Foam

Take me to the seashore,
The waves caress the sand.
Walk me nowhere with you,
In foam where sea meets land.

Footprints melt and mingle,
Dissolve beneath the waves.
And all there is is now,
Sea, foam, me, you, your face.

If our path disappears,
And you sift through my hand,
Then foam lasts forever,
Like our walk on the sand.

Footprints have been covered
By snow and by the waves.
The years have washed away,
And so we keep the days.

I am from the ocean,
And you are from the land,
Meet me on the seashore,
In the foam, on the sand.

Time Stopped

(I posted 'Time Stopped', Karnit Goldwasser's eulogy to her husband Ehud last summer.
In honor of Ehud and all of our fallen we remember today.)

"July twelfth, two thousand and six, nine and three minutes. Time stopped."

"On the morning of July 12, 2006 at marker 105 on the northern border a journey began for the two of us. You and me. Us, the family and you. All of us, the nation and you. My love, they say that time does what it will, Heals and closes wounds, but does it?"

"For two years I have spoken in the name of two, Eldar and Udi. Regev and Goldwasser. The struggle to bring you home to us was a joint effort from day one. But today, for the first time, I allow myself to speak to you alone. Today I can't conceal, that my mouth and my heart are one. And the heart …. the heart, my love, weeps and pains."

"Forgive me, dearest, if I don't name here all of your wonderful qualities, your character, your inner beauty so rare; that were a light unto my feet and were at my side every step of the way in the struggle to bring you back to us. Please, my love, let this painful and intimate farewell, let me do in my own way, as you would if you could if only you could make yourself heard."

"During your long absence, as time passed on, your face belonged to one and all. Udi, the private person, my Udi, was suddenly our Udi. All of ours."

"July twelfth, two thousand and six, nine and three minutes, and time stopped for you. The morning of July 12, 2006 at marker 105 on the northern border, our journey began. For the two of us, you and me. For us, the family and you. For the nation and you."

"Today our journey is done and come to its end. We, just you and I, are now setting out on the next journey, the journey of my life. You will be part of it, silent but active, hidden but inspiring, concealed from all but before my eyes always. You will always be my second inner voice, forever young, that will be with me for as long as I live."

"July seventh, two thousand and eight, noon; and time has started anew."


(From Karnit Goldwasser's farewell to her husband Ehud, who was returned from Lebanon and buried yesterday.)

My Teaching Gig

I prepared a "rainy day" presentation (an activity for two or more classes which can used on short notice in case one or more English teachers call in sick and no substitute can be found.)

The idea is this: first show them an excerpt from the Vin Diesel action comedy "The Pacifier" (Walt Disney, 2005) and then another clip from "The Sound of Music" (20th Century Fox, 1965), and finally discuss the connection between them.

Huh? Connection?


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The Pacifier is a US Navy SEAL officer sent to care for and protect the children of widow Julie Plummer (Get it? Julie Andrews + Christopher Plummer). This is a twist of the Sound of Music, where the nun Maria is sent to be the governess for the children of Captain (Navy, get it?) von Trapp. The tough commando and the kids don't hit it off, but he ends up falling for them and they pick up combat tactics (As opposed to Maria teaching the von Trapp kids to sing.)


Now you have to understand; I got this teaching gig totally by accident.

Six summers ago I was a farmer and gardener between jobs, and our high school needed an English speaker to fill in for a real teacher on Sabbatical. I didn't have a clue what I was going to do with my students when I walked into a classroom that first day of school; and when the year was over and they had actually made progress, I hadn't the foggiest how I had done it.

I wasn't a very good teacher. The kids gave me hell and I don't think I've ever given a proper lesson. I hated grades, which for me are meaningless numbers, and discipline because I'm not a disciplined person. I was so bad at teaching that I up and quit in the middle of my second year.

But something had happened. The kids had gotten under my skin. So I came back as a volunteer. At first I was with the English staff, tutoring and helping out. Then I caught up with "my kids", who were in 11th grade by now, and joined their homeroom staff. I went with them on their field trips and sleepovers and chaperoned their parties.

