Blog # 20 – Finishing Strong

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Our final weeks and days in Israel came with raw and mixed feelings. We had created a new world for ourselves, and had come to feel that Jerusalem and Israel were our home. Our life in Vancouver seemed distant, unreal. Adin was having trouble remembering his old friends. We had all made more new friends over the last year than we had in several years combined. In my case, I had made more friends in the last year than in the last two decades. Being a curmudgeon may have something to do with that, but somehow in Israel I was less curmudgeonly and more open to new relationships. With the exception of Adin, who invested much in strengthening his new relationships, our emerging circle of friends grew naturally; encompassing neigbhours, people met at synagogue, rekindled relationships with old friends, and, in one case, the family of Ezra and Adin’s hockey buddies Ido and Roe. Beyond our circle of new friends, extended a circle of people who become a part of our lives, including the parents of the boys’ friends, music teachers Gilad and Michael, our family barber and hairdresser Roberto, Uriel the proprietor of our neighbourhood Makolet (grocery store), Eli the owner of the stationary store on Emek Rephaim, and Rami and Moshe-le at the local butcher shop. Among many others.







While life in Israel can wear one down with its heat, crowding, ever-present edge of tension, and around-the-edges roughness, we had come to feel we belonged in our new world. We had found our place in the meeting point between East and West in which our friends were, like us, mostly westernized Hebrew speakers, as comfortable with sushi, schnitzel and Scotch, as with boureckas, falafel and Arak. Though our Hebrew was far from perfect, our commitment to the language, and slow but steady improvement over the year, helped immensely in connecting us with others. While Israelis who speak English as a second (or fifth) language would often initially switch to English upon hearing our foreign accents, almost all would quickly switch back to Hebrew when they understood our commitment to speaking in, and improving, our Hebrew. In fact, most seemed to appreciate our commitment to Hebrew, and happily (or at least tolerantly) endured our mistakes, and selectively corrected our most egregious errors. Our dedication to Hebrew contrasted with the pockets of Anglos in our neighbourhood who, for various reasons, after years in Israel can still barely string together a simple sentence. True, in our neighbourhood pretty much everyone speaks English pretty well so there is no necessity to be able to function in Hebrew. However, without Hebrew one can never feel a fuller sense of belonging to Israeli society. People like us will always be immigrants in Israel, but in a country of immigrants or children of immigrants, that puts us well within the norm.







Before some more final reflections, I’ve included descriptions of a few year-end events; Ezra’s long delayed birthday party (his actual birthday was back on February 19^th), Ezra’s guitar recital, and Adin’s performance at the Molly Blum Irish Pub in Tel Aviv.







Ezra’s 10^th Birthday Party







Ezra’s birthday party planning began months ago. But because Ezra had still not made enough friends in his grade to populate a party, we held off until he’d reached a threshold number of friends. Then, with the end of the school year looming we knew we could delay no longer. Happily, over the last few months Ezra solidified a number of friendships. Ezra planned the whole party himself in meticulous detail, with a little input from Aimee and I. The theme was basketball and soccer, with lots of hatifim (junk food) throughout. I typed out a precise schedule which Ezra vetted and modified. Aimee did a second schedule which included all the extra things she was responsible for. And we stuck to the schedule. Fortunately, Adin opted to have a playdate at the home of his best friend, Yahelee, which eliminated one major source of potential conflict (between Ezra and Adin) during the party.







The party was from 3:30 p.m. to 5:30 p.m. on Wednesday June 27^th. School got out at 2:45 p.m. So Ezra hung out at school with his guests, shooting baskets until I walked over to pick them up shortly before 3:30 p.m. I stood by the fence for a few minutes watching. There were six boys including Ezra shooting baskets – which was in perfect sync with our detailed schedule. Ezra had invited a few more boys, who didn’t appear, but these were boys with whom Ezra was friendly but not really friends. The lesson from that is to only invite guests who are truly friends and who are going to want to attend. Fortunately, Ezra did not seem to mind the no-shows.







The first part of the party was pizza with cut-up vegetables and pop. For once we put the park in the middle of our apartment complex to use. We set up a long fold-up table borrowed from our downstairs neighbours, and brought along a variety of balls and Frisbees for the boys to play with during the half hour (precisely) we’d set aside for food and drink. The pizza arrived by motorcycle exactly on time, and all seemed on schedule. I ended up playing football catch with a boy named RRRRRRRon. He had never picked a football in his life but caught on quickly, not counting the one stray throw that landed in the middle of the food table knocking over large bottles of Fanta and Nestea. I assured everyone “Lo Nora”, it’s not a problem, and we all carried on.







3:55 p.m. - the schedule dictated that we walk back to the nearby cluster of schools to find a basketball/soccer court. We had three schools to choose from. I was nervous that others would already have claimed the courts. Thankfully, all were free so we opted for the high school which had the largest court. Contrary to the schedule, which specified that we do soccer first, Ezra opted to start with basketball. I feared that dividing up the teams would lead to argument, insults and bad feeling. It did take a few minutes to determine the “kochot”, which literally means “forces/strengths”, but after some intense back and forth between the boys they finally came up with balanced teams without causing any hurt or angry feelings. And the score remained close throughout.







