Three Magical Years of a Beautiful Little Life

Aleksander turns three today.

It’s unfortunately a little bittersweet as today also marks the longest time I’ve been away from him. Mommy, Aleksander and baby brother Elia left Israel, where I now sit writing, exactly two weeks ago and their return date remains uncertain.

As though I needed any reminder of how much I miss and love him, the absence of his little steps, kicks, smiles, snuggles, kisses, hugs, laughs, looks and general amazingness really crystallizes my absolute devotion to him, and joy and gratefulness of being his dad in all the moments, big and small.

I’m not sure when exactly it happened but we have a fully fledged toddler on our hands. Kind, decisive, occasionally difficult, exploring, enthusiastic, aware, alight, loving, warm, thoughtful, energetic, clever, fun, funny, polite, dynamic, eager, precise.

It still remains an absolute pleasure and privilege to witness Aleksander’s growth and development up close. Seeing baby steps turn into toddler phrases over a million little increments, all along his path to becoming who he’ll be.

This year Aleksander graciously welcomed his little brother Elia into our family and onto the planet. Since the very first moment, he’s been nothing but caring and considerate as a big bro. Gentle, inclusive, excited. He has inhabited his new role naturally, not needing too many pep talks or guidelines about how to love, support, hold, help and cuddle our sweet newborn. Aleksander has always had a generous and compassionate heart and it’s deeply rewarding to see his character in action as our family has expanded.

If the first year of his life was about newness and adaptation; the second movement; this past year has been about communication. He’s gone from a handful of words to fairly coherent sentences between his second and third birthdays. It’s allowed us to get to know him even better, understand his needs and perspective, delight in his creativity and worldly wordiness. He chats and chats, jokes and explains, dances and jumps, directs and distracts. I love his sweet little voice, so sincere, so true.

I’m swooning a bit aren’t I?!

It’s hard not to. Dalia always says that, as a family, we’re meant to be together. And as challenging as parenting can be, especially now with two, there is not a single thing on Earth I can think of wanting to do more, in any given moment, than spending time with my’s Aleksander. Doing something or doing nothing, it doesn’t matter, because it’s actually doing everything.

Aleksander, my big boy, I love you beyond words and beyond anything. I love you will all my heart and forever will.

Wartime Saturday in Jaffa

I don’t want to be insensitive

By doing normal things in abnormal times

and maybe sharing it.

By showing or not showing faces on missing person posters in an otherwise quiet vacant coiled-up Tel Aviv.

By watching or not watching Gazan children quivering, covered in blood, dust and tears.

By comparing traumas. By supporting new ones.

You who survived the Holocaust.

You who lived through the Nakba.

You who tried to reconcile the two.

You who will not be forced off your Land.

You whose God has justified your cause.

You who understand your Peace and maybe not theirs.

I don’t want to be insensitive to any of you and any of it,

but I still want to be human and alive

in body and spirit

and allow the pain to be as real as it is

so that maybe one day

we can all heal

together or apart,

But For Good.

May all the Gods and Prayers come together for the Holy Land to live up to its name

Thirty Days of Solitude

Entry 1 – Sunday, October 22, 2023

My family left Tel Aviv about a week ago, as decided by the Canadian Ambassador to Israel, who sent all diplomatic families with children under 16 out of country, under an evacuation order to be revisited in 30 days.

They left on Sunday or Monday and maybe arrived in Canada on Tuesday. Days are not my specialty at the moment.

I don’t think I’ve ever experienced as profound and sustained sense of relief as I have since they left. Seeing their smiling, peaceful faces in the boring and beautiful suburbs of Toronto is almost indescribably uplifting for me.

Grandmas, grandpa, uncles, aunties, cousins and friends have welcomed them with warm, kind, loving embraces.

On my end, being in an empty home alone feels extraordinarily quiet. Going from an active family of four with two little ones, to a family of one feels a bit like a sound and energy vacuum. But at least they’re safe.

I’ve been working so much that there hasn’t been too much time for reflection. Perhaps a good thing. When I reflect, my head usually spins and my gut wrenches.

The news is brutal. The children, the pain, is tough to watch as a father. The Tel Aviv reality is normalish, which also somehow feels upside down. Iced coffees and parks and poke bowls, mixed with posters of the missing and taken.

I feel best at home or at the office. Where I can design at least some of the context of my experience. Bomb sirens go off and I play records. I sweep the floors, water the plants and even put up all our pictures on the walls. In forced anticipation for my family’s return into this comfortable apartment. Hoping, maybe impossibly, that we might be able to pick up where we left off when / if they return. To a country that will never be the same. To a city that we were just beginning to settle into, that now feels like one of the world’s possible next targets.

