tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37276402011-12-19T11:41:08.020-08:00By Brian BlumBrianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.comBlogger2111100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1122787513159245072005-07-30T11:35:00.000-07:002010-03-27T04:03:25.105-07:00

(Note to This Normal Life readers: This Normal Life has moved - we now have a brand new site hosted by Bloggerce, complete with pictures, podcasts and more. I will continue to mirror articles on this site for a little while longer, but please update your bookmarks to www.ThisNormalLife.com or www.brianblum.bloggerce.com.) -------------------------------------------------With his older brother

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1122026568508822842005-07-22T02:57:00.000-07:002005-07-22T03:02:48.520-07:00

This Normal Life has moved to a new open at Bloggerce. Please update your bookmarks to either ThisNormalLife.com or brianblum.bloggerce.com. I will continue to mirror articles on this site for a little while, but check out the new This Normal Life - complete with pictures and even podcasts. How cool is that!-----------------------------------------------------------“How did this happen?”

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1121622749019082262005-07-17T10:40:00.000-07:002005-07-17T10:55:27.950-07:00

It's been a year since we arrived at the Jerusalem Scouts' Summer Camp woefully empty handed. This summer, we went back with goodies galore...and my new digital camera. In honor of both these enhancements, I am republishing the original story - complete with photos so you can get a better feeling for the event and an audio version that you can download or subscribe to as the first in a series of

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1120115951555967792005-06-30T00:08:00.000-07:002005-06-30T09:27:55.910-07:00

“We’ve got a problem, boss.”“What is it, my esteemed chief marketing guy?”“It’s with our brand.”“Our brand? What could be wrong with that? It’s incredibly simple, ultimately recognizable and licensed to companies around the world.”“It’s been expropriated.”“By who?”“The Israelis.”“That doesn’t sound like a problem...more visibility for us.”“No, you don’t get it. It’s been adopted as the national

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1119510789087374822005-06-23T00:01:00.000-07:002005-06-23T00:41:23.353-07:00

Queen Jeneane was sitting on the newly constructed deck to her beach house barking directions to her son who was puttering about down on the sand.“Move it over there,” she called out. “A little to the right. No, bring it back a bit. Yes, there, that’s it”Her son, a burly shipputznik-looking kind of guy, was lugging what looked at first to be a large red porta-potty, trying to find a suitable

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1118573881140645992005-06-12T03:35:00.000-07:002005-06-12T06:57:34.743-07:00

“What are we going to do today?” six-year-old Aviv demanded as he shoveled in his tenth spoonful of cornflakes in as many seconds. It was shortly before the Jewish holiday of Shavuot last year and the kids were off school. Then ten-year-old Merav and twelve-year-old Amir were now looking up from their breakfasts as well, waiting for my pronouncement.But I was ready. I had concocted the perfect

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1117699023921065452005-06-02T00:10:00.000-07:002005-06-02T13:16:02.266-07:00

I was recently interviewed by a reporter from the San Francisco Chronicle. He was in town for a few months to try to get the “real story” behind the headlines. He’s been a regular reader of this column and figured I might be able to share some insights.Besides which, he offered to take me out to lunch, his treat. We went to Olive and I ordered this chicken dish in a mango-pineapple-coconut sauce

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1117113562654145612005-05-26T05:55:00.000-07:002005-05-26T07:18:51.870-07:00

“I need help with my homework,” eleven-year-old Merav announced after dinner the other night. Normally I run as fast as I can from these requests. As an immigrant father, it's not easy to cope with homework in Hebrew which, while it may be one of Merav’s best subjects, is certainly not mine.“It’s geography,” she clarified.Ah, now that I could help with. “I need to know the capital cities. Read

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1115877903908496002005-05-11T22:51:00.000-07:002005-05-12T00:36:29.016-07:00

It’s been nearly a month since I last posted an update on Merav. The news, thank God, is all good. Our eleven-year-old daughter seems to have recovered completely. No more pain, no fever, no jaundice. Whatever it was – and the doctors never were able to come up with a diagnosis – it seems to have passed and gone forever.In celebration, we decided to go away for a few days of vacation. Friends

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1115305650065708722005-05-05T06:56:00.000-07:002005-05-05T08:43:13.516-07:00

Janusz Korczak was a Polish Jewish educator who ran an orphanage in the Warsaw Ghetto just prior to its liquidation in 1942. His story is at once tragic and courageous. Given the chance to escape the ghetto, Korczak chose to stay with his children, ultimately perishing along with them at Treblinka.“Korczak’s Children” is also the name of a play by Jeffrey Hatcher which has been playing across the

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1114166610809124862005-04-22T03:25:00.000-07:002005-04-22T05:05:03.753-07:00

Pesach is probably the most magical of Jewish holidays. And that really bugs the heck out of me!Before we go any further: here’s a spoiler alert: just like in a movie review, if you don’t want to know too much about the way I really think about some of the more obscure Pesach traditions, stop reading right here.For those of you still with me, OK, first of all, what do I mean by magical? I’m not

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1113504746713799132005-04-14T11:45:00.000-07:002005-04-14T12:21:17.596-07:00

I admit it: I’m a bit obsessive compulsive. No surprise to regular readers of this column. When I set out to make a purchase – whether it’s a new piece of computer equipment or a vacation – I more often than not spend days doing research on the Internet, talking to anyone and everyone I can find. After I make a decision, I may change my mind. After I make the purchase, I’ll probably regret at

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1112893857849939552005-04-07T09:41:00.000-07:002005-04-07T11:07:39.426-07:00

