Our Time

S P A M

2020-12-31T11:26:00.000-05:00

Line Out

2009-09-16T15:33:00.002-04:00

Over the past four season, I have learnt a lot about the game of baseball from coaches I have worked with. New drills, mechanics, warm-ups; all were a mystery to me when I first started coaching baseball.

Coaching two national teams has exposed me to several of the better coaches in Israel, and one of the best I have worked with is Amit. Amit and I spent almost every Wednesday night together on the baseball diamond, running practices for our Young Cadet (13-15) national team. At 20, he knows more about the game then I have ever known, and is a considerably better player than I will ever be.

Still, we got along well, and many of the things I learned from working with him I use in my team's practices.

And now that I am playing baseball, I have integrated many of his lessons into my game. Like leadoffs, and head-first dives back to the bag. Most especially, I bring his hitting approach to each at bat. With no strikes, I am looking for one pitch, or I'm not swinging. As I get deeper into the count, my strike zone expands, from one pitch one spot to protecting the plate and shortening my swing to get the ball in play.

Amit pitches for his team, and as luck would have it, our first two regular seaosn games were against his Tel Aviv team. He started the game behind the plate, and stayed there until the eighth, when he came in to try and hold a 3-2 lead with runners on second and third. The runners had already come in by the time I stepped to the plate, with a runner on first, two outs, and a 4-3 lead.

Amit throws hard, harder then anyone I have seen so far, and it was no surprise when he struck me out for the second out of the inning. His pitches move around the plate, and for a rookie like me, getting the bat on the ball is no easy task.

Which brought us to game two, played last night. This time, Amit was the starter, and by the time I got up to the plate, with one on and two outs in the bottom of the second, we were already losing 9-0.

I stepped to the plate with a positive approach. He may throw hard, but I wasn't conceding the at bat. He might get me out, but he was going to have to earn it. The first pitch was a ball, low and outside. It's a tempting pitch to swing at; you think you can crush it, but it stays out of reach. The next pitch looked low, and I let it go, but the ump called strike one. He brought some high heat for the third pitch of the At Bat, and I swung badly, my worst swing of the night.

With a 1-2 pitch coming up, I dug into the box, mentally prepared myself to protect the plate, and looked at the mound. He threw another fastball, toward the outside of the plate, and I swung.

When you swing a bat at a thrown ball, you want to do more than make contact. You want to connect the fat part of the bat with the front of the ball. And when you make that kind of contact, it feels perfect. The bat, the ball, in perfect sync; the ball torpedoing off for hopefully a line drive hit.

And if you didn't guess yet, it was perfect. The ball shot off the bat down the first base line. The First baseman, who was standing on the line to hold the runner, didn't have to move to catch it. Three outs. End of the inning. End of a solid At Bat.

Practice

2009-09-03T16:56:00.003-04:00

Over the past three years, I have attended well over 100 baseball practices. Morning practice, afternoon practice, night practice. I have woken up for 6 AM practices, and come home eafter 10 PM from the field from other practices. I have taken part in two a days, four hour sessions, and pitched thousands of baseballs in batting practice.

Tonight I went to another baseball practice, but for the first time ever, it was as a player, and not a coach. At 35, I have finally joined a team.

When I was a kid I wanted to play in the Oak Park little league. My parents did not want me to play then. Sometimes I was told that the sport was dangerous, other times the reason was Friday night games. Whatever the reason, instead of playing hard ball with the city little league I played soft ball in the shul league.

I have played, though. A few times. Pick up games. But I never imagined I get to play in a league, with umpires and team shirts and baseball pants and dugouts and all the other things that come with an official league. And then, a few weeks ago, while playing catch between two games of a double header in Arrezzo, I decided it was my turn to play. I was going to give up coaching the national team, and take one year to play baseball.

When I left to practice, my biggest fear was that I would embarrass myself. The fear was heightened when I saw some of the players at practice, including the 20-year old head coach who I went to Italy with last month.

I was worried that ground balls would go through my legs, that my throws would run wild, and all I would manage at the plate was a feeble ground ball, if I even made that much contact. Fortunately, none of that happened. There was some balls I should caught during infield drills, and some throws I need to put more mustard on to get them to third base, but overall, not very embarrassing. Even a few line drives to the outfield when I stepped up to the plate.

The guys on the team were great to hang out with, and I am looking forward to our first exhibition game on Tuesday, followed by our first regular season game on Thursday.

But before I do that, I have to get ready for Little League practice tomorrow.

Italy Tournament

2009-08-01T15:16:00.002-04:00

For those of you who are interested, you can watch as games are updated, and check out everyone's stats at the following website:

http://tuscanyseries.it/2009_ENG/risultati_2009.php#

Click where it says Baseball Allievi in Arezzo (August 3-5) and in Siena (August 6-9). They aren't playing in Grosseto this year.

Good luck to R and D! We are very proud of you both!

My Friend Named Sam

2009-03-12T11:50:00.003-04:00

Sam is a nice guy, I suppose. He grew up in Passaic, moved to Detroit, and lives there now. His father was the page number turned at Young Israel of Passaic/Clifton, and had a unique method for changing the magnetic page numbers. As the Chazzan approached the end of the page, he would slide the upcoming number onto the magnetic board, and slowly slide the number upward. As the Chazzan got closer and closer to the bottom of the page, the new page number would creep upwards, until finally, when the Chazzan reached th end of the page, the new numbers would be in place.