I have several go bags packed. I used to laugh off the idea of go bags, now I wake up early to pack and repack them. I have a pouch, backpack, two duffel bags and two suitcases ready next to the door. I carry my passport in case, God forbid, I’m not at home and need to leave. This all seems, officially and unofficially, unlikely, but not impossible.

Dalia says Aleksander heard an ambulance on their second day back home and told her they need to ‘go to the room’ (aka bomb shelter). My colleagues tear up when discussing their kids and how they’re doing. Several co-workers have been to several funerals. Gazan children go to sleep and sometimes wake up, or not, under the rubble of their homes.

Feelings are big.

And here I happen to be, just off the epicentre of these big, global feelings.

So far, mostly in exhausted but stable solitude.

Will my family come back or will I get picked up with my bags before then? Time will tell.

And then I’ll tell you.

Entry 2 – Saturday, November 3, 2023

I’ve entered into the Heart of Solitude. 

It’s been three weeks since my family left. 

The first was spent working long days and closely in touch with them. The second was a hollowing out. Then, since missing Aleksander’s birthday last weekend, I’ve mostly been inside out. 

My home and soul are quiet. Too quiet. I seem to be living almost entirely in their absence. I tear up when I see pictures of my kids. My voice wobbles when I speak with them over the phone. I look at parents with their kids here and stare somewhat blankly. 

I got bad news this week then good. It looks like we won’t be separated beyond mid-December. Six more weeks of solitude. It’s not a great amount of time but at least it’s not indefinite. 

I’m hoping that, somehow, I may be able to see them before then. 

Meanwhile, I flip channels on the couch, do squats with water jugs in the living room, go to African mass on Saturday mornings, play music and do my job. 

It’s a very bizarre place to be outside of my solitude. November mornings here are sublime for their light and weather. People drink coffee on patios and play with their babies on blankets in the park. Gaza is about 70kms away. A 45 minute drive on a Canadian highway. 

If you go out for food at about 8pm, something like a third of people have guns. I dare not talk about current events with almost anyone because I don’t really know anyone and I definitely don’t know what anyone is thinking about current events. But I can feel the rawness and anger in the air. More often bordering on righteous rage.

So I try to keep to myself. Sheltering back in my Solitude. Dreaming and praying of when I’ll see my family again. And maybe more importantly, as time goes on, when we might be able to settle back into a normal life. You know, no bomb sirens, or life altering Hezbollah speeches. Just grocery trips and tying shoe laces.

Breakfast and snuggles and daycare and kicking the ball in the hallway. Kissing my sweet baby’s cheeks and making him smile. Holding my wife’s hand and helping her with the boys. 

Regular life in a regular place.

Entry 3 – Tuesday, November 14

The thirtieth Day of Solitude.

BUT IM FLYING HOME ON FRIDAY FOR A VISIT SO WHO EVEN CARES ABOUT ANYTHING ELSE ANYMORE??!!!?!?!

LEEETTTTTSSSSS GOOOOOOO

Mamad Mixes

My wife and two sons were evacuated from Israel, which left me with an eerily empty home. In an odd twist of interior design fate, my basic and mostly outdated dj equipment happens to reside in the mamad – bomb shelter room that most Israeli homes have.

This week has seen more rocket sirens than I had anticipated for the three years we’ll be posted here. That means that I’ve been spending regular evening time in the mamad.

And so, it seems only obvious to drown out the rocket siren with music. The music of my youth. Music to pass the time and lend some healing to the heart.

Might as well record. Might as well share.

Here goes:

Monday, Oct 16 – No Diggity, Pharcyde, Follow Me
Tuesday, Oct 17 – Classic House – Deep Inside, Push The Feeling On, Show Me Love
Wednesday Oct 18 – People Everyday, It Feels Good, Kings of Tomorrow (Finally)
Friday, Oct 20 – Nas, The Roots, Tribe
Sunday, Oct 22 – Radiohead, Common (The Light), Brand New Day
Wednesday, Oct 25 – Spin Spin Sugar, Insomnia, Children (old school techno/trance for what’s currently on my mind)
Friday, Oct 27 – Dream Warriors, Choclair, K-Os
Italian Saturday Night! Oct 28, 2023
Friday, November 3 – Mobb Deep, Blahzay Blahzay, Naughty By Nature

In A Taxi From Larnaca, 15 years later

The Holy Land,

full of holes:

fences, walls, gates,

sects, sanctions.

Wholly unholy

it often appears,

and then

disappears.

Except for the lives

and deaths

alive in those holes

and walls and their

warring gods.

Unsure of anything

except their side,

their trauma,

aggression,

oppression –

Sanctity.