Teaching Music
December 1 ,2015
After School Clubs
“Mom, Can I have six Liras please?”
“What do you need it for?”
“I want to join a club; it costs six liras per month.”
“We don’t have that kind of money to spend,” said mom, “But I will talk to Dad and we’ll see what we can do. If it is that important to you.”
This was a nice club to join. Almost everyone in the fifth grade joined. For the first time I actually joined a dance class, Israeli folk dance. Those days, Israeli folk dance was very simple. The repertoire was not big or complicated, so in no time we learned a few dances.
circle dances, line dances and yes, partner dances.
“Alright everyone, partner up!” Yelled the dance teacher over the loud music. He was a tall guy with curly blondish hair, and he was very loud. Everyone found a partner almost at once. Being the shortest boy in my class didn’t help getting a partner. No girl wanted to dance with a shorter boy, and a dark skin one on top of it, no matter how cute or smart he is.
“Will you be my partner?” I heard a shy, soft voice behind me. It was a light brown wavy hair girl, actually shorten than me. “My name is Zehavah, she said.”
“Ehhh, shsh sure,” I said. “m m my nnname is ha ha Haim.”
With a sweet smile Zehavah extended her hand and we became partners. She was also the last kid who couldn’t get a partner, but I can definitely testify, it was everybody’s lost. Zehavah turned out to be a great partner, she, like me, learned the dances very quickly. She even was able to help me when I missed a step, and it didn’t look like I didn’t know what I was doing. This was indeed fun.
For the next 2 months, every Tuesday we were dancing together, and I walked her home after the club. Taking slow strides as if to extend the time together. We talked about movies and the beach, we talked about food and how I didn’t like to eat and how she could eat a cow and still be hungry. Zehavah was in the second Fifth grade and I didn’t get to see her much except for when we danced, or during breaks. Her house was a little off from my way home, so it was difficult to get together. Two months later when I got my report card and mom didn’t like the results, they stopped giving me the money to continue dancing. (40 years later I met Zehavah at a dance session in NYC and for one evening we danced together like we never stopped).
Don’t feel too bad for me, I found another club, and this one didn’t cost money. One Sunday as I arrived at school, I saw Ariella Lanski, from my class with other two girls standing in front of the bulletin board and talking out loud.
“I am definitely joining,” I heard Ariella saying. “I was a part of that last year and we had a good time.”
“Me too,” Said Nehamah Lerner. “I love singing.”
“Singing? I jumped in. “What about singing? I love singing too.”
“It isn’t for you tzutzik!” Said the third girl who was in the 6th grade. “I have never seen a boy in the choral.” Tzutzik wasn’t a nice name to call someone. In Yiddish it meant “very small.” Often big boys would bully me and call me tzutzik, for being small for my age. But a girl calling me that was unacceptable.
“Let me see that!” I said and approached the bulletin board.
“Wanted!” It said: Singers, of all ages, who want to join the choral. Auditions on Wednesday, right after school.
Pnina the music teacher was short and had short hair. If you didn’t know here to be our teacher, you might think she was one of the older kids. She played the accordion (like most of the music teachers in Israel) She also played the guitar and had a very nice voice. We loved her classes; we didn’t have to do anything but sing. Sometimes we would get out of hand and really misbehave. She would stop and wait for us to relax before she continued with her class.
Everyone was already there when I walked in. All the girls were seated, and Ariella Lanski was hovering over the teacher next to her desk being a little too close. They all turned and looked at me.
“Are you sure you are in the right place?” Asked Pnina and whispered to Ariella “he is so cute!” I think I saw Ariella making a dissatisfied face.
“This is the choral auditions, right?” I asked.
Pnina nodded.
“Then I am in the right place.”
“Hmm, let’s see, stand in front of me please. Ariella, please take a seat with everyone.” Now I knew she made an ugly face. “Can you sing this?” and she sounded an Aaaa.
