Tiberias trip - Day 2

Morning of Blunders

We had vowed to get out early, spend the morning in the Zaki lagoon (where a creek joins the north end of the Kineret), return home to rest, and then spend a couple of hours on the beach here in Tiberias before the kids' bedtime.  Well, we almost got the first part right.

Binyamin and I got up at the crack of dawn, and went off to prayer at the synagogue up the hill from us.  I occurred to me that the stained glass in the center of the synagogue ceiling rather reminded me of a light fixture from some pool bar in the States.

Where does the line between gaudiness and splendor pass?

After we got back to the apartment, I was exhausted and went back to sleep for about half an hour, while the children jumped around and gradually got dressed.  At some point I was awoken and begain to aid in the disconcerted effort to leave the house.  Change this one's diaper... Make sure we packed sunscreen... Check the bus schedule... Oy! The last bus that will easily get us to our destination leaves in half an hour from the central bus station!  Ok, there's a bus right here across the street that will take us there in less than twenty minutes, and it's coming in... 4 minutes!  Ok, everybody downstairs, across the street!

We watched from our side of the street as the bus pulled away from the station.  We'd missed it by about 15 seconds.  So we tried to keep calm and assess our current options.  In the end we decided to take a different bus to the destination we'd planned for tomorrow, the Zavitan stream, which was in a slightly different direction.  Since the day before we'd originally planned to spend some time in the Kineret, and in the end canceled, now Amiel refused to hear anything of it.  We promised that the next day we would indeed go to the Kineret.  He sounded like he was ready to start a rebellion.  "You're just going to say the same thing tomorrow!"  Binyamin, for his part, had no shortage of "should have, could have, would have" nuggets of advice to impart upon us.  In the end everyone calmed down and waited calmly in the searing heat for the journey to begin.

That next bus left at 10 o'clock, which gave us plenty of time after missing the 8:45 bus we had intended to take.  The next city bus that would take us to the central station came twenty minutes later.  About 17 minutes later, we remembered something important that we'd forgotten in the apartment.  I dashed back across the street and up three flights of stairs.  Again I watched the bus depart from my side of the street.  By this time the little ones were getting crankier, and Binyamin burst into a second barrage of useless advice.  We didn't miss the bus the third time.

At 10 o'clock sharp we boarded the bus and expected to be on the near edge of the Golan Heights within an hour.

At the central bus stop

Our original plan was to take the bus that goes around the Kineret clockwise, which would mean
 going only a quarter of the way around the lake.  Our new route went the opposite direction,
taking us three quarters of the way around, with change.

The trip was pleasant, as it skirted the edge of the Kineret, with mountains on one side and water on the other.  Around 11 o'clock a whole bunch of teenage girls got off the bus with us at the entrance to the nature reserve.  While we tarried in the bus stop with putting everyone's hats on and other necessary adjustments, they made their way toward the front gate.  We arrived two minutes later, to hear them arguing and blaming each other for their bad fortune.  Some seemed ready to cry.  What had happened?  The very nice woman at the gate was explaining to everyone who arrived that the best part of the reserve - the water - was off limits.  Due to a very dry winter, the springs that fed the pools and waterfalls on the trails had all but dried up.  The water had become stagnant, and tests had revealed potentially harmful bacterial colonies in the water (after returning home, we discovered that the next day they reopened the water trails, since there was no longer evidence of bacterial infestation).  Not only were the Zavitan and the Yehudiya streams closed (the other popular water trail in the reserve), but also the Zaki lagoon, where we'd meant to be at that very moment!

We were disappointed, but we had a secret weapon up our sleeves: a family membership to the national parks association.  This was one of the best decisions I made this year to improve the state of outdoor affairs in our family.  There are about 60 national parks and nature reserves throughout the country that are run by the national parks association, and you have to pay to get in.  They are, of course, the most interesting and worthwhile nature spots in the country (with the notable exception of the Baron Rothschild's burial plot and surrounding reserve, which are free and maintained by an endowment he set up before he passed away).  But we tended to shy away from them, since paying for all the kids got pretty pricey.  But they have a great deal: if you buy a family membership, you get free entrance for the whole, regardless of the number of children.  For us, going to three national parks already would make it worthwhile.  So, while the group of girls sadly turned away, since there was no way they were going to pay admission if there were no water hikes to be offered, we waltzed in and enjoyed the shaded picnic benches, used the facilities, got sound advice from the staff about which sites are still open, at no extra charge!  So the kids were able to calmly eat lunch, and we eventually decided our best bet was to hit the Jordan river.  On the bus in the morning, I had caught a glimpse of the Jordan where it just exits the south end of the Kineret, which looked particularly inviting.  We marched back to the bus stop.

