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June 13, 2016

“Ok, Vered. Everything finalized?” I ask impatiently.

“Yes, Revital,” replies my travel agent of twenty-plus years, “All booked and finalized. Seven seats from Tel Aviv to Montreal with a stopover in Paris. Enjoy!”

“It’s real!” I shout, “We’re going to Canada!”

Overwhelmed with emotion, I’m swept back to a time and place several decades ago…

There I am, age 7, sitting next to Abuelo and Abuela’s backyard swimming pool, my feet carelessly splishing and splashing about.

“Abuela,” I call out, “Tavi li od chatichat avatiyach, bevakasha!” [“Grandma, bring me another slice of watermelon, please!”]

My father’s mother, a real ‘coquette’ (stylish lady) from Morocco, kisses my forehead and strides indoors in her high-heeled sandals. She loves tanning in her large backyard- but her ultimate love is nurturing her children and grandchildren.

“Hineh, neshama sheli, kapara alayich!” [“Here you go, my soul…” I have no idea how to translate “kapara alayich”.

Sorry, Americans- you have to be Israeli to get it!] Abuela hands me a fine crystal plate with an oversized slice of watermelon on it- just what you’d expect a grandmother to hand over to a sloppy second-grader! But Abuela is the queen of fashion and style… she doesn’t ‘do’ disposable.

 

Dispersed throughout her spacious backyard are my grandfather, Abuelo, and my dad playing dominos on a round patio table under a parasol, my mom reading the comics on a lounge chair, and my younger sister Etty sliding down the water slide into the deep end of the pool. The birds sing their sweet summery songs and the Mediterranean sun beats down upon us.

Fast-forward to 2016. I am now in my late thirties living in Elad, Israel, and a mother to five amazing boys.

My parents and grandparents have long since moved from Israel to Montreal, Canada, and yes, I miss them terribly.

I find that Israelis, and Jews in generally, are very often quite family-oriented. Family gatherings play a huge role in one’s life.

Brises, bar and bat mitzvahs, weddings, you name it. Especially in religious circles where you can multiply the number of family functions you’re invited to fourfold. There is definitely a void in my ‘simchas’ without my parents’ and grandparents’ presense.

It’s been three years since I’ve last visited Abuelo and Abuela. I hardly recognize them. They’re now frail, elderly people. Abuela suffered severe brain damage and was in a deep coma about 5 years ago. Needless to say, her witty remarks- or any remark, for that matter- are now few and far between. She lives in a geriatric hospital, far from Abuelo, who still lives at home. He is depressed and lonely without his beloved wife by his side and… it’s really heartbreaking for me to witness. Where is my strong Abuelo who prides himself on his home gym replete with heavy bell-balls and sophisticated body-building equipment? Where is my cute and spritely Abuela who loves dressing up for any occasion?

I’m fully aware that my upcoming trip in late June may be my ‘good-bye’ trip, if you know what I mean.

But now, with the holiday of Shavuot around the corner, I’m contemplating the fifth of the Ten Commandments in a new light. ‘Honor your father and your mother’.

Now that I’m a mother, I view Abuela’s role in my life with added depth and maturity. When feeding me slice after slice of ‘avatiyach’ (watermelon), she imbued within me a sense of love and belonging to something much greater than myself.

I, through her, was connected to generations of doting Jewish mothers and grandmothers, who, through their sincere concern for the welfare of their children, imparted a rich and joy-filled heritage.

“Abuela,” I will assure her as I squeeze her hand and look into her now glazed-over eyes, “You make a difference.”

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