Merav is out of the hospital and feeling a bit better. That should be cause for celebration. So why do I feel so confused?These past weeks – how many has it been, six already? – have been pure hell. For us and for our extended families. Eleven-year-old Merav has probably been the least affected. She had the good sense not to dive into the endless “what’s causing it” debate that has been the

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1112273731987604572005-03-31T04:27:00.000-08:002005-03-31T04:59:16.466-08:00

After weeks of illness that had baffled pediatricians, surgeons and specialists across the city, our family doctor said, with no small amount of resignation, we had no option left other than to check eleven-year-old Merav into the hospital. Hospitalization is a big deal, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. It means that you essentially have a new place to live – however brief – with new rules,

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1111565981960044742005-03-23T00:09:00.000-08:002005-03-24T07:14:03.193-08:00

Our daughter Merav has been sick for the last three plus weeks with an undiagnosed illness. Today's story - as well as the one I'm planning to run next week - reflect particular moments during this long process which also included a week of hospitalization. For those of you who have been in touch, Jody and I cannot express how meaningful your concern and help has been. Merav would certainly love

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1110524981341213842005-03-10T22:32:00.000-08:002005-03-11T00:57:03.316-08:00

“What, no rice milk?” I asked Jody as I helped her unload the groceries after a recent trip to the supermarket. I had immediately noticed the bags seemed lighter than usual.“They were all out,” Jody said, almost apologetically.“Harumph,” I muttered, trying to be flip about the matter but barely concealing my disappointment. Rice milk isn’t just a guilty pleasure in our family, you see; it’s

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1109853203938636332005-03-03T04:20:00.000-08:002005-03-10T13:45:05.136-08:00

Steve, an entrepreneur friend of mine in Jerusalem, met recently with an Israeli venture capitalist concerning funding for Steve’s new company. The two discussed the market, the company’s technology and promise. Eventually, they got down to Steve’s work history which included several startups that had trudged along but never really hit the big time.The venture capitalist then looked Steve in the

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1108668839884406812005-02-17T07:08:00.000-08:002005-02-20T02:46:39.923-08:00

Dr. Michael arrived at half past ten in the morning on a rainy winter day wearing a gray overcoat, a long-since fashionable paisley pullover sweater vest, and a big black case. He sat down across from me at my kitchen table and rifled through a wad of official looking papers. Dr. Michael is a traveling insurance doctor. And his job today was to give me a physical in order to process the mortgage

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1108048998783496972005-02-10T05:55:00.000-08:002005-02-14T13:24:38.293-08:00

We’ve got some good news: we bought a house.Yes, after 10 years of renting in Israel and seven before that in California, Jody and I have finally joined the ranks of the home owners. There’s only one thing still in the way:Getting a mortgage.Since we never had to apply for a home loan back in the old country, I can’t share any insights on transcontinental cultural and bureaucratic differences. I

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1107443268283233082005-02-03T07:01:00.000-08:002005-02-03T08:16:29.270-08:00

Who ever said that getting into junior high had to be such a production? But that’s exactly what it was – a full theatrical production – at the Jerusalem Girls’ School for Torah and the Arts. Let’s step back a moment… My wife Jody and I recently accompanied our eleven-year-old sixth grader Merav to two “open houses” of Jerusalem junior high schools. Elementary school in Israel only runs through

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1106846765222377992005-01-27T09:24:00.000-08:002005-01-28T03:25:15.016-08:00

When Jody’s 91-year old grandma died suddenly last week, there was no question that Jody would fly to San Diego to be with the family for the week. What was less clear was how I would fare holding down the household by myself. While I can’t give a first-hand report on what happened in California during Jody’s week abroad (I wasn’t there), I can tell you how we fared back in Jerusalem on our own

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1106302560329694592005-01-21T01:40:00.000-08:002005-01-21T02:53:03.196-08:00

Eleven-year-old Merav’s counselor from Scouts called a week ago on a Sunday night. “We’re having a bible quiz on Tuesday,” she explained to Merav. “I know it’s not a lot of notice. But would you be interested in representing us?” Merav didn’t hesitate. And for the next hour, the two of them were cramming on the phone together, reviewing material that might be on the test, practicing potential

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1105558661738454452005-01-12T11:18:00.000-08:002005-01-13T07:23:48.506-08:00

Have you ever wondered what a Tupperware Party is all about? I know I have...I mean, I’ve heard the term for years. But when I think about it, I always conjure up an absurd image of 1950s-era housewives in fancy party dresses drinking, laughing and flirting while fondling dumpy plastic containers with that funny name...Tupperware. I can barely keep a straight face. So when Jody announced that

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1104998988728850972005-01-06T01:05:00.000-08:002005-01-06T03:04:42.746-08:00

The invitation to Shaya and Benny’s wedding read: “Formal attire.” Formal attire? What the heck is formal attire? In Israel we are masters of casual comfort. We dress down everywhere we go, including weddings, no...in particular at weddings. You want to keep it loose so you can dance and not feel restricted by a tie and a coat. Still, it would be rude to just ignore a dress code advisory

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1103809531971705872004-12-23T03:29:00.000-08:002004-12-23T05:55:31.123-08:00

We recently took off for a short vacation in Eilat, Israel’s southernmost city, with a group called Shabbat B’Teva. Literally meaning “Sabbath in Nature,” the group wraps hiking and tiyulim around a Shabbat atmosphere. The idea of getting out of the nasty cold of Jerusalem (for those of you who’ve never visited, it actually snows here in the winter) to bask for a few days in the relative warmth