He married, divorced, and remarried. I think he has a son from his first marriage, not sure about what has happened in his second marriage. To be honest, I don't remember his wife's name, though I think it is her second marriage as well. And if I was to tell you everything I know about Sam, all I can really add is that I think he is touch older than me, that his mother passed away within the past year, and that he has one sister.

But sometime earlier this week, Sam friended me on Facebook. And being that I have nothing against Sam, I accepted his friendship. There was a time when I was very particular about who I accepted, but my standards have gone way down. There are people who collect facebook friends like baseball cards, trying to amass as many as they can, studying their information and reading their status updates. I am not that kind of facebook user. I like the platform for the games, and friends provide me with opponents to challenge.

So Sam, who is not really a friend, who I have had a complete conversation with him in the 14 years I have known him, and I are Facebook friends. He can see when I play Scrabble, Word Twist, Scramble, and update my status. He has access to pictures, and public conversations I have with other people.

Which brings us to March 15, 2009. Un-Friend Someone Day. The brainchild of Joe Hocheiser, the Ides of March is the day to get rid of your friends you don't really want. He wants you to get rid of at least one friend who you don't want.

So the question is, do I whack Sam, or find someone else who is not adding anything to my life.

For Helen. Or Hilda.

2009-02-15T12:37:00.002-05:00

Veev's grandmother on her mother Helen's side was a elderly woman named Hilda. Hilda Minde was a holocaust survivor whose best years for long past by the time I met her. Veev and I always thought it was a funny coincidence that her maternal grandparents, Abe and Hilda, shared the same name as my grandparents, and even more coincidentally, shared the same last four digits of their phone number, 5076. But I digress.

By the time I met Hilda, or Bubbie as we called, her, she was a shell of her former self, but to my surprise, she lasted a lot longer than I thought she would. As too many people do, she made Aliyah in a box in 2006, and can be found about twenty minutes outside of Modiin, in the Young Israel section of one of the cemeteries outside Beit Shemesh.

At her first Yahrzeit, in the summer of 2007, we went to say a few T'hillim, and do whatever it is people do when they remember the departed. We brought the kids, and at least for my littlest, it was her first time going to the cemetery. To make the visit meaningful, we had her and my middlest color a few rocks to place on the headstone.

As Chanukah this year approached, Veev and I decided not to give each other gifts. We haven't really given gifts in a long time, and just for the record, we don't give the kids gifts either on Chanukah. Its not that we don't think the kids shouldn't get gifts, it's just that we are mean.

Despite our agreement, I wanted to give Aviva a token gift, so I made a mix CD for her, full of country music that I thought she would like, especially since we are half a world away from a decent country music station on the radio. And every fourth or fifth track, I added in a track of fake news. You know, like my brother Yakoff wanting to sue the State of Israel for kidnapping his siblings, nieces and nephews, and mocking my son for being a fan of Everything on Facebook, because he was already a fan of everything else.

And of course, Veev's grandmother's tombstone made it into one of the news sketches. I talked about how police were investigating apparent vandalism of the tombstone, as it appeared that someone had left colored rocks all over the tombstone, and after a recent rainfall, the color had run all over the headstone.

So Veev plays the CD, and skips all the music to listen to the sketches of me poking fun at both of our families. Which she thinks is quite funny. But the she stops, after listening to the report about her grandmother's vandalized headstone, and plays it for me. My voice fills the air, as I, in a most serious voice, report on the vandalized tombstone of Helen Minde.

What, I ask? What's wrong. Is it too far? I did not think it was too far. It's not like I had resurrected her, or done anything to her. Justa silly thing about Veev's grandmother's tombstone. So she played it again. And again, I listened as I reported on the vandalization of Helen Minde's tombstone.

What's wrong, I asked again. Shaking her head, Veev said, "R, you just killed of my mother."

Jeans at the table

2008-12-13T16:06:00.002-05:00

They showed up in jeans, three seventh grade girls coming to their first Dati shabbat meal. Each one carried a bag, phone in their purse, and were dropped off by one of their dads, who shouted Shabbat Shalom to us as he drove home. We made the kiddush, and asked them if they wanted to wash Netilat Yadayim.

Two chose to partake in the washing ritual, all three hungrily dug into the fresh-made Challah.

And so we ate. They were surprisingly uncurious about what we were doing. No questions about Shalom Aleichem, Eishet Chayil, or our short conversation about the parsha.

Across the table sat two seminary girls. Religious from birth, I wondered what each group thought about the other. Were our Chiloni students curious about the religious rituals we went through? What did our seminary girls think about the three kids who had no problem reading Birkat HaMazon when we finished eating, possibly for the first times in their lives.

We live in such an amazing place. It was not the first time we have had people who were not religious at our Shabbat table, and not the first time we had seen people with almost no connection to religion have no trouble when it comes to Birkat HaMazon.

It is certainly a fry cry from our experience in the US, when our irreligious company sat in respectful silence while we bentched, or tried to read the transliteration in the NCSY bentcher.

