Day T-minus 4: Total Denial

In four days, my family and I are moving from Chicago to Tel Aviv for the coming year. Please allow me to introduce the sordid cast of characters in this ill-advised adventure destined for disaster.

First, we have the Boss. She is, of course, the Boss in name only. I let her take care of things like our taxes, our bills, our home, and the kids' education, but we all know who's actually in charge: the guy who does the dishes, takes out the trash, and runs Family Movie Night. The Boss is a high-powered Ph.D., but she couldn't even pull off a full-time sabbatical for this year. Instead, she'll be working part-time and remotely, while her husband, the bread-winner, will be fully employed at a world-renowned international IB school. The Boss enjoys reading, yoga, and fine dining, none of which she ever does because she's too busy making sure everyone is aware of the degree to which she martyrs herself for her family. In contrast, I stoically go out my business, making sure everyone is happy, healthy, and good at tennis.

The Boss does not know what she has gotten herself into. Her entire family is Israeli, she spent every summer in Israel as a kid, and she speaks Hebrew fluently. This means that if she carries the lion's share of the burden at home right now, she'll be doing absolutely everything when we get there. She's currently under the impression that she'll be able to enjoy her days while the kids and I are at school, engaging in various cultural activities and having coffee with her bougie Israeli friends. Little does she know that she'll spend her time drowning in the Israeli bureaucracy, scouring local FaceBook groups for second-hand bikes, and fending off aggressive Israeli men who mistakenly think her husband doesn't bring the heat.

Next, we have Panini, my almost 12-year-old daughter and, generally, my favorite child. She's my first-born, she likes sports, and she has a great sense of humor. She is also, however, becoming the most uninteresting human being on the planet: TikTok, SnapChat, and wildly inappropriate shows on Netflix. She doesn't even tell me about her life anymore; she only tells me about Meredith's life in Grey's Anatomy. I used to nod my head politely and pretend to listen. Now I just stop her dead in her tracks and tell her how boring she is. Her only redeeming quality is that she learned how to bake during COVID. Yet she somehow has managed to make even that a failure because the mess she leaves in the kitchen is disgusting and offensive and makes me concerned that she will fail in life.

Panini is super excited to get to Israel because she thinks she's gonna make new friends, bake whenever she wants, and go to the beach every day. Well, guess what Panini? The same disease that prohibited you from seeing your friends for the past four months is burning like wildfire in Israel. So new friends aren't happening, and neither is school. Have fun doing remote learning in our small apartment and taking classes in a language you don't speak. Also, Israel has a surplus of hummus but a dearth of flour, so there goes your baking. And those beautiful beaches in Tel Aviv? Closed due to COVID.

OG, my 9-year-old daughter, is simultaneously the smartest child in the world and the dumbest person on earth. Her reading is off the charts and she can do complex multiplication in her head. But she also forgets to eat and go to the bathroom. She's an excellent artist and, if she cared, a good athlete. But she takes fucking forever to do anything: brush her teeth, get dressed, put on sunblock, etc. I go back and forth between feeling sympathy for her struggles to utter disgust at her inability to function as a normal human being.

I think OG is the saddest about leaving. She says she's gonna miss her friends, but she's seen two friends in the last four months, so what's to miss? Having shared a room with Panini her whole life, she doesn't want to have her own room in our apartment. Most kids complain about sharing a room though, so I'm confused. And sleeping alone should be the least of her concerns. The piano teacher she loves? Say bye-bye. Her cool green bike? Not hers anymore. All her books? Get used to the shitty Kindle with no light and dead batteries. Gymnastics? Not happening due to COVID, but have fun watching videos on YouTube. 

Broosevelt, my 6-year-old son, is a smart, sweet, tender-hearted boy who spends most of his time crawling on and smelling his mommy. He loves reading, Pokémon, and sports, and he's really good at two of those things. Poor little guy. He's been bugging me for a baseball bat because he loves baseball because he doesn't know he's not good at baseball. He's a good writer, but he can't draw; he's a fast runner, but he can't catch; and he has a knack for piano, but he has shockingly weak fingers. I obviously love him way more than anyone else in the family and, as a result, am likely suffocating his growth and independence.

Broosevelt is probably the worst off when it comes to Israel due to his complete and utter cluelessness. Sometimes I think he knows what's going on because he asks about the planets and the solar system, but then, at 11am, he'll say shit like, "Is it dinner time?" Yesterday, he said, "If each month has, like, 30 days, and we're only gonna be in Israel for twelve months, then a year there isn't even that long." I told him that I see his logic, but trust me bro, a year's a long time and you're gonna cry a lot.

And finally there's Boni, my 6-year-old daughter and Broosevelt's twin sister. Objectively speaking, she is smart, mature, and beautiful. I am still unclear, however, as to what purpose she serves in our family. I have two other daughters and it's obvious that our attempt for a third child was to create Broosevelt, not her. She's a good swimmer and gymnast, but she's terrible at the sports that matter. She's a good artist, but OG's art makes hers look like trash. And, perhaps most importantly, she'll never be a boy like Broosevelt. Sometimes I look at her and think, "Why are you even here?"

Boni has no idea what's in store for her in Israel. Here, she can impress everyone with her high EQ, expansive vocabulary, and genuine concern for others. And, yeah, people melt when they see her cute smile and pretty dresses. But in Israel "feelings" and "cuteness" get you nowhere. Obey your parents, plow the fields, and serve in the army. She won't do any of those things, and that's why her time in this family is quickly coming to a close.

In general, my kids are excited but completely unprepared for this experience. Panini thinks she speaks Hebrew, but she literally can't finish a single sentence. OG has more than 70 loveys on her bed, and she's in total denial that 65 of them will spend next year in a box. Boni is excited about sleeping on the top in her new bunk bed because she doesn't know how often she'll fall off. And I am nearly positive that Broosevelt thinks Israel is somewhere in Chicago.

As for me, I can't even bring myself to do a few final chores before we leave. Make one more Goodwill run? Car's low on gas. Change all the dead lightbulbs? No ladder. Fix the plant hanger that's falling off the wall? I'm not good with tools. Change out our phone batteries? I said no tools.

Five months ago when we fantasized about this chapter in our lives, we thought our kids would play on Israeli soccer teams and that we would be invited to our neighbors' homes for Shabbat. We hoped we could travel to the archaeological sites in Petra, take a ski trip to Switzerland during Hanukah, and visit Morocco in the spring. COVID has destroyed these plans. Yet, here we are, charging full-steam ahead into a country where cases are spiking, where protests occur daily, and where the people are, quite frankly, kinda dicks. 

Denial's a beautiful thing: It's gonna be a great year!