The Lozenge and I sat in a cafe at Ben Gurion airport waiting for Mum to arrive. I stood up to buy a cup of tea, and noticed that L was in conversation with an old man at our table. The first thing I noticed were his teeth, which were a dazzling shade of blue-hued white, the kind you see in much dentistry from the US. He chatted to the Lozenge in a drawl laced with French and American, and as I approached the table with an excruciatingly expensive cup of tea, he asked L how old he was.
'Umm. Four.'
'Well, when I was four, I had a whole different set of circumstances,' the man replied.
Sotto vocce, to me, he explained: 'At your boy's age I was en route to the barbecue express from Paris. Though somehow, as my Mum was an important member of the resistance, we were saved, and I was raised in the USA instead.'
This country is built, block upon block, of stories such as these. From any which way you see it.
He has come to Israel to visit his Jewish family every year, and is looking to settle in California. He admitted: 'I could never live here. I am allergic to anyone who has a curl of hair around here.' Whirling his finger around one side of his face where a Haredim side lock would fall.
A happy week with Grandma followed - allowing me to both work and play in equally intense proportions, and giving me someone to chat with into the night over the odd bottle of wine, while J is in the UK. Though we have just realised our opposite neighbours are very good news, there isn't exactly a burgeoning weekday social life in this city, it seems, with Tel Aviv being more of the party town. Perhaps the overtly religious nature of the city subliminally affects us all.
The four of us, me, dwarves and Grandma, quickly became a good team - with St Grace being graceful in the background. And Grandma a Caucasian dervish of energy - arriving with a bag full of polystyrene aeroplanes, parachutists and games. One afternoon, in an attempt to keep up my fitness routine, the Lozenge found me in my bedroom doing a work-out dvd - holding onto a chair for balance as the instructor advised. 'That is weally silly, Mummy. You should sit on a chair.'
At the end of the week, we embarked on another adventure, driving north up along the shore of the Sea of Galilee where we had a picnic surrounded by locals playing music and lighting barbecues,
and after the very unappealing town of Tiberias, driving to the West until we reached Akko or Acre, a beautiful UNESCO heritage town, which is both well maintained and allowed to be a bit crumbly, in exactly the right proportions. We wandered about from our tiny hotel built into one part of the ancient city walls, finding some fishing nets for the dwarves and eating ice creams - wondering about the societal make up of the place which is 25 per cent Arab and most of the rest Jewish, though has a relaxed air, and feels far from the friction and austere dress codes of Jerusalem.
But evidently from the sign above our heads in this photo - the same issues are there. It's just you don't feel them as much and you wouldn't necessarily know one passer-by's religion from another in the street.
The dwarves were given two beds on a mezzanine floor above my bed at the hotel. An innocent game of play houses soon turned into a raucous affair which most of the hotel must have heard. Having fortunately managed to convince the Lozenge that he didn't need to bring 'Donkey' for the first minute in at least 3 weeks...(I tell you, the creature is virtually life-sized and has accompanied us on most of our missions out of Jerusalem so far)
....we dragged the sweaty and tousled dwarves down the tiny staircase and out into the street, and went in the direction of a fish restaurant that came highly recommended. At 9pm, over porcini mushroom gnocchi, some extremely tender calamare rings and a glass of coke, the Lozenge found a fourth wind. 'There was a little bit of loudness in the bedroom, wasn't there, Grandma. But me and Washimi are good again now, aren't we?'
Rashimi and I ended up sharing a bed, and albeit for his diminutive form, I was still barely able to cling to one edge of the mattress as he did a kind of revolving starfish all night.
After not many hours of sleep we trundled back down a different route home, via Ben Gurion aiport where we had to say goodbye to Grandma.
The week is now a happily faded memory in our minds. The final little stanza being an image of the dwarves hugging her goodbye clutching iridescent yellow ice lollies. 'Thank you for your presence,' I said. 'And thank you for your presents,' the Lozenge said. 'We will miss you and we love you.'
We went our separate ways.
