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After all of the activity and emotion of the past few weeks, it was nice to have an off week for a change. Nothing momentous happened – just regular life.
We started off the week with the arrival of Goldie’s sister Esther and her husband Daniel (Yormark) who came in for the Hakamat Matzeiva (unveiling) by the grave of Daniel’s mother and to visit their daughter Sarah who is in seminary here for the year.
We saw them at the cemetery and drove them to their hotel (so we could visit together in the car as well as pick up the suitcase of goodies that Goldie had arranged with her mother) in Yerushalayim. It was their first visit to Israel in over 18 years and they both commented how different things were.
We also attended the Bar Mitzva of Yehuda Brown, the son of Marc and Stephanie Brown (Mazal Tov to them again) who made Aliyah from the 5 Towns a month after us.
Chaya and I went to an American style Channuka boutique one night to try and buy some gifts for the extended Katz clan’s kids (we are having a Mesiba (party) together at my brother’s house on the second night) and maybe some other things for our own family members. Our admission fee included a raffle ticket and we got a call the next day that we (Chaya – even though I paid for the ticket) had won a raffle prize.
We attended another night of Chamshushalayim festivities in Yerushalayim. This week we went to the Israel Museum and toured the Shrine of the Book where the Dead Sea Scrolls are kept. This was Goldie’s first time seeing the scrolls, so that added a little flavor.
Midway through our tour, a special A capella group came into the central area of the Shrine of the Book and performed for about 30 minutes. With the design of the room, the acoustics were amazing and we enjoyed the performance immensely.
On Friday the kids’ Mesibot Channuka season started with a special performance at Moshe’s Gan (preschool). The other kids all have their own parties, either in or out of school, but this was the only one that Goldie was invited to, all the other parties are all “kids only”. Thank G-d.
Our kids enjoyed a terrific Shabbat with their Aunt and Uncle and we added a special treat for Chaya – a surprise birthday Seudah Shlishit. A bunch of her friends came over (as well as Brana Hertz, a 5 Towner who is in Seminary here this year) and we had a cake and a nice time.
All in all, a very plain week. With Channuka beginning and the start of a new vacation week for the kids, I am sure things will liven up soon. Chag Orim Sameach (Happy Festival of Lights) as they say here – to everyone.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Sunday, December 16, 2007
When Yoni Comes Marching Home Again (Article# 66) 11/29/2007
Last Sunday my nephew Yonatan entered the army. He is the first Katz (even though, as my sister’s son, he is actually named Uzan) to serve in the Israeli military. We had known this was coming for quite some time; for the last two years, he has been consumed with a focus on which unit he would try out for and what capacity his service would take.
He initially wanted to be in the Shayetet (similar to the Navy Seals) program. This super-secret unit is involved in the most difficult and dangerous missions. In fact, a year and a half ago, during the Lebanon war, I had asked Yonatan what the Shayetet was doing during the war. His reply: “Shmuel, neither you nor I will ever know.” It was only weeks later that we found out that the unit that had tried to land at night near Beirut in Lebanese army uniforms and vehicles had been Shayetet.
After months of personal training and preparation and after passing numerous intelligence and psychological aptitude tests, he went for the final five days of extreme physical testing designed to weed out the weaker candidates. Of the hundreds of qualifying teens, he was one of 17 who actually made it through the testing. Only 15 of them were actually taken and he was one of those who were left off.
There is no question he was disappointed. We were all very proud of him and pointed out to him that he had passed everything they could throw at him and made it through. Whatever criteria they were looking for—perhaps they wanted another Arabic-speaking soldier or some other random need—it was through no fault of his own that he didn’t get in.
He got a call from Chail Ha’Avir (the Air Force). They wanted him to try out for their pilot training course. The only person who was against it was Yonatan himself. We were all excited at the possibility of a lifelong career as a pilot and how it could set him up for life. He felt destined for an elite combat unit and refused to compromise his goals. We had to give him credit for sincerity and focus.
After careful research and investigation, he set his sights upon another specialized combat unit. And he got in. If I told you exactly which unit he is in, I’d have to kill you. Apparently it is supposed to be confidential. All I know is that they are a unit that specializes in jungle warfare.
When my sister told me this I asked her what jungles we have in Israel that we need to train for. She told me that there are actually jungles in Lebanon and Syria and that is what we are training for. It was only later that I realized my naiveté. Of course we would train to fight on enemy territory—if we have a choice we would always prefer to bring the fight to them to having it within our own borders. The only person who expressed any concern about his upcoming enlistment was my sister. She dreaded the day of enlistment and didn’t want to even think about what it would mean. The rest of us just laughed it off as the natural worries of a mother.
As I wrote last week, Goldie and I decided to give him a gift (a pocketknife was recommended by a friend) and made a special effort to give it to him (along with a handwritten personal note of love and support) in person in order to wish him well and say goodbye. So we saw him just a few days before enlistment.
At dinner that same night, both Goldie and I (and our brother-in-law Arieh) saw the ease with which my sister Bluma came to tears when the subject was mentioned and, while we could see the reason for her concern, I think we all seemed to feel less of a concern than she. After all, thousands of teens enter the army each year and the overwhelmingly vast majority return home safely.
Goldie and I decided not to speak with my sister about him from Sunday on. We figured that bringing up the subject would needlessly cause her more worry, and that if she wanted to talk to us about it, she would take the initiative (she—like her brother—is not known for her reticent and reserved nature). We put the whole subject to the back of our minds.
On Monday evening, the day after Yonatan went in to the army, we got a message from her to call back. When I called she spoke to me about some mundane item, and then, when it was obvious that I wasn’t going to ask about Yonatan, she said, “Well, since you asked, I’ll tell you how it went!” (I told you she wasn’t shy.)
She told me how traumatic it was to see his name flash up on the screen, telling them to bring him to the bus that would take him to begin processing and billeting. It was a difficult moment for her and she had a hard time even pointing out to everyone else that his name had been called. She said goodbye to him and let my brother-in-law take him to the bus. When he came back she asked him if everything had gone OK and he said no, as the realization that his son was now entering the army hit him. He later told me himself how tough it was for him to let go of his son and how surprised he was at the depth of his distress and concern.
It wasn’t until a couple of days had passed that he could even talk about it, and even then he was not able to articulate what he was feeling. After the phone call, Goldie and I started making some simple calculations and realized that with the birth of our latest nephew a couple of weeks ago, there would be a Katz (or Uzan) in the army almost continuously for the next 20-plus years. Sure, there are a couple of six-month breaks thrown in there, but it was an incredibly sobering thought.
Not every one will be in a combat unit. But every one of them, for every single day that he wears that uniform, will have an additional target painted on his back for our enemies. For the next 20 years and more (as we begin to consider grandchildren for all of us) we will face the almost daily concern about a loved one’s well-being. Until this first one actually went in, it hadn’t hit home for us.
When we were in the U.S., and even for our first few months here, those boys doing the fighting and the dying were an abstract concept—someone else’s kids, but certainly not ours. Every time we thought of them, we thought of them with a sincere concern, but definitely a sense of detachment and safety that it couldn’t possibly be us.
Even in making aliyah, it was very hard to look so far down the road to Mordechai’s military service (which he is very excited to consider whenever he sees a chayal). He is six years old; the military is twelve years away! Twelve years doesn’t seem so far away anymore.
I look ahead to that time when it will be Goldie and I taking our precious son to the enlistment base and I see how hard it was for my sister and brother-in-law, people who have lived through this in their personal lives (my brother-in-law just ended his military reserves obligations in the past few years). If they—who have lived through this themselves—had such a hard time facing their son’s enlistment, how can Goldie and I even hope to cope?
How can I possibly consider letting my precious treasures—these children who are more dear to me than anything—how can I possibly think of letting them be put in harm’s way?
My Mordechai, who is so sincere, who lives just to spend time playing with his Abba first and his friends second, who delights in the pure joy of learning something he didn’t know, whose empathy for others is overwhelming and whose dedication and devotion to his friends is unlimited—how can I think of letting him do this?
My Moshe, the boy of a million expressions (every one of them cute), whose “Heblish” is a language all its own, whose loving trust in others can melt the coldest of hearts, who can disarm the most angry adult with his soft quizzical smile—from where will I get the strength to support him when it is his turn to serve?
Each and every parent goes through this turmoil in some way or another. Without these young men, there would be no army and no protection. To extend Golda Meir’s thought to the next step, I think this is part of the rage we have for our enemies, that they force us to sacrifice some of these treasures for the sake of us all.
I was corresponding with Larry Gordon, the editor/publisher of the Five Towns Jewish Times, while I was speaking with my sister on the phone that night. I told him what was going on and he replied, “You must be very proud.”
Proud is how I felt the week before the enlistment; here was my nephew preparing to do his duty for the country in which he lives. He approached it with such devotion and dedication that I could not help but be proud. Now? Of course I still feel pride in him and in his desire to stand and be counted. Yet now that he is actually in the army, I am also filled with no small amount of horror that he and all the rest of our young men have to be there to defend us from our enemies.
I cringe at the thought that some of them may not come home to their parents, and I cannot help but imagine (now that my own children and nephews are actually subject to military obligations) how incredibly painful and devastating it will be for their families.
I suddenly understand a lot more of the bravado of the men, especially the young men, for whom showing fear may mean the difference between seeing their families again or not. I understand just a bit more clearly the mother’s agony each time her son leaves her to return to his unit and his base. And I realize why it is that Yom HaZikaron (Memorial Day) is such an emotionally charged day here in Israel—after all, so many people at least know of someone who has lost a family member in battle, and every one of our families knows that it can happen to us in the blink of an eye.