The view from the entrance to the nature reserve

Leaving the nature reserve

Wet at Last

A few minutes before the bus was to arrive, a small van pulled up.  It belonged to a private enterprise that basically sucks up some of the bus lines' passengers in order to make a few bucks.  The driver seemed desperate to get us in his vehicle, and I wasn't too interested in waiting for the bus, which would make more and lengthier stops than this van.  After prolonged negotations, he offered to take us to our destination for 70 ILS for the whole family, only about 20 ILS more than the bus would have costed us.  We were on our way.  In about half an hour we got off.  The water was right below us.  Elisheva got excited.  Strapped onto my back, she cooed into my ear, "Abba, I want to go to the water!" repeatedly for about half an hour it took us to wander back and forth until eventually deciding to return to the exact spot we'd alighted from the van, almost interrupting a baptismal ceremony along the way.  

We find a place to stash our gear, and started preparing for the water -- bathing suits, sunscreen, inflating the rubber raft.  The rubber raft was another brilliant decision of mine in the department of outdoor quality of living.  On a whim I ordered the raft off the internet about two months ago, only recalling having similar rubber raft as a kid while I was finalizing the order on the website.  Four days later we take it the beach in Tel Aviv for its maiden voyage.  It was an instant hit.  Three medium size children could comfortably sit in it simultaneously.  Here in the river it was multi-purpose: it served as a ferry, a nursing chair, a resting space for unhappy children, and for paddling practice.  Unfortunately, I tried to row a little too vigorously and ended up snapping one of the plastic paddles in half.

For over three hours we basked in the river, swimming, playing and drifting.  The water was warm, very slow moving, shallow enough at the edges for the little ones, and deep enough towards the middle to swim easily.  The only drawback was that shade was scarce.  By the time we started to head home, after 5 o'clock, everyone was sunburnt in one form or another.

River selfie

Even the baby got to tool around on her own

All tired out

Trouble in Paradise

Right on the other side of the river from where we entered the water was a campgrounds, and a small group of kids with their parents were also enjoying the water, about 50 meters downstream from us.  Binyamin refused to join us in the water, since the girls were wearing bikinis, and he didn't feel comfortable being in such close proximity to that kind of situation.  We tried to reason with him, argue with him, dissuade him from his (in our opinion) extremist views, but he would have none of it.  He stayed up on the shore, behind the brush and trees that were there, moping.  I was painfully reminded of myself as a teenager, so many times upset by some situation I was put in by my family, angry and moping off to the side.  So it went for about an hour.  Then, one by one, the folks from the campground got out of the water and went back to their camp.  I quickly called Binyamin to come and join us.  He looked out from his safe spot, saw that cost was clear, and immediately inquired as to the whereabouts of the sunscreen.  Cha-ching!  Some time after that, the kids returned to their spot, but Binyamin pretended he didn't notice them this time.  And so, as they say, a good time was had by all.

Fine

We caught a bus that took us quickly the last quarter of the way around the Kineret, back to Tiberias.  Once in the city, we hit awful traffic, but eventually we made it home.  After putting the kids to bed we deliberated what the best plan would be for the next day, and decided that would we do everything in our power to make the 8:45 bus, which would take us to what looked like a nice beach, and a short hike to the part of the Jordan that was just North of the Kineret, exactly opposite the place we'd been today.

Tiberias trip - Day 1

This is the first blog post I've written in about two years, and I thought it was going to be a mini-series 'throwback', in which I told about my adventures alone with four kids, on vacation.  And then, at the last minute, Michal decided to join us (and Moriah the baby of the year is included by default).  So this is the story of a family - two parents, five kids (two are visiting grandparents overseas) - just vacationing together.