The game was going well when suddenly RRRRRRRon lost his balance and fell awkwardly on his left hand. The way he cried out I could tell this was more than the usual playground scratch or bruise. After icing the hand, RRRRRRRon called his parents to pick him up. Turns out he did break his arm. In two places. The other boys carried on with the game while I walked RRRRRRRon to the spot where he arranged to get picked up. Aimee met me there and waited with RRRRRRRon while I returned to the basketball game.







By the time I returned, the boys had already completed the basketball “shoot-out” in which the participants shot baskets from the foul line. When a boy missed he was eliminated. They keep shooting until everyone was eliminated - except one. Which in this case turned out to be Ezra, who won a large container of Pringles chips. We had hoped that Ezra would let one of his guests win, but I guess he’s too competitive to throw the game. We had emphasized to Ezra before the party that the best way to ensure a successful event is do everything he can to make sure his guests have a good time, and to be super generous with everything we gave out at the party. Some of it even seemed to sink in, a little. But as my mother always says – “It’s a process.”







After the shoot-out the boys did 25 minutes of soccer – according to the schedule – and then five minutes of soccer shoot-out. Thankfully, this time Ezra did not win the prize, despite his best efforts to prevail (sigh). 5:00 p.m. sharp, according to schedule, we walked back to the park outside our apartment for more hatifim (junk food), watermelon, birthday cup-cakes and more pop. The party was capped off by the Jelly Belly game in which the participants spin a pointer which lands on a Jelly Belly colour that could be either a good - or - a disgusting flavour. Surprisingly, this may have been the party’s highlight. The boys ran to the top of the grassy hill in the park and huddled over the Jelly Bellies hoping that they wouldn’t end up having to eat a skunk, baby-wipe, or barf flavoured Jelly Belly. All in all a hugely successful party … but for Ron’s broken arm.







We worried a great deal about the party in advance because of its potential for ending the year on a high or low. Thank G-d the high won out.










Ezra’s Year-end Guitar Recital


Every Monday at 3:30 p.m. Ezra has been going to guitar lessons with his teacher Gilad in the neighbourhood of Nachla’ot. After a day at school it was sometimes not so easy for Ezra to concentrate for the full hour. But Ezra was always happy to go to his lesson, and to hang out and play guitar with Gilad. And Gilad has been the perfect teacher for Ezra; easy going, but serious about his music, pushing Ezra just the right amount, adjusting his approach to what works best for Ezra, and incredibly patient. A complete mench (decent person) as well as an major talent in his own right who can seemingly play any style, but also loves Israeli music.







As the culmination of the years’ lessons, Ezra and the rest of Gilad’s students staged a recital on Wednesday afternoon, June 20^th, in the house of one of Gilad’s students in the nearby town of Mevaseret Tsion. Ezra prepared a song by the Israeli musician Ehud Banai called “Teep Teepah,” which means “a tiny drop”. Ezra was nervous for his first ever recital, but never wavered in his determination to perform. Each student was responsible for bringing something to the pot-luck reception following the performances. Gilad asked Ezra to bring a desert item. So Ezra chose the recipe – home made Oreo-style cookies – and, with Aimee’s help, did a great job at preparing the cookies, which were about four or five times the size of regular Oreos. They proved a hit at the recital.







On the way to school the morning of the recital Ezra told me in a soft voice that he was really scared about the performance. But he said it in a way that suggested he was looking for encouragement rather than suggesting that he couldn’t do it. Having heard Ezra rehearse I knew he’d be fine, and told him so. In the car on the way to Mevaseret Ezra was quiet, and when we got to our destination repeated that he was scared. Aimee assured him that everyone was in the same boat and that the audience would be very supportive. As the youngest and least experienced of the ten performers, Ezra was up first. Gilad accompanied Ezra on guitar, and Gilad’s girlfriend Inbal sang. I know I’m not the most objective observer, and Ezra did indeed make the odd mistake, but the performance was beautiful and made us very proud. Aimee had encouraged Ezra to smile, but he was clearly too frightened to smile until the performance was safely over. Ezra later said that he was so terrified he could barely move his fingers. The performance is available on Youtube – just search under Ezra performs Teep Teepah by Ehud Banai.



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Adin Performs at the Molly Blum Irish Pub in Tel Aviv


As the wind up for Adin’s year of violin playing, Adin’s teacher Michael arranged for Adin to play at Molly Blum’s, an Irish Pub on Tel Aviv’s beachfront Yarkon Street. Unfortunately, Michael was not able to attend because he was out of the country. But Michael spoke to the manager Ehud in advance to let him know we were coming. For the last couple of months Adin and Michael have been working on Irish tunes, which have been a good fit for Adin. The tunes are technically challenging but also fun, and allow Adin to play fast, which he likes to do. And Adin does like to perform, and the prospect of his performance on Friday June 29^th provided lots of motivation for Adin to practice.







The Molly Blum looks straight out of Dublin. When we arrived we met Ehud, who was tuning up with a few other musicians in a circle. While we waited for the start time, several more musicians arrived. Before long there were 10 musicians readying their instruments, including violins, viola, flutes, various other string instruments and hand drums. The youngest musicians were in their twenties, but some looked several decades older. Adin looked nervous. He practiced a few times at our table. Ehud came over and told Adin that during the performance he should play the piece several times through, and the other musicians would join in. One of the violinists marveled at how small Adin’s violin was, and asked if it was 1/4 sized. A second violinist tuned Adin’s instrument.