I understand how hard it is to say things like “We don’t negotiate with terrorists,” when the flip side of that argument means condemning someone’s son to death at the hands of his captors when there is even a glimmer of possibility that he can be returned alive. In some cases it is only the promise that no soldier will be left behind that keeps hopes alive.
Mostly, I understand how little control over our lives we actually have. I see how many of the things we do to support these young men is done by rote, and how important it is to support them with every means at hand. So I ask you to do your part, as well.
There are thousands of young men and women who are actively putting their lives on the line for the safety and security of every man, woman, and child who either lives in or visits our holy country. No matter who you are, from the yeshiva student whose service is done in the beis midrash to the most non-religious, secular-oriented person, each and every one of us benefits from the blanket of security provided by these stalwart youths. Tourists. Students. Business owners. Housewives. Mothers. Fathers. Sisters and brothers. Grandfathers and Grandmothers.
So the next time you are in shul, no matter what your politics, maybe offer a small tefillah for him and his peers. If your shul says a Mi Shebeirach for the chayalim, perhaps listen a bit more attentively and say Amen with feeling and meaning.
Last week this tefillah may have been an abstract concept for you. This week, if you think of nothing else, maybe think of my nephew who is this very moment drilling and preparing to put himself in harm’s way so that we can all enjoy the kedushah, beauty, and splendor that is Israel.
He initially wanted to be in the Shayetet (similar to the Navy Seals) program. This super-secret unit is involved in the most difficult and dangerous missions. In fact, a year and a half ago, during the Lebanon war, I had asked Yonatan what the Shayetet was doing during the war. His reply: “Shmuel, neither you nor I will ever know.” It was only weeks later that we found out that the unit that had tried to land at night near Beirut in Lebanese army uniforms and vehicles had been Shayetet.
After months of personal training and preparation and after passing numerous intelligence and psychological aptitude tests, he went for the final five days of extreme physical testing designed to weed out the weaker candidates. Of the hundreds of qualifying teens, he was one of 17 who actually made it through the testing. Only 15 of them were actually taken and he was one of those who were left off.
There is no question he was disappointed. We were all very proud of him and pointed out to him that he had passed everything they could throw at him and made it through. Whatever criteria they were looking for—perhaps they wanted another Arabic-speaking soldier or some other random need—it was through no fault of his own that he didn’t get in.
He got a call from Chail Ha’Avir (the Air Force). They wanted him to try out for their pilot training course. The only person who was against it was Yonatan himself. We were all excited at the possibility of a lifelong career as a pilot and how it could set him up for life. He felt destined for an elite combat unit and refused to compromise his goals. We had to give him credit for sincerity and focus.
After careful research and investigation, he set his sights upon another specialized combat unit. And he got in. If I told you exactly which unit he is in, I’d have to kill you. Apparently it is supposed to be confidential. All I know is that they are a unit that specializes in jungle warfare.
When my sister told me this I asked her what jungles we have in Israel that we need to train for. She told me that there are actually jungles in Lebanon and Syria and that is what we are training for. It was only later that I realized my naiveté. Of course we would train to fight on enemy territory—if we have a choice we would always prefer to bring the fight to them to having it within our own borders. The only person who expressed any concern about his upcoming enlistment was my sister. She dreaded the day of enlistment and didn’t want to even think about what it would mean. The rest of us just laughed it off as the natural worries of a mother.
As I wrote last week, Goldie and I decided to give him a gift (a pocketknife was recommended by a friend) and made a special effort to give it to him (along with a handwritten personal note of love and support) in person in order to wish him well and say goodbye. So we saw him just a few days before enlistment.
At dinner that same night, both Goldie and I (and our brother-in-law Arieh) saw the ease with which my sister Bluma came to tears when the subject was mentioned and, while we could see the reason for her concern, I think we all seemed to feel less of a concern than she. After all, thousands of teens enter the army each year and the overwhelmingly vast majority return home safely.
Goldie and I decided not to speak with my sister about him from Sunday on. We figured that bringing up the subject would needlessly cause her more worry, and that if she wanted to talk to us about it, she would take the initiative (she—like her brother—is not known for her reticent and reserved nature). We put the whole subject to the back of our minds.
On Monday evening, the day after Yonatan went in to the army, we got a message from her to call back. When I called she spoke to me about some mundane item, and then, when it was obvious that I wasn’t going to ask about Yonatan, she said, “Well, since you asked, I’ll tell you how it went!” (I told you she wasn’t shy.)
She told me how traumatic it was to see his name flash up on the screen, telling them to bring him to the bus that would take him to begin processing and billeting. It was a difficult moment for her and she had a hard time even pointing out to everyone else that his name had been called. She said goodbye to him and let my brother-in-law take him to the bus. When he came back she asked him if everything had gone OK and he said no, as the realization that his son was now entering the army hit him. He later told me himself how tough it was for him to let go of his son and how surprised he was at the depth of his distress and concern.
It wasn’t until a couple of days had passed that he could even talk about it, and even then he was not able to articulate what he was feeling. After the phone call, Goldie and I started making some simple calculations and realized that with the birth of our latest nephew a couple of weeks ago, there would be a Katz (or Uzan) in the army almost continuously for the next 20-plus years. Sure, there are a couple of six-month breaks thrown in there, but it was an incredibly sobering thought.
Not every one will be in a combat unit. But every one of them, for every single day that he wears that uniform, will have an additional target painted on his back for our enemies. For the next 20 years and more (as we begin to consider grandchildren for all of us) we will face the almost daily concern about a loved one’s well-being. Until this first one actually went in, it hadn’t hit home for us.
When we were in the U.S., and even for our first few months here, those boys doing the fighting and the dying were an abstract concept—someone else’s kids, but certainly not ours. Every time we thought of them, we thought of them with a sincere concern, but definitely a sense of detachment and safety that it couldn’t possibly be us.
Even in making aliyah, it was very hard to look so far down the road to Mordechai’s military service (which he is very excited to consider whenever he sees a chayal). He is six years old; the military is twelve years away! Twelve years doesn’t seem so far away anymore.
I look ahead to that time when it will be Goldie and I taking our precious son to the enlistment base and I see how hard it was for my sister and brother-in-law, people who have lived through this in their personal lives (my brother-in-law just ended his military reserves obligations in the past few years). If they—who have lived through this themselves—had such a hard time facing their son’s enlistment, how can Goldie and I even hope to cope?
How can I possibly consider letting my precious treasures—these children who are more dear to me than anything—how can I possibly think of letting them be put in harm’s way?
My Mordechai, who is so sincere, who lives just to spend time playing with his Abba first and his friends second, who delights in the pure joy of learning something he didn’t know, whose empathy for others is overwhelming and whose dedication and devotion to his friends is unlimited—how can I think of letting him do this?
My Moshe, the boy of a million expressions (every one of them cute), whose “Heblish” is a language all its own, whose loving trust in others can melt the coldest of hearts, who can disarm the most angry adult with his soft quizzical smile—from where will I get the strength to support him when it is his turn to serve?
Each and every parent goes through this turmoil in some way or another. Without these young men, there would be no army and no protection. To extend Golda Meir’s thought to the next step, I think this is part of the rage we have for our enemies, that they force us to sacrifice some of these treasures for the sake of us all.
I was corresponding with Larry Gordon, the editor/publisher of the Five Towns Jewish Times, while I was speaking with my sister on the phone that night. I told him what was going on and he replied, “You must be very proud.”
Proud is how I felt the week before the enlistment; here was my nephew preparing to do his duty for the country in which he lives. He approached it with such devotion and dedication that I could not help but be proud. Now? Of course I still feel pride in him and in his desire to stand and be counted. Yet now that he is actually in the army, I am also filled with no small amount of horror that he and all the rest of our young men have to be there to defend us from our enemies.
I cringe at the thought that some of them may not come home to their parents, and I cannot help but imagine (now that my own children and nephews are actually subject to military obligations) how incredibly painful and devastating it will be for their families.
I suddenly understand a lot more of the bravado of the men, especially the young men, for whom showing fear may mean the difference between seeing their families again or not. I understand just a bit more clearly the mother’s agony each time her son leaves her to return to his unit and his base. And I realize why it is that Yom HaZikaron (Memorial Day) is such an emotionally charged day here in Israel—after all, so many people at least know of someone who has lost a family member in battle, and every one of our families knows that it can happen to us in the blink of an eye.
I understand how hard it is to say things like “We don’t negotiate with terrorists,” when the flip side of that argument means condemning someone’s son to death at the hands of his captors when there is even a glimmer of possibility that he can be returned alive. In some cases it is only the promise that no soldier will be left behind that keeps hopes alive.
Mostly, I understand how little control over our lives we actually have. I see how many of the things we do to support these young men is done by rote, and how important it is to support them with every means at hand. So I ask you to do your part, as well.
There are thousands of young men and women who are actively putting their lives on the line for the safety and security of every man, woman, and child who either lives in or visits our holy country. No matter who you are, from the yeshiva student whose service is done in the beis midrash to the most non-religious, secular-oriented person, each and every one of us benefits from the blanket of security provided by these stalwart youths. Tourists. Students. Business owners. Housewives. Mothers. Fathers. Sisters and brothers. Grandfathers and Grandmothers.
So the next time you are in shul, no matter what your politics, maybe offer a small tefillah for him and his peers. If your shul says a Mi Shebeirach for the chayalim, perhaps listen a bit more attentively and say Amen with feeling and meaning.