Prologue

Just over a month ago, Michal decided to go on a short program for religious women who need a break from their large families, in a resort in the south of the country.  I countered by reserving three nights in an Airbnb apartment in Tiberias to which I planned to bring the four children who would fall into my charge during the time she was away.  But alas, a few days later when she tried to register for the program, she discovered that not only was it planned for a week later than she had thought (and a week later than I had reserved the apartment in Tiberias), it was sold out.  She put herself on the waiting list, and told me the news.  Since it was unclear that if she go or not, and the Tiberias vacation (which I had already thoroughly planned out in my head) held a lot of appeal to me, I decided not to cancel or change my reservation.  Much later, since the apartment seemed to have enough room, and being stuck at home alone with a seven month old baby for four days didn't sound like that much fun, she decided to come with us.

The Trip There

Last night, we discovered we have a direct bus to Tiberias from a stop just around the corner from our apartment.  The bus only runs once every hour or two, and we were determined to be on the first one - departure time 10:30 am.  Miraculously, we made it to the bus stop by 10:10, without forgetting anyone or anything at home.  We were lugging with us a stroller, a port-a-crib (bed for the baby that folds into a duffel), two suitcases, a large (about 70 liter capacity) backpack, two small backpacks, a toddler-carrier backpack, an Baby Bjorn (for carrying infants), one teenager, two little boys, a toddler, and a seven month old baby.  

We arrived at the bus stop, proud of ourselves for our punctuality, only to discover a small crowd of Bnei Brak families (the bus line is a Hareidi community hub line, connecting the community of Bnei Brak with the large Hareidi community in Tiberias) already waiting for the bus to open its doors.  The cargo bay was already half full.  After a quick assessment of the numbers of people, I decided there would be room for everyone on the bus, and starting loading our luggage onto the bus.  Shortly thereafter the driver opened the bus doors.  We ending being the last family that was able to all travel seated.  Whew!

On the bus, leaving Bnei Brak

The bus began full, and the bus driver, apparently out of nothing more than a soft heart, stopped repeatedly to let people on condition of "standing room only".  One middle-aged woman who got on with a slew of children and and a couple grandchildren, who was standing in the aisle next to us, called and warned others over the phone about the dire situation.  Later on Michal offered the woman her seat, and she and Binyamin took turns standing.  Three little ones fell asleep for various parts of the near three hour bus ride.  At least we reached our destination, a bit stiff, but in surprisingly good spirits.

Deboarding group selfie in Tiberias

Arrival

It was horrendously hot outside, but our apartment was not far off (so we thought).  Our luggage caravan started slowly progressing through a neighborhood halfway up the mountain Tiberias is built on.  Two and a half blocks in, we reached the beginning of the street our apartment was on.  The first house's address was number 2.  Our apartment was 118.  In Israel, the buildings never skip numbers.  "Oh boy!" I said to myself, and we continued walking up the narrow street.  Around number 16, a wheel on one of the suitcases gave out.  "Oh crap!" I thought, how on Earth are we going to make it to the apartment?  Should I just order a taxi?  So we switched the crib out of the stroller and put the suitcase in its place, which made the stroller's small front wheels creak under the weight.  Binyamin went ahead to try and find the apartment, put down his load, and come back to help us with the rest of the things.  I thought we were around number 22, when he called my phone.  "I'm here," he said.  "Oh, there you are!  Go down that next set of stairs."  I looked down the street, and I saw Binyamin standing next to an old apartment building, about 50 meters away.  I guess maybe the numbers do skip, sometimes.

The building found us just in the nick of time

First Impression

We trudged up the three flights of stairs to the apartment and opened the door with a key that the owner had stowed in a small safebox he'd installed in the electrical closet in the stairwell.  We had had some small misgivings on the way, since the owner seemed profoundly inept at taking helpful pictures of his property.  On Airbnb, there were about a dozen pictures of the apartment, but there were still a lot of things that weren't clear - for instance, there were photos of wardrobes in two bedrooms, but not the beds in those rooms.  It seemed to be a large place, but there was no photo of a dining area.  Luckily, there were just enough beds for everyone, a proper dining room table and enough chairs for us to make do. The apartment was very clean and tidy, with a mediocre view of the Kineret (Sea of Galilee).

We quickly went about unpacking the suitcases, preparing lunch, and generally making ourselves comfortable.  I personally took care of the most important detail: connecting all our devices to the wifi.  Soon we were all fed, and the apartment a proper mess.