Though all the other musicians sat, Adin remained standing, and was still dwarfed by them. The ambient noise was pretty loud – it is a pub after all. Adin started playing and slowly each of the musicians took up the tune. Adin played boldly, but once all the musicians joined in it was hard for Adin to hear himself play. Part way through the second or third round, Adin stopped to allow the other musicians to return to the beginning of the piece, at which point Adin joined in again. After another round or two, Adin stopped again, but started up once the musicians returned to the beginning of the piece. Adin was a little disappointed that he had to stop. But we were impressed that he did not give up, despite the pressure of playing for the first time in a very public venue with so many musicians with whom he had never played before. When I spoke to Ehud after the performance he invited Adin to return to play with the band every time he learned a new piece.







Though challenging for Adin, the experience brought home to him the importance of many things that his teacher Michael had been working with him on – listening to himself play, listening to those he’s playing with, the importance of maintaining a steady rhythm, and playing with a “big” sound.







For a sometimes-shy boy, Adin sure loves performing. Adin celebrated at the Molly Blum by eating a specialty of the house – the world’s largest and richest chocolate mousse.



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Music lessons


Both Ezra and Adin made huge progress this year. Each had the perfect teacher for their personalities. Both Gilad and Michael pushed the boys, but also knew when to ease up on them. Both knew how to bring out the best in both. And both Adin and Ezra formed a special bond with their teachers. Michael, being very “Russian” (though he’s Israeli born and bred, and the son of parents from France and Belgium) always emphasized fundamentals of music – rhythm, timing, stance, position, posture, holding the instrument properly, creating a big sound. Though Michael said early on that “fun” has nothing to do with learning music (when I suggested that Adin might respond better if Michael could make it “fun”) – Michael did come to realize that Adin learned best when he enjoyed the tunes he played. And they did have fun, a fact that comes through so clearly on the video of Adin and Michael playing together during their final lesson the tune Adin played at the Molly Blum. (Check it out on Youtube)



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Gilad, almost the mirror image in personality and approach to Ezra’s Vancouver teacher Roger, worked differently, and though just as committed to the importance of music fundamentals as Michael, came at things from a different direction. Gilad worked to develop Ezra’s musical senses. Rather than approaching musical fundamentals head-on like Michael, Gilad brought the fundamentals into play more intuitively. The goals were the same, Michael and Gilad simply found ways of getting there which were best suited for the different personalities of Ezra and Adin. And I loved the fact that Gilad, despite being the son of a South African mother, spoke to Ezra in Hebrew and chose many Israeli/Hebrew songs for Ezra to play. Especially those of Israeli musical genius Ehud Banai.







Aimee and I will miss taking the boys to their lessons because it was always such a pleasure to spend a little time before and after lessons with Gilad and Michael. Both Gilad and Michael promised to always have a spot for Ezra and Adin as their student, even though Ezra’s teacher Gilad is turning away new students, and Adin’s teacher Michael only takes on one or two students at any one time.










Chugim – Basketball, soccer, hockey


Basketball emerged as a passion for both boys, especially Ezra. This came as surprise, and did not happen until the second half of the year. When we saw the boys play their first “official” game in January they were both among the weakest players on their teams. But shortly after that, and for no identifiable reason, Ezra became obsessed with basketball, and insisted on going to school well before the morning bell to shoot hoops, and often stayed late after school for more hoops. On evenings and Shabbatot Ezra would always be wanting to return to the basketball court for a game of one-on-one or to practice shooting. And, along with the extra time on the court, the boys improved dramatically to the point that both were among the best players on their teams. For Ezra, in particular, greater prowess on the court also brought greater acceptance among his peers. Currently, the boys’ main long-term goal is to become NBA basketball players. In fact, they speak of “when” they are in the NBA, rather than “if.” Adin’s basketball passion also manifested in his rising at the crack of dawn throughout the interminable NBA playoffs to check on-line for the previous night’s scores. Thereby, Adin would be fully equipped to arrive at school and discuss the results with his coterie of basketball obsessed friends.







Roller hockey remained a constant in our lives right up until our very last Shabbat afternoon in Jerusalem, though with the rising temperatures throughout the spring and early summer, we did take a few days off when temperatures pushed into the 40s. It’s hard to think of hockey, even roller hockey, in desert-like conditions. But on our last Shabbat afternoon Ezra and I could not resist one last pick-up game against the Marx family, and we happily sweated up a storm until it was too dark to continuing playing. Ezra must have scored a few dozen goals – no Wayne Gretzky rule here. I only scored once, but got assists on most of Ezra’s goals.







Only Adin played in a soccer chug. Though he claimed not to like soccer, Adin always enjoyed hanging out with his friends who all played soccer, and improved a lot over the course of the year.







All I can say is thank G-d for sports, for the boys’ love and talent for sports, and for the crucial role of sports in the social integration of young boys. For both Ezra and Adin, sports probably played the most important role in their assimilation into Israeli culture and society.