Last week this tefillah may have been an abstract concept for you. This week, if you think of nothing else, maybe think of my nephew who is this very moment drilling and preparing to put himself in harm’s way so that we can all enjoy the kedushah, beauty, and splendor that is Israel.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Welcome Tourists (Article #65) 11/22/2007
With the approach of the American holidays, we had been anticipating visits from several of our friends and relatives. The week began with a visit from our friend Bina Zaiman from Far Rockaway. Her husband Eric had visited Israel a year ago for a family simcha and this was Bina’s turn.
I didn’t actually get to see her, but Goldie, Naomi Schwartz and Ranana Wolf (all current Beit Shemeshites and former Far Rockawayans) got together with her for brunch and had a nice time visiting with her.
It is strange to think about in retrospect. All of these women grew up in the same neighborhood and were often part of the same youth groups and activities together. Now, with the exception of the Zaiman’s we are all here in Beit Shemesh.
On Monday night we went to Ramat Gan to take my sister out for her birthday. With all the craziness in our lives, we hadn’t gotten together (socially) with her and her husband for quite some time and it was nice to spend time with them.
We actually got there much earlier than they had expected. The following Sunday my nephew was scheduled to enter the army, enlisting into an elite combat unit. We have no idea what the protocol is when a relative enters the army, but Goldie wanted to give him a gift before he went in that would show that we support him and are thinking of him.
I had asked several of the people at the Yeshiva when one of the Madrichim (dorm counselors) mentioned that the first thing he bought himself on his first leave was a pocketknife. So we got him a pocketknife, wrote him a nice note to go with it and got to their house early to give it to him.
It wasn’t that big of a deal to us either way, and he was in a rush so we didn’t really have a chance to speak with him, but apparently we did the right thing. He called me the next day to thank us and made a specific point of mentioning how surprised he was that we would know i) that a gift is appropriate if you are so motivated and ii) that a pocketknife is a great gift. I told him that Goldie has great instincts.
On Thursday the whole family (except Chaim who was learning in Yeshiva) were treated to a visit from our friends and former neighbors in Woodmere, Gabe and Anat Levi and their kids, who are also here for a family simcha. They had arranged to meet us in Yerushalayim’s Malcha mall, literally a couple hours after they landed.
As expected, the kids took about half an hour to warm up to each other again, but they enjoyed renewing acquaintances. We had dinner with them in the food court, and we enjoyed their delight in being able to eat at almost every restaurant in the mall. Each kid got to choose what he wanted from the restaurant he wanted and we sat together enjoying each other’s company for a couple of hours. We don’t do it often enough.
We had been looking forward to last Shabbat for a couple of weeks. Although our Yeshiva has an “in Shabbat” every three to four weeks, a couple of times each year we take the entire Yeshiva out for Shabbat. Last year I had missed both Shabbatonim, once on a trip to America for work and the other time while Goldie was being treated in NY.
As a family, we had not really “gotten away” together for more than a day trip since last Channuka, when we spent a few days at the Dead Sea. Although we had had a tumultuous few months, with all the pressures of getting back to health, dealing with the many facets of life that we had fallen so behind in and catching up with all the accumulated work – we have felt it impossible to take off any more time than was necessary to deal with Goldie’s treatment.
When this Shabbaton, to be held at a hotel in Zichron Yaakov, was scheduled, I asked Goldie if she wanted to come along with all the kids and she was enthusiastic about the opportunity. The kids were also tremendously upbeat about going and so on Friday afternoon we skipped little league practice to head north to Zichron Yaakov.
We had a very nice time. Parts of my responsibilities include directing the alumni activities of the Yeshiva and it makes my life so much easier when I have a personal bond with the alumni before they leave the Yeshiva. I try to go on all the tiyulim (field trips) and be with the guys as much as possible, but there can be no replacement for the bonds we forge during informal times, especially when they have the opportunity to also interact with my family and see that I am just another regular guy.
My younger kids had 70 older brothers to play with during the meals and were honored and enthralled by all the attention. The older kids were amused in watching the younger kids ham it up for the students and when one of them asked Chaim to sit at a students table for lunch, he quickly accepted and made himself at home.
The program engaged my kids and the walking tour of Zichron Yaakov that I took with Aliza was a chance to give her some special time of her own (as the middle child who is very self sufficient she is often ignored in favor of her more high maintenance siblings). As we drove home on Saturday night, the entire family agreed that they had a wonderful time and cannot wait to repeat the experience.
Oh yeah – and Goldie had a week off of cooking and preparing.
As we drove home I also talked my way out of a traffic ticket. I have found that the “stupid American who doesn’t speak Hebrew well” act is not very effective when dealing with the average Israeli. When I am asked if I prefer to speak in English I reply that I am an Israeli and Israelis speak Hebrew. I have found that displaying an attitude of trying hard to fit in and not ask for special accommodations is very disarming to Israelis, since they cannot personally conceive of how anyone would voluntarily leave their birth country and come to live in a place that they feel is a very tough place to survive in.
When faced with someone who is visibly trying hard to fit in, most Israelis are impressed and disarmed and react with a visceral paternal/maternal instinct to protect and assist us. It is fascinating how a small gesture like trying to speak Hebrew can be disarming to the people of such a macho and aggressive country.
The fact that much of the country are also either immigrants or the children/grandchildren of immigrants and understand what immigrants go through to make things work here also helps.
I didn’t actually get to see her, but Goldie, Naomi Schwartz and Ranana Wolf (all current Beit Shemeshites and former Far Rockawayans) got together with her for brunch and had a nice time visiting with her.
It is strange to think about in retrospect. All of these women grew up in the same neighborhood and were often part of the same youth groups and activities together. Now, with the exception of the Zaiman’s we are all here in Beit Shemesh.
On Monday night we went to Ramat Gan to take my sister out for her birthday. With all the craziness in our lives, we hadn’t gotten together (socially) with her and her husband for quite some time and it was nice to spend time with them.
We actually got there much earlier than they had expected. The following Sunday my nephew was scheduled to enter the army, enlisting into an elite combat unit. We have no idea what the protocol is when a relative enters the army, but Goldie wanted to give him a gift before he went in that would show that we support him and are thinking of him.
I had asked several of the people at the Yeshiva when one of the Madrichim (dorm counselors) mentioned that the first thing he bought himself on his first leave was a pocketknife. So we got him a pocketknife, wrote him a nice note to go with it and got to their house early to give it to him.
It wasn’t that big of a deal to us either way, and he was in a rush so we didn’t really have a chance to speak with him, but apparently we did the right thing. He called me the next day to thank us and made a specific point of mentioning how surprised he was that we would know i) that a gift is appropriate if you are so motivated and ii) that a pocketknife is a great gift. I told him that Goldie has great instincts.
On Thursday the whole family (except Chaim who was learning in Yeshiva) were treated to a visit from our friends and former neighbors in Woodmere, Gabe and Anat Levi and their kids, who are also here for a family simcha. They had arranged to meet us in Yerushalayim’s Malcha mall, literally a couple hours after they landed.
As expected, the kids took about half an hour to warm up to each other again, but they enjoyed renewing acquaintances. We had dinner with them in the food court, and we enjoyed their delight in being able to eat at almost every restaurant in the mall. Each kid got to choose what he wanted from the restaurant he wanted and we sat together enjoying each other’s company for a couple of hours. We don’t do it often enough.
We had been looking forward to last Shabbat for a couple of weeks. Although our Yeshiva has an “in Shabbat” every three to four weeks, a couple of times each year we take the entire Yeshiva out for Shabbat. Last year I had missed both Shabbatonim, once on a trip to America for work and the other time while Goldie was being treated in NY.
As a family, we had not really “gotten away” together for more than a day trip since last Channuka, when we spent a few days at the Dead Sea. Although we had had a tumultuous few months, with all the pressures of getting back to health, dealing with the many facets of life that we had fallen so behind in and catching up with all the accumulated work – we have felt it impossible to take off any more time than was necessary to deal with Goldie’s treatment.
When this Shabbaton, to be held at a hotel in Zichron Yaakov, was scheduled, I asked Goldie if she wanted to come along with all the kids and she was enthusiastic about the opportunity. The kids were also tremendously upbeat about going and so on Friday afternoon we skipped little league practice to head north to Zichron Yaakov.
We had a very nice time. Parts of my responsibilities include directing the alumni activities of the Yeshiva and it makes my life so much easier when I have a personal bond with the alumni before they leave the Yeshiva. I try to go on all the tiyulim (field trips) and be with the guys as much as possible, but there can be no replacement for the bonds we forge during informal times, especially when they have the opportunity to also interact with my family and see that I am just another regular guy.
My younger kids had 70 older brothers to play with during the meals and were honored and enthralled by all the attention. The older kids were amused in watching the younger kids ham it up for the students and when one of them asked Chaim to sit at a students table for lunch, he quickly accepted and made himself at home.
The program engaged my kids and the walking tour of Zichron Yaakov that I took with Aliza was a chance to give her some special time of her own (as the middle child who is very self sufficient she is often ignored in favor of her more high maintenance siblings). As we drove home on Saturday night, the entire family agreed that they had a wonderful time and cannot wait to repeat the experience.
Oh yeah – and Goldie had a week off of cooking and preparing.
