Soldier Boy the Second

Yom rishon, 18 Iyar 5770, Lag B'Omer.

Last night was another special night at Casa Mizrachi.

Part of what made it special was that our kids could have gone off with their friends to any of various bonfires throughout the land, as Israelis fulfill the holy rite of torching our own country in honor of Shimon Bar Yochai.

Instead, Sports Guy and the Stunt Man stuck around and played music with the 'rents.  The Dearly Beloved's band, "The Strung-Out Quartet," graciously allowed us to play along with them, as we entertained a steady flow of guests from 9:30 PM until just before midnight.  Even after midnight, there was a nice little blues jam session.  Just family -- and particularly poignant tonight.

Stunt Man gets called up for service in the IDF in a couple of days.  So every moment with him has taken on a heightened degree of sweetness.

This morning, he had to report for a final medical check-up, to determine what his ranking will be for the various jobs in the military.  He was very anxious for a high rating, as his goal is to be fit enough for one of Israel's elite combat units.

"The place was full of kids, of course," he relates to us, upon his return, "and they were all talking about how hung-over they were [from the night's celebrations].  One guy said, 'I haven't slept in like 27 hours.'  I felt great, because I got to bed at a decent hour."  He looks smugly pleased with himself.  His parents utter a silent prayer of gratitude that, for this time at least, peer influence didn't win out.  "I scored 97," he says proudly.

"YES!"  I shout, happy for him.  "That is almost perfect!"

Stunt Man adds to my education regarding the dry humor of Israelis.  "Ema, 97 is perfect.  You can't get any higher unless you're uncircumcised."

After I finish begging his pardon -- because you don't always know when Stunt Man is kidding -- he explains.  "I heard that when the British ruled here, they said that Jews were imperfect, because they were circumcised.  So the highest score a Jew could get was 97."

I snort at this, one more remnant of pompous British rule, still left lying about from the 1940s.  "What?  They never abolished that rule?"

"It's kind of an 'in your face' jab at the British, Ema," he says, and I get it.  Nobody's perfect -- but the Jews are as perfect at 97 per cent as anybody else is at 100.

People frequently ask us how we feel about our kids going into the army.  Or they say remarkable things like "Are you going to let him go in?"  (The latter always tickles me, because I wonder how people can continue to live in the fantasy world where they can make an 18-year-old do anything he doesn't want to do.)  Or they say truly bizarre things, such as "Oh, you guys probably aren't worried at all, since you are former military."  (To that, my husband is very likely to launch into how hard it can be to know exactly what an M16 round does inside of the human body...)

I try to explain that the parents of soldiers try to put their feelings behind closed doors.  Call it the "Fear and Trepidation Closet."  I can't tell you that I never visit that small room, filled with dark and terrifying emotions.  But I think it's healthy to visit it very rarely, and to keep a strong lock on the door.  You can't conquer these concerns.  The most you can do is to corral them.

So right now, we're savoring his company, his music and his unique sense of humor.  We're basking in the warmth of his pride at making the mark he has set for himself.  And we are allowing ourselves to feel intense pride in his decisions and desires.

"עלה נעלה וירשנו אתה כי-יכול נוכל לה" ["We shall surely ascend and conquer it, for we can surely do it!" (Bamidbar, 13:30)]

Haveil Havalim, The La"g BaOmer Edition, is live at Toby's place.

Glossary:
Lag B'Omer: the 33d day of a period of semi-mourning, culminating in celebrations including bonfires, barbecues and music

Pesach must be over: Lag B'Omer prep begins.

Yom shishi, 2 Iyar 5770.

Question:  What is one of the first signs of Spring in Israel?
Answer:   Shopping carts mysteriously filling up with errant pieces of wood.

Question:  And what is another early sign of Spring in Israel?
Answer:  The Arabs, busily trying to salvage their construction wood, before the kids get to it.

The Dearly Beloved and I have long been impressed by the use the Arab construction crews make of wood.  Remember that wood is not plentiful in Israel; so this is not what houses are constructed of.  There is a lot of metal and concrete, covered with beautifying Jerusalem stone and terra-cotta.  But wood is used for supports...  and then reused, and reused, and reused... ad infinitum, ad Lag B'Omer...

So even though I know that the Arab crew was probably gathering and moving the precious wood after the job is nearly finished, there is something sweetly humorous about their timing this year.  Because the wood really is important.  Nothing can be wasted.  And you never know when someone else might see it as valuable...  and obviously unneeded by the grownups.

 Disclaimer:  The wood in this photograph was 100% ownerless, and not connected in any way with the previously-mentioned building sites.  Honest.

Chodesh tov, and Shabbat shalom!

Glossary:

Lag B'Omer:  for the purpose of this discussion, a holiday requiring children all over Israel to burn in small or large bonfires everything made of wood or paper that is not glued or nailed down.  Much feasting and singing ensues.  Life is good. 

It's ten o'clock. Do you know where your children are?

Yom shlishi, 18 Iyar 5769, Lag b'Omer.

There was a public service announcement (popularized by a Jewish radio announcer, incidentally) in the 60s, 70s and 80s that reminded parents to be aware of what their kids were up to during the late night hours.  It was understood in those days that a responsible parent ought to know that his kids were safe at home by then -- or at least know where they were at and whom they were with.

It is Lag b'Omer, the night Israel goes up in flames, in the most positive sense possible.

Every unguarded piece of wood is in fractals of fires all over the country, "stolen" by little boys and set ablaze by same.  There are several bonfires glowing at this moment around my yishuv.  I know where my little boys are.

The two fourteen-year-olds are out with their friends, feeding that yearly pyromania that Israeli kids are permitted to nourish.  (Mine are less bizarre at Chanukah now that they have this ultimate boy-pleasure.  The piles of fallen and burning candles have thankfully been replaced by something a bit more normal.)  Oh -- and The Dearly Beloved and other parents will pull patrol through the evening, to make sure that Shmuel doesn't burn his eyebrows off, and that Chaim is discouraged from tossing that aerosol can into the flames "just to see what will happen."  In most cases, a reminder that next year's bonfire depends on no incidents happening at this year's bonfire, coupled with cruising parents, seems to keep the young hopefuls relatively tame.

We have spoken on the phone; and they know that they must keep their heads.  Have fun -- but stay smart and safe.

Meron is filled with more humanity than I can appreciate all at once.  I know where my medium boys are.

The seventeen-year-old is enjoying the company of his best friend.  He and his nineteen-year-old brother, visiting from his yeshiva in the States, are immersing themselves in the kedusha and craziness that is Meron on Lag b'Omer.  Thousands of Jews are dancing and singing and perhaps encountering the divine within themselves as they celebrate the mystical wonders of Judaism that Shimon bar Yochai brought down from the Higher Realms in his lifetime.


We have spoken on the phone; and they are happy to share that they are experiencing something sublime.





Soldiers are guarding the borders, so that the celebrants can dance without fear of anything less than the Almighty.  I know where my big boy is.

The 22-year-old new husband, new father is on a jeep patrol with his comrades.

                               



He would rather be home with his exhausted wife and their two-week-old daughter, helping to carry the little one around for an hour here and there so the new mommy can sleep.  But he has a job to do; and he does it with focus, even though he has the weight of the world on his young shoulders.

We have spoken on the phone; and it helps him when we tell him that his brothers can dance because he is doing his job.

This is my Israel on a Monday night in May.

It's eleven o'clock.  Do you know where your children are?

Photo credits:  Isranet, Avihu Shapira, AP