Day 369: Shirli Must Die

How can Saul bring closure to a year of chaos, confusion, and calamity? How can he wrap things up in a neat and tidy way? How can he murder Shirli without anyone knowing?

Loyal readers of Saul's Famous don't need to be reminded who Shirli is. But for those of you who suck, Shirli was our downstairs witch neighbor who spazzed when my kids jumped rope in the living room, who freaked out when we turned on the air conditioning, and who tried to eat my children.

On our final evening in Tel Aviv, we drove back to our apartment to pick up our embarrassingly large number of suitcases. On the way, we received terrible news that the Boss' aunt's brother had passed away. So there we are with the Boss' family, standing in the parking lot, stunned, saying a tearful goodbye, and guess who walks up in her revealing Japanese silk bathrobe? It takes her an incredibly awkward minute to catch up with what's going on, she expresses her condolences, and she hugs us goodbye. I didn't want to hug Shirli; I wanted to stab her.

She held Boni for nearly 30 seconds. I could see my young child squirming, suffocating, trying to reject Shirli's spell. 

Hypothetically speaking, I may have planted some ricin on Boni in preparation for Shirli's final embrace. Currently, Shirli's body may, theoretically, be rotting in Apartment 6.

I also severed ties with my best friend this past year, a short, dirty Russian named Roman. True story: A few years after the Cold War ended, Roman's parents told him they were going on vacation in Bulgaria. They did that, and then they flew to Israel. And then they never went back to Russia. Roman is still in therapy about it. 

Roman and I played tennis together once a week. I wanted to believe he was an authentic Israeli mensch: a combat unit medic, a creative filmmaker, and a loving husband and father. Turns out Roman is just another millennial egomaniac. We invite him for shabbat dinner on my birthday; he bails. We make plans for our kids to meet at the park; he has an appointment. And in my final days in Israel when we want to say our goodbyes, what does Roman do? He gets COVID. Selfish prick couldn't've waited a few more days til' we left?

Speaking of Russians, Saul would like to share his anthropological expertise regarding Russian Jewish influence in Israel. For context, nearly 40% of all olim (new immigrants) to Israel are from the former Soviet Union.

Recipients of nation-wide vocational training during the Soviet era, Russians are the backbone of dentistry and orthodontics. You may remember one of my earlier, romance-laced posts about the dental hygienist who will soon be having my 5th child.

Traumatized from bloated socialist bureaucracies, Russians keep things moving in the Israeli government. After I sat in the Ministry of the Interior waiting room for nearly an hour in a desperate attempt to get tourist visas for my family, the Russian lady at the front desk demanded one of the lazy-ass clerks meet with me. Ten minutes later, I had my visa stamps.

Still smarting from the 1980 Moscow Olympics boycott, Russians are always looking for talent. We were leaving the beach one day, and a middle-aged Russian probably named Svetlana stopped Boni dead in her tracks and said, "Eze raglayim!" ("Look at those legs!"). Svetlana took our phone numbers because she was convinced Boni needed to be a world-class gymnast who would one day look back on Svetlana's harsh training methods and cry.

Experts at cheating, scamming, and lying, Russians make everyone around them look like friars (suckers). Yula, our Russian neighbor who dances tango and drinks white wine, sold the Boss a bunch of her home-made dresses. Eli, our nebbishy Russian landlord, charged us exorbitant rent and never fixed the mold. Yuri (or Ivan or Dmitriy), a Russian academic who worked with the Boss' aunt, stole her dissertation idea and published it as his own.  

Russians are helping Israel prosper and tearing the country apart. I'm glad Roman didn't die of COVID, but some of his brethren should suffer with Shirli.

In our last week in Israel, we returned or threw away six bikes. We sold or gave away four beds, two desks, and ten chairs. We packed up and handed off tons of boxes worth of sheets, towels, dishes, glasses, silverware, pots, and pans. And, of course, we packed up 15 suitcases of clothes, shoes, books, and more stupid-ass kid shit than you can imagine.

When we got back to Chicago, everything reversed: We unpacked our suitcases and opened up all the boxes we'd stored, one of which was literally labeled "OG's crap." The good news is that I found my unused iPhone case and autographed Roger Federer tennis balls. The bad news is that my wife and children all suffer from hoarding, and that stupid-ass kid shit has taken over our house.

The Boss took nearly two weeks off from work and, in her first meeting back last week, one colleague was pissed about lack of productivity and another shed tears of self-doubt. The Boss currently spends all day in the house on Zoom, holed up in a corner of OG's bedroom on a hard wooden chair. She ventures out of her cave around 4:30pm, takes care of one to three crying children, makes dinner, eats dinner, and goes to bed. Things are good!

Panini the JAP went to Iceland with the Boss' parents as a Bat Mitzvah gift. She had a fantastic time and took beautiful pictures. At this moment, however, she is jet-lagged in her new room in the basement with unpacked suitcases and shit all over the floor. She hasn't seen her friends in more than a year and the Chicago Teachers' Union is already complaining about returning to in-person learning in a few weeks. If Panini thought this past year was difficult, she's about to get a metaphorical dose of the Delta variant.

OG misses her friends in Israel and FaceTimed with one of them the other day. It's a good thing she hasn't brought closure to our time there cuz she's got nothing here. Her best friend no longer goes to the same school, two of her other friends moved to the suburbs, and Panini abandoned her as a roommate. 

Broosevelt brought his Israeli soccer skills back to Chicago, but he wore his full Messi uniform to soccer camp two days in a row. I didn't have the guts to tell him that that was not a cool move. 

Today, Boni neither got dressed nor left the house. She did, however, eat Froot Loops, peanut butter and jelly, Cheez-its, Chipotle, and an ice cream sandwich. Yeah I'd say that about sums up Boni's current existence.

As for me, I'm cool as a cucumber. No job? No worries. No purpose? No problem. I bought 48 beers and 6 White Claws today, and I'm headed out of town this weekend so the Boss can have more quality time with the kids. You're welcome.

The Boss has been speaking Hebrew with our children, but they've already started responding in English. Going to the park was cool for about one day, but now the kids know where I hide the iPad. There's a reason we haven't seen any friends: We don't have any.

This is all Shirli's fault. 

Here's hoping that her demise leads to our prosperity.