Here we go: Another child has grown up and is ready to get his first adult passport.
Yedidia, Hebrew for 'God's Best Buddy', who is also known as Didi and, within our family's closest circle of trust as "Goofeef", completed his 18th year of being favorably connected to his heavenly creator via an exclusive hot line enabling him after nerve racking incubation periods to suddenly surprise us by mastering impossible quests we long thought lost.
On the evening before this significant birthday Yedidia still had second thoughts about growing up. He wanted to remain forever in Neverland as his infantile alter-ego Goofeef, bumbling about the salon in his unique diaper-slayed walk, two gawky arms balancing like plane wings on both sides, smiling his most radiant, wide-eyed smile (which he sports under his red cap on a picture as a three year old) and babbling happily in a high-pitched toddler's voice. This routine is to mimic the same historical walk he displayed on his first birthday, when he suddenly let go of all supportive furniture and came tumbling recklessly towards me in a heroic sprint across the living room carpet.
Now this charade is regularly performed to amuse us and to elegantly distract me from my rage about scattered clothes, food rotting in his room and smelly socks standing upright in even smellier sneakers left in various locations around the house.
Didi's 'schizophrenic' touch is a strict family secret which only once escaped to the public, when he called me at work as Goofeef and someone else answered my mobile in my absence. "We didn't know your son is so little?" I was notified upon my return. "We told him his mommy will be back in a second". "He's 16 now and suffers from some mysterious chronic Dissociative Identity Disorder" was my stoic reply and everybody fell silent upon my resigned revelation.
After this juicy embarrassment, Didi's goofy alter-ego came to life strictly within the privacy of our home, chasing and patting clumsily the frightened cats, innocently irritating his 'big' brother Daniel and constantly being on the loose in a careless state of merry incompetence. You wouldn't seriously burden such a light-hearted three year old with washing dishes, scrubbing the bathroom or mowing the lawn.
Besides Goofeef there is Didi's better half 'Yedidushka', so called by his miraculous violin teacher Motti, who tirelessly suffered through all of Didi's lazy high-school years in order to gloriously produce, thanks to a prolonged teacher strike and the above mentioned hot line to God Almighty, a talented and achieved musician.
Transcended are the days when his first instructor in her Russsian fury compared the intimidated sounds he released on the "Devil's Intrument' to scratching a limed wall with a rusty nail.
Yedidushka now studies at the Jerusalem Music Academy while simultaneously very soon serving his country in army uniform.
With a little help of his celestial friend and Motti's unshaken stamina and optimistic nature, Julliard will be the next stop straight up the road.
And what will happen to Goofeef?
Hopefully he will continue to stumble joyfully along this road with Yedidushka, make us laugh and remind us of the little baby-faced boy with the red cap, looking up bright-eyed from his tiny faded portrait, laughing jauntily into an equally bright future.
First Rain
(water desperately needed!)
Our musical cat
When we carried our cat to the vet this evening, we knew we would not bring her home alive.
Bilbi would no longer accompany us around Tzur Hadassah, sit in anticipation in the front row of our house concerts to listen to Yedidia's violin, regularly hiss at her feline 'competitors' and inspire Rachel's scientific essays about "Animals and Music". She would never again sit heavily on our lap, scatter her litter and food in the guest’s toilet and come happily running towards us at the gate.
With a heavy heart Rachel, Daniel and I took her for a last stroll down to the corner... to Vivi, who was busy with some other pets when we arrived.
Vivi doesn't believe in putting down animals. In her surgery you are not allowed to touch a bug on the floor or a fly on the wall. "You mustn't kill these small creatures' she once told Yedidia, when he stepped on a roach on her tiles.
In the past she attended to our ailing budgie Yoyo for free, because "it's an honor for me to treat such an old bird" and "he doesn't want to die yet". Since then we know that Vivi will do anything to keep an animal alive.
When Bilbi fell sick and was diagnosed with a chronic gum infection due to feline AIDS, the bills for treatment became too heavy. Being a fatal disease anyway, we stopped visiting Vivi and suffered through a long year of keeping Bilbi alive on fluids. Then she stopped eating altogether and we decided to end it all on that same evening.
Rachel wants to become a vet herself. She already assisted in an operation on one of our younger cats and was therefore put in charge for leading the procedures.
The time waiting for our turn seamed like eternity. Looking out from the blanket, thin with big astonished eyes, unsuspecting, purring and rhythmically moving her paws against the warm wooly wrap in which Rachel held her in the tiny waiting area, my 'musical cat' made me choke. With tears long held back I had to flee into the yard for some air followed by Daniel. Only Rachel was now left to claim the deadly injection and cope with the notorious discussion 'whether Bilbi wants to die'. Through the window we watched her bravely standing her ground: Yes, she had a nice long life and now she shouldn't suffer any longer. But after a while even Rachel started to loose her initial composure and it was time to return, now all of us in tears encouraging Vivi to do what she hates doing.
Daniel later insisted on digging the grave in our garden and we buried her in relieved silence.