“Aaaa” I repeated.
“Aa aa aaa”
“Aa aa aaa”
“Do, Re, Mi, Fa, Sol, La, See.” (This is how they sing it in Israel and Europe)
“Do, Re, Mi, Fa, Sol, La, See”
“Nice! And you don’t have a problem being the only boy in the choral?”
“It is better than being with all the bullies at soccer.”
“Fag!” I heard a whisper from one of the girls, and a giggle from another.
“Hmm, all right, take a sit in the front row, right next to Nehamah. Nehamah please make some room next to you for Haim. That is your name? Right?”
I nodded and sat next to Nehamah.
This was not what I expect it to be. It wasn’t just singing songs. We had to do some voice exercise. The songs were not the popular songs we hear and sing every day. They were picked by our teacher. And the thig that threw me off was: Forget the melody you already know. We had to learn to sing in different “voices”, harmony. Because I was the only boy, I had to learn the melody that was set just for me, and to Ariella’s dismay I had many solos. Please, don’t get me wrong, I had nothing against Ariella. She was a very pretty girl, taller than me with long black hair, blue eyes, and was very popular. She even befriended me at first, at the beginning of the year. But once she realized it was affecting her popularity, she avoided me. Now I was becoming the “popular”. For the first time in the school’s history, we had a boy in the choral. For the first time we had a 5th grader singing the blessing for the candles of Hanukah. I even had a new friend who walked with me home every day after school.
Her name was Shlomit Bar-Menachem. She was the daughter of Netanya’s Mayor. She had two brow long braids on the sides of her had. She was a very smart girl. She Always got “A” on her tests. I got C and below. She lived across the street from us. Her side of the street was for the middle-class people. It had some of the oldest villas where most of the “Ashkenazi” people lived. We loved talking about so many subjects, sometimes we even sat on a stone fence and I forgot to go home for lunch. Mom was very upset with me for missing lunch.
“But, mom,” I said, “she is very smart, and we talk about a lot of things we share.”
“If she is that smart, maybe she should help you with your homework.”
The next day on our way home I asked Shlomit if she could help me with my homework. She was happy to do so, and we agreed that after the nap and the 4:00PM snack I would come over.
I had to wait a while, I knocked three times. Their house was a big villa, and I could see the fancy Saab of her dad was parked in the shaded and gated driveway. When the door opened, I almost fell to the ground. In front of me stood our mayor wearing only his underpants. I took a long breath and asked if Shlomit was in.
“Are you Haim?” he asked. Our mayor knew my name, I couldn’t believe it.
“Yes, I am”
“Come in, Shlomit is in her room.”
On the sofa in the living room sat a teenage boy leaning over a board with all kinds of bulbs and electronic parts.
“This is my second son,” said the mayor. He is playing with his radio kit he put together. Still can’t make it work.” My older son is in the army. So be nice to my youngest child.” He fended with a smile when he knocked on Shlomit’s door.
***
Cracked Head
Dad bought new bicycles, the bike with the racing handle. I loved riding them. I would wait every day for Dad to get back from work so I can ride them around the block. Bike riding didn’t come easy for me. Dad bought me cool bikes a few years before, but they were defective. Dad found them at the bike store. Used folding bike from Japan. The problem was the size of the wheels. They were very small. You couldn’t find replacement for them. So, by the time I learned how to ride them the inner tubes were full of holes and even the outer tube was damaged. Dad had an old bike which he finally replaced with a newer one (not brand new) and he rode them to work every day. He had a laundry clip in his pocket all the time. He would clip his right pant whenever he rode, to avoid getting stuck in the chain.
The new bike was tall for me, but I handled it pretty well feeling safe and proud of myself for being so tall. I had only one problem, Stop signs. Dad had explained to me that a stop sign is very important. In Israel they had the same shape as the rest of the world, but they don’t say stop. They have a symbol of an opened hand facing you. My problem was, again, I was too short. I had to tilt the bike to the side whenever I needed to get off and run with it a few steps to get started again. It didn’t stop me from having fun. Dad promised me that for my bar-mitzvah he will get me a brand-new bike. My most favorite part was the ride up the tall hill, pushing hard with all my weight and then riding back down at full speed.