Back to School

2008-10-23T11:57:00.002-04:00

I teach an after-school class, called a חוג in Hebrew. I teach English reading and writing to First Graders in order to bring them up to English-speaking level for Second Grade. I taught them twice before the Chagim and today we had a review on what we learned. We also reviewed the two songs I taught them: "Little Rabbit Foo Foo" and "B-I-N-G-O". At some point one of the boys started to sing "B-I-N-G-O, B-I-N-G-O, B-I-N-G-O, I love Aviva!" In the next round of the song, all the kids joined in.

I guess that's a good sign.

I Shudder to Think....

2008-09-14T18:43:00.002-04:00

I started teaching in a non-religious public middle school a couple of weeks ago. My first time in a non-religious environment - boys with an earring and gelled-up hair, girls with shorts so short, you wonder why they bother, and one 8th Grade student who yesterday walked in from her Hafsaka with cigarette breath. (Allowed, by the way...)

Later this morning I have to tell a young lady that she didn't pass the requirements of the English-speakers' class. In fact, she failed. Her English language is passable in most Israeli circles, even superior, but, compared to the kids who have spent several years abroad, or have an English-speaking parent, she's no where near.

She had been in an English-speakers' class in elementary school, probably because her father insisted. And probably because in elementary school the admissions standards are not as high. But we have an entrance exam that every incoming 7th Grader was required to pass in order to make it in. And she didn't. Simple as that. But is it?

It should be noted that she has gone through the following procedure:

1. She was turned away by me, as per the rules, a week after school began, when she walked into my classrom and announced that she belonged there. She was on no such list and hadn't shown up to take the admissions test, in the summer, when the rest of the students had. I had been told the day before, by a senior English-speakers' teacher, that registration was closed. "Try again next year," I was to tell the ones who tried to get in.

2. Her father called the school and spoke to the head of the English department who knew of no such rule and GAVE HIM my phone number, since it must be some kind of mistake! He then called me to ask why his daughter was turned away. I got more of her story and found out she was in English-speakers in elementary, she had been away for the summer, she was sick for the first week, etc. So I had pity on the kid and told the dad I would reconsider her. After all, why should red tape keep a viable candidate from her appropriate English education? Especially if she qualified....

3. She took the test during the next class period, but not until her father met me in person outside the school office. He wanted to be there while his daughter took the test. I told him that was out of the question. I reminded him that if she didn't pass the written section, she wasn't entitled to an interview. And we would leave it at that. Then he remembered "one more thing" he had to tell his daughter before her test and asked me where my classroom was. I don't know. I figured he would have asked a random kid in the hallway and found out anyway. So I told him. He then went to pressure her and remind her she had to do well.

4. She failed the written test, and I should have left it at that. But I called to tell that father that she failed. I also reminded him again that I did not have to interview her. But I knew he would pressure me to interview her anyway, so I pre-empted him. I told him that, although she had failed, I would test her verbal skills to see if she would Wow me. Could I please have his home number? He told me he wants me to meet with her face to face, and I told him that since we were beyond the test-dates, he would have to settle for a phone interview. He went on to say his daughter was extremely busy with after-school activities and couldn't possibly be reached until 8 PM. I only found out why later. He'd be home then... He also asked me to show him her test papers. Completely out of the question, I told him. We never do that, and don't even share the exact results. That much I knew. He tried to persuade me, but I wouldn't budge on this.

5. I called the girl at 8 PM and her father picked up the phone. Needless to say, she didn't Wow me. At the end of the 10-15 minute interview, I told the child I would let her know in school tomorrow. Jeez, I'm such a coward. I keep delaying the inevitable. We hung up, and two minutes later Dad called me back. He wanted to know the results. I told him I would let his daughter know tomorrow. He said, "You know I was listening to the interview on the extention." I guess I could have figured that out. (Ma Zeh Chutzpan!!!!)

6. I decided to call the head of the English department and ask her advice. Something about this guy doesn't sit well with me. She told me to tell the kid in school that she failed and call the dad from school to tell him, too. That's the procedure. I really believe that the principal should call the dad so it doesn't become personal. It should be explained as "school policy" and not MY personal policy. Truth is, I don't care either way. I can teach anybody.

I was once in a position similar to this one in Detroit. A kid was on probation and was in my class. When I asked him at picture-taking day, outside the classroom, where he got that thumbtack, he slammed it into my hand and broke skin. He was kicked out that day. And I was scared of his dad, too.

And it should also be noted that anyone who wants to can carry a gun here. And also that it's 2 AM, and everything freaks me out at this time of night. Maybe I'll have one of the guards escort me to class tomorrow. There are FIVE!

First Grade Prayer

2008-09-03T17:13:00.005-04:00

My baby asked me to write a note to her teacher. She said I could write whatever I wanted, as long as I wrote it in her notebook. Oh, and it had to be in Hebrew. Which wasn't happening. But I wrote the letter anyway, in English. And because I can't send it to the teacher, I am putting it here.

Dear Teacher,

N is my beautiful, sweet daughter. She has been blessed with love, health, friends, happiness and a love of learning. And this week, we put her education in your hands.

I hope you can give her the keys to unlock the alphabet and teach her to love reading. Unravel the mysteries of numbers for her, and teach her the value of math. I hope you build onto the foundation of Judaism which we have constructed for her.

