Day 1: The Ignominious Farewell

Exactly 40 years ago, my mom, dad, two brothers, and I triumphantly boarded a plane in Philadelphia and flew to Israel, where we spent the next twelve months living in Jerusalem. The Phillies won the World Series a few months later, my dad fulfilled a life-long dream of completing a research sabbatical in the Holy Land, my mom honed her professional photography skills and captured the Greatest Picture in the History of the World (see below), my brothers learned Hebrew and got good at sports, and I found the first of what could only be described as a "plethora" (Three Amigos) of girlfriends over the coming years: Tovit. Sweet, beautiful, brown-haired, non-English speaking Tovit. The one that got away...

Yesterday, with COVID at full tilt, Trump's Pathological Narcissism out of control, and political and social upheaval in Israel, my family and I flew to Tel Aviv with masks on our faces, stale Goldfish in our bags, and our tails between our legs. We're not seeking opportunity and adventure; we're escaping disaster. And if that Orange Motherfucker wins in November, we'll see you never.

We needed to end our preparation purgatory and get the hell out of Chicago...

The Boss had completely lost it, using power tools to clean out the garage, packing hangers in suitcases, and making breakfast sandwiches on frozen hamburger buns because we needed to use up every last bit of food, per our ancestors' experience in the Holocaust. On our final day, she tried to emasculate me by taking me to Old Navy to buy shorts. 

Panini was bored out of her mind and ran out of her allotted iPad time by noon every day. She spent most of her time reading books for 3rd graders and complaining about the sores in her mouth from her braces.

OG cried every time she said goodbye to a friend and almost cried when one of her friends said goodbye to her but didn't cry. The day before we left, she literally forgot she was in the shower and ran out of hot water. OG's not gonna make it in Israel: If you waste hot water here, they stone you.

Broosevelt got a sweet new roller bag with planets and moons, but, three days before we left, packed his pillow in it because he has no concept of time or anything else. 

All Boni did in her last couple days was play Legos, walk around naked, and pretend she was better than everyone else.

I was the only one left with a sense of purpose, kindness, and magnanimity. I provided for my ungrateful children by deflating sports equipment and counting out individual Lego pieces so they would have things to play with once we got to Israel. I forgave our friends who said they would come say goodbye but didn't. I even comforted my tennis-playing Croatian buddy who masked the sorrow of my departure with disdain and derision. After a final evening of hanging out, he said to me in his sultry Slavic accent, “I don’t feel fulfilled when I leave talking with you.”

Things only got worse once we left...

The Boss didn't sleep on the plane and, due to anxiety and lack of sleep, has a sexy twitch in her eye. 

Panini celebrated her 12th birthday in particularly ignominious fashion: on a plane watching Jumanji, surrounded by hundreds of religious-types wearing long dresses and yarmulkes.

OG barely had room in her seat because she made the unwise decision of bringing along Boobie Bear, her large stuffed animal who had absolutely no right to come on this trip.

Broosevelt continues his Reign of Cluelessness. After we arrived last night, I gave him outstandingly clear instructions for what to do when he woke up jet-lagged: read in bed, play quietly, etc. Two hours later, he was crying in our doorway because he was "scared of the noises." And three hours after that (after watching Netflix, studying his Pokémon book, and reading National Geographic Kids), he looked at me and earnestly asked, "Daddy, is there any dolphins still alive?"

Boni hasn't changed a bit: All she has done so far in Israel is play Legos, walk around naked, and pretend she's better than everyone else. 

I continue to be the family hero, carrying our 12 suitcases from the airport to the van and then again from the van to the apartment, loading the dishwasher (twice), and turning up the air-conditioning when needed. I've even figured out a way to cultivate independence in my children by not playing Jenga with them and, instead, writing this blog.

Per Israeli custom, passengers applauded when the plane hit the tarmac in Tel Aviv. Immigration officials then greeted us with Welcome Home signs and bags of candy for the kids. They also gave us 6,000₪ (nearly $2,000), a pre-loaded SIM card, and free transportation to our apartment, which, for now, is the Boss' aunt and uncle's apartment, where we were welcomed by family, streamers, and a home-made birthday cake for Panini. We're quarantining here because there's a yard, a fully stocked fridge, and everything else imaginable to make our entry as comfortable as possible because, obviously, I wouldn't stand for anything less. 

It's unclear if this experience will be as awesome as my family's was 40 years ago. We can't leave home for the next 13 days, however, so I will report back soon.

The Greatest Picture in the History of the World