Then last year a very special girl, Neta, was all mine. She was just a hair away from expulsion when I asked to take her under my wing. I don't know how it came to me, but I decided that Shakespeare is just the thing for a student that is failing almost everything and is weak in English. And she made it, if just barely.

This year, last year's 12th grade homeroom staff started a 4 year journey with the freshmen, the 9th graders I blog about. I asked to again teach, with a real class with real grades, for just one year. I wanted to get to know the kids and the kids to get to know me. And by now I knew what would happen. I fell in love with them.

For the next 3 years I will travel with them until they graduate and go to the army and out into life. Yesterday they got their report cards and started their summer vacation. I can't wait to see them again next September.











I think what stays with everyone that has seen The Pacifier and The Sound of Music is how Maria teaches the von Trapp's music and how Lt. Wolfe (Vin Diesel) trains the Plummer kids in hand to hand combat, and how the kids change and blossom. But how many remember that no less remarkable is how the children changed Maria and the tough Navy SEAL? But I noticed. Because that's what happened to me.

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I'm not a very good teacher. I'm not even a real teacher. I don't know what my student learned from me, or if they learned anything, and if they did, how I did it. I don't know how many of "my kids" will remember me. Well, I suppose Neta will.

But I know this; I will remember them all.

Footprints in the Snow

Maybe you were always there and I just can't remember.
All that comes to mind is a girl with freckles and big glasses giggling with her girlfriends;
then one day the glasses and giggles were gone,
and you were beautiful.

Our paths crossed, but I never dreamed they'd meet,
and could scarcely believe it when it did.
We made footprints in the fresh fallen snow
as I walked you home that night,
And I kissed you and you kissed me back.
And time paused for a moment
In a world bright and pure and white.

We counted the stars I'd seen so many times,
And for the first time I knew their wonder,
And I suppose the world went 'round,
But all I can recall is the snowflake in my hand.

The moment was magic; I didn't wonder when it passed.
You were no longer a girl and I not yet a man.
We went our ways without a struggle or a song,
And the tracks we made vanished and were gone.

Years have blown away and melted, and snow is sprinkled in our hair.
I don't regret the path I've taken, nor should you.
Yet every now and then I look back and remember
our footprints in the snow.

Joyeux anniversaire,
Ami

The Language of Romeo

I teach English at our local high school. I hope Mrs. Finster, my English teacher from days of old, never finds out. She would be the first to testify to my lack of qualifications for the job; but in Israel it is enough that English be your mother tongue and the language they speak in the USA is close enough and so I got the job.

Israeli kids study English the way their American peers learn French and German, as a foreign language, and barely scratch the surface of American literature, let alone the classic works of our British cousins over the sea. There are a few English speakers in the student body and I suggested that we read Shakespeare together after school. Three girls in the 9th grade took me up on my offer and we sit together in the library every Tuesday afternoon. By popular demand we started with Romeo and Juliet.

I think that Shakespeare wrote the play in an international language that only the young and romantic can understand. I help the girls with the Elizabethan English, but it's obvious that the girls are much more fluent than I. I can read Shakespeare, but they understand Romeo and Juliet. They giggle and sigh and pick up on every detail. The guest list for Capulet's masquerade ball refers to Rosaline, Romeo's "ex", as a lady of the house of Capulet.
"Oh…" The girls exchange meaningful glances. Romeo likes the Capulet girls. These territorial nuances are very important in the 9th grade. I wouldn't know. It's been a long time since I was in high school.


Today someone reminded me of something long ago.
She had given me some ribbon, and I returned it with a bow.
Something small that she has treasured, some 30 years or so.
It was romantic; once I knew the language of Romeo.

Perhaps if I would have known how precious something small can be, I would have given more. Given more, remembered more. But back then I was forgetting more and remembering less; and now I teach English and little girls understand the words I used to know.

It's not as if I'm deaf and dumb. I've learned another language. One word and a hand on my hand can mean more than line after line of declarations of undying love. I didn't learn how to speak less and say more over night, and I didn't learn it alone. We learned it together, my Juliet and I. We created it word by word and it's a language that only two can know.

Xiu's Song

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When I was 18 and a freshman at Seattle Pacific University, one of the few things I indulged in was a subscription to the newspaper. I really couldn't afford to spend the money I made washing dishes on weekends at Gwinn Commons, but I was hooked on Spiderman.