An Excursion of Sorts

Our plan for the first day was to get settled quickly, make a short shopping run for food for first 24 hours, and have time for a dip in the Kineret before the kids needed to get to bed.  So we split up into two parties: Binyamin and Amiel went to find a supermarket, and Noam and I went to find a nice spot to get into the water.  Tiberias is built along the side of a rather steep mountain, therefore all the roads are essentially switchbacks.  I mistakenly started to make my down to the beach but walking down the street we were situated on.  After about ten minutes I saw we were making very little progress in the downward direction, and we turned off that road and starting cutting down the mountainside on smaller streets and alleyways.  Around this point Noam's stamina gave out, due to the intense heat, and he claimed he couldn't walk any more.  I pulled him into a nearby yeshiva dormitory and gave him a couple of sips of water from a water cooler.  He was good as new.  We continued on, down towards the water.  Shortly after, we reached the downtown area and crossed through the marketplace, and then the shopping district that's right near the shore.  I suddenly found my mind flooded with memories, what felt like ancient memories.  

This is only the third time I have been to Tiberias.  The second was with my two brothers, at a rare moment in which all three of us were in Israel simultaneously.  We spent one night in Tiberias and attempted to hike to Tzfat.  The first time was when I was about to turn 16, over 20 years ago, with 90 other fellow Habonim kids.  The memories of that distant time now came flooding back as a passed through these places.  

Then we reached the water, and there came a jarring realization: that was back in the good old days, when the water was much higher.  Years of drought and a dependency of much of Israeli's population on the Kineret as its source of drinking water sent the shoreline plunging meters down.  Old piers hung in midair, relics of a golden bygone time.  We advanced along the Tayelet, the shoreline promenade, until a spotted a small rocky beach that seemed just what we were looking for.  We headed back up to the main street and I marked the entrypoint to the beach on my phone with by sending the location over WhatsApp to Michal.  Mission accomplished.

Due to a short phone call a few minutes earlier, I knew where Binyamin and Amiel were, and that they weren't finished shopping yet.  I also knew that they had reached the commercial district in a much quicker fashion than I.  I decided to join them and learn by what means had they descended so quickly from the apartment to the store.

We caught them at checkout.  Noam was giving out again, so Amiel took him to get a drink.  Part of the time they spent in the store had been dedicated to getting to now where the water cooler was.  Binyamin told me he followed the stairs down behind our building, and ended up right near the supermarket.  I was surprised and pleased.  On the way back we stopped in two stores in search of a waterproof cover for my cell phone, to no avail.  We sloughed up the steep slopes back to the apartment, with knowledge and groceries in hand.

Noam on the path connecting us to the city center

Change of Plans

Once we got back, we realized carrying out our plans to their fullest was going to be a major challenge.  It was already 5 in the afternoon, and at 7 two things were going to happen - Binyamin and I would have to leave in search of a minyan for Mincha ( the afternoon prayer, most commonly performed just before sundown), and the kids needed to start getting ready for bed.  Walking down to the beach (at least 20 minutes at Noam's pace) and back would only leave about an hour for splashing in the water, and almost no time to eat dinner, shower, brush teeth, and put on pajamas.  So a unanimous decision (by both decision makers) was made to postpone our first contact with the much-anticipated waters of the Kineret by a whole day.  Amiel cried about it, twice.  The other two small kids didn't seem to be paying enough attention to realize they were missing out on anything.  Life went on.  Dinner was prepared and consumed, children were prepared for bed, Binyamin and I discovered a pleasant little synagogue perched on the switchback immediately above our building, approximately a 90 second walk away.  

In the middle of all this, Michal got a call from the woman in charge of the mother's relief effort resort program, who told her she got in off the wait list, and if she still wants to come (it starts next Sunday), she needs to make a bank transfer for the full amount ASAP.  She told here she'll get back to her today.

At Mincha

After Mincha (and Maariv, the evening prayer, which happened twenty minutes later), we decided to ascend the mountain further and see the small compound which surround the burial cave of Rabbi Akiva.  Yes, the very Rabbi Akiva of the Mishna, who endorsed Bar Kochva as the Messiah, and all that jazz.  While I am skeptical about the authenticity of many of these holy grave sites, I was intrigued both because I had been reading some interesting historical notes about his time recently, and both by the possibility of finding an alternative place to pray in the morning, since the synagogue we had just frequented had morning prayers only at dawn (which means getting up at 5:30).