Childhood Friends


It took longer for Ezra than Adin to make friends, but during the second half of our year Ezra started to put together a nice group of friends from school. It was great to see the numbers growing and the relationships deepening. The year was also one of growth for Ezra in his understanding of what it takes to make and keep friends, and the lessons learned will serve him well in the future. I think that in making his way socially in Israel, Ezra started to find that balance between being true to his gentle soul while adding just enough Israeli toughness to succeed in the more rough and tumble world of Israeli boys.







Adin, on the other hand, took to that rough and tumble world like he was born into it. Early on, when push came to shove on the school ground, Adin pushed and shoved with the best of them. Adin, however, had the good fortune of being in a class with a great bunch of boys with similar interests and strengths who accepted Adin into their gang as if he had always been there. Ezra’s class was a tougher, more problematic bunch. Consequently, unlike Adin who made friendships exclusively from his class, Ezra went beyond his class to forge friendships with boys from each of the three grade four classes.







Moreover, as has always been Ezra’s way, he naturally befriended boys from higher and lower grades. Virtually every morning, while walking to school with Ezra, boys of all ages would warmly great Ezra. “Hi Ezra, mah koreh” – Hi Ezra, what’s happening? Upon such encounters Ezra would immediately tell me, “Babba, you can go now,’’ and would then join his buddy for the remaining walk to the school. After dropping the boys off at school, I would often watch them in the playground to see how they were managing in their new world. I also did this when I picked them up after school. Even early on no one could have picked out Adin as the new kid in the class. Though it took months, by the end, the same thing could also be said of Ezra. At their own individual pace, both boys had arrived.










School


School – Yehuda HaLevi - was a mixed bag. A true Israel experience for us all. Very real. Full of frantic energy that often felt a lot like chaos.







Adin had an amazing teacher – Tal – and a nice class. Both Tal and the class were the foundation stones for the best year in Adin’s life. Tal was warm and giving, but commanded respect, and could control her class with a stern word softly spoken, or a raised eyebrow. Tal challenged Adin to do well, but never challenged him beyond what he could achieve. It took Adin a couple of months to be willing to speak to Tal – up to then he would always enlist one of his English-speaking buddies to speak on his behalf – but once Adin started talking there was no stopping him. Adin would never speak in front of the whole class, but that was also the case in Canada as well. In my mind I often pictured Adin going through school together year after year with his new chevre – his close group of friends – Yahelee, Daniel, Noam, and David.







Ezra was not so lucky, having been plunked down in the grade four class (one of three) with the most behavioral problems and a teacher who tried her best to cope, but often seemed overwhelmed by the challenge. To Ezra’s great credit, he demonstrated considerable resilience in a difficult situation and, thanks in part to his love for basketball, almost always went to school in good spirits and with a smile on his face. Ezra, as did Adin, learned a ton of Hebrew, and by the half way point in the year had started teaching Aimee and I Hebrew words and expressions and, on occasion, even corrected our grammar and pronunciation. And from what we could see on the playground after school, Ezra had learned to navigate the initially confusing and intimidating behavior of his peers, and to actually fill the role of “Israeli boy” rather convincingly. For Adin, being Israeli seemed to come naturally, swimming with the current like he was born into it. Ezra had to work at it, but by the end was definitely finding his stroke. For me - with them both swimming so well - it was tough to abruptly pull them out of the water.










Shabbat


We’re really going to miss Shabbat in Jerusalem. After trying out a number of neighbourhood shuls when we first got to Jerusalem, we settled on two that work for us, and a third that works on cold rainy winter evenings due to its proximity. We love Yedidya Synagogue and it’s friendliness. Members actually come up to you and start up conversations. At Yedidya the hospitality feels genuine and not the result of an official “friendly” policy. We made a number of friends this way. We also loved the rabbi at Ramban Synagogue – Rabbi Benny Lau - who gives a weekly Shabbat D’var Torah (Commentary on the weekly Torah portion) that is world class, filled with deep and clear insights, and almost always tied into contemporary issues, making Torah seem both ancient and immediately relevant. Always highly in demand at other shuls, Rabbi Benny would all-too-often be absent from his own shul. Whenever I entered (unfashionably late) I would look over to see if he was present. It was always a huge let down to discover he wasn’t there. Our third option was the synagogue on the ground floor of the boys’ school, which was the preferred choice when grisly winter weather made the thought of walking the greater distances to Yedidya and Ramban unpalatable.







Though we made these three synagogues our own, there were many many other nearby options that we will leave for our future return to the ‘hood.










Yad Ben Zvi


I will also miss my Wednesday class at the Yad Ben Zvi Institute – which was essentially comprised of me and a lecture hall filled with pensioners, with a smattering of Jerusalem teachers on Sabbatical. I, like everyone in the class, had my regular spot. I always sat in the middle of the middle row, next to my friend Ariel. We had a routine. During the mid-morning coffee break I would organize all the unfamiliar Hebrew words that I noted down during the first lecture and, when Ariel returned from coffee, we would go over the words and discuss the nuances that distinguished these words from other words of similar, though slightly different, meaning. The many different lectures were consistently of the highest caliber – all world experts in their various areas. My classmates were a delight, always questioning and probing the lecturers, and too old to hold back on how they were really feeling or thinking. They all knew each other from many years of having taken whatever Wednesday course was on offer at Ben Zvi. Health permitting, they’ll all be back again next fall, sitting in their usual spots. I’m sad to think that my spot next to Ariel will sit empty. Or be occupied by someone else.