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1103143107523108982004-12-15T11:16:00.000-08:002004-12-16T02:51:57.046-08:00

We were recently invited to a bar mitzvah “weekend” at the resort hotel of Kibbutz Ramat Rachel, a few kilometers from where we live at the southernmost edge of Jerusalem. The bar mitzvah weekend is an alternative to the usual custom in our community where the bar mitzvah boy (or bat mitzvah girl) is called to the Torah in synagogue, with a festive Kiddush held afterwards followed by a lunch or

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1102532879578244952004-12-08T10:54:00.000-08:002004-12-08T13:06:26.220-08:00

(Just in time for Hanukah, here's a special encore presentation of one of my - er - tastier columns.) I know they’re bad for me. But I can’t resist. I’m talking about donuts, of course. Whatever shape, size or variety, I go do-m’shuga-nut over them. And at this time of year, as Hanukah season descends upon us, Israel is overflowing with that uniquely Jewish version, the sufgania. Sufganiot (

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1101902688560026672004-12-01T03:56:00.000-08:002004-12-02T07:40:03.713-08:00

After all the whining I did in my last column, In De-Nile, I thought it only befitting to provide an update, however embarassing it may be. What happened was this: I was just about to throw out my old broken phone headset when I noticed a small knob that I thought I'd checked before. The knob had somehow slid into the "mute" position. I moved it out of mute and, lo and behold, the headset works

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1101398238622609782004-11-25T07:17:00.000-08:002004-12-01T00:37:50.920-08:00

One of the hardest things about living in Israel for Western immigrants is not having access to the vast consumer marketplace we grew up with in North America. I know, that sounds pretty trivial and maybe even a little petty. After all, we are living in another country. We freely chose to put 5,000 miles between us and the nearest Disney Store. But sometimes it can be downright hazardous to your

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1100688574987366702004-11-17T02:45:00.000-08:002004-11-19T00:26:54.696-08:00

I was asked by a colleague to help out on a friend’s website. Nothing fancy, just a little advice to help the guy get up and running. And, oh yeah, could I do it for free? As it turns out, the website happens to be for a good cause, so I took up the challenge. After several hours over a period of weeks, I got to know the website owner pretty well. One day he dropped me an email. “My daughter

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1100069011687952322004-11-09T22:34:00.000-08:002004-11-11T10:02:17.226-08:00

If this story seems a little bleary, it’s because I didn’t get a whole lot of sleep last night. Seems we were locked out of our house. By our kids. Mabye it was our own fault. My wife Jody and I decided a few months ago that the kids were old enough to stay home without a babysitter when we went out. After all, Amir is thirteen and already does some babysitting for pay. We were invited to our

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1099567660201563202004-11-04T03:24:00.000-08:002004-11-04T04:25:32.996-08:00

Twenty-two years ago, on my birthday, I jumped out of an airplane. How I got up the courage, I still don’t know, but I have had nightmares about it ever since. It wasn’t the freefall to earth that got me: I had a parachute on after all and it was hooked to the plane so that it automatically opened after all of about three seconds. I rather enjoyed the feeling of gliding slowly to the ground,

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1098961590302362472004-10-28T03:58:00.000-07:002004-10-28T11:58:18.443-07:00

Sometimes you just need to get away. That’s how we’d been feeling after planning and executing three intense weeks of family activities centered on thirteen-year-old Amir’s bar mitzvah this past summer. All the details, the organizing, the meals and parties had taken their toll and we were just plain pooped. That’s how we found ourselves at a five star all-inclusive resort in Antalya on the “

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1098261670331049892004-10-20T01:22:00.000-07:002004-10-20T01:51:18.290-07:00

He looked like a regular guy. His short cropped hair, half frame wire glasses, t-shirt (not too designer, not too sloppy) and well worn sandals all suggested a cafe patron with at least a moderately worldly frame of reference. So when he asked Jody to “save his spot” at the Rami Levy supermarket checkout line, it was hard to refuse. “Save my spot” is one of the hardest things for the Western

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1097610641940008542004-10-12T13:46:00.000-07:002004-10-12T13:12:13.436-07:00

I’ve never visited the Sinai. And now I fear I never will. The nearly simultaneous bombings that killed 33 last week at the Taba Hilton and the beaches at Ras al-Satan delivered destruction to a destination regarded by many Israelis as a refuge, an oasis in the desert where one could get away from the stress of life in pressure-cooker Israel and luxuriate on one of the most fabulous beaches in

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1095693391186535312004-09-20T08:10:00.000-07:002004-09-23T05:47:10.206-07:00

Every family has its disagreements. Especially when there are teenagers around. Some are relatively simple and generally mundane. Like: Should a thirteen-year-old have an enforced bedtime? Or: Can he play on his new laptop whenever he wants? Others, though, are more spiritually profound. The burning question in our house at this time of year is: which synagogue should we attend for High

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1095002341865221252004-09-12T08:14:00.000-07:002004-09-13T07:13:03.693-07:00

As soon as I heard that sixteen family members were coming from overseas to Amir’s bar mitzvah, I knew we had to do something special. First of all, sixteen people coming to Israel in these days when the country is still perceived as a threat to life and limb is worth celebrating with a significant dose of joy and appreciation. But once they got here, what would we do with everyone? Sure,

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1093597931808120722004-08-27T02:03:00.000-07:002004-08-28T12:04:49.846-07:00