Rabbi Akiva's view of the city at dusk

We ascended to Rabbi Akiva, where we found that the Ramhal (Rabbi Moshe Haim Luzzato) was also buried right nearby.  But in the end there was no better alternative for the morning, since there they also pray at dawn, and it's a lot more uphill walking to get to.

Wrapping It Up

After returning, Michal expressed an interest in visiting the supermarket in order to get the shopping for the entire trip out of the way.  I agreed to accompany her, in order not to have to be left alone (since Binyamin was going to bed already), since she needed help lugging all the groceries back up the hill, and in order to make sure the less-healthy items on my list would also be bought.

The supermarket was already closing when we got there, so we shopped rather hurriedly.  There were so many things I wanted to buy, and to justify by telling myself "you're on vacation!", but less than half of them actually made it into the cart.  I wonder how it would have been different if I'd come with just the kids?  Would my better sense even then keep me from poisoning myself and my children with industrialized, chemical-infested, colorfully-packaged edibles?

Late night checkout

We got home around 10, resolved to get to bed promptly and get an early start in the morning.  Michal decided the mother's vacation with the baby would be too much trouble, and called the woman back to cancel, then got into bed after putting all the groceries away.  I sat down with the computer and stuck with this blog entry until well after midnight.  So much for resolutions.

All in all, our first day on 'vacation' felt just like our regular routine in a new setting.  Hopefully tomorrow will break us out of the routine completely.

For Heaven's Sake, Quit Fighting

This past Thursday, I got up later than usual, and as my only option for prayer in a minyan, I went to the Shtiebl in a nearby Bnei Brak neighborhood.  A Shtiebl is a kind of prayer house that's not necessarily a proper synagogue associated with a particular community, but rather just a structure men come together to pray in.  Such places are often referred to in the plural, Shtieblach, Yiddish for rooms, indicating that there are a number of prayer rooms all in one place.  This a phenomenon that is ubiquitous to areas that have a very high density of religious families, such that the overflow from the more established synagogues (by overflow I mean people who get up late, since it's rare to find a synagogue that holds weekday prayers later than 7:30 am, or those who can't find their place in a proper synagogue) is great enough to support such a place.  

I arrived just before 9 o'clock.  At such a late hour of the morning, I know what kind of a minyan I'll find, and I cringe at the thought, but the alternative is praying by myself in a house full of children on summer vacation, which is bound to be a far more painful experience.  You see, the latecomers are mostly of two persuasions: those who are in no hurry, such as the retired, unemployed, or teenaged, and those in a great hurry, because they got up late and need to start their work day.  There are a very few, like myself, who got up late but are in no great hurry, because they know there's no sense in rushing your prayers - then they will just be a bunch of mumbling and page-turning, all the while glancing at the clock.  No connection to God here!  Another thing to keep in mind is that the nature of the place is such that the organization of the individual minyanim is very loose. In the case of this particular shtiebl, there is a single aged gabbai who drifts from one crowd to the next, making sure the honors of blessing the Torah are properly auctioned off (sometimes for a little as 10 ILS, but it all adds up), and not much more. Each minyan starts when someone goes up to the lectern and starts belting out the start of the prayers. And so it's not uncommon to have one of the aforementioned types of latecomers leading the service, and some of the other kind in the crowd, grinding their teeth with anxiety and frustration. 

The shtiebl at 7:30 in the morning. In an hour both the
covered area and the outside will be packed. 

This morning was no exception. The man who was leading our prayers was a tall, middle-aged individual who didn't seem to be in any sort of a hurry.  He carefully said the introductory Psalms, chanted the three paragraphs of the Shema dutifully, and everything was humming along smoothly, if not as quickly as possible. And then we arrived at the silent prayer. Once ten participants have finished their silent prayer, the leader begins the repetition of the prayer, said aloud, with the congregation answering each blessing with a resounding "amen". The halachic sources make it clear that starting the repetition with less than 9 members of the congregation answering with an "amen" is bad for  the spiritual health of the prayer leader. 

