie”, is on strike. Power to the people! Man the picket lines! Bread and Work!
Judy has been lecturing in the Open University for 12 years. During this time, she has not received tenure and is actually sacked twice a year at the end of each semester. Enough is enough. The time for action has arrived.
Well, not really. What actually happened is some junior, hot-blooded lecturers organized and imposed the strike on an apathetic majority. (Judy’s reputation as a sweetie-pie is intact.)
Is there anybody there?
I am short of time and space to update you on the other children. I’d beg their forgiveness, but don’t really need to since they will never know. You see, like most of you, they never read my newsletters (certainly not to the end).
Lots of Love
Judy, Michael, Ari, Elon, Naphtali, Orli, Abigail and Elisheva Isaacs
Elkana
Thursday, March 5, 2009
March 05 2009 (just before purim)
Recently, I had cause to give some thought to role reversal (or "elor" as it could be called). Not as a ploy to uncover or resolve my many psychological misdemeanors, or as a method for engendering tolerance and understanding, Heaven forbid, but as a description of Life incidents.
"The manager can call her secretary directly, even while he is on a different call"
Before I get to role reversal ("elor"), here's a trivial though amusing aside. (BTW, on a careful read, does the heading make sense?) Pay attention now. This is a bit complicated.
I once encountered role reversal when documenting a feature on a business telephone system known as the "Manager-Secretary" feature. Now comes the complicated bit. These smart business phones had a special feature - two audio channels - enabling you to hold two calls simultaneously with different people. You could have a call either via the handset like a regular call, or via a speakerphone. The Manager-Secretary feature simply enabled a manager to call the secretary via this second speakerphone audio channel, even if the secretary was on a regular handset call. Got it? The secretary is on the phone, and all of a sudden the Manager's voice comes through a speakerphone. Clear? I hope so.
When sexism became popular grounds for litigation, to escape being sued, we were instructed to position the manager as female and the secretary as male (what could be more natural?). Thus the instructions for the Manager-Secretary feature read: "The (female) manager can call her secretary directly, even while he (i.e. the male secretary) is on a different call". Make sense now?
Father like sons
The "elor" that sparked the above aside occurred on the white slopes of Mount Hermon on our latest skiing trip. Elon (18) and Naphtali (16) took very devoted and almost doting care of their wary and wimpy father, as I braved the "red slopes". (The afore-mentioned colour "red" denotes the gradient (between 25% - 40%) and not the colour of the snow). , It was nice to be pampered. To be honest, I already have my ski legs and don't really need the boys' chaperoning. But don't tell them I said so, because I do love their company.
When the going gets lousy, the lousy get going
We chose to visit the Hermon when skiing conditions started off bad and ended up lousy. Since most skiers stay at home on such days, we get the hills to ourselves, don't waste a moment queuing for cable cars and T-Bars, and complete more ups and downs in one day than you would normally get in four.
"There are nae step-bairns in this hoose"
On a separate ski trip, we took Abigail (7) and Elisheva (4.5) with us just to prove that "there are nae step-bairns in this hoose". (For translation, please consult any Scotsman). The girls enjoyed themselves immensely. This is bad. It means they will want to go again, which I strongly recommend they do, once they are old enough to wipe their own noses and pay for their own ski-passes.
Praying by the Book
Abigail recently celebrated her "mesibat sidur" (literally "a prayer-book party") at which the 120 first grade students of her school receive their first real "grown-up" siddur. The ceremony is a two-hour program of songs, dances, speeches and sketches held in the presence of several hundred parents, grandparents and siblings. Abigal glowed throughout and demonstrated admirable mastery of the required texts and moves. With the devoted tuition of her teachers in school, hopefully Abigail will never suffer from the syndrome first diagnosed by the "Megama Duo" in their hit number "I've got the what-page-are-we-on-in-the-prayer-book-blues".
