The human perspective

If I had the ability to choose where to grow up as a kid in the 1970s, it would have been pretty difficult to choose any place better than Sydney, Australia. We pretty much had it all: a nice home, food on the table, family outings and holidays (er, vacations), and a great family-oriented Jewish school. So when the UNESCO proclaimed 1979 as the Year of the Child, it really couldn’t get any better – it really was all about us. I can still hear the song they used to play on TV , during the commercial breaks. I even remember my friend’s mother quip, “When are they going to make it the year of the adult?” Whether the initiative bore any real fruit for the children of the world I don’t know, but the idea lives on in the form of World Children’s Day, which was established way back in 1954. According to the UN website , it is celebrated on 20 November each year to promote international togetherness, awareness among children worldwide, and improving children's welfare. And while it’s a...

My grandmother of blessed memory lived to 103. I’d like to think we had a special relationship. For years, since my grandfather died, I phoned her every day. Sometimes we’d speak for a while, sometimes for just a few minutes, but we always spoke. And although as the years went by, the conversations became increasingly one-sided, overall she knew what was going on. So you can imagine the shock I had after visiting her in a nursing home during one visit to Sydney. I had just left a few minutes earlier when I remembered I’d left something behind. When I returned, for just a moment, she looked at me with a completely blank expression and I realized that she didn’t know who I was. And just like that, her eyes lit up again and she returned to herself. It was a stark reminder of the frailty of age and our memory’s role in maintaining who we are. This past Friday morning, as I was driving around looking for good bakery to buy a yeast cake for Shabbat (cinnamon, if you want to know), I was li...

  “Tomorrow will always be our wedding date on these prayer booklets, but I won't be a bride tomorrow. I will, but not tomorrow.” This post on my Facebook feed was written by a young girl who was supposed to get married today. From what I know, it was planned months in advance. Grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins were to arrive from Australia, South Africa, the UK and the US. Close friends were to attend from high school, pre-army academy and the army. One friend was even flying in from Canada. The post expressed sadness, yet acceptance of the situation. The author of the post was my daughter. Instead, she woke up early as usual and went to her job as an office assistant at an insurance company. And as the father of the bride-to-be, I spent the day in front of my PC contemplating what would have been, had the horrific events of October 7 never happened. As for our overseas guests, nobody came. Flights were cancelled, as the situation was deemed too dangerous. In short, ...

I have a daughter who doesn’t live with me. She lives with her mom, but we make sure to spend quality time together once a week. Most recently, despite being in the middle of a war, we decided to go to one of the shopping malls near Jerusalem. After all, you can’t stay glued to a shelter all day, right? Looking around at fellow shoppers who like us, braved the threat of rockets to do something normal, I saw secular, religious, young and old people. Most were Jewish but there were also quite a few Arabs. And while it’s not quite newsworthy enough for CNN’s top of the hour headlines, we were all getting along just fine – even in a midst of a war. Here’s another anecdote. A couple of weeks ago, I spoke with the Arab manager of the special needs hostel where my son lives. On October 7, he was visiting family in Bethlehem, an area controlled by the Palestinian Authority. Then the borders closed without warning and he got stuck. Yet, he still phoned me to check how my son was doing. Late...

Back in my innocent primary school days, when even The Jetsons didn’t have smart phones, one of the best ways of enforcing imagined superiority over other kids was through playground rhymes. When you’re 8, what better way is there to put down a shy 6 year-old-girl than with the chant, “Girls are weak, chuck ‘em in the creek?" Looking back at my schoolboy self, I can hardly say I’m proud. Yet, the excuse I was only a kid and didn’t know better offers at least some solace. And while I can’t remember whether I really believed that all girls should be thrown in the creek, the environment I was being brought up in made sure that I would never go so far as to translate such a slogan into actual violence. So what about all those videos we see of school kids, college students and otherwise “normal” adults, chanting the latest in-vogue slogan of hate, “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free?” Actually, the slogan isn’t new at all. The difference is that previously, it was rheto...