Bilbi joined us as a little kitten 12 years ago at Hanukkah when Daniel was just two. She grew quickly and he was worried that ‘she will soon outgrow her fur’. Then we still lived in a tiny flat in the center of Jerusalem and Bilbi was our only cat, our faithful companion and intrigued by everybody playing an instrument. She endured three other kittens we took in, raised and later lost. Soon it will be Hanukkah again, but with her buried besides Yoyo in the garden. We will always remember her as our extraordinary ‘musical cat’!
Bilbi would no longer accompany us around Tzur Hadassah, sit in anticipation in the front row of our house concerts to listen to Yedidia's violin, regularly hiss at her feline 'competitors' and inspire Rachel's scientific essays about "Animals and Music". She would never again sit heavily on our lap, scatter her litter and food in the guest’s toilet and come happily running towards us at the gate.
With a heavy heart Rachel, Daniel and I took her for a last stroll down to the corner... to Vivi, who was busy with some other pets when we arrived.
Vivi doesn't believe in putting down animals. In her surgery you are not allowed to touch a bug on the floor or a fly on the wall. "You mustn't kill these small creatures' she once told Yedidia, when he stepped on a roach on her tiles.
In the past she attended to our ailing budgie Yoyo for free, because "it's an honor for me to treat such an old bird" and "he doesn't want to die yet". Since then we know that Vivi will do anything to keep an animal alive.
When Bilbi fell sick and was diagnosed with a chronic gum infection due to feline AIDS, the bills for treatment became too heavy. Being a fatal disease anyway, we stopped visiting Vivi and suffered through a long year of keeping Bilbi alive on fluids. Then she stopped eating altogether and we decided to end it all on that same evening.
Rachel wants to become a vet herself. She already assisted in an operation on one of our younger cats and was therefore put in charge for leading the procedures.
The time waiting for our turn seamed like eternity. Looking out from the blanket, thin with big astonished eyes, unsuspecting, purring and rhythmically moving her paws against the warm wooly wrap in which Rachel held her in the tiny waiting area, my 'musical cat' made me choke. With tears long held back I had to flee into the yard for some air followed by Daniel. Only Rachel was now left to claim the deadly injection and cope with the notorious discussion 'whether Bilbi wants to die'. Through the window we watched her bravely standing her ground: Yes, she had a nice long life and now she shouldn't suffer any longer. But after a while even Rachel started to loose her initial composure and it was time to return, now all of us in tears encouraging Vivi to do what she hates doing.
Daniel later insisted on digging the grave in our garden and we buried her in relieved silence.
Bilbi joined us as a little kitten 12 years ago at Hanukkah when Daniel was just two. She grew quickly and he was worried that ‘she will soon outgrow her fur’. Then we still lived in a tiny flat in the center of Jerusalem and Bilbi was our only cat, our faithful companion and intrigued by everybody playing an instrument. She endured three other kittens we took in, raised and later lost. Soon it will be Hanukkah again, but with her buried besides Yoyo in the garden. We will always remember her as our extraordinary ‘musical cat’!
Lord of the Strings
Today Daniel is 14. Since last summer he is my height, wears shoes big as boats and answers the phone in a manly voice.
He hates getting up and he detests investing time into math and other school matters , which leaves us in daily despair regarding his waisted future in astro-physics and makes our efforts to lead him towards scientific enlightenment as strenuous as knocking down a brick wall with toothpicks. It is superfluous to mention the contents of his notorious schoolbag, which is mainly composed of a nonchalant collection of nagged items you would otherwise expect at your neighborhood' s recycling dump.
Spot, his white pet rat is damned to a forlorn fate of smelly neglect, merely sometimes highlighted by his master's sudden spurts of remembrance and remorse when he takes the poor thing out of its cage for a one-handed cuddle, while patting the computer mouse with the other hand . Only our repeated threats of relocating the unlucky rodent at the nearest zoo induce our son to engage in a long-winded 'purification' action of the desolate creature' s living quarters. The odorous remains of this elaborate ceremony are unfailingly left in a sad leaky plastic bag at our front door, probably for final disposal by volunteers from outer space.
When he is not bickering with Yedidia about time at the computer or the same place on the couch, he can be the most obliging and clever partner for an intelligent conversation. His otherwise rather patchy memory for logarithms and class assignments will suddenly surprise with the brilliant recollection of complicated historical circumstances, vast English vocabulary and the wisdom from various books he loves to loose himself in before going to sleep.
Occasional evening strolls along the scenic main promenade of our quiet backwater in the Judean Hills are my rare opportunity to grasp this or that useful bit of information about my son before he disappeares again upon our return into the virtual world provided by his digital friend the computer. His other daily pastime is endlessly twisting the arms and legs of some innocent little Playmobile people, fighting each other in bloody duels and ending up slain and scattered lifeless all over the coffee table and sofas. I always imagine hearing frowning comments of child psychologists or smart 'super nannies' about these distressing obsessions that preoccupy our child's mind.