Tell her stories about the world and pique her curiosity about her environment. Transmit to her a deeper love of Israel, of God, of Religion.

Push her, but don't knock her down. And when she falls, gently lift her back up and send her on her way. I have three children, but only one daughter, one baby. And I am entrusting her to you for this first year of formal education.

N's Daddy

WARNING Sensitive Material to Follow

2008-08-27T12:08:00.002-04:00

I went to my first OB/Gyn appointment when Air and I were engaged, on Purim, 1995. I liked Doctor L. immediately. He has a very soothing voice and puts you at ease right away. He reminded me of my pediatrician whom I had just left weeks before.

I saw him for 11 years, through three pregnancies. Even though he hasn't delivered babies in years, I still insisted on seeing him once I switched from a Gyn to an OB patient. And he let me.

Breast exams are not pleasant, but somehow he always distracted me by asking questions about my family or discussing the latest movies or books. As if he wasn't doing what he was doing, and we were at a cocktail party having a drink. It should be noted that I am pretty squeamish about certain things, and let's leave it at that.

Today I had my second appointment with a breast surgeon in Israel. A year ago we were in a car accident and I sustained bruising in many parts of my body, including the breast that was under the seatbelt. My knee still has nerve damage and my back is out more often now, but the worst result was that I found two hard hemotomas under the skin in my left side. In other words, two huge lumps. Freaked out, I called my Gyn and she told me that in Israel, your Gyn does not to breast exams. So I had to see a surgeon.

Long story short, an ultrasound and mammogram showed that the lumps are not cancerous and most probably resulted from the accident, Baruch Hashem.

Professor Moshe Shabtai, is one of the top surgeons in the country, is very professional and has a nice bedside manner, not to mention that he speaks English very well. But I couldn't help noticing that during the exam, he didn't ask me about my kids or what movies I have recently seen. Bottom line: I miss Dr. L.

*Important* For those of you who have not yet made Aliyah, there is no nurse in the room for ANY medical exam. Yes, you read that right. Just you and the doctor.

ושבו בנים לגבולם

2008-08-27T11:38:00.002-04:00

I don't really know how to express the feeling of pure happiness that Shauli, Nat, Jonah and Sammy are arriving in Israel in a couple of weeks. I said goodbye a couple of times, and of course we've been the Olim, too, but we're the most recent greeted ones in our family, and I haven't experienced a Zacks Aliyah from this side yet.

I have been at two NBN arrivals since our own arrival two years ago. One was to greet my parents' oldest friends, the Kligmans, who came from Passaic two weeks after we got here, during the Second Lebanon War. I remember I couldn't stop crying out of sheer amazement by the Emunah in the new Olim. They knew where they were going. Some were even taking that first free taxi-ride to their new homes in the North and heading straight for their Miklatim. Unbelieveable. All I was dealing with at the time was a slight delay of our lift because the port of Haifa was closed due to 200 rockets landing there each day.

The second NBN arrival I attended was last month when our friends, the Spolters, made Aliyah to Yad Binyamin. The family of six came out of the bus, and my kids could not contain their excitement. Our kids have been friends for 7 years and really missed each other. When they saw my boys, they were so happy and sat with them for the speeches. My boys, already Vatikim, gave them endless advice about school and friends in Israel. So lovely to watch. It should also be noted that my Oldest has been in constant contact with their oldest since their announcement that they were making Aliyah, and even put together a dictionary of all the Hebrew terms he would need in school. (I see a future for him at NBN.)

But this one will be even better, I think. My brother-in-law and sister-in-law are coming home - finally. We'll all be there to watch the 5th Zacks officially make Aliyah. What a huge Z'chut for all of us!

Dolphins

2008-08-25T17:21:00.003-04:00

It is almost four o'clock on Sunday. The Eilat sun beats down on us, as we sit on the dock at the dolphin pool. We spent much of the morning in the car driving down to Eilat. There wasn't any of the usual arguing over CDs, and the kids sat in the car and enjoyed their first long car ride since the move. But now we laid flat on the deck, hands in the water, trying to do what we could to attract the dolphins over to us.

The dolphins had an agenda of their own. It included jumping in the air, doing flips, swimming fast under the dock and popping up on the other side, and racing with each other across the pond.

We watched, pleaded, splashed and kicked water hoping to attract the dolphins, but after 30 minutes all we had to show for it was wet arms and feet, and a few pictures of dolphins frolicking in the water. But my kids learned the meaning of magic. Its when a dolphin, creature of the air and sea, noiselessly swims by, giving you only a glimpse of a shadow, before popping high out of the water to an adoring audience, and then looks back to admire the crowd.

I feel obligated to put up this post

2008-08-20T16:03:00.002-04:00

You know those times when you sign up for something that is like, say. a month into the future. And it seems like it is a reasonably good idea. Or almost a good idea. And then that day finally comes and you say to your self, oh shit, I have to go to that.

So I had one of those moments this morning. My buddy Jameel from Muqata convinced me to go to NBN's international blogger convention. Admittedly, it didn't take too much for me to be convinced, but I did not really want to go, but he said it would be good, and anyway, I digress. He convinced me to go. And I got Veev to go, so at least I had someone to go with.