For 13 years, I knew this day was coming. I’m not talking about my son Amir’s upcoming bar mitzvah. No, this was a moment of much more intensity. The last tuck-in. If you have kids – or if you ever were a kid – you know what I’m talking about. That special time of quiet bonding, books and cuddles, just before bed. At first, the ritual fell mainly to mom: despite noble intentions, I just didn’t

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1092319589233551832004-08-12T06:59:00.000-07:002004-08-12T10:34:08.090-07:00

It is unquestionably one of the oddest sights in all of Judaism. I’m talking about tefillin, AKA phylacteries. If you’ve never seen them, it’s pretty jarring. Jet black and square, made of a single piece of leather molded under thousands of pounds of pressure, and worn on the head and arm during daily morning prayers. To the Western eye, it just looks weird. Still, when I started becoming more

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1091638980396282272004-08-04T09:58:00.000-07:002004-08-04T10:17:52.496-07:00

I had been having problems with my computer. Small but annoying things, like you can’t be on the Internet and print at the same time. So one night, after the kids had gone to sleep, I decided to upgrade the operating system. I’d done it plenty of times before on other computers. You just pop in the Windows CD and follow the instructions. Or so I thought. When the blue screen of death appeared,

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1090919835404617432004-07-27T01:56:00.000-07:002004-07-27T02:19:58.783-07:00

Last night we marked Tisha B’Av, the fast on the ninth day of the Hebrew month of Av. The day commemorates the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem along with a mixed bag of just about every calamitous event to befall the Jews in the last 2000 years, everything from when the spies gave their damning report on the land of Canaan to Moses and the Israelites in the desert, to the day that World

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1090498075536531392004-07-22T04:55:00.000-07:002004-07-23T00:50:09.026-07:00

Six-year-old Aviv loves mini-golf. On the computer, that is.   It seems that many of the big candy and cookie conglomerates have discovered that if you create a virtual game online, and then strategically sprinkle images of Oreos, Lifesavers and Jello Pudding Bites throughout, you can dramatically increase brand awareness and what marketers call “stickiness.”   Without all the mess involved

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1089795682415034232004-07-15T01:17:00.000-07:002004-08-20T05:34:49.406-07:00

Parents Visiting Day is a time-honored camp tradition. But what about when the camp in question is all of three days? You can imagine, then, that we were a bit skeptical when ten-year-old Merav insisted that we come up to check out her summer quickie campsite with Israel’s version of the Scouts. Especially since the time allotted to visiting comprised all of two hours. It was a long drive and it

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1088685651861803632004-07-06T05:33:00.000-07:002004-07-07T01:11:22.833-07:00

Steve and Rena were just here. Before that it was Chanan and Eve, then Ralph and Amy and their kids. Later this summer, we’ll see visits by Judy, Linda, Amanda, Michael, Julie, Noah, Jessie, Rikki, David and Aviva, not to mention some 16 members of our own family for soon-to-be-thirteen-year-old Amir’s bar mitzvah celebration in August. After four years, where tourism to Israel has been totally

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1088164190895892532004-06-25T04:21:00.000-07:002004-06-25T05:16:10.923-07:00

If I told you there was a completely hidden world buried under old Jerusalem – would you be interested? Well, I sure was when I first learned about it. And last week, I got a ticket to explore. The world I’m talking about consists of the tunnels under and alongside the Western Wall, opened several years ago. From the moment I learned of their existence my mind went wild with imagination. I

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1087486252611641822004-06-17T08:30:00.000-07:002004-06-17T11:57:26.530-07:00

Ten-year-old Merav had been practicing for weeks. At last, the big performance was upon us. The event was the conclusion of a year’s study program on “roots.” Every child in Merav’s class had collected a family “song” and they had creatively stitched them together with some brief narrative thread for an evening of fifth-grade theater. I came armed, as I always do in these situations, with my

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1086789172410904062004-06-09T06:47:00.000-07:002004-06-10T09:31:51.576-07:00

If you’ve never experienced it, it’s hard to describe just how disabling insomnia can be. Most people have had a few sleepless nights here and there. It’s a pain and the next day you’re zonked, but it’s usually temporary. And if you put the time to good use, all-nighters can be quite fun, sometimes even profitable. But when it goes on for days and weeks and months on end, that’s a whole

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1086243822771549852004-06-02T23:13:00.000-07:002004-06-02T23:35:00.100-07:00

Our friends are uniformly incredulous when we tell them we’ve never been camping. Oh sure, our kids have been out on scouting and school trips. But we’ve never gone away as the whole family – alone in the woods with just a barbeque and a bagful of burgers, shmores and insect repellant. So when friends called and said “we’ll take care of everything – the tents, sleeping bags, choosing the

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1085057114334176572004-05-20T05:37:00.000-07:002004-05-20T23:39:42.786-07:00

We know a lot of people named Meir. It’s a pretty common Hebrew name. So it’s not surprising when we told the kids we were having a couple of "mayors" for Friday night dinner, they asked “you mean like Meir and Miriam,” referring to friends whose wedding we recently attended. “No,” I replied. “I mean like mayors – as in the head of a city. We’re getting San Leandro and Azusa.” Which was, just

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1084444163888863572004-05-13T03:26:00.001-07:002004-05-13T03:41:25.476-07:00

Let me state upfront I’m not a big fan of the Dead Sea. Sure it’s cool to bathe in a body of water so filled with salt that nothing can live in it so you actually float on top of the water rather than swim. Plus the Dead Sea, the lowest place on earth at 400 meters (or 1320 feet) below sea level, is mentioned prominently in the Bible in no less than nine verses. How many times do you get to say

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1083750178357974382004-05-05T02:42:00.000-07:002004-05-06T01:04:36.983-07:00

Every fiber and bone in my body tells me I shouldn’t be reading this book. And yet I cannot put it down. Because I have a son who will be thirteen too. Soon. “The Blessing of a Broken Heart” (Toby Press, 2003) is Sherri Mandell book-length prose poem of love, courage and faith to her 13-year-old son Koby who was brutally murdered by terrorists, three years ago this weekend, on May 8, 2001.