The Bakery – Magdaniat Pe’er



The bakery was a constant in my Jerusalem life, though in the final few months, with business down, my Thursday night shifts became a little sporadic. The fact is that after months of sleepless Thursday nights, I didn’t mind being able to sleep through the night on occasion. But when I did work there was magic in the Jerusalem night, being part of a fraternity of challah makers – Arabs and Jews - that spanned the city and came to life this one night of the week, every week.



Me and my Arab co-workers got on well. The energy in the bakery was always positive, almost celebratory, with my co-workers often singing along to the Arabic melodies on the all-night radio as we worked at lightening speed. The energy was intense, but never frantic. And it was very much a team effort with everyone doing their part in a chain of tasks, but switching back and forth between tasks as the demands presented . Always alert to the need to help one another. And jumping at the chance to do so. Pouring 30 kilo sacks of flour into the cake mixer, hefting massive wads of dough onto the wood-surfaced kneading table, feeding the dough into a machine that divided the dough into small balls that we lined up in rows on large rectangular wooden boards, feeding the balls into a second machine that rolled them into cylindrical lengths, kneading the dough into challot, placing the challot on large steel trays seven at a time, sloshing egg wash onto the challot with oversized paint brushes, stacking the trays onto trolleys 13 trays high, wheeling the trolleys directly into the oven where they spun around until the whistle sounded 20 minutes later, loading the challot into boxes for transport or placing them directly on the shelves in the store section of the bakery. All done without let-up or break. Unless we were ahead of schedule, in which case we took a 5 minute boureka break at 4:00 a.m. ... No fights. No arguments. No harsh words. Except when Neemer, the night manager, would theatrically fly off the handle if someone screwed up, but always with a mischievous smile peaking through from beneath the surface.



And at the end of the night, I would collect four steaming hot challot for the family table, two whole wheat two white, tell Shashona the owner what I had taken so she could deduct the full price from my “salary”, exchange Shabbat wishes with all in the bakery, and then stumble happily home in my blissful sleepy exhaustion where I crawled into bed as Aimee and the boys headed off to school.



The fact that my Arab co-workers and I could work together with such good spirit gave me a sense that co-existence at some future point was possible among Jews and Arabs. Maybe if more Jews and Arabs could find simple ways to join together as true co-workers there would be a chance for a real peace among us. That might be a “peace process” worthy of its name.












Hebrew and Ulpan


For all four of us the process of strengthening our Hebrew was deeply gratifying. For the boys the sense of achievement was less conscious, but I could see their pride in having become so comfortable interacting in Hebrew. Early in the year they were nervous heading into a situation in which everyone would be speaking Hebrew, afraid that they wouldn’t understand or be able to make themselves understood. By the end it no longer mattered to them whether the others were English or Hebrew speakers. Even among English speakers they would often chose to speak in Hebrew.







As for Aimee and I, we both did two terms of Ulpan, and shared the same excellent teacher (though not at the same time) in level “Hay” – Shlomit. There’s no doubt that our Hebrew improved substantially over the year, but we realize there’s still much to learn. We followed the advice of a number of people and worked hard on reading in Hebrew as an effective way to upgrade our Hebrew. Hard at first, it really does work. We bought the Friday issue of Haaretz newspaper every week, and over the year grew steadily more comfortable reading. We also listened to the radio a lot – in my case on my ipod while running, and in Aimee’s case on her ipad while working on her glass. Always Ga’alei Tzahal (the army’s radio station). A little surprisingly, the reading comprehension came easier since you can slow down to take everything in while you’re reading, but the speakers on the radio never slow down to help us keep up. Quiet often, while we’d pause to translate some unfamiliar term or expression in our head, the speakers had already moved on to some other subject, leaving us scrambling to figure out what they were now talking about.







Returning to Vancouver, the challenge for all four of us will be to hang on to what we worked so hard to learn, while hopefully continuing to move forward with upgrading our Hebrew language skills.







In retrospect, for me, I have come to realize that my Hebrew at the start of the year was much weaker than I thought at the time. I had thought my Hebrew was pretty strong. Now I know better. Learning another language, really is a huge endeavour. Especially with an aging brain. I now appreciate so much more what my parents did repeatedly in their early adulthood, acquiring language after language as they moved from country to country, eventually ending up in English speaking Canada. And all without Ulpan or ESL, or any help from anyone, ever.










Aimee’s Glass


I envy Aimee for how much glass added to her year in Israel. Even to my untrained eye it’s easy to see how much Aimee’s skill level has increased. Working under the mentorship of Robyn and Amnon Elbaz, Aimee had lucked into a near-perfect situation. The Elbaz-s, who lived an easy 25 minute commute door-to-door from us, were excellent teachers and great new friends. Robyn and Amnon were teachers who really wanted to see Aimee progress, and celebrated Aimee’s advancements like proud parents.