On the way to the car the Lozenge continued talking, his hand still clasping the lolly, meaning I had to hold his sticky wrist instead as we crossed the road:
'We are sad she has gone. But now we can call her, and also we can think about her....
Umm, Mummy, do you think there was a little tear in her eye?'
'Umm. Four.'
'Well, when I was four, I had a whole different set of circumstances,' the man replied.
Sotto vocce, to me, he explained: 'At your boy's age I was en route to the barbecue express from Paris. Though somehow, as my Mum was an important member of the resistance, we were saved, and I was raised in the USA instead.'
This country is built, block upon block, of stories such as these. From any which way you see it.
He has come to Israel to visit his Jewish family every year, and is looking to settle in California. He admitted: 'I could never live here. I am allergic to anyone who has a curl of hair around here.' Whirling his finger around one side of his face where a Haredim side lock would fall.
A happy week with Grandma followed - allowing me to both work and play in equally intense proportions, and giving me someone to chat with into the night over the odd bottle of wine, while J is in the UK. Though we have just realised our opposite neighbours are very good news, there isn't exactly a burgeoning weekday social life in this city, it seems, with Tel Aviv being more of the party town. Perhaps the overtly religious nature of the city subliminally affects us all.
The four of us, me, dwarves and Grandma, quickly became a good team - with St Grace being graceful in the background. And Grandma a Caucasian dervish of energy - arriving with a bag full of polystyrene aeroplanes, parachutists and games. One afternoon, in an attempt to keep up my fitness routine, the Lozenge found me in my bedroom doing a work-out dvd - holding onto a chair for balance as the instructor advised. 'That is weally silly, Mummy. You should sit on a chair.'
At the end of the week, we embarked on another adventure, driving north up along the shore of the Sea of Galilee where we had a picnic surrounded by locals playing music and lighting barbecues,
and after the very unappealing town of Tiberias, driving to the West until we reached Akko or Acre, a beautiful UNESCO heritage town, which is both well maintained and allowed to be a bit crumbly, in exactly the right proportions. We wandered about from our tiny hotel built into one part of the ancient city walls, finding some fishing nets for the dwarves and eating ice creams - wondering about the societal make up of the place which is 25 per cent Arab and most of the rest Jewish, though has a relaxed air, and feels far from the friction and austere dress codes of Jerusalem.
But evidently from the sign above our heads in this photo - the same issues are there. It's just you don't feel them as much and you wouldn't necessarily know one passer-by's religion from another in the street.
The dwarves were given two beds on a mezzanine floor above my bed at the hotel. An innocent game of play houses soon turned into a raucous affair which most of the hotel must have heard. Having fortunately managed to convince the Lozenge that he didn't need to bring 'Donkey' for the first minute in at least 3 weeks...(I tell you, the creature is virtually life-sized and has accompanied us on most of our missions out of Jerusalem so far)
....we dragged the sweaty and tousled dwarves down the tiny staircase and out into the street, and went in the direction of a fish restaurant that came highly recommended. At 9pm, over porcini mushroom gnocchi, some extremely tender calamare rings and a glass of coke, the Lozenge found a fourth wind. 'There was a little bit of loudness in the bedroom, wasn't there, Grandma. But me and Washimi are good again now, aren't we?'
Rashimi and I ended up sharing a bed, and albeit for his diminutive form, I was still barely able to cling to one edge of the mattress as he did a kind of revolving starfish all night.
After not many hours of sleep we trundled back down a different route home, via Ben Gurion aiport where we had to say goodbye to Grandma.
The week is now a happily faded memory in our minds. The final little stanza being an image of the dwarves hugging her goodbye clutching iridescent yellow ice lollies. 'Thank you for your presence,' I said. 'And thank you for your presents,' the Lozenge said. 'We will miss you and we love you.'
We went our separate ways.
On the way to the car the Lozenge continued talking, his hand still clasping the lolly, meaning I had to hold his sticky wrist instead as we crossed the road:
'We are sad she has gone. But now we can call her, and also we can think about her....
Umm, Mummy, do you think there was a little tear in her eye?'
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