As we drove home I also talked my way out of a traffic ticket. I have found that the “stupid American who doesn’t speak Hebrew well” act is not very effective when dealing with the average Israeli. When I am asked if I prefer to speak in English I reply that I am an Israeli and Israelis speak Hebrew. I have found that displaying an attitude of trying hard to fit in and not ask for special accommodations is very disarming to Israelis, since they cannot personally conceive of how anyone would voluntarily leave their birth country and come to live in a place that they feel is a very tough place to survive in.
When faced with someone who is visibly trying hard to fit in, most Israelis are impressed and disarmed and react with a visceral paternal/maternal instinct to protect and assist us. It is fascinating how a small gesture like trying to speak Hebrew can be disarming to the people of such a macho and aggressive country.
The fact that much of the country are also either immigrants or the children/grandchildren of immigrants and understand what immigrants go through to make things work here also helps.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
The Katz Family Protests (Article # 64) 11/15/2007
On Sunday I headed back to work, dreading the inevitable pile of work that had accumulated in my absence. My work life is a little like a never ending sprint. I am always a couple of weeks behind in something or other and when I catch up – that is exactly when I disappear on an overseas trip for a week or more.
On my way into the office, I stopped at the YU building in Yerushalayim to meet with the Dean of Admissions regarding both Yeshiva business and getting Chaim enrolled for the September semester.
It is tough to think that we will be sending a 17 year old off to college (as a sophomore no less – having earned a full year’s credit this year). Next year he was supposed to be entering twelfth grade, not college, and then there would have been a year in Israel to follow.
I think that one of our regrets is the shortening of Chaim’s youth. He’s missed a lot of the High School experience by being in Israel and essentially skipping 2 grades. He has probably also missed out on refining some of his skills at that level, such as writing and math, that he might need later on in life.
Chaim is of course ecstatic at how things have turned out. He was always a motivated student and excelled as he went through school. He had mapped out his life’s goals in fourth grade and approached them with a great focus and commitment.
Getting into college early has encouraged him to do even more. He is talking about getting two graduate degrees (one in law and one in business) since he has the extra time (and since he thinks I am paying anyway). He has no concerns about his age or inexperience being a problem, just another issue that will fade with time.
It is a good attitude but we are worried that his confidence will become overconfidence. Not much we can do but try to keep him grounded and hope and pray.
Monday evening was looked forward to by our whole family. In response to recent hooliganism by our “friendly neighborhood Chassidic chareidim” (one woman was slapped around for not moving to the back of the bus and sitting in the “men’s section”, others are spit upon as they walk through the Chassidic neighborhood and the construction site for the new home of Mordechai’s school was graffitied), the Religious Zionist leaders in city hall called for a nonviolent demonstration of those opposed to acts of violence.
Although I write about them (hooligan chareidim) on occasion, the city of Beit Shemesh is in the news on a rapidly increasing basis. You might have even read about the hooligans in a recent front page article in the NY Times.
The biggest problem is that these people plopped themselves down in a neighborhood right in between the mixed Yeshivish/Religious Zionist neighborhood in RBSA and the Religious Zionist and (further away) non religious parts of Beit Shemesh. There is simply no way for them to shut themselves in or for us to avoid them.
They also have a huge chip on their shoulders because they cannot live in Bnei Brak, Meah Shearim or even Ashdod. So instead, they have to prove to (themselves and) the rest of the country how religious they can be by being cretins and violent hooligans intent on causing physical harm to those who stand in their path.
The whole story is a lot more involved (politically) than what I am describing, but I am sure you don’t really want a detailed description of the giant chess game the chareidim (and our community) are conducting in order to influence the politicians in Beit Shemesh to accede to their wishes.
The intrigue is amazing. Mordechai’s school built mobile classrooms (literally in the middle of the night) on a site (located between the chareidi and dati leumi neighborhoods) that was designated for school construction so that they could have a “claim” on the site. They were subsequently awarded the site and now the chareidim are all atwitter that it was done.
So they defaced the building sign with spray paint. It’s what you or I would do, right?
Their objections run the gamut: from “the land was stolen from us” to “their teachers do not adhere to the level of tzniut (modesty) we require in our neighborhood.” Yet their tactics always remain the same. Violence or threats.
So we went to a protest, along with 1,500 or so of our neighbors. It wasn’t far for us to go since it was just outside our backyard (literally). The local Rav spoke, the Deputy Mayor spoke, a representative of the school spoke as well as a couple of people whose function at the demonstration I didn’t hear.
Since it was specifically sold as our way of showing the city government that we could also turn out large numbers of people (and with elections only a year away, the politicians are necessarily concerned about the elections and getting voters) and that we were not apathetic to the violence and buffoonery that has been going on, the event should be considered a success. We had a nice amount of people, everyone behaved and we made our point (we hope).
We had a Bar Mitzva to go to that night as well and we felt bad for the hosts. They had scheduled the event to take place at the exact same time as the demonstration. Of course, when they scheduled the Bar Mitzva, they had no idea that there would be a demonstration, but we were sure that many people would be coming late to the simcha and hoped that it would not be too discouraging.
Goldie wasn’t feeling well that night (I got sick myself 2 days later) and didn’t really want to go. However, I knew that the hosts, new Olim (immigrants) themselves – would appreciate each and every guest so I kinda forced her to go.
We pulled up to the address on the invitation (the house) and it seemed eerily quiet. There wasn’t a single car parked in the street and no noise at all coming from the house. I was sure that Goldie had gotten the address wrong and that we should have gone to the shul; Goldie was just as adamant that we should just get out of the car and enter the house.
So we called our house and had the kids check the invitation. Sure enough, Goldie was right and the Bar Mitzva was at the house. As she was about to hang up I said, “Ask them what day.” She paused and then started to laugh.
“Thursday!”
I went on a tiyul (tour) with the Yeshiva on Wednesday. Basically a walking tour of ancient shuls of the Jewish Quarter as well as “the” windmill and the house of Rav Kook.
I get more of a kick being with the students than I do on the actual tour, since I really enjoy spending time with them out of the Yeshiva’s walls. The longer I work with them, the more comfortable I am getting with the students and I have also seen that it was a lot easier to get excited about seeing the alumni now that I know some of the from their time in Yeshiva.
This was also a great week for bonding with students since 3 of our Rabbis are in the USA on recruiting tours nationwide. With the short handed staff we each pitch in and shoulder more of the workload, increasing our interaction with the guys.
I traveled back ten years on Friday as I rejuvenated my little league coaching career with the start of Batya’s little league. I had coached Chaim in little league for 6 years in the USA and I could not say no when Goldie asked me to do the same for Batya.
Mordechai also wanted to play (as he would have had we been in the USA) but the little league in Israel goes by age – not grade – and he is 3 months short. Of course, I play with him on the side and he is definitely better than 60% of my existing team, he is dying to play and it is killing me that he can’t play. But that’s life.
Lately, by the time Shabbat rolls around I am beginning to feel quite exhausted. It didn’t used to be this way, but with the 6 day school week and my late hours working with overseas people, I can’t seem to get enough sleep. It really makes me appreciate having Shabbat as a time out from the busy week.
On my way into the office, I stopped at the YU building in Yerushalayim to meet with the Dean of Admissions regarding both Yeshiva business and getting Chaim enrolled for the September semester.
It is tough to think that we will be sending a 17 year old off to college (as a sophomore no less – having earned a full year’s credit this year). Next year he was supposed to be entering twelfth grade, not college, and then there would have been a year in Israel to follow.
I think that one of our regrets is the shortening of Chaim’s youth. He’s missed a lot of the High School experience by being in Israel and essentially skipping 2 grades. He has probably also missed out on refining some of his skills at that level, such as writing and math, that he might need later on in life.
Chaim is of course ecstatic at how things have turned out. He was always a motivated student and excelled as he went through school. He had mapped out his life’s goals in fourth grade and approached them with a great focus and commitment.
Getting into college early has encouraged him to do even more. He is talking about getting two graduate degrees (one in law and one in business) since he has the extra time (and since he thinks I am paying anyway). He has no concerns about his age or inexperience being a problem, just another issue that will fade with time.
It is a good attitude but we are worried that his confidence will become overconfidence. Not much we can do but try to keep him grounded and hope and pray.
Monday evening was looked forward to by our whole family. In response to recent hooliganism by our “friendly neighborhood Chassidic chareidim” (one woman was slapped around for not moving to the back of the bus and sitting in the “men’s section”, others are spit upon as they walk through the Chassidic neighborhood and the construction site for the new home of Mordechai’s school was graffitied), the Religious Zionist leaders in city hall called for a nonviolent demonstration of those opposed to acts of violence.
Although I write about them (hooligan chareidim) on occasion, the city of Beit Shemesh is in the news on a rapidly increasing basis. You might have even read about the hooligans in a recent front page article in the NY Times.
The biggest problem is that these people plopped themselves down in a neighborhood right in between the mixed Yeshivish/Religious Zionist neighborhood in RBSA and the Religious Zionist and (further away) non religious parts of Beit Shemesh. There is simply no way for them to shut themselves in or for us to avoid them.
They also have a huge chip on their shoulders because they cannot live in Bnei Brak, Meah Shearim or even Ashdod. So instead, they have to prove to (themselves and) the rest of the country how religious they can be by being cretins and violent hooligans intent on causing physical harm to those who stand in their path.
The whole story is a lot more involved (politically) than what I am describing, but I am sure you don’t really want a detailed description of the giant chess game the chareidim (and our community) are conducting in order to influence the politicians in Beit Shemesh to accede to their wishes.
The intrigue is amazing. Mordechai’s school built mobile classrooms (literally in the middle of the night) on a site (located between the chareidi and dati leumi
So they defaced the building sign with spray paint. It’s what you or I would do, right?