But as I was sitting in traffic this morning, as part of a special two hour commute thanks to some guy who jumped a curb on the four and killed a woman waiting for a bus, I kept thinking to myself, I don't really want to go from this two hour commute to sit in an office for six hours, to get on a 90 minute bus ride from Ranana to Jerusalem, to learn how to improve my web site traffic.

Especially since, as you few souls who trickle into this blog know, I haven't done anything to encourage traffic in about two years. That includes writing content, commenting on other blogs to get traffic here, or begging my friends om work to come visit.

After sitting through it, I have to say it was really cool when Bibi walked in and spoke for half an hour, answering questions and spreading his Likud Bibi agenda. I did not know that Jews continued to live in Israel after the destruction of Bayit Sheni until they were finally kicked out by the Arabs 700 years later, but I do now.

I can also say, without any fear of being wrong, the their are no hot girls blogging. If you are a chick, and you are blogging, and you think you are hot, check the mirror babe. Hot girls do lots of things, and even find themselves on numerous blogs, but they are not bloggers.

The event was nice. Other than Bibi popping in, we had someone from the Foreign Ministry office give us a very interesting talk about Branding Israel. Her content was interesting, but her presentation style needs improving, and she ran out of time before she got to the punch line.

I know you guys were all watching it online, so you don't need me to tell you this, but for the one or two of you that missed the live webcast, now you have it.

Nefesh B'Nefesh, which sponsored the event, did a nice job putting it together. I am a huge NBN fan. But I probably shouldn't have gone tonight. I don't really like the Jblogosphere, and prefer not to be a part of it.

And since Japan is playing Curacao on ESPN in the Little League World Series right now, its time for me to check out.

Tisha Baav Observation

2008-08-11T03:39:00.002-04:00

Last week, as I walked through Rome, I couldn't help think about how odd it was to be in there during the nine days. The Arch of Titus is still there, which was built to celebrate the destruction of Jerusalem and Israel. 2000 years later, it hasn't changed.

I wanted to get a close look at the arch, but our tour didn't allow it, and we only saw it as we drove by it and the Collesium on our way back to the hotel. Still, even without a close look, I couldn't help feel out of place in Rome.

The people who live in Rome today are descendants of our ancient conquerors. While the empire of Rome is long gone, there doesn't seem to be any wave of immigration or destruction that completely changed the nature of the city. The people walking along the cafes and streets in Rome are possibly descendents of Titus' army that destroyed our Beit HaMikdash.

Rome came into Israel and completely kicked our ass. They destroyed the Beit HaMikdash, and sent Jews into an exile from which we still daven for an end to. We have gone from country to country over the past two millenia, and even though some of us have returned to our homeland, the political and religious situation of our land have been directly impacted by that exile.

But when you look around Rome, the Italians there don't even know about their connection to Israel. There was no fair celebrating military victories long past. They sent us into a tailspin that we still mourn, yet they have no sense of what their ancestors did to us. Its like we were a a little bug that they crushed. It has no meaning at all to them today, yet their occupation, destruction and dispersion of our people are central to our lives today. Especially yesterday.

Final Results

2008-08-05T01:51:00.002-04:00

We saved our very worst for last. Worst pitching. Worst fielding. Worst day of hitting cutoff men and making good throws. DId I mention we were no hit?

Still, despite losing to a Czech team that we beat three days earlier, the tournament was a high for the team. The kids gelled as a team, and at one point had won six games in a row. We became the first Israel Juvenile baseball team to play in the championship game. So looking at the big picture, we did fine. It was just too bad we had nothing left for the finals.

As for the pitcher we faced, after the game we learned that he is the top pitcher in Europe of his age group. He is tall, throws hard, and was on the corner with every pitch. And his changeup. As my oldest said on our post game meeting, the kids learned that a devistating changeup can kill you.

We are in Rome today, then on a flight tonight going back to Israel. And I'm sure I'll write more about this later.

Too Many False Heroes

2008-07-28T14:57:00.002-04:00

Go ahead.

Turn on "MTV Cribs." (Do they really need 300 pairs of sneakers and 6 cars?)

Read all about dozens of home runs in the MLB. (We all know how they get them)

And now watch a true hero: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iq7oMtYT6TQ

(Too preachy? Too bad.)

Pardon Me, Madam, Your Neurosis is Showing

2008-07-28T07:39:00.002-04:00

With Air out of town, I am feeling very strong and able to handle any problem. Whenever faced with a challenge, I have always been able to overcome it, or to at least try my best. The kitchen has never been cleaner, the laundry is taken care of, the children are relaxing. I am a spoiled, spoiled lady, and I'll be the first to admit it. Air has been taking care of a lot of the housework since we've been married. In fact, my first thought when he left was, "Jeez, now I have to do the dishes and laundry."

Except that I can't (or maybe won't) sleep at night.

It's not like I'm afraid of intruders; with bars on every window and a super-duper front door double lock, it's Fort Knox in here.

It goes back a ways, too. When I was a little kid, I suffered from acute insomnia - I slept about 6 hours a night - from 10-2 and from 5-7. Those three hours in the middle were just exruciating. I hated being the only one awake in the house because I thought it was my responsibilty to "take care of things." I would sometimes wake up my older sister/roommate and ask her to stay up with me. She was very sweet and tried, but couldn't make it after about 30 seconds.