We recently finished a special course at school. We learned “Road Safety”. We learned to look side to side when we cross the street. We learn how to signal before we turn when we ride our bikes. But the most important part of that course was to help the little kids cross the street. Every day before school starts and after it is over, we would stand in crossroads dressed in special vests and holding a pole with a stop sign. Whenever we saw the little kids come, we would swing the pole and stop the traffic, let the kids walk across the street and then Swing back the pole to let the traffic go and stop the kids from crossing. We were doing something important. We were responsible kids.
“Dad, can I take the bike for a ride?”
“Did you finish your homework?”
“Yes, I did, I even finished reading the book from the library.”
“All right then.”
I took the bicycles out of our building entrance, that is where we keep bikes, and ran to the road. Not too far from our house was the first stop sign. I stopped stood next to the bike and looked side to side, making sure no one is coming, ran with the bike and continued riding. I Signaled with my left hand pointing up (that is how you signal to turn right) and took the turn. Drove to the end of the street, signaled again and turned right again now I was back on our street again. I turned right and continued riding. From behind me I heard a scooter, I decided I will turn left and get out of his way, I extended my left arm pointing to the direction I was about to go and took the turn. At that moment I Heard a screech, and I was knocked off the bike. I struggled up and saw that next to me laid a guy I knew from Neve Shalom our old neighborhood. A relative of the Okevs. He brushed himself as he was getting up. I mediately was checking his Vespa I would hate to be responsible for the damages to his scooter. Knowing perfectly well that I was not the one causing the accident. But, you know, the adults are always right…
From behind me I saw my dad walking toward us and he stopped at once to look again at us. He almost fell down but then he controlled himself and kept walking. Behind the scooter on the road laid a big, cracked watermelon. Dad thought it was someone’s head. He was relieved when he saw me standing up talking to the guy who was checking me up. The guy insisted that it was not his fault, and he made my dad sign a paper releasing him from any damages and that he releases us from any damage to his scooter and left.
Pondering about it for many years, I still know I was doing the exact thing I was taught at school. He was driving too fast in a neighborhood full of kids.
***
Sad Purim
“Wake up Nanou,” I heard mom whisper, “Dad and I need to go to Be’er Sheva. We just received a telegram, Nono just passed away”.
“Oh no!” I said sadly.
“I have your costumes ready for you and your brother laying down on my bed. Breakfast is ready on the table and there is food for lunch too. Dad will be back tonight. Behave yourselves and don’t get in trouble.”
Nono, Mom’s father was sick for a while. He had a bad stroke a few years ago and couldn’t work. Half of his body was paralyzed. He had hard time talking, he forgot Hebrew and French. For some reason he was able to talk only in Arabic and even that was very difficult to understand. Only Meme understood him. She took care of him all the time. Meme would feed him, was him, shave him and dress him. All her time was dedicated to him. Whenever we came to visit them, Mom would take over the kitchen and prepare food for everyone, we would help clean the house so Meme can have a few moments rest. Now she will be resting for a long time. She will have no one to take care of. I wondered how she will continue her life.
Mom made me a green costume like “Robin Hood’s”, complete with a hat and a feather. I had a wooden sword that I carved out of a long straight branch. I also had a bow and arrows hanging on my back. Avi Dressed up like a girl. He looked like a cute little girl. We walked toward school quietly and enjoyed the costumes everyone else was wearing. Purim is still my favorite holiday. We get to be whatever we want to believe we are. Prince and princesses, king and kings, clowns or wild animals. All the time, Mom was the one who made our costumes, unlike the store-bought kinds that most kids had. We didn’t have the money to spend on this privilege, but Mom’s costumes always looked better, they looked real and convincing. She always made them from leftover material she had hanging around the house. Mom had a pedal sawing machine and enjoyed working with it. She made a lot of our cloths. One of the things she made was a winter coat from one of my Dad’s old army blanket. It had a hood and big buttons and kept us warm. Whatever she made for me she made one for Avi too. It was easy, because Avi wore the same size as I, even though he was 2 years younger.