Their objections run the gamut: from “the land was stolen from us” to “their teachers do not adhere to the level of tzniut (modesty) we require in our neighborhood.” Yet their tactics always remain the same. Violence or threats.
So we went to a protest, along with 1,500 or so of our neighbors. It wasn’t far for us to go since it was just outside our backyard (literally). The local Rav spoke, the Deputy Mayor spoke, a representative of the school spoke as well as a couple of people whose function at the demonstration I didn’t hear.
Since it was specifically sold as our way of showing the city government that we could also turn out large numbers of people (and with elections only a year away, the politicians are necessarily concerned about the elections and getting voters) and that we were not apathetic to the violence and buffoonery that has been going on, the event should be considered a success. We had a nice amount of people, everyone behaved and we made our point (we hope).
We had a Bar Mitzva to go to that night as well and we felt bad for the hosts. They had scheduled the event to take place at the exact same time as the demonstration. Of course, when they scheduled the Bar Mitzva, they had no idea that there would be a demonstration, but we were sure that many people would be coming late to the simcha and hoped that it would not be too discouraging.
Goldie wasn’t feeling well that night (I got sick myself 2 days later) and didn’t really want to go. However, I knew that the hosts, new Olim (immigrants) themselves – would appreciate each and every guest so I kinda forced her to go.
We pulled up to the address on the invitation (the house) and it seemed eerily quiet. There wasn’t a single car parked in the street and no noise at all coming from the house. I was sure that Goldie had gotten the address wrong and that we should have gone to the shul; Goldie was just as adamant that we should just get out of the car and enter the house.
So we called our house and had the kids check the invitation. Sure enough, Goldie was right and the Bar Mitzva was at the house. As she was about to hang up I said, “Ask them what day.” She paused and then started to laugh.
“Thursday!”
I went on a tiyul (tour) with the Yeshiva on Wednesday. Basically a walking tour of ancient shuls of the Jewish Quarter as well as “the” windmill and the house of Rav Kook.
I get more of a kick being with the students than I do on the actual tour, since I really enjoy spending time with them out of the Yeshiva’s walls. The longer I work with them, the more comfortable I am getting with the students and I have also seen that it was a lot easier to get excited about seeing the alumni now that I know some of the from their time in Yeshiva.
This was also a great week for bonding with students since 3 of our Rabbis are in the USA on recruiting tours nationwide. With the short handed staff we each pitch in and shoulder more of the workload, increasing our interaction with the guys.
I traveled back ten years on Friday as I rejuvenated my little league coaching career with the start of Batya’s little league. I had coached Chaim in little league for 6 years in the USA and I could not say no when Goldie asked me to do the same for Batya.
Mordechai also wanted to play (as he would have had we been in the USA) but the little league in Israel goes by age – not grade – and he is 3 months short. Of course, I play with him on the side and he is definitely better than 60% of my existing team, he is dying to play and it is killing me that he can’t play. But that’s life.
Lately, by the time Shabbat rolls around I am beginning to feel quite exhausted. It didn’t used to be this way, but with the 6 day school week and my late hours working with overseas people, I can’t seem to get enough sleep. It really makes me appreciate having Shabbat as a time out from the busy week.
A Change of Pace (Article# 63) 11/8/2007
I should be used to typing at 40,000 feet already. Unfortunately, I am standing while doing so, since the aisle arm rests on Continental planes do not lift up and I am too big to sit with the laptop actually on the top of my lap – there is no room.
I was prepared to skip a week this week as there is not much eventful in spending a week working in NY. I saw some of our alumni on campus (which I think is the most enjoyable part of my job). I met some of their parents as well and generally did what I do.
I got to see many of my friends and had the enjoyment of meeting new people whom I had not known before and have become friends through these articles. Your concern for our family and for Goldie was definitely felt and appreciated.
On Thursday, with nothing left to do but mail an envelope with some deposits in it, I headed off to the airport nice and early to check in. I am a little neurotic about getting to the airport early. It actually results in my luggage being close to the last to come out of the plane – but makes me feel comfortable.
The truth is, until I got married I was always a last minute guy. I wasn’t late, but always managed to be barely on time and never early. So I guess this is Goldie’s influence on me. Among other things.
As I drove, I passed a couple of mailboxes and could have easily stopped to mail the envelope. But I decided not to bother, since I usually just put my mail in a mailbox in the airport while I wait for the flight. Bad move.
Apparently, Newark airport removed all their mailboxes within the last few months for security reasons. There isn’t a single mailbox anywhere in the airport, not even at the New Jersey Transit station (I know because I rode the monorail there to check.
So I was stuck. I needed to mail the envelope, but had turned in my car and had no way (other than hopping into a cab) to get to a mailbox.
I decided to wait by the departure lanes outside the terminal and ask someone dropping off a friend or relative for my flight to mail the envelope on their way home. A flight to Israel had to have a few religious Jews on it and I figured I would be safe getting one of them to take the job.
A couple of minutes had passed when a large van pulled up with a chassidish chareidi family from Bnei Brak (this is going to be a good chareidi story for a change) who were returning from a trip to the USA. I immediately asked the driver if he could do me the favor of mailing the envelope and he took it right away and seemed happy to do so.
As I watched the family begin to unload themselves (they were a total of seven people), the father saw me speaking in English to the driver and asked me if I had a minute to help him check the family in since he only spoke Yiddish and Hebrew. He pulled me over to the side and told me that he might have some overweight luggage and I should not be helpful in translating that part, since he didn’t want to pay penalties on them.
I walked them to the check in counter and (I am quite proud to say) translated the entire dialogue between them and the ticket agent. Everything was progressing smoothly until we got to the luggage.
The agent asked if there was any bag more than fifty pounds and the father said (through me) “of course not, we’ll be fine.”
The first bag we put up on the scale (out of fourteen bags) weighed in at eighty eight pounds.
The ticket agent began to laugh. Not only was the bag tremendously overweight, but the airline wouldn’t accept anything over seventy pounds and even that would have a fifty dollar penalty. They would have to move things from bag to bag.
Picture this. Five little kids (none of them over ten years old) are busy roaming around the check in area while their father argues (through me) that if they would only multiply fifty pounds by the fourteen bags, he is sure that the total weight will come in below the allowed limit.
Which didn’t work.
He turned to me and said, “but they let me do that in Israel when I came here.”
I replied that he had probably bought a lot of stuff to take back to Israel and the bags were not likely to have been as heavy on the way to the USA as they were for the return trip.
He was stunned to hear me say it, “But I didn’t buy anything in the USA, this is exactly what I came with.”
The agent recommended that we try to redistribute the weight and be prepared to pay some penalties, since at least five bags were overweight.
I had all the kids bring the bags to an unused scale and it turned comical. I began to weigh bags and then we started opening suitcases to move stuff around. I had to laugh.
I am not sure about you, but I had never before seen someone who travels from Israel to America and back with brand new towels that still have price tags on them from Bed Bath and Beyond, without somehow buying them in the USA.
There was candy. There were rugs. Coats. A brand new dustbuster still in its’ box. There were boxes that were unlabeled but clearly were new purchases. For a family who had bought nothing, they sure had a ton of new stuff.
Then they dug deeper for the heavy items………like canned goods? There were cans of vegetables and tuna fish that they had brought with them and were bringing back home. When I asked why they were taking Israeli products with them back home, he answered that he had already paid for them – why just give them away? To which I had no response.
So we spent at least 45 minutes moving stuff from one bag to another and then carefully weighing each bag to make sure that it was at the legal limit without going over. There is no way to describe the frenzy of activity. The agent even helped us out by allowing up to fifty four pounds per bag instead of the usual fifty.
We crammed those suitcases so full I was amazed they didn’t pop open right there in the airport. Yet we somehow managed to get every suitcase at or under fifty four pounds and got them all checked in without paying a dollar in penalties.
They were so grateful to me for really being active in translating and also coordinating the redistribution of luggage. The father asked for my address in Israel and I refused to give it to him telling him that instead of doing something for me he should please give something to tzedaka (charity).
He persisted, telling me that he wasn’t going to give me money and I insisted that it was my pleasure to help. He said, “OK – you are Shmuel Katz from Beit Shemesh right?” And I said, “No – I am Ephraim Levin” and we both laughed.
Then he did something that impressed me to no end. He pulled me to the side and whispered to me that I should please cooperate because it is a very important lesson FOR HIS CHILDREN to see that one must express thanks to someone for helping you when you need it.
I couldn’t argue the point. Whether it is simply a letter of thanks or some flowers for Shabbat, he was right. It was an excellent opportunity to teach his children a valuable lesson. So I cooperated.
(He just stopped by my seat on the plane for a brief chat and saw me working on the computer. When I told him what I was doing he asked me to email the 5 Towns Jewish Times website to him so that someone can translate the article for him. When you read this Mendel, please don’t send flowers – I don’t want anything beyond a simple note that allows you to show your children how to say thanks.)
I could end the story right here and it would be just that, a nice story. To me, that’s not enough.
I have written these articles for over a year and a half now and one thing I have seen is that there is definitely someone above directing traffic down here. From our housing crisis to Goldie’s illness and treatment, when push came to shove the things that had to happen, did happen.
This too was no mere coincidence. I could have mailed that envelope at any time. I had multiple opportunities to do so that very same day! But I didn’t. So I needed someone to be there to take the envelope and mail it for me.
My new friend needed help getting checked in and handling his luggage. There is no question in my mind that without my advocating to the agents and my active assistance in repacking the luggage, that he would have paid penalties and had a lot of aggravation with the luggage.