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1083215662643396392004-04-28T22:14:00.000-07:002004-06-10T06:40:15.676-07:00

Here’s something you never want to see when you're driving: a policeman waving his arms, motioning you to pull you over. My first thought was that there had been a terrorist attack and they were diverting traffic. I was driving near the Jerusalem Central Bus Station so it was a distinct possibility. The reality, however, was more prosaic. I had made a wrong turn and was now in a lane reserved

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1082630951455552162004-04-22T03:49:00.000-07:002004-04-22T04:16:11.653-07:00

On the last Yom Ha’atzmaut, Israeli Independence Day, we were invited to a barbeque at the house of friends in the new city of Modi’in, about a half hour’s drive outside of Jerusalem where we live. On the day of the party, though, the news reported that the main road out of Jerusalem was jammed and there were hour-long back-ups. The solution seemed easy enough: we’d just take the alternative

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1082013465363403152004-04-15T00:17:00.000-07:002004-04-15T13:30:40.733-07:00

Twenty mothers. Thirty children. And me. That's the scene at the English language story hour that six-year-old Aviv and I attend every Monday afternoon at our neighborhood library. Aviv has always adored anyone reading him a book. And I enjoy the father-son bonding experience. Patronizing a library with books in English or an English-language story hour is an important way for us "Anglo"

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1080744327994973872004-03-31T06:45:00.000-08:002004-04-04T08:09:08.966-07:00

Moving to Israel was supposed to make our lives easier. Well, at least around Pesach time. But that's not exactly how it's turned out. I'll admit it: the Passover holidays "back home" were always a bit of a hassle. Let's start with the food. Unless you live in certain neighborhoods of New York or Los Angeles, the regular supermarkets don't do a clean sweep of anything not-kosher-for-Pesach the

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1080201335815251832004-03-24T23:55:00.000-08:002004-03-25T00:10:33.200-08:00

We live all of ten minutes drive from the Western Wall, Judaism’s holiest site in the heart of the Old City of Jerusalem. How many countless thousands of Jews around the world would just love to be so close? So you probably think we visit all the time. Well, think again. I don’t mean to be flippant. It’s just that, the truth is, I can’t remember the last time we came a calling. It’s not for

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1079598485613390232004-03-18T00:28:00.000-08:002004-03-21T01:54:46.013-08:00

I’m not in the habit of reviewing films in this column. But I haven’t been able to get "Lost in Translation," Sofia Copolla’s Academy Award-winning character study of isolation and loneliness, out of my head. Because, in too many ways, the film captures how I imagined my own life would be. And because things turned out so totally different. When I was growing up and I thought about what the

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1078924731752581242004-03-10T05:18:00.000-08:002004-03-10T05:49:45.856-08:00

It was Purim night and Aviv was in a funk. About his costume. “What if someone else is wearing the same thing?” he complained, sounding a tad too much like his worrywart father. “Or what if I have to go to the bathroom?” His hand-me-down Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle outfit could only be unzipped from the back, necessitating adult aid in disrobing. “I’ll take you to the bathroom,” I reassured

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1078237353086685862004-03-02T06:22:00.000-08:002004-03-04T00:54:49.450-08:00

“There’s no school on Sunday!” ten-year-old Merav declared on a recent Friday as she arrived home at the end of classes that day. She was dancing around the room like it was the beginning of summer vacation rather than a cold day in the middle of winter. “Who says?” I asked. “There’s going to be a strike. Didn’t you hear, Abba?” Of course I had heard. This year has been the worst ever in the

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1077776876427878992004-02-25T22:27:00.000-08:002004-02-25T22:47:32.610-08:00

On Friday as I was preparing for my morning run, my wife Jody called to me from upstairs. “Can you take a couple of letters and drop them at the post office?” she asked. “They’re birthday cards to be mailed to the States.” “Do I have to?” I whined back, giving off a kvetch that would make my five year old proud. It wasn’t that I was opposed to doing Jody a favor. It’s just that I have my regular

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1077198487941498472004-02-19T05:48:00.000-08:002004-03-16T00:03:01.513-08:00

Blood and chocolate. That was essentially the two-word take away from the email we received a few weeks ago from our synagogue announcing the first ever "Tu B'Shvat Bake Sale and Blood Drive." What Tu B'Shvat - the Jewish Arbor Day, known also as "The New Year for the Trees" - and giving blood have to do with each other, I may never know. But it was an opportunity for our community to come

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1076505377412782272004-02-11T05:16:00.000-08:002004-02-12T04:18:17.733-08:00

When the house shook this morning, I thought: oh no, not again. Not another café blowing up five minutes from where I live. But the shaking didn’t fit the usual pattern. It lasted too long (20 seconds) and I didn’t hear a boom. There was no smoke rising, no sirens in the air. Within a few minutes, the news was already reporting that an earthquake had hit Israel and could be felt as far away as

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1075900328149469772004-02-04T05:12:00.000-08:002004-02-11T05:17:51.950-08:00