I loved periodically accompanying Aimee to the Elbaz home in the nearby town of Givat Ze’ev where I sat on their terrace – which is essentially an art and memorabilia gallery – and did my Hebrew homework and worked on the blog. I all-to-easily would get distracted by falling into lengthy discussions with Robyn (in English) and Amnon (in Hebrew). Driving to and from Givat Ze’ev was also a perfect opportunity for Aimee and I to debrief our ongoing Israel experience, and mull over future “plans.”











Ten Days in July - School Hunting, Apartment Hunting and Kaytana Shachmat (Chess Camp)







Adin maintained a tight daily routine right up to our last day in Israel – Wednesday July 10^th. Adin’s best friend Yahelee had signed up for “Kaytana Shachmat veSport” - Chess and Sports Day Camp, so we signed up Adin as well. Though the camp ran until the end of July we were able to sign Adin up for the shorter period and pay somewhat less than the full price. When we went to register Adin we discovered that two other classmates of Adin – the two Noams - were also registered. So for Adin it was almost like he never left his class. We even set up a car pool. Every morning I would take Adin and one or more of his buddies to Keshet school which hosted Adin’s Kaytana . Keshet was also the venue for an all-sports Kaytana plus an art Kaytana. So when we arrived shortly after 7:30 a.m. the place was hopping with counselors and kids. Adin figured he got the best deal since camp started as Jerusalem entered a heat wave. The all-sports kids were outside all the time and could never come in out the heat, whereas the Shachmat (chess) kids could always come in to cool off playing chess.







We had become well familiar with Keshet school having visited numerous times as a result of our search for a different school for Ezra, should we return to Israel over the next few years. We had heard great things about Keshet before we came to Israel, but everyone also told us that Keshet is full and no amount of connections will make a difference. Keshet is part of a network of schools committed to bringing together religious and non-religious kids in one school. On our first visit to the school we spoke to a person in the office who said she was responsible for new students in the school. The young woman was quite pleasant but said there was nothing to be done until January 2013 when the registration process for new students begins. Moreover, she also left us with little hope that we could get Ezra in since the school was completely full.







When we first arrived at Keshet, school was still in session and Aimee and I were impressed with how calm the school seemed, how polite and respectful the students were, and how friendly the staff was – by comparison with the loud and edgy chaos we were accustomed with at Yehuda HaLevi. Keshet is in a beautiful new campus with the best sport facilities of any school in the city. We returned and gave Ezra a tour. We were hoping that, in the event we decided to return to Israel in the coming years, Ezra would be excited about the prospect of coming to Keshet. He was duly impressed. And rated the falafel we got him at Shalom Falafel across the street from the school as among the best he’d had in Israel.







We had already learned from our next door-neighbour Rivital that in Israel if you have friends you don’t need connections. So we asked our friends for suggestions of who might help get Ezra into Keshet. A couple of our friends mentioned the fact that Raphy, the counselor in the Keshet High School, is a member of Yedidya synagogue. And that they’d be happy to introduce us. That Shabbat we got our introduction to Raphy and arranged to meet him at the school during the coming week. Raphy answered all our questions, but as an employee at the high school had no direct involvement at the elementary and middle school. At the end of our get-together, Raphy asked if we had any other questions. I said “yes” – is there anything we could do to increase Ezra’s chances of getting into Keshet. Raphy thought for a few seconds then said, “you should talk to the principal Iris Kiviti” (pronounced Kee-vee-tee). A number of people had already told us that in Israel things are more casual that in North America, and that it is possible to just walk into an office unannounced and ask to speak to the person in charge. So that’s exactly what we did. Contrary to our first visit to the office when we asked to speak to someone (anyone) about getting Ezra into the school, this time we asked specifically to speak to Iris. The office staff said Iris was not in that day but would be the next morning.







So the next morning we returned and met Iris. Our intention was to try to arrange a time to meet for a full discussion. Iris said she had an appointment in 15 minutes, but could speak to us briefly before the meeting. In the end we spoke to Iris for 45 minutes, during the course of which Iris gave us the application forms to fill out for 2013, and told us she’d like to meet Ezra. We subsequently returned with Ezra would spoke with Iris for a half hour – all in Hebrew – after which Iris said to Ezra (translated here), “Ezra, I have to tell you that there are no available places in your grade at Keshet, but if one becomes available we’d love to have you here.” We all fell in love with Iris, me especially. She is intelligent, warm, and asked the most insightful and penetrating questions. When Iris asked Ezra what he’d like to do in the future Ezra replied that he wanted to go to Saint George’s High School (in Vancouver), Harvard, and to play in the NBA. Iris replied that it was good to have high goals.







In parallel with searching for a new school for Ezra we also explored the real estate market in our neighbourhood. Not really with an intention of buying anything, but more to educated ourselves in the event that at some stage we might want to buy. If we were to return for the longer term we felt that to feel truly at home here we would need our own place. The key thing we were looking for in an apartment – apart from price, location and overall quality – was some outdoor space. At least a nice balcony or, ideally, a little garden. Which in Israel is quite rare. Most people in Israel live in apartments, and only ground floor units have gardens. Moreover, the vast majority of apartment buildings in Israel don’t have gardens attached to ground floor units, which is a relatively recent phenomenon.







