Old/New World Discourse: The broken steps

There comes a time in many Israelis' lives, especially in the lives of folk who have barely dwelled here (consider the span indicated by "barely dwelled" to be equal to "roughly less than three generations"), when heart and soul need to be assessed anew. This past spring, I experienced one such span.

That moment occurred before my initial encounter with the "beetles" (see: "To Beetle or Not to Beetle," Jul 10, 2008), but long after my initial encounter with the lice (See: "Of Lice and Women," May 28, 2007 and "Rhetorical Strategies and Ambitious Wildlife," Nov. 20, 2006).  That point in time was marked: by a broken step, by a rut in a neighborhood parking lot, and by a visit from a millipede. All of those events converged on a Shabbot.

The broken step was almost the literal downfall of a much loved ben bayit. The parking lot rut found me plastered to the asphalt, and the millipede succeeded in waking up three floors' worth of guests. My life is abundant with excitement.

More exactingly, the broken step was not so much a matter of negotiating a passage as it was a matter of navigating the placement of limbs. Under city-sponsored lamplight, shadows tend to converge to the extent that unwary pedestrians can become so glamoured by intermittent flickering that they turn oblivious to sudden danger. Simply said, a dear young friend missed a crumpling tread because he was engaged in talk with other guests. He went flying from an inauspicious height, caught himself mid-fall, and while stirred, was not shaken.

Per the rut in the parking lot, that deep depression, that basin which was entire inches in dimension, the issue was not so much navigating the placement of limbs as it was focusing on the placement of eyes. I encountered that hollow during my evening constitutional, during a time when visions of falafel and roast chicken danced in most of my guests' heads. Since our first shared meal of that Shabbat had been so absolute in its duality of bringing Shabbot down to us and of filling our more mundane needs,  I discovered, while walking, room in my head in which to swim. Unfortunately, my preoccupation with ethereal found me dipping in asphalt. It's important to look where you're walking.

As for the millipede, the most exciting and the most unwanted visitor we hosted that Shabbat, it, too, had been on an odyssey. Having arrived to our abode in the crease of a guest's bedding, it flitted snake-like across our salon floor. The children, who were still awake (having not been exhausted by normal weekday experiences or by getting up close and personal with the surface of a parking lot), were sufficiently roused by the sight of this critter as to wake us adults. In robes or daytime clothes, we gathered in the salon. I mistrust creepy crawlies of all sizes, so I did what any rational mother would have done in that situation; I screamed. Fortunately, one of the children was more enterprising. He caught the dangerous beast (after we debated the propriety of doing so on Shabbot) and removed it to the outdoors.

An hour or so later, we were asleep. The ben bayit was snoring. I was imploring my pillows. The children were dreaming of more and more noxious beasts. Life in Israel is charmed. Such psychic lure necessarily causes one to think twice about the veracities of more mundane living. In short, watch for ruts and for broken steps and show poisonous creatures to the door.

Little Smile:

Given the advent of the new school year, staying home has suddenly become attractive. This last week of summer, trips and tours throughout this Blessed land no longer appeal to the kids as much as does emptying the dish washer or to taking out the trash. Go figure.