Daniel takes cello lessons, which are to channel his youthful aggressions into the lofty spheres of artistic expression while simultaniously developing superior listening skills and appreciation for the great works of human kind. Equipped with these faculties I thought he would withstand the adverse influences of our violent and destructive peripherals.
And indead, when his cello is finally released from the darkness of its case for practicing a new tune (upon his teacher 's menacing accounts on the use of leather belts on idle students in his native Romania) the sounds produced on the battered instrument are mostly of natural musicality and touching warmth and promise to yield for him a glorious future as 'Lord of the Strings'.
To sum it all up: there is still a 'long and winding road' in front, but with enough imagination and clairvoyance I can see it eventually all falling into place for our dear, adorable, disorderly, devoted, dreamy and divine Daniel!
Happy Birthday!
He hates getting up and he detests investing time into math and other school matters , which leaves us in daily despair regarding his waisted future in astro-physics and makes our efforts to lead him towards scientific enlightenment as strenuous as knocking down a brick wall with toothpicks. It is superfluous to mention the contents of his notorious schoolbag, which is mainly composed of a nonchalant collection of nagged items you would otherwise expect at your neighborhood' s recycling dump.
Spot, his white pet rat is damned to a forlorn fate of smelly neglect, merely sometimes highlighted by his master's sudden spurts of remembrance and remorse when he takes the poor thing out of its cage for a one-handed cuddle, while patting the computer mouse with the other hand . Only our repeated threats of relocating the unlucky rodent at the nearest zoo induce our son to engage in a long-winded 'purification' action of the desolate creature' s living quarters. The odorous remains of this elaborate ceremony are unfailingly left in a sad leaky plastic bag at our front door, probably for final disposal by volunteers from outer space.
When he is not bickering with Yedidia about time at the computer or the same place on the couch, he can be the most obliging and clever partner for an intelligent conversation. His otherwise rather patchy memory for logarithms and class assignments will suddenly surprise with the brilliant recollection of complicated historical circumstances, vast English vocabulary and the wisdom from various books he loves to loose himself in before going to sleep.
Occasional evening strolls along the scenic main promenade of our quiet backwater in the Judean Hills are my rare opportunity to grasp this or that useful bit of information about my son before he disappeares again upon our return into the virtual world provided by his digital friend the computer. His other daily pastime is endlessly twisting the arms and legs of some innocent little Playmobile people, fighting each other in bloody duels and ending up slain and scattered lifeless all over the coffee table and sofas. I always imagine hearing frowning comments of child psychologists or smart 'super nannies' about these distressing obsessions that preoccupy our child's mind.
Daniel takes cello lessons, which are to channel his youthful aggressions into the lofty spheres of artistic expression while simultaniously developing superior listening skills and appreciation for the great works of human kind. Equipped with these faculties I thought he would withstand the adverse influences of our violent and destructive peripherals.
And indead, when his cello is finally released from the darkness of its case for practicing a new tune (upon his teacher 's menacing accounts on the use of leather belts on idle students in his native Romania) the sounds produced on the battered instrument are mostly of natural musicality and touching warmth and promise to yield for him a glorious future as 'Lord of the Strings'.
To sum it all up: there is still a 'long and winding road' in front, but with enough imagination and clairvoyance I can see it eventually all falling into place for our dear, adorable, disorderly, devoted, dreamy and divine Daniel!
Happy Birthday!
Daniel's birthday: November 11
Written for Daniel in 2007 (the year of his BarMitzva)
Daniel in the Lion's Den
Oh Danny Boy, your dreams, your dreams are calling
From eve to night and late into the day,
And when in darkness shooting stars keep falling
The world’s asleep, just you’re in dreams awake.
And when you rise with stardust on your lashes
With rosy cheeks and red bedazzled eyes
The bed’s a mess; the candle’s burned to ashes
And just your hair stands up electrified.
Oh Danny Boy, your lions are all sleeping,
So are your rats, your books, your Playmobile.
Your den may soon release its magic ceiling
For you to spacewalk just a little while.
And when you come back from your strange adventures
With glowing face and big bedazzled eyes,
Your blankets carried you through dark and danger,
And just your hair’s again electrified.
Daniel in the Lion's Den
Oh Danny Boy, your dreams, your dreams are calling
From eve to night and late into the day,
And when in darkness shooting stars keep falling
The world’s asleep, just you’re in dreams awake.
And when you rise with stardust on your lashes
With rosy cheeks and red bedazzled eyes
The bed’s a mess; the candle’s burned to ashes
And just your hair stands up electrified.
Oh Danny Boy, your lions are all sleeping,
So are your rats, your books, your Playmobile.
Your den may soon release its magic ceiling
For you to spacewalk just a little while.
And when you come back from your strange adventures
With glowing face and big bedazzled eyes,
Your blankets carried you through dark and danger,
And just your hair’s again electrified.
November 2008
It's done! At last here is a space for sharing with you my drawings, stories, pictures and other stuff. I'm all exited with building this space and adding to it through the upcoming winter! Hope, you will join me!
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