Yet there is even more. He just mentioned to me that four pieces of his luggage weren’t even for him. People asked if he could bring things back for them (one person sent a chest full of frozen whitefish) and he accepted.
So there we were. Me with an envelope for the Yeshiva and him doing chessed (acts of kindness) for some of his friends and neighbors. He (and by extension the neighbors too) needed me to be there and I needed his driver to be there. As we have seen repeatedly throughout the past couple of years, when there is a true need, the one above somehow makes things happen.
Although I only saw her for a few minutes on Thursday, Chaya asked for permission to have an “out Shabbat” instead of being with the family. When she asked us to let her go with a group of friends to Chevron for Shabbat, we couldn’t refuse her request.
About 30 girls rented their own bus, brought their own food and arranged to sleep in a school building in Kiryat Arba in order to join the thousands of Jews who come to Chevron on Shabbat of Parshat Chayei Sarah.
We were a little nervous about her being there; in the past there have been violent flare-ups associated with this Shabbat, but we could not let our concerns override our commitment to the city and people of Chevron.
She had an awesome time. They walked to the Maarat Hamachpela (Burial Cave of the Patriarchs) several times, they enjoyed the hospitality of the Chevron community and they experienced something unique and uplifting.
They were invited to (but were too late to attend) the Oneg on Friday night, and enjoyed the Kiddush and Seudah Shlishit that were hosted for all the guests by the community.
Moshe’s playgroup teacher grew up in the neighboring community of Kiryat Arba and her father is a Gabbai (sexton) of the Avraham Avinu shul in Chevron. While the girls were in Chevron, Chaya met up with this teacher’s daughter (who goes to the same school as Chaya) who brought Chamin (cholent) from her grandmother’s house for the girls to enjoy.
Chaya has made a very central connection with the land and people of Israel. There is no doubt in my mind that a major part of her happiness here is the fact that she is so openly able to be Jewish and display her love for Israel. Needless to say, she came home glowing with an inner joy from the experience.
I know that many of you attend this Shabbat gathering every year and salute you for your support as well.
I was prepared to skip a week this week as there is not much eventful in spending a week working in NY. I saw some of our alumni on campus (which I think is the most enjoyable part of my job). I met some of their parents as well and generally did what I do.
I got to see many of my friends and had the enjoyment of meeting new people whom I had not known before and have become friends through these articles. Your concern for our family and for Goldie was definitely felt and appreciated.
On Thursday, with nothing left to do but mail an envelope with some deposits in it, I headed off to the airport nice and early to check in. I am a little neurotic about getting to the airport early. It actually results in my luggage being close to the last to come out of the plane – but makes me feel comfortable.
The truth is, until I got married I was always a last minute guy. I wasn’t late, but always managed to be barely on time and never early. So I guess this is Goldie’s influence on me. Among other things.
As I drove, I passed a couple of mailboxes and could have easily stopped to mail the envelope. But I decided not to bother, since I usually just put my mail in a mailbox in the airport while I wait for the flight. Bad move.
Apparently, Newark airport removed all their mailboxes within the last few months for security reasons. There isn’t a single mailbox anywhere in the airport, not even at the New Jersey Transit station (I know because I rode the monorail there to check.
So I was stuck. I needed to mail the envelope, but had turned in my car and had no way (other than hopping into a cab) to get to a mailbox.
I decided to wait by the departure lanes outside the terminal and ask someone dropping off a friend or relative for my flight to mail the envelope on their way home. A flight to Israel had to have a few religious Jews on it and I figured I would be safe getting one of them to take the job.
A couple of minutes had passed when a large van pulled up with a chassidish chareidi family from Bnei Brak (this is going to be a good chareidi story for a change) who were returning from a trip to the USA. I immediately asked the driver if he could do me the favor of mailing the envelope and he took it right away and seemed happy to do so.
As I watched the family begin to unload themselves (they were a total of seven people), the father saw me speaking in English to the driver and asked me if I had a minute to help him check the family in since he only spoke Yiddish and Hebrew. He pulled me over to the side and told me that he might have some overweight luggage and I should not be helpful in translating that part, since he didn’t want to pay penalties on them.
I walked them to the check in counter and (I am quite proud to say) translated the entire dialogue between them and the ticket agent. Everything was progressing smoothly until we got to the luggage.
The agent asked if there was any bag more than fifty pounds and the father said (through me) “of course not, we’ll be fine.”
The first bag we put up on the scale (out of fourteen bags) weighed in at eighty eight pounds.
The ticket agent began to laugh. Not only was the bag tremendously overweight, but the airline wouldn’t accept anything over seventy pounds and even that would have a fifty dollar penalty. They would have to move things from bag to bag.
Picture this. Five little kids (none of them over ten years old) are busy roaming around the check in area while their father argues (through me) that if they would only multiply fifty pounds by the fourteen bags, he is sure that the total weight will come in below the allowed limit.
Which didn’t work.
He turned to me and said, “but they let me do that in Israel when I came here.”
I replied that he had probably bought a lot of stuff to take back to Israel and the bags were not likely to have been as heavy on the way to the USA as they were for the return trip.
He was stunned to hear me say it, “But I didn’t buy anything in the USA, this is exactly what I came with.”
The agent recommended that we try to redistribute the weight and be prepared to pay some penalties, since at least five bags were overweight.
I had all the kids bring the bags to an unused scale and it turned comical. I began to weigh bags and then we started opening suitcases to move stuff around. I had to laugh.
I am not sure about you, but I had never before seen someone who travels from Israel to America and back with brand new towels that still have price tags on them from Bed Bath and Beyond, without somehow buying them in the USA.
There was candy. There were rugs. Coats. A brand new dustbuster still in its’ box. There were boxes that were unlabeled but clearly were new purchases. For a family who had bought nothing, they sure had a ton of new stuff.
Then they dug deeper for the heavy items………like canned goods? There were cans of vegetables and tuna fish that they had brought with them and were bringing back home. When I asked why they were taking Israeli products with them back home, he answered that he had already paid for them – why just give them away? To which I had no response.
So we spent at least 45 minutes moving stuff from one bag to another and then carefully weighing each bag to make sure that it was at the legal limit without going over. There is no way to describe the frenzy of activity. The agent even helped us out by allowing up to fifty four pounds per bag instead of the usual fifty.
We crammed those suitcases so full I was amazed they didn’t pop open right there in the airport. Yet we somehow managed to get every suitcase at or under fifty four pounds and got them all checked in without paying a dollar in penalties.
They were so grateful to me for really being active in translating and also coordinating the redistribution of luggage. The father asked for my address in Israel and I refused to give it to him telling him that instead of doing something for me he should please give something to tzedaka (charity).
He persisted, telling me that he wasn’t going to give me money and I insisted that it was my pleasure to help. He said, “OK – you are Shmuel Katz from Beit Shemesh right?” And I said, “No – I am Ephraim Levin” and we both laughed.
Then he did something that impressed me to no end. He pulled me to the side and whispered to me that I should please cooperate because it is a very important lesson FOR HIS CHILDREN to see that one must express thanks to someone for helping you when you need it.
I couldn’t argue the point. Whether it is simply a letter of thanks or some flowers for Shabbat, he was right. It was an excellent opportunity to teach his children a valuable lesson. So I cooperated.
(He just stopped by my seat on the plane for a brief chat and saw me working on the computer. When I told him what I was doing he asked me to email the 5 Towns Jewish Times website to him so that someone can translate the article for him. When you read this Mendel, please don’t send flowers – I don’t want anything beyond a simple note that allows you to show your children how to say thanks.)
I could end the story right here and it would be just that, a nice story. To me, that’s not enough.
I have written these articles for over a year and a half now and one thing I have seen is that there is definitely someone above directing traffic down here. From our housing crisis to Goldie’s illness and treatment, when push came to shove the things that had to happen, did happen.
This too was no mere coincidence. I could have mailed that envelope at any time. I had multiple opportunities to do so that very same day! But I didn’t. So I needed someone to be there to take the envelope and mail it for me.
My new friend needed help getting checked in and handling his luggage. There is no question in my mind that without my advocating to the agents and my active assistance in repacking the luggage, that he would have paid penalties and had a lot of aggravation with the luggage.
Yet there is even more. He just mentioned to me that four pieces of his luggage weren’t even for him. People asked if he could bring things back for them (one person sent a chest full of frozen whitefish) and he accepted.
So there we were. Me with an envelope for the Yeshiva and him doing chessed (acts of kindness) for some of his friends and neighbors. He (and by extension the neighbors too) needed me to be there and I needed his driver to be there. As we have seen repeatedly throughout the past couple of years, when there is a true need, the one above somehow makes things happen.
Although I only saw her for a few minutes on Thursday, Chaya asked for permission to have an “out Shabbat” instead of being with the family. When she asked us to let her go with a group of friends to Chevron for Shabbat, we couldn’t refuse her request.
About 30 girls rented their own bus, brought their own food and arranged to sleep in a school building in Kiryat Arba in order to join the thousands of Jews who come to Chevron on Shabbat of Parshat Chayei Sarah.
We were a little nervous about her being there; in the past there have been violent flare-ups associated with this Shabbat, but we could not let our concerns override our commitment to the city and people of Chevron.
She had an awesome time. They walked to the Maarat Hamachpela (Burial Cave of the Patriarchs) several times, they enjoyed the hospitality of the Chevron community and they experienced something unique and uplifting.