One of the greatest cultural struggles of being an immigrant is the lack of camaraderie around your birth country’s national sports. Take me for example. I love cricket. But here in Israel, try sharing that enthusiasm with “sabras” (Israeli-born natives) or immigrants from non-Commonwealth countries. One thing we do agree upon however, is that whether your sport is football, baseball, cricket or synchronized swimming, only one team wins. When it comes to war, it’s not so simple. Civilized societies love to debate what many term the “Israel-Palestinian” conflict. I’d argue that most of those sympathetic to both the Palestinian and Israeli/Jewish cause would define a “victory” as a situation where Israelis and Palestinians live side by side in peace and security. (I’m deliberately avoiding the particulars of how exactly that would look). I also dare to argue that for a significant proportion of Gaza Palestinians, this would also be the case. As most of the civilized world has already rec...

In the land of Sunday-Thursday workweeks, the ideal start to my weekend is my wife joining me for breakfast or coffee at one of our favourite places. But since Friday is usually her busiest workday, we don’t often get that chance. So, I usually find myself at our local branch of the popular Aroma chain enjoying a coffee, croissant and a bit of “me-time.” This Friday was different. While the location was the same, the atmosphere certainly wasn't. With nary a croissant in sight, the owners of this coffee chain had taken it upon themselves to forgo profit and pay their staff to support the men and women putting their lives on hold to defend our country. The objective was to prepare, pack, deliver and distribute sandwiches in massive numbers to fill our soldiers’ stomachs and let them know they’re appreciated. So, on this morning, as they had the entire week, our local branch became transformed into a sandwich-production factory, manned by the staff who normally prepare my coffee, and ...

One of the fun things about growing up with grandparents who survived WWII was imitating their European accent. In fact, most of my friends in Sydney, Australia had grandparents who had either survived or escaped the Holocaust and made it Australia to start a new life. And even though they spoke funny, their words spoke of resilience, bravery and the pain of losing parents, brothers and sisters in the most inhumane and cruel ways. At school, we listened to testimonies from countless survivors who witnessed these atrocities with their own eyes. At birthday parties, communal events and at synagogue, we’d mingle with relatives and their friends, whose fading numbers tattooed on their arms at Auschwitz, were still clearly legible. My late grandmother’s friend who is today 101, still has one. Yet the message was clear. It wouldn’t and couldn’t happen again. But, just over a week ago, it did. The only difference between 1930s Germany and 2023 is that today, we have a strong, if imperfect Sta...

When the sirens went off the other day, I had a minor inconvenience as I sprinted the remaining 25 metres to my house to reach the safe room in time. You see, when we moved in, we had to find a way to let all the kids in our blended family get in without the worry of lost keys. So we installed a combination lock. It’s been a great solution. But when Hamas fired yet another barrage of rockets towards civilian communities including ours that afternoon, punching in that combination took seven of the precious 90 seconds I had before possible impact. And just to think, in my haste, I could have easily made a mistake in those numbers. But I didn’t. And I made it inside where everyone had already reached the safe room. As my wife held the handle ready to close the door behind me, I caught my breath as we waited for the inevitable sounds. We heard the bangs, the sirens stopped, we waited a few minutes and came out shaken – and a bit stirred. But compared to us in Bet Shemesh, where we’ve had j...

Just got a call from my daughter who’s getting married PG in less than a month that she and her fiancé have been placed on a list to be possibly drafted as volunteers … I’m both fiercely proud and concerned, and I’m still processing those feelings… For those of you in Israel, these experiences are far from unique. The perspective that follows is more intended for those supporting us from the Diaspora. I’m sure you’ve been exposed to many posts from those of us fulfilling the Zionist dream in Israel with all the joys and burdens this privilege brings. Here is mine… As you may know, when there’s news in Israel, the word gets around quickly, even on Shabbat. Since many people need to be connected 24/7, when something happens, it doesn’t stay quiet for long. The first signs that something wasn’t right came early on Simchat Torah (which was also Shabbat), when I went to an early sunrise service. There were a few faint booms in the distance but I didn’t think too much of them. At around 7.30...