Shortly before Pesach, as is our custom, we went on a short vacation in the south.
The goal was to prove to ourselves, and to the world, that we are not addicted to bleach and not enslaved to cleanliness.
And also a little to enjoy the wild beauty of the prairie just before it enters the summer months and becomes a toaster that must somehow succeed to reach Eilat.
Families need an occasional vacation, and we all jumped out of bed happy and excited.
As is customary in the best families, we spent packing and loading the equipment in arguments, insults and world wars.
While traveling we were able to go through all the spectrum of emotions and moods that a family cell can produce.
And finally we reached an ecological, picturesque and wonderful village near cliffs.
Instead of cleaning the house we cleaned our heads, and we would all happily stay there for another two weeks (just do not overload the car again!), But, what to do, we have already invited guests for Seder night.
Except that no one offered us to extend the vacation.
It is easier today to find an appointment with a specialist doctor than to book a night in a pampering khan on the Arava road.
On one morning there I want to linger.
One of my children, you see, is finishing first grade, and is currently in the time of his amateur scientist.
This magical period includes a crowded and heavy backpack called an "explorer's bag," which is dragged after it everywhere and continues to fill up with too many rocks, beetles, things he thinks are fossils, and broken glass that we agreed to call "crystals."
The genius asked us to get up early, long before Mother, and to go on a walking tour of the desert.
All my attempts to explain that this was a vacation, and that if I had longed for toil and toil we would have stayed at home, gone up and down in chaos.
So we got up, took what we needed - water and a hat, binoculars and a magnifying glass, his little sister (must you take her too?) And jars to collect scorpions - and embarked on a daring adventure that had to end before breakfast.
Unfortunately, we did not find a scorpion.
But we have seen more than enough things that a young researcher might be interested in: desert birds, stones and mysterious footprints that indicated that he may have been a hyena here, and perhaps just one with flip-flops.
And another little thing that only interested me - when we climbed the top of a hill, a disturbing stone inscription was suddenly revealed to our eyes.
The first word was clear and complete.
It was a girl's name.
Daphne, suppose.
But under "Daphne" the inscription began to fall apart and be erased.
To be honest, she looked like she was being angered.
In kicks.
But it was still possible to recognize that the name "Married to Me" was originally there.
The dismantled address failed to scratch the attention of my pair of young researchers.
They glanced bored and went back to looking for beetles.
But she excited me.
Someone invested and designed a large and beautiful marriage proposal from desert stones.
I tried to imagine what kind of guy he was, and how he took the chosen young woman with him and led her on the path I was currently walking with the kids.
It may have happened at night.
Maybe there were torches there.
Did he also close her eyes to add a toothpick to surprise?
Added chivalrous kneeling as usual?
What went wrong there?
I did not need the son's investigative file to realize that at some point it all fell apart.
When did this happen?
Before or after they got married?
Why?
And which of them was the one who was disappointed and angry enough to make it all the way down the Arava Road, just to go back to that stone address on the hill and obscure its shape?
I watched the children continue to compare small stones.
For them, family is a trivial matter, simple and obvious.
Isn't that exactly what a relationship and family should have been in the first place?
The stable and safe part of life.
Ancient myths like the story of Odysseus support this image.
The world outside the home is a danger-ridden jungle.
Battlefield and stormy sea.
But at home?
Home is supposed to house security and dull emotions like peace and quiet.
Something has undoubtedly gone wrong along the way, if matters like relationships and family have become the dramatic, vibrating and tumultuous side of our lives.
• • •
In recent months, two books have been published that have nothing to do with each other, but have similarities - and it is disturbing.
"The Wife of the Rabbi, the Wife of the Bishop", by David Jacobson and Hayut Deutsch, is a sophisticated novel that deals with the historical character of Joanna Halevi, a Jew from Spain at the end of the 14th century.
Joanna was the wife of Shlomo Halevi, the rabbi of the city of Burgos in Spain, who converted to Christianity and became Pablo - the bishop of that Burgos, who wrote articles condemning Jews and Judaism.
"Luxury", by Yael Mashali, is a punch to the stomach in the form of ten painful monologues by women, whose spouses got up and dismantled the house and family (due diligence: Mashali and Deutsch are my friends).
The characters of Yael Mashali belong to Israel 2022. The story of Joanna and Shlomo-Pablo returns to Spain in 1391. Still, in both cases it is told of a couple who turn over one day, and without too many explanations turn their world upside down.
Their world is of course not just their private world.
There is a woman, children, family and community there, and the silent suddenness with which these men decide their fate, shouts to heaven.
The couple's first reaction is not only insult and shock, but also fear that they are suffering from a severe disturbance in the reality tester.
After all, if the person closest to the heart turned around like that, "flipped", as everyone says, without the partner noticing any signs of what was about to shatter her world - then how could she even rely on her judgment?
How will she continue to believe that a home is a safe and stable place?
• • •
And it's worth saying that too.
The story of Shlomo and Yoana Halevi is an unusual and extraordinary story from a period of extraordinary and extraordinary upheavals.
The "luxury" story file is a bit out of thousands of stories.
As someone who has heard a lot of divorce stories, which (yet) have not been collected to tell, I can testify that it is not just men who turn upside down, and not only women's self-confidence is squashed.
Many times the opposite happens.
But that's not the point at all.
The point is, and it is worth mentioning this in honor of Lag B'Omer and the wedding season, that life has always been a fragile matter, and the art of living has always required patience, generosity and humor. But many have forgotten this art of living, or just stopped practicing it.
We live in a strange time.
People invest a lot in planning theatrical and bombastic marriage proposals.
The weddings themselves, needless to say, are often huge and wasteful productions.
But as the level of production of the events themselves rises, and as the attention to detail reaches a meticulousness that would not have embarrassed a Rococo French marquise - it turns out that many of them have no idea what to do with life itself waiting just beyond the wedding and sequins.
In other words, after hearing about people testing hundreds of paper napkin samples, tasting dozens of tortilla variations and practicing glass breaking for two weeks - it seems to me that if people had invested in the relationship itself one percent of what they invested in the wedding event, the world would be a much happier place.
shishabat@israelhayom.co.il
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