They were invited to (but were too late to attend) the Oneg on Friday night, and enjoyed the Kiddush and Seudah Shlishit that were hosted for all the guests by the community.
Moshe’s playgroup teacher grew up in the neighboring community of Kiryat Arba and her father is a Gabbai (sexton) of the Avraham Avinu shul in Chevron. While the girls were in Chevron, Chaya met up with this teacher’s daughter (who goes to the same school as Chaya) who brought Chamin (cholent) from her grandmother’s house for the girls to enjoy.
Chaya has made a very central connection with the land and people of Israel. There is no doubt in my mind that a major part of her happiness here is the fact that she is so openly able to be Jewish and display her love for Israel. Needless to say, she came home glowing with an inner joy from the experience.
I know that many of you attend this Shabbat gathering every year and salute you for your support as well.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Missing Home (Article# 62) 11/1/2007
What can I say? By the time you read this I will have returned home and am enjoying being in nicer weather and being with my family. As usual, it is always nice to see people and have a chance to keep in touch with our friends, but it is definitely a tough thing on the family to be out for eleven days at a time.
I saw that Danny Block is now moving to modify his travel plans and wish him a refuah shleimah (complete recovery) from his P.E. episode. Thankfully, I do not have to travel as frequently as him and only end up missing 5 or 6 shabbatot a year. Even so, having to be away over the weekend is definitely the hardest part.
If the cost weren’t so prohibitive, I would even be willing to travel back and forth on Thursday and the following Sunday for each trip. While the flight is definitely long and boring, it would definitely be worth it in terms of being home to be with the kids on the only free day they have all week.
Because of the extended “time out for health” we had to take in the middle of the year, I had to essentially restart everything I was doing at work from scratch when I finally got back to working full time. I had also missed a lot of work and it took me quite some time to catch up on all the “office work” that had piled up, so much so that it wasn’t until just after the chagim that I felt comfortable that I was close to up to date.
So I am only just now getting back into a regular work routine and building a certain necessary momentum to setting up my overseas trips. I don’t know how people who travel every single week do it, I find myself missing a lot of the weekly interaction with the kids, seeing them (and sometimes, although rarely helping them) do their homework, helping Goldie get them ready for school and just dealing with their daily activities.
I know it is tough on Goldie as well. As I have said before, we have each traveled to the USA for at least a week for business purposes – so we both know what it is like to be the person left behind to be in a one parent house. It is lonely and depressing. Especially when in your mind’s eye (even though you know it to be untrue) you imagine that the other person is having a grand time partying the day away with no family responsibilities.
Life went on in the Katz household. My family went to my nephew’s Brit Milah without me. They spent Shabbat together and Goldie had to resort to a three hour visit to the park to distract the little ones and keep them busy.
Aliza and Batya stared doing youth groups this year. They have meetings one night a week and Shabbat afternoon. Of course, since they each wanted to be with their friends they are in two different organizations who meet at the exact same times in totally different neighborhoods.
They are each putting on shows as part of the opening month of the youth groups, and both girls will be performing (in their respective shows). The shows will be at the same time and somehow Goldie has to choose which child’s show to attend (poor Aliza – she is older and has been in many more productions than Batya and I am sure that she is gonna get the short end of the stick this time).
So Goldie had some respite for a little while from having all the kids around, but I am sure she will tell you that it is the little boys who are the hardest to keep busy and cope with.
I will be home for Shabbat this week and am looking forward to sleeping in my own bed. My next trip will probably be to London (for Shabbat of course) but it will be for less than a week total which should be easier to deal with. It will mark my first non USA trip (I hope to go to South Africa or Australia later this year) and I am looking forward to that as well.
I know that in a few short weeks we will begin to see many of our friends as they head to Israel for their Thanksgiving or winter break vacations. We hope to see you there.
I saw that Danny Block is now moving to modify his travel plans and wish him a refuah shleimah (complete recovery) from his P.E. episode. Thankfully, I do not have to travel as frequently as him and only end up missing 5 or 6 shabbatot a year. Even so, having to be away over the weekend is definitely the hardest part.
If the cost weren’t so prohibitive, I would even be willing to travel back and forth on Thursday and the following Sunday for each trip. While the flight is definitely long and boring, it would definitely be worth it in terms of being home to be with the kids on the only free day they have all week.
Because of the extended “time out for health” we had to take in the middle of the year, I had to essentially restart everything I was doing at work from scratch when I finally got back to working full time. I had also missed a lot of work and it took me quite some time to catch up on all the “office work” that had piled up, so much so that it wasn’t until just after the chagim that I felt comfortable that I was close to up to date.
So I am only just now getting back into a regular work routine and building a certain necessary momentum to setting up my overseas trips. I don’t know how people who travel every single week do it, I find myself missing a lot of the weekly interaction with the kids, seeing them (and sometimes, although rarely helping them) do their homework, helping Goldie get them ready for school and just dealing with their daily activities.
I know it is tough on Goldie as well. As I have said before, we have each traveled to the USA for at least a week for business purposes – so we both know what it is like to be the person left behind to be in a one parent house. It is lonely and depressing. Especially when in your mind’s eye (even though you know it to be untrue) you imagine that the other person is having a grand time partying the day away with no family responsibilities.
Life went on in the Katz household. My family went to my nephew’s Brit Milah without me. They spent Shabbat together and Goldie had to resort to a three hour visit to the park to distract the little ones and keep them busy.
Aliza and Batya stared doing youth groups this year. They have meetings one night a week and Shabbat afternoon. Of course, since they each wanted to be with their friends they are in two different organizations who meet at the exact same times in totally different neighborhoods.
They are each putting on shows as part of the opening month of the youth groups, and both girls will be performing (in their respective shows). The shows will be at the same time and somehow Goldie has to choose which child’s show to attend (poor Aliza – she is older and has been in many more productions than Batya and I am sure that she is gonna get the short end of the stick this time).
So Goldie had some respite for a little while from having all the kids around, but I am sure she will tell you that it is the little boys who are the hardest to keep busy and cope with.
I will be home for Shabbat this week and am looking forward to sleeping in my own bed. My next trip will probably be to London (for Shabbat of course) but it will be for less than a week total which should be easier to deal with. It will mark my first non USA trip (I hope to go to South Africa or Australia later this year) and I am looking forward to that as well.
I know that in a few short weeks we will begin to see many of our friends as they head to Israel for their Thanksgiving or winter break vacations. We hope to see you there.
Still on Strike (Article# 61) 10/25/2007
Finally. A quiet week. Mostly.
The Jr. High/High School teachers union is still on strike. Our older girls both continue to have modified schedules. Chaya again had a complete day off last week, and a second day where she only had one class the entire day (her math teacher was ill and she was scheduled for a double math class that day).
She is incredibly bored. For a kid who always loved snow days or any excuse not to go to school, even she has come to the realization that she cannot simply sit and do nothing all day. She has finished all her homework (even long term projects) and is going crazy with nothing to do.
Aliza also has shortened days. One day she decided not to wait for the regular bus home and instead went with one of her girlfriends to the mall where she met up with another two friends and they enjoyed a few hours together. Since the train station is at the mall, I met them for the train ride home and Goldie was able to pick us all up.
My nephew is much worse off. His school is totally closed and he has been sitting on his hands all day. He told my sister last week that he can’t take it anymore – he is looking for some kind of job to help pass the time. He has also done all of his homework and it is a shame when you consider that this is being carried out nationwide for 600,000+ kids.
Of course, the schools both still felt comfortable in charging my credit card for the monthly tuition fees. I will eventually call to ask them about it, but I am sure what they will tell me is that the money they charge me (very little in truth - $350/month for both kids – much, much less for Batya and Mordechai) does not go to pay teachers; it is for the extras that the government doesn’t pay for. These extras continue to be provided, or so they will claim.
Being immigrants, we have no idea what is extra and what is normal, so of course we will have no response to this.
It’s kind of like our bank statement. It comes every month, just like in the USA. Unfortunately, unlike the USA – we have no clue what this bank statement actually says. Review the credit card charges on the statement? No way! Too hard.
The only way we can figure anything out (and this holds true for most of our bills) is to look at each transaction on the website. Since there is much more detail provided on the website, Goldie is able to piece together what is what. Most of the time.
I had thought that we were unique in this regard. However, last Shabbat we hosted Ilan and Ahuva Prager on Friday night (their oldest son is one of Mordechai’s good friends from school and they live right across the street from us). Ilan served in the army and has excellent Hebrew. Yet, when the subject of understanding the credit card bill came up, they also admitted that they don’t even bother to try understanding it anymore.
So we set up automatic billpay from the bank with each utility and places like the kids schools and we hope and pray that there isn’t an error made in the computation of the charges.
The other kids are more or less finally settled in their “after the chagim (holidays)” schedule. School is a full day now (except for the early dismissal day – Tuesday). After school activities have all started and are moving forward full swing.
In a normal year, the fact that things only kick off after the chagim would seem silly to us, but not as crucial – since this is the way they do things here. With the strike, things are obviously different for the older girls.
On Erev Shabbat Goldie and I had a kind of weird day – existentially. We started off the morning with a Brit Milah (circumcision) for the son of one of our neighbors, the Yashar’s. It was their first son and third child and was a very nice simcha.
We went from there to the unveiling at the grave of Chaia Broderick’s father Mendel A”H, who passed away just before Sukkot and was buried in the Beit Shemesh cemetery on Erev Sukkot.