I was holding the baby when we heard it. Jody and I had been asked to be kvatterim at the brit mila (circumcision) ceremony for our friends Josh and Chaya’s new son The kvatter, a special honor given to friends or family during the brit, takes the baby from the mother and passes him to the father just prior to the main event. “What was that?” Jody asked. We had both heard the boom from outside

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1075287077600350012004-01-28T02:51:00.000-08:002004-01-28T12:45:18.293-08:00

Jody and I had been out for the evening. Our usual babysitter couldn’t make it, so we hired someone who we didn’t know all that well. What exactly transpired while we were away we may never know. But when we got home, the babysitter was upset. Apparently, she and twelve- year-old Amir had gotten into disagreement over the TV. He wanted to watch. She said it was bedtime. Now, some babysitters

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1074709261310192212004-01-21T10:21:00.000-08:002004-01-22T03:02:33.420-08:00

When I was growing up, my mother wouldn’t let me in the kitchen. I suppose she thought she was doing me some kind of favor. But years later, I still panic when I’m asked to prepare anything more sophisticated than macaroni and cheese. There is one dish, however, that I’ve managed to perfect. So much so that, in our house, it’s known as “Abba’s Cholent.” Cholent, for the uninitiated, is the

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1074081719319360822004-01-14T04:01:00.000-08:002004-01-14T10:26:05.623-08:00

It seemed like just an ordinary wedding band. That was until the band leader started channeling Louis Armstrong. He was a short Yemenite man with a straggly beard, bushy gray payot (sidelocks), a red Bucharian-style kippa and, perhaps most remarkably in an already remarkable appearance, a bright red tallit swung over his shoulder - something more at home in the synagogue than on stage. He sure

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1073475425145939112004-01-07T03:37:00.000-08:002004-02-27T00:10:58.060-08:00

By the end of 1997 I was down on my luck. Earlier in the year, I had come down with a bad case of dot.com fever and I was determined to establish The Next Big Thing in hi-tech. As I made the rounds from one venture capital firm to another, though, I was met with the same response. The words varied but the direction was always the same. By the time I was given the name of a private investor

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1072859301021388862003-12-31T00:28:00.000-08:002004-02-27T00:26:29.093-08:00

One of the questions Jody and I have been asked again and again on our return from just over ten days in India was: has it changed you? Do you feel you’re a different person as a result of the trip? The answer surprised even us. How could such a quick trip have any kind of long lasting psychological influence? But it did. And here it is in a nutshell: We, in Israel, have nothing to complain

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1072256844573310602003-12-24T01:07:00.000-08:002004-02-27T00:23:57.186-08:00

For parents, there’s a first tine for everything. First time diapering a new baby. First time talking about the birds and the bees. Tonight was my first time sitting up until the wee hours of the morning, worried sick, waiting for my about-to-turn-teenage son to come home. Twelve-year-old Amir had gone to our synagogue for a party with the other eleven to fifteen year olds. It was the first

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1071589991357187592003-12-16T07:53:00.000-08:002003-12-16T09:52:23.733-08:00

Amir and I went to see the final installment of the Matrix trilogy the other night. Going to the movies is one of the things Amir and I do, and I have to say it’s really a pleasure to have a child old enough to see the kind of movies my wife wouldn’t go near: you know the shoot-em-up action, sci-fi, and fantasy flicks my aging adolescent mind still craves. Now, when I go to the movies, it’s for

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1070855468381214342003-12-07T19:51:00.000-08:002003-12-08T12:57:55.186-08:00

Sometimes in life you have to define yourself. It isn’t fair, it isn’t right, but every once in awhile it’s what’s expected of you. All the more so in Israel where life is too often lacking the shades of gray taken for granted in North America. I’m not talking about the more obvious definitions like married-single, Ashkenazi-Sephardi, oleh (new immigrant)-sabra (veteran Israeli). No, it’s

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1070278446813831322003-12-01T03:34:00.000-08:002004-02-27T00:12:45.200-08:00

I was walking across the street in the Old City of Jaipur on the third day of our trip to India. I had just bought a bag of ladoo, a sticky Indian sweet shaped like a small yellow golf ball. As I focused my attention on searching for a store sign in English in order to bargain my way to another scandalously cheap Indian silk, I fingered the bag of ladoo, trying to remove the goodies one at a

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1068565632778711502003-11-16T00:37:00.000-08:002003-11-16T01:53:13.576-08:00

“If I’d known we were going to need shots, maybe I would have wanted to go somewhere else,” my wife Jody declared when I called her from the Travel Doctor. The Travel Doctor is the specialist in our kuppa (the Israeli version of an HMO) who advises would-be backpackers on the do’s and don’ts of exotic locations. And Jody and I were planning on exactly such a far-out trip: to India. It was going

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1068376417145483862003-11-09T03:13:00.000-08:002003-11-09T03:18:35.170-08:00

Kids’ birthday parties are a big deal in Israel. Despite the worsening economy, they are still one of the last places Israelis splurge. After all, these are our children. A recent article in Haaretz described some of the parties being thrown these days. Everything from dune buggy excursions, climbing walls and henna tattoos to an authentic Bedouin tent experience where the kids get to make their

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1063009633152325692003-10-30T10:29:00.000-08:002003-10-30T11:03:45.480-08:00

OK, I admit it: I didn’t want to leave. This past summer, after seven weeks on the road – the longest consecutive period I’ve spent outside of Israel in the nine years since we moved here – I was starting to get comfortable in California. To my own shock and surprise, I could actually see myself living back in the States again. Going to Disneyland and Knott’s Berry Farm every day, catching the