I'm pretty much over the insomnia now, except in certain nerve-wracking times like when I watch the news or when Air is out of town.

G

2008-07-27T18:52:00.002-04:00

My Grandma spent the first couple of minutes of our phone conversation today thinking I was my sister. It's a common mistake. People have always had trouble distinguishing us on the phone. I think only Air and one of his brothers can tell the difference in our voices. Even our own mother needs to be informed of our identities at the beginning of each conversation. We have had guests who are former students of my sister's who have asked me not to talk because "it's too weird. You sound like Aliza."

The difference is that my Grandpa repeatedly told her it was me and she just didn't get it.

The difference is that my Grandma's Alzheimer's is taking a nose-dive.

Serving Israel

2008-07-24T01:17:00.004-04:00

I arrived in Israel too late to join the army. Not that I tried or could have afforded to join the army, but there is not much need in the army for a 32 year old father of three with no experience.

Still, when you live in Israel, and everyone around you serves in Millium, you want to do something for your country.

Since arriving in Israel I have contributed to my community by volunteer coaching my oldest's baseball team. The past two seasons have been fun, and I enjoyed watching the kids improve on the diamond.

A few months ago, I was asked to be on the National Juvenile team's coaching staff. It wasn't an easy committment. Weekly midweek practices required that I left work early, and when we played multiple games in a week, I really wrecked my work schedule. But deciding to be a coach was easy. Some people in Israel serve in the army; I coach baseball. It's not much in comparison, but it is what I can do.

Last night we had our final practice in Israel. We playe a scrimmage, starters vs the bench, and as expected, our starting nine beat the bench rather easily. My oldest, who is playing for the National team for his second season, had a nice hit and pitched an inning for the starting team. As I was coaching the bench team, I coached against him for the first time, and even though I was pulling for our pitcher to get him out, i was glad when he reached base in both of his at bats.

Late Saturday night, or early Sunday morning, we are going to airport to fly to Italy for two tournaments. Veev is understandably jealous. Last summer she accompanied our oldest on the trip, but went to the Czech Republic. It was a good trip for her, but it wasn't Italy.

Depending on how well we play, we have up to 11 games over the ten days we will be there. We will also have a day touring the Tuscany region, and a day in Rome. The trip should be physically exhausting, but fun, and it is something that I have looked forward to for the past few weeks.

It is really amazing to think that two summers ago we made this move to a place we didn't really know, and now, I have the opportunity to represent Israel and Judaism in an International baseball tournament. It is an opportunity I could not have envisioned before coming, and something that I never would have had the chance to do living in Michigan.

And this is my committment to my adopted country. I will represent them well. I will wear the name of Israel across my chest, in my blue and white uniform, with all the pride I can muster for my new and ancient homeland. I don't know how many games we will win or how well we will play, but I know that when we leave Italy, their impression of Israel will be altered from the pictures they see on the 11 o'clock news. They will see kids and adults fully ensconced in the joy of a game. They will see people who act with kindness toward others, a team dedicated not only to playing the game, but playing with sportsmanship. And hopefully, if all goes well, they will see a team with gold medals draped from our necks.

Scary Moment

2008-07-21T14:21:00.003-04:00

I am part of the coaching staff for the Israel Juvenile National Baseball team. We are going to Italy on Sunday morning for a ten-day, eleven-game road trip, where we will play two tournaments in the Tuscany region.

We had a scary moment at practice today. We had the kids running suicides after practice, and one of the kids suddenly started wheezing and couldn't catch his breath. We pulled the kid to the side, and one of the other coaches stayed with him and helped him relax and catch his breath.

After a minute or two his breathing returned to normal, and his dad is going to have him checked out by a doctor tomorrow.

Baseball at gym

2008-07-16T02:29:00.003-04:00

I am in the gym this morning. It is 7:20, and the Extreme Spotrs channel is on TV. The guy on the elliptical next to me has the remote, and I ask him if he is watching this. He isn't, and passes me the remote.

I flip on ESPN, hoping to catch the last few minutes of the All Star game, and am treated to the National League batting in the top of the twelth, with the bases loaded and two outs.

The guy next to me tells me he doesn't like baseball, but doesn't mind if I keep it on. I am relieved; the thought of another twenty minutes on the machine watching crap when I could be watching baseball is abhorent. Maybe not abhorent. Maybe just a deep level of suck.

The feed comes back to begin the bottom of the twelth, and opens with a shot of Yankee Stadium from the blimp. I know why the guy next to me isn't interested. He doesn't know that he is looking at the very mound where Don Larsen pitched a perfect game from in the 1956 World Series, that this is where the Babe changed the game of baseball by hitting homerun after homerun, and the site of the first great home run chase back in 1961.

The Tiger's lone representative leads off the bottom of the twelth with a drive off the wall in left, and goes in for a stand up double. Grady Sizemore grounds out to second, moving Guillen to third with only one out. I want to see Guillen score; I like watching Tigers in my highlights, but on this night it is not to be.

The game continues on to the 13th, and as I am staring dead ahead on the screen, a woman who is now on our set of machines asks if I am watching. Yes, I tell her, and continue to watch the game. I have the remote, which means I am in charge of what happens on TV for as long as I am on the machine.