So our hazzan, in the vernacular, starts looking around and motioning to those who appear to be finished, in order to confirm their status (all communication at this moment must be done in utter silence so as not to disturb the majority of the congregation, who are still deep in prayer).  But some of them aren't looking at him,  or don't respond to his gestures, and he's having a lot of trouble taking a reliable tally.  He keeps trying, and a minute, two minutes pass. It's clear that well over ten of us have finished the prayer and are waiting for him to start the repetition.  A couple of men try to motion to our hazzan that it's safe to move on, but he ignores them.  He wants to be sure of the count.  A twenty-something clean-cut man, standing at the back of the room, whose face says he's running late to his office job, clears his throat.  A moment later, a soft but clearly audible "Go ahead" is heard from his direction.  These also go ignored, the goal of nine definitely and undoubtedly available men still unreached.  Another moment of silence, and our impatient young man in the back turns into an angry heckler.  "What are you waiting for?  Can't you see that you've get nine answerers already?"  The hazzan calmly replied, "I don't know if I have nine yet.  Let me count.  I know what I'm doing," and continued to make his tally.  The heckler was nonplussed, "Oh, come on already!  Your holding all of us up!"  This time his plight was echoed, in a calmer fashion, by other members of the crowd.  "He's right, you should start already."  "There's no need to wait any longer, you're needlessly delaying the prayer."  In a moment, the repetition was underway, in the same even, unhurried tone as the rest of the prayers had been.

At that moment, I looked around the room, and was not surprised to discover that, like me, many of the other men present found the situation quite uncomfortable.  The problematic part was that they were both right.  On the one hand, no one wanted to be leading the repetition without being sure there were nine attentive members of the congregation answering their every blessing, nor did they want to pressure anyone else into doing so.  On the other hand, this hazzan did seem to be ridiculously thorough about counting his answerers, even after at half the people in the room, who numbered more than 40 persons, had finished the silent prayer.  On the third hand, the young heckler's remarks had felt too harsh and too vicious (I did not translate here the full flavorfulness of his words).  I felt like some kind of making up and apologizing needed to happen before we could all go on praying together.  But it's probably better that nobody demanded such a thing, since it would certainly have made the impatient heckler even more angry.

Within a few short minutes we were ready for the Torah reading service, and the venerable gabbai took his place by the lectern and began auctioning off the honors of opening the Ark and blessing on the holy scroll in his gravelly voice.  By this time, the tension from earlier had dissipated from the air, but the incident was not forgotten.  Nobody seemed interesting in paying a few coins for the sacred task of taking the Torah scroll from the Ark and pronouncing the blessings.  Nobody, that is, except for our hazzan who never lost his cool.  And now, with a little smug smile that may have only been a figment of my imagination, he offered 10 shekels, and the honors belonged to him.  What happened next, I already saw coming.  When the gabbai announced the opening of the Ark, the calm hazzan, instead of going up and doing it himself, motioned to his antagonist to do the task.  The young man hesitated for a fraction of a second, but knowing that he can't refuse to honor the Torah no matter what he thinks of the guy who put up the money, he went through with it.  His face, however, betrayed his bewilderment.  After that a Cohen and then a Levite were called up to say the blessing over the Torah reading, and lastly, the hazzan said the blessing, with a sweet smile on his face.

Day 28 - Reunification

5 Minutes of Glory

This morning I woke up exhausted, like most of the other days this month, but with one thought in my head: "this is the last morning I wake up alone in the bed."  The morning passed by without a hitch, the kids in school, me pounding away at the computer.  It was only after Binyamin, who was home for the day after having a late-night school trip the day before, reminded to check if Michal's flight was on time that I was pulled back into a state of anticipation.  Just like yesterday, today had turned out to be much less "on edge" than I was sure it would be.

As it turned out, the flight came in early by about 20 minutes.  All the kids wanted to come to meet their mother (and baby) at the airport, except for Chanania, who had an end-of-the-year party in his afterschool electronics activity.  The flight was originally scheduled to land at 3:15 pm, which meant we could pick up Amiel from kindergarten at 2, bring him home, and shortly all head out together by bus and train to make it to the airport before 4 o'clock, about the time Michal was likely to be finished with customs and baggage.  But now it looked like we were going to be hard-pressed to get there before she got out to the welcome hall.  Amiel was brought home, had a few bites to eat, and the five of us flocked to the nearest bus stop.  