On the recommendation of a parent at the boys’ school we enlisted Victor Hoffman as our agent. Vic’s a Conservative Rabbi originally from the States who gave up the religion business years ago and entered the much more lucrative field of Jerusalem real estate. At first Vic showed us a number of existing units on the geographical periphery of the area we were interested in – a useful exercise in getting a sense for prices. But we saw nothing we would have been interested in. Unlike in Vancouver, vendors here don’t fix up their apartments, or even clean them up, so they present well to potential buyers. Everything was very much as is. You basically just walk into somebody’s life. At the end of our circuit Vic drove up a laneway off Gad Street in the Baka neighbourhood to show us a new metal fence surrounding an overgrown field. Vic explained that a large new development with many apartment buildings would be going up on the other side of the fence over the next several years. …. The location was excellent, next to Yedidya Synagogue, and was comprised of the last large piece of undeveloped land in the area. It is also next to an existing park and, by agreement with the city, the developers would be dedicating a large section of the development site to parkland. Plus the site is a couple of blocks from Jerusalem’s beautiful bike path that passes within a couple of blocks of Keshet school, by coincidence, providing an ideal and idyllic way to get to and from school. Bringing us here was not exactly an afterthought, but it was certainly not the centerpiece of the real estate tour. But it was the one site that got our curiosity up. Vic himself, was not that familiar with the development, which was being handled primarily by an associate in his real estate office.







We met again with Vic and his associate who had plans for the site. We continued to like what we saw. A few days later Vic took us to the Bay’it V’gan neighbourhood to see another project, partially completed, by the same development group. It looked good. Well constructed. The representatives of the developers also seemed pleasant and user friendly. The main liaison person for the company happened to be a cousin of our friend Sol Pavony from Vancouver. We figured having some personal Yichis (connection) couldn’t hurt.







On our final Shabbat I found a way into the fenced off development site and had a good walk around, including at the exact location of the ground-floor unit we are interested in. It’s next to the basketball courts of Efrata school. Which is good and bad. The boys would be seconds away from where they could play their new favorite sport. But we’d also be seconds away from a noisy school yard. Then again, on Shabbat it was completely silent. And on week-days it would only be noisy during school hours when we’d all be out and about doing our own thing. The location seemed to be situated well for morning sunshine. It’s also next to a heritage-type building that once housed the Ulpan Etzion, which is now abandoned but is scheduled to be turned into high-end condos as part of the new development. Everyone we talked to about the development and who saw the plans seemed to be very positive about it. So time will tell.










Pack Up and Wrap Up


Packing up to leave was a process; long, hard, and sad. With each item we packed or gave away, with each of the boys works of art we pealed off the wall, it felt like our Brigadoon-year in Israel was already fading into memory. All year our Israeli life felt so all-encompassing, so deeply experienced. While we stripped our apartment down, we began to wonder whether it had really happened. Despite lacking any outdoor space (balcony or yard), and with a downstairs neighbor who we feared was constantly about to explode at the sound of the boys making any noise, apartment 11 of building 7 of Ganei Katamon had been good to us. A real home where we experience much during our year in Israel. Throughout, it had come to feel like our only home; our Vancouver house having come to seem distant, unreal.







It took us right up until the time our taxi was scheduled to arrive – 2:00 a.m. July 11, 2012, C.E. – to finish packing up. Our flight was at 5:00 a.m. so we figured a 2:00 a.m. pick-up would comfortably get us to the airport with time to spare.







Aimee had ordered an extra large van-taxi a week earlier and had specified that we needed an extra large vehicle to transport the four of us, Rosie, Rosie’s traveling kennel, our eight pieces of large luggage and various pieces of small luggage. The evening before we were to travel I called the taxi company to confirm the cab, the price – 400 Shekels – and the nature, number and size of ourselves and our luggage. “Ain Baya. Ain Baya,” – no problem, no problem - the dispatcher assured me. Somehow I was not assured. I remembered the size of the oversized taxi-van that had transported us from the airport a year earlier, and knew that anything smaller would be insufficient







At 1:15 a.m. I began moving our luggage in stages out to the pick-up point at the corner of Ruth and Haim Bajayo Streets; first out into our hallway, then into the elevator, then into the entrance way of our building, then outside halfway to the pick-up point, and finally the remaining distance to the pick-up point. At 2:00 a.m. I was still moving luggage from the entrance of our building out to the pick-up point.







When the taxi-van came around the corner I immediately said to Aimee, “there’s no way we’re going to get all our stuff into that van.” The cab was a mini-van and visibly smaller than the van that had transported us the year before. I headed back to the building for the next load of luggage while Aimee remained to speak to the cabbie. Upon my return a minute later I could tell by the tone of the conversation that something else was array. And everyone in the neighborhood could tell as well since the driver had his phone on the speaker setting. Angry voices in the dark called out to be quiet. Turns out the dispatcher had never mentioned Rosie to the cabbie. It also turns out that in this company the drivers own their own vehicles – and our driver never, ever, transports animals. It was not even up for negotiation. We called the company and it was clear from the exchange between the driver and the manager that the driver was not about to back down. He would give up the job and the 400 shekel fair rather than take Rosie, at any price. Aimee, then I, got on the phone with the dispatcher. The best we could get him to offer was a second cab at an additional 250 shekel (the standard fare is 300 shekel for a standard cab to or from the airport) to take Rosie and the extra luggage to the airport.