My friend Mike walks into the gym. After watching the opening ceremony, he went back to sleep, and had no idea that the game was still on. He takes the machine next to me and we watch together through the bottom of the thirteenth. My thirty minutes are up, and I need to get to the office, so I leave the remote in ihs capable hands. Mike's enthusiasm for the game has diminished all hope the woman had of changing the channel, and she leaves the machine shortly after I do.

I shower and return to my office, and catch the end of the game on MLB.com radio. I had hoped they would show the game for free, as they occasionally do in the last inning of a no hitter, but they do not. I am listening as the AL wins on a sacrifice fly off Brad Lidge.

At the same time as this is going on, Israel is in the middle of a prisoner swap. Two of ours, possibly alive but probably long dead, in exchange for five really bad guys. The trade reminds me of some old Tiger trades, where we gave up prospects in exchange for nothing, but I understand the need for closure with Goldwasser and Rechev, and hope that Gilad Shalit will be coming home soon.

I choose not to try to find a video feed online. It is partly the hebrew, but more because it is a game I don't understand. Like the guy standing next to me at gym, this is a game which has been played long before I got here, and will continue to be played for a long time, and one where I don't have the sense of history that most Israelis get after serving in the IDF.

"Directness Is Not My Most Attractive Asset"

2008-07-14T07:12:00.003-04:00

My brother used to play hockey on Sundays at the Y in elementary school. His games ended right before dinner. "Sweaty and smelly" would be two descriptive words for him during those times. He would arrive at the table and pile hamburgers and mashed potatoes on his plate, every week. And every week I would tell him to go take a shower first. He would so much as toss a glance at our mother, and she would say to me, "Leave him alone. He's hungry."

That would be followed by my very loud remarks about how it's unappetising to sit at a table and be expected to eat under such conditions. (I think that's why I don't like hamburgers today.) My diatribes usually continued over the entire course of dinner. My mother would repeatedly tell me to stop, and my brother would eventually stomp away in anger or turn it into a joke, wrestling me to the floor and shoving his armpit in my face. Either way, he never showered before dinner, no matter my protests.

My beautiful son goes to baseball camp to prepare for the trip to Italy with the Israel Little League National Team. In 90 degree weather. Every day. He could be described as "sweaty and smelly" at this point in his life as well.

But this time I'm the Mom. And he doesn't come to the table without showering or changing his clothes.

Ahhhhh, finally. Tikun Olam.

Mercaz Mystery - Solved

2008-07-13T09:32:00.002-04:00

It is July, 2008. I rarely think about Mercaz HaTorah anymore, even though I am a mere 30 minute drive away from 17 Ein Tzurim. It is the past. A few weeks earlier a seminary girl visited us for Shabbat, and without knowing I was a Mercaz Alum, told us her boyfriend of four years attends Mercaz. When she learns that I am a Mercaz alum who ditched his hat the day he left Mercaz, she breathes a sigh of relief, and hopes her boyfriend does the same. I don't tell her that he is much likelier to drop her, as the hat is something he picked up this year. But other than that, Mercaz is the past.

Or so I think.

I check my email and get a comment from Deenz on an old Mercaz post. She loves the blog she says, but I am wrong when I wrote that Boomer never got anyone kicked out of Mercaz. She claims that her friend, "L," was very close to a Mercaz boy, who she calls "K." At some point, she says, "K" was busted by boomer and kicked out of Mercaz. The only other clue she leaves is that "K" had a funny last name.

I wrack my brains but can't think of "K." There is only one "K" I vaguely remember, a guy named Kestenbaum. We were in different circles, but I doubt he is the one.

There are not many Mercaz people I am still in touch with, but there is Lippy. He loves traveling down memory lane, and I send him an email. Did you ever hear this story, I ask. No, he answers, and asks if I am sure it is from our year. I leave a comment for Deenz, wondering if she will come back and answer. She does, and confirms that it is 1991-92. She adds a bit more information. The boy is from New York, she says, and was a total Mercaz Cutie.

I expand the circle to include David and Yitzi. David expands it one step further, adding Stretch and Yehudah. Between the six of us, we have never heard the story, and cannot think of who the mystery “K” is.

We contact our Mercaz Alumni rep, asking for a roster of our year under the premise that someone is trying to get in touch with someone. The emails start flying back and forth. Many of us have fallen out of touch, but the rhythm between us returns. Smart ass answers, and then a guess. Donny King, says Yehudah.

In the meantime, I have opened an email chat with Deenz. She has confirmed that it is Donny King. But she does not tell us the story of how he got kicked out. Only that she thinks that he was the victim of geography, and used to hang out with a Machon Gold girl in her seminary named Lisa.

Emails continue to fly between me and my old Mercaz buddies. No one has been in touch with King since our Mercaz days, and no one knows how to reach him. Oddly enough, Yehudah sends out my original email to Dudi, a friend who did not attend Mercaz.

Dudi, it turns out, has been friends with King, and sends the email to him. King replies to Dudi, who forwards it to me, and soon, Donny King and I have opened up an email conversation. Yes, he confirms, Boomer caught him and another guy, Edward Z at the mall in Talpiot.

