Tag Archives: children

Checkmate

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Dvora and I have a grandson. Only child of Efrat and Jonathan, he is called Avishai, a Biblical name meaning “my father’s [or God’s] gift.” Like all grandchildren he is the cutest little boy in the world. With unruly blond curlers and mischievous eyes that are almost always laughing. He loves playgrounds, running about, and ice cream. And chocolate balls too! He is a chatterbox who even as he adds new words to his already quite extensive vocabulary sometimes finds his thoughts outrunning his ability to express them, causing a slight but touching stammer. In a few weeks he will be four years old.

For those of you who are not familiar with the geography of this country, the answer to your question—is his life in any great danger owing to the war—is no. The distance from Gaza to Rehovot where Avishai and his parents live is about 54 kilometers. Their flat is located on the 12th floor of a high rise building. Not only is there no way they can reach the ground floor on time, but there is no point in trying to do so; the building does not have an underground shelter. Instead the flat is provided with a reinforced room that will hopefully protect its inhabitants against anything but a close hit.

But that does not mean that, both in Rehovot and elsewhere, the ongoing hostilities do not make their impact felt. Our oldest grandson, Orr (“Light”) is a junior IDF officer. Though not of the kind where his life is in any greater danger than that of most people here. But three of his cousins, two boys and a girl, are rapidly approaching the age where they will have to reflect about what they are going to do when the call comes as, it surely will. Rehovot itself, located as it is near a major air base, has been attacked many times, luckily resulting in very limited casualties and damage. There and elsewhere other reminders of the war include the rather frequent roar of IsraeIi fighter bombers flying overhead; the somewhat muted atmosphere in what is normally quite a boisterous country; and the growing number of wounded men—hardly any women, fortunately—one comes across in the streets.

When the guns fire, the kids cry. On both sides of the front, mind you. That is why I am posting the following poem, originally written in Hebrew by the late Israeli poet, publicist and playwright Hanoch Levin. But dedicated, on this occasion, to the children of both Israel and Gaza.

 

Checkmate

O where has my boy gone

My good boy where has he gone?

A black pawn has killed a white one.

My daddy won’t return. My daddy won’t be back

A white pawn has killed a black one.

There’s weeping in the homes, there’s silence on the green

The king is playing with the queen.

My boy won’t rise again. He sleeps, he won’t grow

A black pawn has killed a white one.

My daddy is in darkness, no more will he see light

A white pawn has killed a black one.

There’s weeping in the homes, there’s silence on the green

The king is playing with the queen.

My boy once at my breast is now a cloud of snow

A black pawn has killed a white one.

My father’s kindly heart is now a frozen sack

A white pawn has killed a black one.

There’s weeping in the homes, there’s silence on the green

The king is playing with the queen.

O where has my boy gone

My good boy where has he gone?

All soldiers black all soldiers white fall low.

My daddy won’t return. My daddy won’t be back

A white pawn has killed a black one.

There are no white pawns left nor any black ones

There’s weeping in the homes, there’s silence on the green

The king is playing with the queen.

There’s weeping in the homes, there’s silence on the green

And still the king keeps playing with the queen.

 

You can find the song at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d70p5EpwKC0. I have listened to it many times, and each time it makes me want to tear out the few hairs I have left on my head. What have we humans done, what are we doing, to each other! Skip the accords and start at 1.47 minutes.

The above translation is based on the one at the website with some changes of my own.

What We Did

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One of my favorite sites on the Net is Quora. For those of you who do not know, Quora enables anyone to put forward any—well, almost any—question and have it answered by whoever feels like answering it. Perusing the German version some days ago, I came across the following question: As a youth what did you do that would be completely out of the question today and legally subject to all kinds of punishment?

The question was answered by a Herr Christian Campe. All I know about him is that he lives in a small village not far from Muenster and is the father of four children. I tried to look him up, but without success. Hence, in translating and posting his answer (which he wrote in German), I was unable to ask him for permission. My apologies, Herr Campe. I hope you are not offended. In case you are, and in case you insist, I shall of course take my post off line immediately.

*

What we did?

Build shelters on “unoccupied” land. Yes, there used to be such a thing. Later we also built tree houses. With no help from any adults.

Build bonfires. Yes, children love bonfires. That is as true today as it was at the time. We even built them close to houses. Often causing some old gentleman to appear and give us a sack full of old potatoes so we could roast them. Coming home we smelled of smoke. But that is what bathtubs are for.

Each of us used to have a camping knife. We used it to carve our initials into tree trunks, which may have done them some damage.

Aged 12, we already started going on long bicycle trips. Arriving at a lake, we never needed either towel or swimsuits. We stripped and jumped into the water, just as God had made us. When it was over we dried ourselves in the sun before getting dressed and going home.

At that time no one had ever heard of children’s rights. Parents were entitled to spank their offspring and did so quite often. Fortunately for me, my parents were somewhat more progressive in this respect.

Swimming was something we were taught by our older siblings and friends. Looking after us, they wore their swimsuits. The same applied when girls were present and also when we visited a swimming pool. There were not too many pools, either covered or open air. But reaching them with our bikes was never a problem.
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We used to have friends whom we only met during the afternoon, given that they did not attend the same school we did.

We may not have had rights, but we were free. Our parents respected our free time and left us alone. There was a reverse side to the coin: parents did not take much of an interest in what we did between about 2 and 7-8 and, during school vacations, the whole day.

Perhaps one reason why we survived was that there were so few electric railways around. As a result, we could climb parked wagons without running the danger of being electrocuted. Another reason was that there were far fewer cars than there are now. Those we did encounter drove slowly and made more noise. So you could not help but notice them.

So life was dangerous, but perhaps not as dangerous as it is today.

How glad I am not to be a child today. In particular, I miss one thing. The green meadows where we used to roam, but which have since been covered by industrial zones and single family houses. As well as all other empty lots now protected by signs bearing the words, private property, no entry, parents are responsible for their children.

*

As I said, I know nothing about Herr Campe. So I thought it would be amusing to use my imagination to try and conjure him up. Somewhat more than fifty years old, which means that he grew up during the 1980s. Knowing Germany as I do, I can tell you there was lots more nudity then than there is now! Eyes either blue or brown. Blond, clean-shaven, and somewhat stocky. Speaks Low German which, being close to Dutch, is easy for me to understand. Happily married. Excellent family life. By profession, a teacher; his wife, either a nurse or a social worker. Lower middle class. Meaning they are not rich but, as long as they do not splurge (which they do once a year, going on vacation), they have enough to live on. Live in a one- or two family house he or his wife inherited from their parents and look after very well. In the garden, flowers. Approaching the front door, the first thing you see is lots of shoes of all sizes; indoor they wear either socks or slippers. They run a car—perhaps a second-hand one—large enough to hold the six of them plus, probably, a medium-sized dog. However, when moving about in the village where everyone knows them and they know everyone, all of them prefer to use a bike.

In case you, Herr Campe, read this post, will you do me a favor and let me know whether I hit the mark? All in good fun, of course.

My email is mvc.dvc@gmail.com.