Walking up the stairs to the school I met Yossi Dahari of the seventh grade dressed like a prince with a long plastic sward on his belt.
“Hey! Robin Hood, want to have a swards fight?”
“You don’t have a chance”, I answered “It isn’t like the “air boxing we do when no one actually wins or lose.” We loved playing “air boxing” like the actors in the movies when once in a while we pretend the punch was so hard, we fly backwards like in the Elvis Presley movies that I loved so much. I learned his songs even when I didn’t understand a word I was singing.
“Oh yea?” Yossi continues. “I will get you on the first minute”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I replied. I loved sward fighting. I saw a few movies with Gene Kelly and learned from his moves. To me it was like dancing. I was able to par anyone of our neighborhood kids. I was fast and light on my feet. If only I was as strong as some of them, I wouldn’t get picked on so many times or bullied as much.
“You think you are good at that?” He came and shoved me; I almost fell back down the stairs.
“Look, I am telling you; I don’t want to fight you.”
“Listen to me, you little chicken, do you think that if you are dressed like robin hood, you are him? You have a choice; you spar with me or I beat you up.
“As You wish, on guard!” Before I finished the word, he launched at me with his sward from above. I deflected it easily and launched forward poking him in his belly.
“That’s not fair!” He screamed, “I wasn’t ready.”
“Sorry!”
“Let’s start over,” he said and extended his sward toward my belly. I averted it easily and tried just defending myself without attacking for a while. Every move he made I was able to defend. Just before the bell rang, I extended my arm forward to poke his belly once more he deflected my sward upward but didn’t move. The sward hit him one centimeter above his eye and punctured his skin. Yossi without saying a word, turned around and ran to the nurse’s office.
“Before we continue the costume contest,” announced the vice principal Moshe Kotler, “I want to remind you, there will be only ½ a day of school tomorrow. It is “Ta’anit Ester” (the fast of Queen Ester) and Tel Hai Memorial.” Tel Hai is a kibbutz up north in Israel. The story goes that there was a hero who lived there. His name was Josef Trumpeldor. He was wounded in world war 2 and lost his arm. Trumpeldor was one of the Kibbutz leaders and was defending the kibbutz when the Arabs were attacking just before the war of independence. He was shot just before they were able to save the place. The legend was that his last words were “it is good to die for our country”. Yet, I heard that actually, he mumbled some Russian curse that sounded like that Hebrew sentence.
“Friday is a day off,” Moshe continued, “Purim, so have fun. And for now, let’s celebrate and continue with the contest. Who’s first?”
Of course, I didn’t win the contest, I didn’t even come close, there were much more creative costumes. But I had my chance to show off my skills with the sward. One of my favorite creative costumes was “ShoomDavar” – Nothing. The Word Shoom in Hebrew means garlic and “not”. There was a socialistic newspaper called Davar which means “something”. One of the little kids made a hole in the middle of the paper and stuck his head through it. He wore it like a poncho. On top of the “Davar” paper he glued garlic, “Shoom” and here you have it ShoomDavar – Not a thing.
“It was a nice day but the sadness of losing my grandpa was hanging in my conscience. I waited for my brother and we walked home together. Dad came back home late, he told us that we will be going to stay with Mom for the weekend in Be’er Sheva She is sitting “Shiva” – seven days of mourning for her father. We Took the bus to Tel-Aviv early next morning and from there took the train to Be’er Sheva. There we met with all my cousins and uncles and aunts. Well, mostly the family on my Mom’s side. It was crowded at Meme’s house, so we split and some of us went to stay at my uncle Rone and His wife Rachel. The next day Dad gave us some money and all of the cousins went to see a movie. Just so we won’t go crazy at Meme’s house. She never liked kids and having all of us at her house would be a little too much for her. “Trinity” was the name of the movie. Some silly western comedy.
