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
Sunday, May 3, 2009
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 :)
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Nov 08 Judy's diet and the runs or "A bee in her bonnet"
After 15 years of newsletters, it’s about time to devote an edition to the wife.
The bee in Judy’s bonnet
A bee in her bonnet or an obsession– call it whatever you want. Judy has it. One thing to know about Judy-when she puts her mind to a task, it’s going to get done. Hell, high water and any other impediments are swept aside powerless in the face of Judy’s will. There are no obstacles. Why do I say this? Well...
Previously in an Isaacs newsletter…
Despairing at the stagnation of the digital ‘needle’ of the weighing scales, despite her devout adherence to a mean weight-watchers diet, at the beginning of the summer, Judy embraced a walking regime to burn the calories necessary to return her cuddly dimensions to Twiggy proportions. Every night she walked for sixty minutes, completing six circuits of the slightly hilly one-kilometer “inner ring road” of our neighbourhood. However, the digital needle of the weighing scales didn’t budge.
Two weeks later, Judy upped the stakes - 12 kilometers (two hours) a night. Still the needle didn’t budge.
Two weeks later, Judy thought, “This is getting boring and not taking me anywhere. I might as well jog the down-hills”. Was that my imagination or did I hear an electronic needle creak?
Two weeks later, with some not so gently prodding from Ari, Judy started running the up-hills. The needle veritably quivered.
Two weeks later, after adopting contradictory advice from different Internet sources, Judy went back to walking the up-hills but started running parts of the flat. The needle moved.
Last night Judy completed an amazing 18 kilometers in less than 2 hours 23 minutes, running well over half the distance. The needle on the scales is down 6 kilo (over 13 pounds). Judy looks terrific (although she is quick to point out that she still has a tummy) and feels energized and vital.
Runs in the family
Judy’s runs are family occasions. All of us, from Ari down to four-year old Elisheva, accompany her when we can. In the 20 years since Ari was born, Judy and I have never spent so much time together (we’ve also never shared a pastime).
I think I-con I think I-con
Judy has become an inspirational icon in Elkana. She paints a pretty figure running around the yishuv of an evening, with one hand clutching her hat to prevent it flying off in the wind, and with the other hand grabbing her now-droopy skirts that threaten to drop to her knees.
Say Yes
I asked Judy to run a half-marathon (21.1 kilometers), taking place on December 11th in Bet Shean and I hope she says Yes. She says she’s not coming, but I know my wife. When she really doesn’t want to do something, she has a way of making it absolutely clear to you. Now, she’s making excuses about how will she get the children to school in the morning and who will look after them in the afternoon or what if she doesn’t finish before the roads are opened. These are excuses, things that have to be solved, not real objections.
If I haven’t burnt myself by daring to make this prediction in public, I hope, in my next post, to tell you about Judy’s first half marathon. Because, as I knew, on that evening in January 1987, I know now, she’s going to say “Yes”.
The bee in Judy’s bonnet
A bee in her bonnet or an obsession– call it whatever you want. Judy has it. One thing to know about Judy-when she puts her mind to a task, it’s going to get done. Hell, high water and any other impediments are swept aside powerless in the face of Judy’s will. There are no obstacles. Why do I say this? Well...
Previously in an Isaacs newsletter…
Despairing at the stagnation of the digital ‘needle’ of the weighing scales, despite her devout adherence to a mean weight-watchers diet, at the beginning of the summer, Judy embraced a walking regime to burn the calories necessary to return her cuddly dimensions to Twiggy proportions. Every night she walked for sixty minutes, completing six circuits of the slightly hilly one-kilometer “inner ring road” of our neighbourhood. However, the digital needle of the weighing scales didn’t budge.
Two weeks later, Judy upped the stakes - 12 kilometers (two hours) a night. Still the needle didn’t budge.
Two weeks later, Judy thought, “This is getting boring and not taking me anywhere. I might as well jog the down-hills”. Was that my imagination or did I hear an electronic needle creak?
Two weeks later, with some not so gently prodding from Ari, Judy started running the up-hills. The needle veritably quivered.
Two weeks later, after adopting contradictory advice from different Internet sources, Judy went back to walking the up-hills but started running parts of the flat. The needle moved.
Last night Judy completed an amazing 18 kilometers in less than 2 hours 23 minutes, running well over half the distance. The needle on the scales is down 6 kilo (over 13 pounds). Judy looks terrific (although she is quick to point out that she still has a tummy) and feels energized and vital.
Runs in the family
Judy’s runs are family occasions. All of us, from Ari down to four-year old Elisheva, accompany her when we can. In the 20 years since Ari was born, Judy and I have never spent so much time together (we’ve also never shared a pastime).
I think I-con I think I-con
Judy has become an inspirational icon in Elkana. She paints a pretty figure running around the yishuv of an evening, with one hand clutching her hat to prevent it flying off in the wind, and with the other hand grabbing her now-droopy skirts that threaten to drop to her knees.
Say Yes
I asked Judy to run a half-marathon (21.1 kilometers), taking place on December 11th in Bet Shean and I hope she says Yes. She says she’s not coming, but I know my wife. When she really doesn’t want to do something, she has a way of making it absolutely clear to you. Now, she’s making excuses about how will she get the children to school in the morning and who will look after them in the afternoon or what if she doesn’t finish before the roads are opened. These are excuses, things that have to be solved, not real objections.
If I haven’t burnt myself by daring to make this prediction in public, I hope, in my next post, to tell you about Judy’s first half marathon. Because, as I knew, on that evening in January 1987, I know now, she’s going to say “Yes”.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Abigail
For readers who know our children only via the newsletters, here are some pictures that will put faces to the names.This is Abigail who looks as if she enjoys having her picture taken. Below you'll find the rest of us.
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