The day began in Netanya, where two girls needed to be pulled out from the undercurrent by lifeguards. I was not there, but arrived in Netanya after the girls had been rescued. My friends and I spend the night in Netanya. We are not friends with King, and did not know he was there. He returns back to Talpiot, and goes with Edward to the mall to shoot some pool.

They were alone in the pool hall, during Bein HaZmanim. It is the very beginning of the spies in Mercaz. When they are approached by Boomer, they ask, beg, plead with Boomer not to turn them in> He seems to waver about what he is going to do, but then reports them anyway. As they leave, they bump into two other Mercaz guys. They warn them about Boomer, and the other boys flee.

They are summoned to the Chief’s house, and wait in a small room, cell-like in nature, and wait. The first student, Edward Z is called into the dining room and chewed out by the chief. Then the chief calls Donny in to his office. He is more resigned with Donny, and tells him that Donny is like a son to him, and he is kicking him out. There is no yelling. The chief says that they can stay in the dorm for now, but he will help the boys find an alternative yeshiva.

Succos Bein Hazmanim ends, and the chief calls Edward and Donny into his office. He has reconsidered, and will allow them to stay in the yeshiva under the following conditions. They must sleep at a kollel man’s house, Bodkins, and must pay him $100.

They accept the terms and move in with Bodkins. They have avoided ouster. Time passes. One Saturday night they King arrives at Bodkins house. Bodkins is getting ready to go spy in town. Where were you, he casually asks. King tells him the truth. Ben Yehudah street. They both laugh. Bodkins does not believe him.

King continues on in Yeshiva, and strikes up a friendship with Machon Gold girls. Sixteen years later I am impressed with his sac. After nearly being thrown out, and certainly put on probation, he had every reason to hide in the Beit Medrash and ride out the year. But he does not. He manages to get involved with a Machon Gold girl, and while he and Deenz dispute the nature of his relationship with Lisa, there is no doubt that he put himself out there.

Sixteen years have passed, and there is still much bitterness toward Boomer and Bodkins. But I notice something interesting as these various conversations unfold. Donny tells me that the night Bodkins turned on Yonaton, he told Bodkins that he ruined someone’s life. I am still in touch with Yonaton, not as often as I would like to be, but enough to know that in no way was his life ruined by getting kicked out of Mercaz. I wonder if any of the drama we create for ourselves in Yeshiva really matters at all.

We had fun, and expanded the boundaries that Mercaz laid out for us. But after all this time I have come to realize that the mistake Mercaz made happened long before the spies and the threats and the drama. It happened when they let too many of us in who didn’t belong there. On paper, we may have fit the Mercaz mold, but when it came down to reality, most of us were not Mercaz material, and both us and the Yeshiva would have been better served if we went elsewhere.

Don't Mess with a "Donkey on Edge"

2008-07-09T12:48:00.003-04:00

I've been a little stressed since yesterday, and spent the whole day in my PJ's. After sitting around watching TV all day, I took two of the kids to buy their school books this afternoon. More than 700 Shek later... And I didn't even get all of them, and I haven't even started with Oldest yet. But, hey, at least there's no tuition.

They were so well-behaved in comparison to the other kids waiting for their parents in the check-out line. I saw two kids hitting and kicking each other. Their mother repeatedly told them to stop, which they did each time for 30 seconds. Once, she actually told her son to sit down next to her, and he said, "No". And then she appealed to the older sister, to which she got a one-shoulder shrug which (loosely) means, "Screw you, I don't care what you say, and I don't have to listen."

I hugged each of my children when we left and told them I love how they behave. Especially in public. No kid is perfect, and I wouldn't want my kids to be, but I'd rather they saved their fighting and attitudes for the living room, which miraculously, they manage to do. (My parents and siblings will remember a similar reaction when we left someone's house one Friday night when we were kids. Their kids were bouncing off the walls the whole time, and we were sitting politely. Right when we left, both my parents grabbed my little brother - not the best-behaved in our house but an angel compared to those kids - and hugged him.)

As we were driving away, I decided to take them to the new local mall that opened up here to walk around a bit. They always love to go into toy stores, and always ask for a toy, but are just as happy to play in there anyway, even if I don't buy them anything. And they both have a thing for malls. (Where'd they get that from?)

We drove down to the underground parking lot and were stopped by two very young, good looking Ethiopian-Israeli boys. (My mother says Ethiopians are the most beautiful Jews on the planet. I know they are by Western standards, but how does that translate in Africa?) One checked my trunk and the other handed me a flyer that I assumed was for sales in the mall. Without so much as a glance at the flyer, I turned my attention to the boy who had handed it to me. He said, "Don't forget, it's 50 Shek for the first 3 hours, and then 10 Skekels each additional hour." Breaking out my new-found Israeli attitude, I said, "No it's not. It's free for two hours of parking."

He said, "No, they changed the fee schedule. It's 50 Shekels."

I said, "Then I'm backing out. I haven't taken the ticket yet."

He said, "I can't let you do that."

I got my angry look to which he replied with a huge smile, "STAAAAAAAM!" I had to laugh. It's nice to see people enjoy their work.

As I drove into the lot, I looked down at the flyer... "Two hours free parking."