The three busketeers
Naphtali, our drummer, is performing on motsash at a "klezmer" evening alongside some of the world's leading klezmer musicians ("klezmer" means Jewish music). The evening is a tribute to Moussa Berlin, a former Elkana resident, to mark his 70th birthday and 50 years as a performer. Performin are Giora Fidman and host of other legendary names in the business. These are the Pearlmans, Dupres and Menuhins of the klezmer world; or the Peles, Beckenbauers and Cruyffs; or Crosbys, Presleys and Osmonds. Whatever your thing is. Naphtali, with a couple of friends, is the warm up act.
More impressive yet than Naphtali's considerable drumming ability is his cool. Most mortals, before such a performance, at such a tender age, with an expected audience of over 800 and the world's top musicians waiting in the wings, would be forgiven some nerves. (I would be frantic, on valium, sleepless, and have a spare pair of pants permanently about my person). Naphtali is ice-cool, unflustered and unflusterable. When I enquired if he wasn't nervous, he most vehemently responded "Why!" "למה? מה קרה?as if nerves were an unthinkable and unforgivable human weakness. I was taken aback. It wasn't as though I had accused him of something horrifying and repulsive, like being a lefty.
An army marches on its stomach
Ari (21), to be honest, has had enough. The army can be fun for a few weeks - a brief, low-pressure, spell of reserve duty, at the right season of the year, can be a welcome break from the bustle and routine of life. But Ari has almost two years left. He is knocking around some ideas for passing the time – like going to officer's course or retraining as an infantry solider. Hopefully, it's just a phase. But as parents, what can we do to encourage him other than provide an abundant supply of love, support and ice-cream.
Choc-a-Block-Head
I'm keeping clear of Orly. You see, Orly wants to have a bet with me, but the stakes are too high. The bet is to see who can abstain utterly and totally from all chocolate products for longest. I want no part of this. I immensely enjoy chocolate in all forms – chocolate bars, chocolate biscuits, chocolate cake, chocolate spread, chocolate ice-cream, chocolate drinks, chocolate yoghurt. Why would I give up all these wonderful things? Orly's smart. She knows she hasn't a witch's chance in hell of convincing anyone else in the family to take her up on the bet except Daddy, who, at heart, is an old softie and likely to give in if nagged sufficiently. Whoops. That's Orly at the door now. "9.30pm. Goodness. Is that the time already? I'm off to bed right now. G'night everyone. G'night Orly."
Wishing you all a freiliche Purim (Scotsmen can't help with translating that word).
"The manager can call her secretary directly, even while he is on a different call"
Before I get to role reversal ("elor"), here's a trivial though amusing aside. (BTW, on a careful read, does the heading make sense?) Pay attention now. This is a bit complicated.
I once encountered role reversal when documenting a feature on a business telephone system known as the "Manager-Secretary" feature. Now comes the complicated bit. These smart business phones had a special feature - two audio channels - enabling you to hold two calls simultaneously with different people. You could have a call either via the handset like a regular call, or via a speakerphone. The Manager-Secretary feature simply enabled a manager to call the secretary via this second speakerphone audio channel, even if the secretary was on a regular handset call. Got it? The secretary is on the phone, and all of a sudden the Manager's voice comes through a speakerphone. Clear? I hope so.
When sexism became popular grounds for litigation, to escape being sued, we were instructed to position the manager as female and the secretary as male (what could be more natural?). Thus the instructions for the Manager-Secretary feature read: "The (female) manager can call her secretary directly, even while he (i.e. the male secretary) is on a different call". Make sense now?
Father like sons
The "elor" that sparked the above aside occurred on the white slopes of Mount Hermon on our latest skiing trip. Elon (18) and Naphtali (16) took very devoted and almost doting care of their wary and wimpy father, as I braved the "red slopes". (The afore-mentioned colour "red" denotes the gradient (between 25% - 40%) and not the colour of the snow). , It was nice to be pampered. To be honest, I already have my ski legs and don't really need the boys' chaperoning. But don't tell them I said so, because I do love their company.