At 3:23 we boarded a train for the airport.  Yesterday, it had occurred to me that it would be fabulous if we made a large sign to wave for them when they came out, something to the effect of "We missed you so much!", maybe with a handful of helium balloons, to boot.  Then I scratched the idea, realizing there was no time for such luxuries.  But then I dreamed up a scheme to film the encounter - I'd have one of the kids hold the camera from afar, one kid would grab the luggage cart, and I - I would pick up my wife and carry her off into the sunset, like the ending to some old Western.  But now, seeing that we would likely not have more than a moment to set the stage, if that, I began to let go of even this last fantasy.  And my worst fears (yes, I'm being melodramatic) were indeed realized.  The kids rushed forward into the welcome hall, trying to squeeze in between the throngs waiting to greet their loved ones, but I just looked around the perimeter of the crowd, and pop! there they were, Michal calmly waving to me, one hand on the luggage cart, one hand holding Elisheva's hand, who was sitting strapped onto her in a Baby Bjorn carrier.  I called the kids over, and together we converged on the long-lost portion of the family.

There were no fireworks, not even a residual spark of emotional electricity.  Everyone got a hug and a kiss from mother and baby, and it was time to go on home.  Within 15 minutes we were back on the train, and the honeymoon was over.  Suddenly I was being questioned about what the kid were going to have for dinner, if laundry needs to be done, did I make that appointment to renew our passports at the embassy, and...  It was if she'd only been gone for half a day, she fell back into her position so quickly.  It seems I'm the only one who was deeply affected by this whole things.  Oh well, at least it's finally over.

The Revenge of the Goat

First night back, and she had to remind me of all the goodness I had while she was gone.  Whether jet lagged or just being her unpredictable 5-month-old self, Elisheva aka Vooch-Vooch aka The Goat gave a star performance tonight.  Within an hour and a half of going to bed, I was awakened three times.  The third time I got up I thought to myself, "Enough is enough!  I can't take any more of this!  I've got to put her into a deep sleep this time!"  She apparently read my thoughts and took me to challenge.  The first two times, she calmed down and started to doze fairly quickly, and then it took some time for her to settle into a deeper sleep.  But this time, she meant war!  After an hour in which she never really stopped twitching and whining, I was spent.  I lay her down on the couch, aware that she would commence to scream with all her might, but beyond the ability to care.  I then sprawled out beside her, dazed, trying to figure out what tactic had I not yet used that might have some effect on her.  seconds I was unconscious.  A few minutes later her mother appeared, scowling at me for letting the poor child cry (and what about her poor father?).  She decided the baby must be jet lagged and unable to sleep at this hour.  I was allowed to go off to bed.  Later I learned that The Vooch played happily for an hour before finally konking out.

It Ain't Over

And so, our tale comes to an end, a very anticlimactic end.  But for me, the adventure has just begun.  The adventure is writing down and sharing life's mysteries, intricacies, frustrations, and surprises.  Oh, and I mustn't forget, the Dedicated Son-In-Law gift I was awarded upon my wife's return.  Was it worth all the trouble?  Probably not, but it's a damn good bottle of Scotch.

Day 27 - Penultimate

Today I mark as the last day being without my better half.  For some reason, I expected it to be a day that was centered entirely around The Big Event that will happen tomorrow.  Yet somehow, it was very much a day like all the days in the past few weeks.  It's true, the kids made some drawings and prepared a welcome sign that they hung on the front door, but I wanted there to be more excitement, more preparations, more ado.  I suppose the reason why not is clear enough: the kids never felt deprived, never felt any acute loss, and therefore don't feel like tomorrow is a big deal.  And I, while I certainly felt the loss, I'm just too exhausted and burned out to get myself worked up with anticipation.  

And so the day passed by.  The kids went to school, went to feast at their grandparents' place, I got some work done, took a nap, and slowly prepared the kids and the house for the night.  Tomorrow, while not like any other day, is still a day that we must face.

Day 24 - Sand, Sea, and Sky

Binyamin trying out the Noam-carrier

This week we felt we had to take advantage of our unique situation -- no baby to worry about, and there are only 8 of us, meaning we can all fit into just two taxis.  So after much deliberation, I decided we need to go to the Palmachim beach and nature reserve.  Turns out, it was a good decision.