With all that has happened with the chagim and our own personal simchot, we have not really been there for Chaia these past few weeks and I know that it bothers Goldie. Chaia has been one of Goldie’s friends since 7th grade, and the only saving grace is that Chaia’s mother has been with her until this week and they have been a mutual support group since Sukkot.
As a Kohein, I stand outside at funerals, and due to the unique design of cemeteries in Israel, I can usually walk along the main road up to the entrance of the individual section of the cemetery where the burial takes place and then I watch the burial from afar.
After this Kevurah (burial), one of the members of the Chevra Kadisha (burial society) walked over to me as I stood 100 feet away in the middle of the road and pointed out that the section of the cemetery he was buried in had no other graves in it and I really could enter that section as long as I avoided any graves.
I was a little freaked out when first thinking about it, but by the time the unveiling came by I was OK and it was a unique thing to be at anything in a cemetery.
I am sure it was difficult for Chaia and her mother, especially since her mother was due to leave a few days later.
The other big news for the week was the birth of another nephew whose Brit Milah I am going to miss. My brother Ely and his wife Ilana had a boy on Erev Shabbat. I am going to be in the USA for the last two weeks of October (I am writing this on the plane), so I will miss the 5th Brit Milah of an Israeli nephew and the 6th one on my side (my brother Ozer made one on the second day of Pesach one year and we couldn’t make it).
When we got the call, my brother told Goldie that he had to put together a Shalom Zachor party in the next 5-6 hours and that nothing had been prepared. We had actually bought something for a local Beit Shemesh Shalom Zachor for that evening and Goldie packed some homemade cookies up and added it to what we had in hand and sent me (and 3 kids) off (30 – 40 minute drive) to Chashmonaim to deliver it to my brother.
When we got there, his mother in law told us that they had decided to merge the Shalom Zachor in with a shul oneg that was happening that night and that they didn’t need anything. Not only that, but all the kids were sleeping or out, so we didn’t even get to wish Mazal Tov to anybody (well – ok we did see the Savta {Grandmother}).
However, we get the brownie points for having driven out AND we got to give the Sladowsky’s (yes – originally from Far Rockaway) something for the Shalom Zachor of their first grandson (they had a granddaughter a couple of weeks ago) as well. We did leave the cookies behind as a treat for the kids, so we are heroes all around.
This Shabbat also marked the second week in a row without the street being obstructed by our Chareidi neighbors. They still came out to yell “Shaaaaabbboooooossssss”, but there were much fewer of them this week and they didn’t really stick it out. Hopefully in the coming weeks things will continue to return to normal. We will still hear them shouting at cars as they pass, but it will be mostly little kids shouting accompanied only by those adults who happen to be around. I can’t believe I just called that “normal”.
As I mentioned, I am now experiencing the least enjoyable part of my job. I wouldn’t want to give up traveling and having the opportunity to see relatives occasionally. Yet, being away for extended trips is definitely a downer. It is Shabbat that is the worst to deal with. I am away for about 7 of them a year and that is a lot of time – especially for the little kids.
After one attempt, we discarded the idea of being away for more that one Shabbat at a time, it was just too much for us. Ironically, that was the trip that coincided with the onset of Goldie’s vision problems and subsequent medical issues.
So we are back to the eleven day/one Shabbat trip. If I have a chance to see you while I am in, it was great seeing you. If not, I am sorry I missed you – maybe we will catch up with each other next time.
The Jr. High/High School teachers union is still on strike. Our older girls both continue to have modified schedules. Chaya again had a complete day off last week, and a second day where she only had one class the entire day (her math teacher was ill and she was scheduled for a double math class that day).
She is incredibly bored. For a kid who always loved snow days or any excuse not to go to school, even she has come to the realization that she cannot simply sit and do nothing all day. She has finished all her homework (even long term projects) and is going crazy with nothing to do.
Aliza also has shortened days. One day she decided not to wait for the regular bus home and instead went with one of her girlfriends to the mall where she met up with another two friends and they enjoyed a few hours together. Since the train station is at the mall, I met them for the train ride home and Goldie was able to pick us all up.
My nephew is much worse off. His school is totally closed and he has been sitting on his hands all day. He told my sister last week that he can’t take it anymore – he is looking for some kind of job to help pass the time. He has also done all of his homework and it is a shame when you consider that this is being carried out nationwide for 600,000+ kids.
Of course, the schools both still felt comfortable in charging my credit card for the monthly tuition fees. I will eventually call to ask them about it, but I am sure what they will tell me is that the money they charge me (very little in truth - $350/month for both kids – much, much less for Batya and Mordechai) does not go to pay teachers; it is for the extras that the government doesn’t pay for. These extras continue to be provided, or so they will claim.
Being immigrants, we have no idea what is extra and what is normal, so of course we will have no response to this.
It’s kind of like our bank statement. It comes every month, just like in the USA. Unfortunately, unlike the USA – we have no clue what this bank statement actually says. Review the credit card charges on the statement? No way! Too hard.
The only way we can figure anything out (and this holds true for most of our bills) is to look at each transaction on the website. Since there is much more detail provided on the website, Goldie is able to piece together what is what. Most of the time.
I had thought that we were unique in this regard. However, last Shabbat we hosted Ilan and Ahuva Prager on Friday night (their oldest son is one of Mordechai’s good friends from school and they live right across the street from us). Ilan served in the army and has excellent Hebrew. Yet, when the subject of understanding the credit card bill came up, they also admitted that they don’t even bother to try understanding it anymore.
So we set up automatic billpay from the bank with each utility and places like the kids schools and we hope and pray that there isn’t an error made in the computation of the charges.
The other kids are more or less finally settled in their “after the chagim (holidays)” schedule. School is a full day now (except for the early dismissal day – Tuesday). After school activities have all started and are moving forward full swing.
In a normal year, the fact that things only kick off after the chagim would seem silly to us, but not as crucial – since this is the way they do things here. With the strike, things are obviously different for the older girls.
On Erev Shabbat Goldie and I had a kind of weird day – existentially. We started off the morning with a Brit Milah (circumcision) for the son of one of our neighbors, the Yashar’s. It was their first son and third child and was a very nice simcha.
We went from there to the unveiling at the grave of Chaia Broderick’s father Mendel A”H, who passed away just before Sukkot and was buried in the Beit Shemesh cemetery on Erev Sukkot.
With all that has happened with the chagim and our own personal simchot, we have not really been there for Chaia these past few weeks and I know that it bothers Goldie. Chaia has been one of Goldie’s friends since 7th grade, and the only saving grace is that Chaia’s mother has been with her until this week and they have been a mutual support group since Sukkot.
As a Kohein, I stand outside at funerals, and due to the unique design of cemeteries in Israel, I can usually walk along the main road up to the entrance of the individual section of the cemetery where the burial takes place and then I watch the burial from afar.
After this Kevurah (burial), one of the members of the Chevra Kadisha (burial society) walked over to me as I stood 100 feet away in the middle of the road and pointed out that the section of the cemetery he was buried in had no other graves in it and I really could enter that section as long as I avoided any graves.
I was a little freaked out when first thinking about it, but by the time the unveiling came by I was OK and it was a unique thing to be at anything in a cemetery.
I am sure it was difficult for Chaia and her mother, especially since her mother was due to leave a few days later.
The other big news for the week was the birth of another nephew whose Brit Milah I am going to miss. My brother Ely and his wife Ilana had a boy on Erev Shabbat. I am going to be in the USA for the last two weeks of October (I am writing this on the plane), so I will miss the 5th Brit Milah of an Israeli nephew and the 6th one on my side (my brother Ozer made one on the second day of Pesach one year and we couldn’t make it).
When we got the call, my brother told Goldie that he had to put together a Shalom Zachor party in the next 5-6 hours and that nothing had been prepared. We had actually bought something for a local Beit Shemesh Shalom Zachor for that evening and Goldie packed some homemade cookies up and added it to what we had in hand and sent me (and 3 kids) off (30 – 40 minute drive) to Chashmonaim to deliver it to my brother.
When we got there, his mother in law told us that they had decided to merge the Shalom Zachor in with a shul oneg that was happening that night and that they didn’t need anything. Not only that, but all the kids were sleeping or out, so we didn’t even get to wish Mazal Tov to anybody (well – ok we did see the Savta {Grandmother}).
However, we get the brownie points for having driven out AND we got to give the Sladowsky’s (yes – originally from Far Rockaway) something for the Shalom Zachor of their first grandson (they had a granddaughter a couple of weeks ago) as well. We did leave the cookies behind as a treat for the kids, so we are heroes all around.
This Shabbat also marked the second week in a row without the street being obstructed by our Chareidi neighbors. They still came out to yell “Shaaaaabbboooooossssss”, but there were much fewer of them this week and they didn’t really stick it out. Hopefully in the coming weeks things will continue to return to normal. We will still hear them shouting at cars as they pass, but it will be mostly little kids shouting accompanied only by those adults who happen to be around. I can’t believe I just called that “normal”.
As I mentioned, I am now experiencing the least enjoyable part of my job. I wouldn’t want to give up traveling and having the opportunity to see relatives occasionally. Yet, being away for extended trips is definitely a downer. It is Shabbat that is the worst to deal with. I am away for about 7 of them a year and that is a lot of time – especially for the little kids.
After one attempt, we discarded the idea of being away for more that one Shabbat at a time, it was just too much for us. Ironically, that was the trip that coincided with the onset of Goldie’s vision problems and subsequent medical issues.
So we are back to the eleven day/one Shabbat trip. If I have a chance to see you while I am in, it was great seeing you. If not, I am sorry I missed you – maybe we will catch up with each other next time.
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