When the going gets lousy, the lousy get going
We chose to visit the Hermon when skiing conditions started off bad and ended up lousy. Since most skiers stay at home on such days, we get the hills to ourselves, don't waste a moment queuing for cable cars and T-Bars, and complete more ups and downs in one day than you would normally get in four.
"There are nae step-bairns in this hoose"
On a separate ski trip, we took Abigail (7) and Elisheva (4.5) with us just to prove that "there are nae step-bairns in this hoose". (For translation, please consult any Scotsman). The girls enjoyed themselves immensely. This is bad. It means they will want to go again, which I strongly recommend they do, once they are old enough to wipe their own noses and pay for their own ski-passes.
Praying by the Book
Abigail recently celebrated her "mesibat sidur" (literally "a prayer-book party") at which the 120 first grade students of her school receive their first real "grown-up" siddur. The ceremony is a two-hour program of songs, dances, speeches and sketches held in the presence of several hundred parents, grandparents and siblings. Abigal glowed throughout and demonstrated admirable mastery of the required texts and moves. With the devoted tuition of her teachers in school, hopefully Abigail will never suffer from the syndrome first diagnosed by the "Megama Duo" in their hit number "I've got the what-page-are-we-on-in-the-prayer-book-blues".
The three busketeers
Naphtali, our drummer, is performing on motsash at a "klezmer" evening alongside some of the world's leading klezmer musicians ("klezmer" means Jewish music). The evening is a tribute to Moussa Berlin, a former Elkana resident, to mark his 70th birthday and 50 years as a performer. Performin are Giora Fidman and host of other legendary names in the business. These are the Pearlmans, Dupres and Menuhins of the klezmer world; or the Peles, Beckenbauers and Cruyffs; or Crosbys, Presleys and Osmonds. Whatever your thing is. Naphtali, with a couple of friends, is the warm up act.
More impressive yet than Naphtali's considerable drumming ability is his cool. Most mortals, before such a performance, at such a tender age, with an expected audience of over 800 and the world's top musicians waiting in the wings, would be forgiven some nerves. (I would be frantic, on valium, sleepless, and have a spare pair of pants permanently about my person). Naphtali is ice-cool, unflustered and unflusterable. When I enquired if he wasn't nervous, he most vehemently responded "Why!" "למה? מה קרה?as if nerves were an unthinkable and unforgivable human weakness. I was taken aback. It wasn't as though I had accused him of something horrifying and repulsive, like being a lefty.
An army marches on its stomach
Ari (21), to be honest, has had enough. The army can be fun for a few weeks - a brief, low-pressure, spell of reserve duty, at the right season of the year, can be a welcome break from the bustle and routine of life. But Ari has almost two years left. He is knocking around some ideas for passing the time – like going to officer's course or retraining as an infantry solider. Hopefully, it's just a phase. But as parents, what can we do to encourage him other than provide an abundant supply of love, support and ice-cream.
Choc-a-Block-Head
I'm keeping clear of Orly. You see, Orly wants to have a bet with me, but the stakes are too high. The bet is to see who can abstain utterly and totally from all chocolate products for longest. I want no part of this. I immensely enjoy chocolate in all forms – chocolate bars, chocolate biscuits, chocolate cake, chocolate spread, chocolate ice-cream, chocolate drinks, chocolate yoghurt. Why would I give up all these wonderful things? Orly's smart. She knows she hasn't a witch's chance in hell of convincing anyone else in the family to take her up on the bet except Daddy, who, at heart, is an old softie and likely to give in if nagged sufficiently. Whoops. That's Orly at the door now. "9.30pm. Goodness. Is that the time already? I'm off to bed right now. G'night everyone. G'night Orly."
Wishing you all a freiliche Purim (Scotsmen can't help with translating that word).
Sunday, January 4, 2009
She did it!!
Judy ran the half marathon. I am very proud. Elon kept her company the whole way (he is a tsaddik, in case you didn't know). Judy is still complaining that she's not losing enough weight :)
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