Soldiering On

"You don’t like to do dishes and you’re planning for company. I get it," my friend Cindy texted in response to a photo I sent her of how much stoneware I have here. I have service for 18 – which I don't have anywhere close to in Westlake unless I pull out my Bubbee's China and silver like at Passover. 

I was struck by Cindy's casual accuracy. I do really hate doing dishes – hence my excitement buying a house here with a dishwasher. Even though it turned out not to work and I had to replace it, the space under the counter and hookups were there….  And yes – somewhere in the back of my head there's a voice saying ten people might come over for dinner on two hours' notice and to always be prepared. I think it's epigenetics in action.

As a rule, my Patmos kitchen is as well, if not better stocked on the functional essentials than my kitchen in Westlake. The European dimensions for baking dishes leave something to be desired as does the smaller oven. Then again, I'm not hosting Passover here, so I don't see it becoming an issue – whatever that epigenetic voice says.

In a small way, the voice gets to score points once in awhile. While it doesn't happen frequently, lots of friends and family are at least interested in coming to visit. I always offer use of the house to people – especially since it sits empty for so much of the year. But I also welcome guests when I/we am/are here. My mom has come each of the past two years. Last year Matheus, our former au pair who was here with us in 2019, also came and stayed. My friends Barrett and Beth showed up for a few hours while ashore from a cruise.

This year – despite the odds – and despite my certainly not thinking it was going to happen anymore – my friend Ziv is coming! Tomorrow! I met Ziv in 2002 on my Birthright Israel trip. A consortium of nonprofits and the Israeli government conspired in 1999 to begin bringing young Jews of the diaspora – ages 18 to 26 at that time –  to Israel for free. Participants just had to cover the costs of free-choice lunches and spending money. While there were several aims to the program, the predominant one was to create a strong bond that would ideally continue financial and political support for Israel into new generations of diaspora Jews. The thinking went something like my grandparents' generation who either fought World War II or who survived the Holocaust and saw the emergent necessity of Israeli were inherently strong, dedicated supporters who supported Israel in any way they could. Their children – my parents' generation – watched Israel struggle for survival in war after war brought by Arab armies determined to annihilate the Jewish state and grew up in the homes of fervent Israel supporters.

By my generation, Israel was not only no longer hanging on by a thread, but had developed into an economic powerhouse. By 2002, Israel was a first world country and a military power – that also had formal peace on two sides (Egypt and Jordan) and a tacit armistice on a third (Syria). The larger neighborhood of the Middle East could hardly be called friendly, but Israel was no longer the target of five-army attacks.

The fear was a stronger Israel might get less support from my generation because we might feel less connected and that Israel didn't need us the same way as it did our parents and grandparents.

If bringing young Jews to Israel would make it real and create empathy, having a friend might create another level of bond. So, every Birthright tour has a few young Israeli soldiers injected into the group. 

I understood the concept and didn't really buy-in. I was a little older than some of the others in my group from Los Angeles – 24 while the median age was probably 21. Inherently, the female soldiers would be 18-19 and the male soldiers were 18-21. So no soldiers were going to be my age and I expected little of it. I was getting along better with a few of the other Americans and our group's security officer – Adi – who mostly sat in the back of the bus with a semi-automatic rifle and flirted with American girls.

Everyone shared hotel rooms and to keep things social, we all were rotated every night – including the Israelis once they joined. So it happened on the second night with our Israeli friends that Ziv and I were paired together at a kibbutz in the Golan Heights. Ziv was – and is – rather stoic, with a deep, unfluctuating voice and defaults to silent. With a Moroccan dad and a Romanian mom, Ziv unsurprisingly has dark hair and features. He also did not find most people on the trip particularly amusing. So, I really didn't expect for us to interact much, let alone get along.

There's not a lot to do late at night at a kibbutz in the Golan and we were supposed to get up very early to go whitewater rafting down the Jordan in the morning – so everyone went to bed rather early – but not necessarily tired. That was the recipe that led Ziv and I to slowly, tentatively begin talking and within a half hour decide we liked each other. It turned out he was really observant of everything around him and funny – if you shared his sense of humor and he respected you. We ended up talking to at least 1am and we've been good friends ever since.

So win one for Birthright.

As its architects had hoped, when something happens in Israel, I message Ziv. I want to know how he and his family are – and what he thinks of events. On the two times since that I've been to Israel, I've seen Ziv – one time even staying with he and his now wife Hila. When they came to the US on their honeymoon, they stayed with Emily and me. And in 2003 – the year after we met – Ziv came to Taiwan to hang out with me at the tail-end of his "getting out of the military" trip to Southeast Asia – as is common among so many Israeli young men.

That time in Taiwan – which included a four-day motorcycle roadtrip and camping adventure from Hsinchu on the West Coast through the high mountains in the spine of the island to the Taroko Gorge near the central East Coast in Hualien County. It was an amazing adventures with a lot of layers including some challenging group dynamics, a route we probably could have avoided, a friend who fell off his motorcycle three times (and was probably okay only because Ziv was a navy medic). We camped in places we probably shouldn't have. We had no idea where we were at times. But it was also a beautiful area few people see and the stories are a gift forever. For most of us. 

It was also the last time Ziv and I have spent any real time without wives. As you can imagine, a lot happens in 23 years and even if we haven't enjoyed the kind of time we had riding through the Taiwanese wilderness, we have stayed close and gone through many phases of life together. He's also gone through a couple of wars and terrorist events with incredible composure and insight.

All of that to say there will be someone to validate, or at least share in my exceptionally large plate and bowl inventory starting tomorrow afternoon.

In the meantime, I've been trying to get as many things done as possible so I have more flexibility with my time for the next few days. I also got to be domestic – refill the hand soap dispenser, run the dishwasher, take out the recycling, find the coffee maker (it got shoved into the back of the corner cabinet), etc. It's good. The house is ready. I'm ready.

Patmos is a different island than Taiwan. The hills aren't a treacherous, there's no camping and no hot springs at which to stop. There's really no place more than 15 minutes away to go – a roadtrip involves driving up to see the goats in the northern part of the island. 

Which makes me confident when I say this time, everyone will stay on their motorcycles.