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1066643933322904022003-10-23T03:43:00.000-07:002003-10-23T04:24:46.283-07:00

It took years of planning, fundraising and construction, but last month, Kehillat Yedidya, our religious community here in Jerusalem, moved into its new building. A formal dedication ceremony was held this week in the presence of the major donors, the former Chief Rabbi of Israel, and even Deputy Prime Minister and ex-Jerusalem mayor Ehud Olmert. A major milestone such as this was bound to

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1066075539713148572003-10-17T00:49:00.000-07:002003-10-17T00:49:56.183-07:00

We’ve had to learn a whole new set of terms lately: DCIS, mammotone, microcalcification, sterotactic biopsy. All of these are words that have to do with suspicious breasts. It started about a month ago when Jody went in for her first mammogram. She asked for it. “I’m feeling fine. In great shape, really. Nothing wrong at all,” Jody explained to our family doctor. “I just want to stay one

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1065793149808996392003-10-14T12:28:00.000-07:002003-10-14T12:37:10.150-07:00

I dare say we must have the easiest sukka in the world to build. It’s not that we’re lazy. It’s just that our apartment is on the top floor and has a large terrace covered with a pergola. So when the Jewish holiday of Sukkot rolls around with its commandment that we "dwell in booths" to recall how the Israelites lived out-of-doors during their 40 years of wandering, all we have to do to build

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1065551914205323882003-10-07T11:38:00.000-07:002003-10-07T11:56:32.540-07:00

It wasn’t that long ago when the Jewish holidays seemed so straightforward. Go to synagogue. Invite a few people over. Eat. But in our current reality, confronted at every corner as we are now by terror, everything has been affected in one way or another. It was the morning after 19 people were murdered by a suicide bomber in a crowded Haifa restaurant. We were still reeling from the

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1065071054621682442003-10-01T22:04:00.000-07:002003-10-01T22:43:45.613-07:00

When we moved to Israel nine years ago, we were met with all kinds of changes – schools, work, food. And as September approached, there was an additional question: where we would pray for High Holyday services? When we lived in North America, this wasn’t such a big deal: there were only a few options in our community and, in any case, we were already members of lovely congregation. In Israel,

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1064492578897377372003-09-26T04:35:00.000-07:002003-09-26T04:35:47.193-07:00

Pop quiz: what is the biggest gift-giving holiday in Israel? If you answered Hanukah, you would be thinking in overseas terms, where the influence of a certain other holiday in December has turned the once minor Festival of Lights into a major deal. No, in Israel, Rosh Hashanah is the clear leader and, in another twist from Diaspora traditions, the focus is on receiving presents from work rather

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1061182498567156262003-09-22T08:45:00.000-07:002003-09-22T08:55:47.836-07:00

The plan was simple: we would spend Shabbat in Prague and eat at the Jewish Community Center on Friday night, then pack a picnic for lunch. The JCC was described by friends as “haimish” with lots of Prague natives. The food, on the other hand, was supposed to be barely edible: things like fried schnitzel and potato buds in heavy oil. But it was cheap. And we were on a tight budget. We actually

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1063542609025693282003-09-15T11:20:00.000-07:002003-09-16T01:57:57.756-07:00

I was interviewed last week on the Steve and Johnnie Show, the overnight talk slot on WGN Radio in Chicago. Steve and Johnnie wanted to get more details on last Tuesday’s terrible tragedies – the suicide bombings at Tzrifin and Emek Refaim’s Hillel Cafe. But their questions were of a more personal nature. “How do Israelis cope with such events?” Steve asked. “I mean, how can you wake up in the

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1063193877966494992003-09-10T04:37:00.000-07:002003-09-10T04:37:57.993-07:00

I was talking on the phone to my brother Dave in California as I pulled my car to the entrance of Jerusalem. We had just started a lively discussion about new business opportunities when I noticed that the street in front of me, opposite the Central Bus Station, was jammed. Oh great, I thought. Must be a suspicious object on the street. Not surprising. Not in Jerusalem these days. But come on

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1061182430855912992003-09-08T01:05:00.000-07:002003-09-08T01:33:14.403-07:00

It was all I could think about for weeks. No, months. We had talked about doing this for so long. And now it was finally happening. We were taking the family to Europe. And more than that, to Prague, one of the most fascinating, exquisitely gorgeous cities in all of the continent. With a rich Jewish history to boot. Mind you, it was only for five days, but our expectations were high. We would

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1060747523599376112003-08-31T07:05:00.000-07:002003-08-31T07:40:24.936-07:00

I try my hardest in this column to find those laugh-out-loud “only-in-Israel” stories. But since we’ve been out of the country and on vacation this last month, I’ve picked up a few “only-in-California” stories. Here’s one of them. We had just collected the kids from Camp Jaycee, the Jewish Community Center Day Camp in La Jolla not far from where we’ve been staying with Jody’s dad. We were

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1061182363814651282003-08-23T12:19:00.000-07:002003-08-26T00:26:31.943-07:00

I used to fly a lot. In the last few years, though, my traveling schedule has become greatly reduced. And since 9/11, I've only been to North America once. So when we were flagged at the San Francisco Airport at the beginning of our summer vacation for what is euphemistically called "Secondary Searching," I was mildly amused. A new post-9/11 experience. A chance to compliment the hard-working

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1060114700500621252003-08-14T15:31:00.000-07:002003-08-14T15:36:56.503-07:00

