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).