Sand

We took a bus to the far side of Rishon LeTzion, and from there we caught a pair of taxis to take us to the edge of the nature reserve.  From 5 meters into the trail, we were treading in soft sand.  With four kilometers ahead of us, it didn't look like such an appealing hike after all.  The kids all wanted to take off their sandals and plow through the sand barefoot, but the surface of the sand was searing hot.  Panic quickly ensued.  Much whining was heard, until our ears began to ache, and we eventually found a paved path to take us part of the way.  In the end, it turned out to be about 50/50 - half the trail we were walking in sand, and half the time on solid ground.  It wasn't as fun as it could have been, but we all survived the trek nevertheless.

The trip's sponsors enjoying a quiet moment by the water

Exploring a dam we passed by at the beginning of the hike

Sea

About two hours later, we reached our long-coveted destination.  It was a wild and empty stretch of Mediterranean goodness, with a nice breeze and playful ocean spray.  The kids got right down to business, playing in the water and in the sand, collecting seashells and interesting stones.  Except for another small group of people far down the beach, we were the only ones there.  It was perfect.

Where the sand meets the sea.  The upright speck just to the right of the greenery is Amiel running towards the water

Since we had the whole place to ourselves, we decided to make the beach clothing-optional

Sky

On the way home, we were all on a hi from the fabulous time had on the beach...

And it was quite a wild sky

Day 22 - Culture Shock

For me, my parents' arrival signified a tremendous lightening of my load, and the total end of my social isolation that grew out of my peculiar situation.  For the kids, and the grandparents, their visit has different meanings than it does for me.

Culinary

Every time they come, one of the primary ways in which the kids bond with their grandparents is through food.  Of course, you might say, everyone fondly remembers their grandmother's cooking.  It's a big part of the link between generations, etc. etc.  Well, I'm talking about something else entirely.

In our house, under normal circumstances, animal products are a rarity.  Fish, beef, and poultry get consumed once or twice during the week, and once on Shabbat, on average.  We buy milk products about 2-3 times a year, since we're convinced that cow's milk was never intended for human consumption.  When my parents are here, they end up cooking very little, for a number of reasons that are irrelevant to issue at hand.  Instead, they end up eating a ton (by our standards) of animal products -- yogurt and cheese, prepared meats, smoked or canned fish.  For our kids, who consider these foods to be special treats, going to sup at Sabba and Savta's is always preferable to eating the regular whole foods served at home, and so they go there to eat as much as the hosts will allow them - almost every day.

Techno

Story time with Savta and Youtube

While I'm now working in software, and we have two computers and three more devices at home, we still heavily restrict the kids' screen time, hoping it will help them develop creativity, independence, etc.  Sabba and Savta come along, two smartphones, a laptop and a tablet in tow, and as typical grandparents, feel no need to discipline or restrict the children they came to dote upon.

And so, at the end of a typical day with them, I hear from one kid how he got so far playing Angry Birds, and from another how funny the Donald Duck cartoon was, and from a third how she took dozens of pictures and viewed them over and over again.  When I hear about and witness their digital over-exposure, I just roll my eyes.  That's just the way it has to be, I suppose.

Socioreligious

I grew up and placed myself in a radically different culturally setting from where I began.  My religious Israeli environment is different in language, mindset, social norms, and daily habits from the way I was raised.  And while my parents come often enough (2.5 times a year, on average) to Israel, and specifically to our neighborhood, there are still questions, hesitations, and awkward moments sprinkled in their interactions with the locals here.

My father, in addition to not being privy to all the cultural clues, doesn't even know what to do if things are spelled out for him - his Hebrew vocabulary is still in the double digits range.  So he oftentimes asked me what it meant that a particular person said something to him, or looked at him a certain way, or why someone dresses in a particular fashion.  In general, we have an ongoing dialog about cultural mores in the religious community, a dialog which we continue on from visit to visit.  My mother, whether because she has a better idea of what's acceptable and what's not, or whether she just assumes she can always rely on her Hebrew language skills (which are quite good) to get her through any kind of situation, rarely inquires about these kinds of things.  And sometimes it goes the other way.  The 'landlord' from whom we're renting the apartment asked me if my father knew the prayer times of the local synagogues so he'd know where to go in the morning, and I had to kindly inform him that my father is not a frequenter of synagogues.