When I first heard the expression “culture shock” many years ago, it was in reference to what friends told me I could expect on my first visit to Israel after never before having been out of the continental United States. Lately, though, it's culture shock in reverse: the experience now seems more applicable to my return visits to the U.S. And right now, on an extended summer sojourn in the

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1060303812907053142003-08-08T09:41:00.000-07:002003-08-14T15:42:59.613-07:00

We are standing in the center of a long, dimly-lit hall. On either side of us, hundreds of name plaques are stacked, one after other, seven rows high. A few chairs are scattered about. A cleaning person glides silently with a broom. This is where Marla is buried. The Cypress View Mausoleum. Located on the outskirts of San Diego. It’s Tisha B’Av, the day we mourn the destruction of the Temple

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1059769996415020682003-08-04T17:16:00.000-07:002003-08-07T17:50:47.543-07:00

It is a hazy Sunday in Los Angeles and we are dropping off our eleven-year-old son Amir for his first overnight camping experience: a month at Camp Ramah in Ojai, CA. We have come all the way from Israel for this, only amplifying the anticipation. As we pull into the designated drop zone – the parking lot of Valley Beth Shalom - I am suddenly overrun by memories of my own sojourns at summer

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1059183681952135702003-07-28T11:15:00.000-07:002003-07-29T21:39:07.546-07:00

The exchange in the newsroom at the San Diego Union-Tribune probably went something like this: "Hey Chief! I've got a great idea for a story!" "OK, pitch me." "Well, you remember that girl from San Diego, Marla Bennett, who got killed a year ago in a bomb at Hebrew University in Jerusalem? Well, they're having a memorial for her. It's been exactly a year." "Yawn. Haven't we done that story to

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1058730992869534742003-07-20T12:45:00.000-07:002003-07-20T13:17:00.420-07:00

If there were any one thing that would be the cause of our leaving Israel, it wouldn’t be the war, the terror, or the economy. It would be the Hebrew. I have tried, believe me I have. I’ve been in a half-dozen different Hebrew courses over the eleven years I have been in this country, but it just doesn’t seem to stick for me. Oh, I can handle shopping and asking directions, and I even know

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1057605914011715582003-07-13T12:22:00.000-07:002003-07-15T00:48:11.213-07:00

It's called a spoiler. I didn't know that. Now that it's gone, though, I know more about spoilers and their place in society than I should. A spoiler is the decorative bar that's placed at the top of the trunk on many cars, including my Mazda 626 Hatchback. It was part of what made the car look cool and fashionable. One morning, I came down to my car to drive off to work. The spoiler was gone.

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1057602053011024992003-07-07T11:20:00.000-07:002003-07-07T23:15:35.123-07:00

Of all the holidays we expatriate Anglos in Israel miss from our North American childhoods, the 4th of July holds a special place. It’s a feel good holiday with hot dogs and fireworks and a great message about freedom and independence. What’s not to like? So, every fourth of July, the Association of Americans and Canadians in Israel holds a get-together for the 150,000 or so strong

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1056901265023376422003-06-29T08:41:00.000-07:002003-07-01T03:16:35.486-07:00

“I have some bad news,” Merav announced with great solemnity as she came home from school the other day. I braced myself for what I knew she imagined as an utter disaster, but which was, in all likelihood, just a minor inconvenience for anyone over the age of nine. “I forgot to tell you about something,” she continued. “We have a special program in school. The choir is singing.” Merav is very

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1056336822996118102003-06-22T19:53:00.000-07:002003-06-22T20:16:25.150-07:00

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix hit bookstores around the world this weekend. And with an estimated 5 million copies already sold and the media hype flying as fast as broomsticks, I got to thinking: somewhere in the course of the first three books, someone should have gotten bar or bat mitzvahed at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But as you may have noticed, Jews are

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1056029042856657092003-06-19T06:24:00.000-07:002003-06-19T22:44:12.213-07:00

If there is indeed a God, why did she have to make bullies? I’m not talking about megalomaniacal corporations, rogue states and other metaphorical bullies. No, just your plain garden-variety secretly-insecure-but-doesn’t-know-it-yet-so-acting-out bully. The kind who made our own lives so miserable when we were young. And who is doing it again. To my kid. Amir came home in a bad mood the

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-1055779433177643492003-06-16T09:03:00.000-07:002003-06-19T06:09:53.550-07:00

The hardest part is the waiting. After last Wednesday’s suicide bomb attack on the 14 bus in Jerusalem, we went into waiting mode. Waiting for news. Waiting for names. The 14 is a particularly emotional bus line for us. It travels from the center of town to the center of Southern Jerusalem via Emek Refaim Street, continuing on into the Talpiot Industrial Zone. Amir would have taken the 14 to

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-2004159732003-06-12T02:34:00.000-07:002003-06-12T11:43:31.000-07:00

I am standing with my landlord and we’re looking at a big hole in the wall. A hole that I was responsible for making. And the landlord is not happy. Not happy at all. It all started the day before. We had a leak in one of our pipes. It seemed simple enough to fix and we hate bothering the landlord with the little things. So we called our own plumber to have it fixed. Chick-chack we thought.

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3727640.post-2004022942003-06-09T06:03:00.000-07:002003-06-09T06:03:16.203-07:00

One of the many ways cultures manifest their differences is through the curses and expressions used to register pain or discomfort. Growing up in America, I employed any number of choice terms, ranging from invoking the names of leading religious figures, to various colorful expletives I accost you with here. In Israel, one of the expressions uttered by children, in particular upon stubbing a

Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463573278295424036noreply@blogger.com0