Every morning I had to get a three caption fix of the life of Peter Parker and his adventures. It wasn't the superhero stuff that captured my imagination, rather the moody guy in the Navy pea coat with hang ups and a secret life nobody would ever believe. I had a Navy pea coat and was moody and my secret life included fantasies about going to Israel, but that was so far out that I had to keep it to myself like Peter and his Spidey alter ego.

Xiu at January Winds has been pining of late for Leroy, literally counting the days until he returns from Nepal. She wondered aloud if her readers are tiring of her blog. I don't know about the others, but for me every post she writes is another episode in an unfolding saga, the Adventures of Xiu; like those 3 captions of Spiderman every morning by my door in Ashton Hall.

But sometimes it's more than just a diversion. Sometimes she comes up with a real gem, a diamond in prose. Like this one:

"What a random thing I did that I made myself happy coincidentally." (Xiu)

It struck a chord with me, like a melody you hear on the radio and replay under your breath all day, but I didn't know why.

And then it hit me. It's poetry. Long after I dropped out at SPU to come to Israel, I returned to Academia, Jewish Studies at a branch of Bar Ilan University. I was a student of the Bible and learned the ancient poetry of Israel, the psalms. The art in verse in the Bible doesn't rhyme and isn't measured; it is a rhythm of thought, repetition of ideas wrapped like the petals of a flower around its heart.

"The Lord will protect you from all evil,
He will keep your soul.
The Lord will guard your going and coming,
from now and until forever more."
(Psalms 121:7-8)

Hebrew poetry retains its beauty even when translated because it wasn't created to please the ear, rather to speak to the spirit. Xiu's verse is poetry in the Hebrew tradition. Balanced and layered, a moment of magic unfolds like the petals of a rose.

Xiu's poem stirred up in me memories of something else from those days at Seattle Pacific. That year something random happened coincidentally over Christmas break. I went back to Seattle, so Mary flew up from Portland and we had a day that I remember from beginning to end, a day that comes to mind when I think of happiness.

Xiu captured it in simplicity, beautifully.

What a random thing did, that made me happy coincidentally.

Only Love

The head of the English department at the school where I teach made a curious choice for the required reading for the advanced level students.

The Color of Water by the black journalist James McBride. His mother, Ruth McBride Jordan was born Rachel Shilsky (actually Ruchel Dwara Zylska). Her father was a Rabbi that brought his family to America and made his living peddling religion and cheating the impoverished blacks in a backwater Southern town. Fleeing her abusive father, she escaped to New York and would have been vanished into the cesspool of drugs and prostitution had not she been rescued by a black man that eventually became her husband and a pastor of a church in Harlem.

I think one day I would like to write a blog about The Color of Water and about how unexpected was the choice of a Jewish woman's faith in Jesus as a message to Jewish students in an Israeli high school. But Ruth McBride came to my mind today for another reason.

A friend told me about how she came to know God only after meeting His people. At first she was drawn by their love, and then slowly and in the little things in life she began to feel God's love as well. If you hear her today, God is a real person in her life; her father. She talks to Him, pours her heart out to Him and sometimes gets mad at Him. There's real love there, and it started with the love of the people that are today her brothers and sisters.

I read not long ago this:
"I've also learned that nobody - ever - not ever one time - was argued into faith. Faith isn't ever a matter of argument. It's a matter of choice and obedience and will - stuff much sturdier in the end than mere "reasons" or just being "right" about things. Humans can't live on reasons alone.It's charity first. Take your limited understanding, feeble strength, and puny needs for validation off of it, and just be nice. That's really what it more often boils down to." (Stephanie)

It's charity, love. We can't know God through religion, we know Him through love. And we we'll never be able to explain the God we know to others with words, only with love. I think that was what I was trying to say to my daughter Maayan in "Sons or Servants"; that it's not the things we do, the religion, but the relationship itself, love, that God wants with us.

Ruth McBride grew up in a house full of religion. It was rules and laws, but also a house of abuse and selfishness. She ran away to people dissimilar in every way to herself and those she left behind, and found a home, a place where God dwells. And she found that place through love.