So we loaded as much as we could into the van-cab. And waited. And waited. And waited. Our 3 hour cushion was quickly shrinking. We began to think ahead to the scene at the airport and how much gear, and dog, and kennel, we’d have to get through security and safely checked through - as the minutes ticket away standing in the Jerusalem night at the corner of Ruth and Haim Bajayo Streets. Our driver, constantly muttering to himself about having been saddled with this motley crew, called in to the dispatcher to find out where the second cab was. He then got the number of the cabbie himself and began an ongoing exchange with the driver who – apparently – was on his way, but kept getting lost en route. Finally, 45 minutes later at 2:45 a.m., the cab came around the corner. With only two and a quarter hours to take-off we quickly loaded the cab and drove away from our Jerusalem home – Aimee, the boys and Rosie in the car, me and most of our gear in the van.







Fortunately there were no mishaps on the way, and no traffic. We made it to international departure terminal “3” at 3:30 a.m., leaving us an hour and a half before scheduled departure. Each of us had a trolley piled high with luggage – including Adin. Neither Ezra nor Adin were happy with their loads, but thankfully appreciated our situation enough to keep their complaints to themselves for the most part. On top of my pile was Rosie’s kennel, which kept falling off the side as I tried to steer it into the terminal - much to the amusement and pity of other travelers and their companions. When we entered the building, which was swarming with travelers, Aimee quickly noted with chagrin that, unfortunately, our plane was scheduled to leave on time.







After going down two floors to the Lufthansa check-in area we moved through security pretty quickly – A Hebrew speaking family with Canadian accents and a disoriented panicky Labradoodle did not fill the typical terrorist profile. Thank G-d terrorist profiling is used in Israel. If this were the politically-correct-mentally-retarded world of other countries in the West we might have been selected at random and taken apart piece by piece, along with the 92 year old great-grandmother and 6 year old girl carrying a Barbie doll, while the 20-something sweating Saudi male traveling alone with no check-in luggage and repeating Koranic verses under his breath breezed through.







With less than an hour to go we made it to the Lufthansa check in counter. Thankfully, the check-in staff were both friendly and user-friendly. They did not even charge us for the four extra pieces of check-in luggage, perhaps out of sympathy at how frantic and needy we appeared. Even Rosie cooperated, though very unhappy about being locked inside her kennel and loaded onto a massive trolley inside an industrial sized elevator. But no time for tearful partings. We took off running – all loaded down with carry-on luggage - for the final security check and gate C6 which, as it turns out, is the most distant gate in the airport. With extra pieces of hand luggage draped on my arms and shoulders, the best I could do was maintain a fast walk as Aimee and the boys ran ahead. At the final security check for carry on luggage Aimee’s carry-on suitcase was pulled aside and carefully inspected. The offending article – Adin’s (real) bullet necklace that we bought him last summer at the 1940s secret underground bullet factory. When the security personnel confiscated the bullet Adin protested that he was never coming back to this airport and refused to continue on to the gate without his bullet necklace. With 15 minutes until departure we had no time to argue. We grabbed Adin and pulled, prodded, and threatened him along to the gate. At this point I was almost certain we would not be allowed on board. I kept looking at my watch. When we reached gate C6 the plane was, in fact, fully loaded. But we were allowed to board. As we walked down the aisles to the rear of the plane everyone was already seated and most of the overhead luggage compartments closed.







With the boys and Aimee settling into their spots, an airport security official appeared and asked in Hebrews if Ezra Tischler was here. I responded that he was, at which point the official, somewhat taken aback, asked if we were Ezra Tischler’s parents. I confirmed that we were. The official asked for one parent to accompany her, along with all our passports. I followed her back up the aisle passed all the passengers who were all buckled in and looking on. It was hard to tell whether their expressions showed curiosity or suspicion. We were met at the waiting lounge by a second security official who asked only one question – “Ha-eem atah medaber b’ivrit”? – Do you speak Hebrew? “Ken” I replied – Yes. She flipped through all our passports and concluded, “Nisiya Tova” - have a nice trip. And returned the passports. I walked back to my seat wondering what that was all about. We concluded that the security people had probably found Ezra’s bullet necklace in his check-in luggage – a hockey bag labeled with his name and address. We’ll never know for sure, but that was our best guess.







I settled into my seat. The plane lifted off within minutes. A little drama at the conclusion of our year of drama. I felt relief. And sadness. But we’d made it. We did what we set out to do. Yet it felt incomplete. Like we had unfinished business. Like we were leaving a new world we had worked so hard to create for ourselves. Each and every one of us. And the world felt so real. So immediate. And now, everything would continue on as before, except that we would no longer be a part of it. I wondered how much of that world we would carry with us into the future. Especially for the boys. All year we wondered what would stay with them. What would stick. What would not. What little events would remain with them forever. Would the best of the boys’ memories dominate? Or the worst? Are they now forever rooted in their homeland? Or were they just passing through? On one long road trip. And what of us? Aimee and I? Do we tick off “year in Israel” from our to-do list and carry on to the next to-do experience? Will Vancouver ever feel the same? Will anything, anywhere, ever feel the same?

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