“Let’s play like in the movie,” Suggested Vivi.
“Yeah!” everybody yelled, and we walked to the park that Nono built. At the edge of the park, I found 2 car tires and a wide wood plank. I put the plank on top of one of the tires and started jumping on it. It was a perfect trampoline. I was jumping very high.
“Hey, put the other tire under it” suggested Haim. I piled the tires on top of each other and put the plank on top. It didn’t take long, after two jumps, which were pretty high I hit the side of the plank on my way down. The plant slipped and the other end of it hit me right under the chin. I was bleeding for a long time until aunt Dolly Put a bandage on it. Mom was not happy.
“You went to the movies while I was here sitting Shiva?”
***
Yom HaAtzma’ut
“We will be starting a new tradition this year,” announced Frida our teacher. “Now that there won’t be any more Army parades or marches. We decided to start marching ourselves.”
Every year, for “Yom Ha’Atzma’ut” the Israeli Independence Day we had a big military parade. Most of the time it was on the street of Tel-Aviv or Jerusalem. I never got to go to any of them. We couldn’t afford it. Last year my aunt Rachel got us tickets and we were all excited to go. That year it was happening in Be’er Sheva. We took the train and stayed at Aunt Rachel’s house (I don’t know why we always call it Aunt Rachel’s house instead of Uncle Rone’s house – they are both my parent’s siblings). I was so glad we arrived early to the train. There were so many people, they lined up all the way to the street. As I said, we were early, so we got to our seats, but soon after, it got so crowded there was no more places to sit or stand. People were even piling on the luggage racks.
The next day was the Independence Day’s Parade. We sat on bleachers along the main street with more than a hundred thousand people. The parade had to start early in the morning. Be’er Sheva was a desert town and would get very hot for people to sit outside.
Before we knew it, we heard the speakers play the Israeli anthem. We all stood up and sang along. Soon after, the first squad of soldiers started marching in unison to the beat of the music. We saw soldiers from all facts of the army. The foot soldiers, the paratroopers, the air force and even the women soldiers dressed in skirts and sandals. Behind them we saw all kind of vehicles. Armored vehicles, missile carriers, and even the heavy tanks who ruined the roads with their big heavy metal chains. No wonder they were canceling the parades. Besides the price of the gasoline to run all the vehicles, the time for training the troupes just for show and the price of running the airplanes who came later and flew really low and scared Avi to death. Avi didn’t like noise, he hated even the fireworks the night before.
The day before Yom Ha’Atzma’ut was the Memorial Day for all the soldiers who sacrificed their lives defending Israel. We had a siren blasting at 8:00 AM, everyone had to stop what they were doing and stand up straight silently for one minute until the siren stopped. There were many memorial events on that day, even the radio played soft Israeli music. And at night just as the sun set, we would hear one more siren but this time as soon as it was over everybody would go out to the street to celebrate. (A few years later this second siren was eliminated – too harsh of a change from sadness to party.) The streets were so full of people, you couldn’t walk without rubbing onto someone else. There were concerts and dances as well, of course the fireworks.
“So, kids we will have to get together outside at 10:00 and stand in triplets, straight lines and practice marching and singing. For 2 weeks straight, every day at 10:00 we would line up and march for about 2 miles singing and cheering for our team.”
Well, of course we cheered this was after all, a competition. We had to dress up with a unique costume. We had to create banners and decorate them. We had to write cheers for our team. The best team would be the first in line to receive ice-cream and the bragging rights. This was fun, no one had problems missing classes in the middle of the day, not even the teachers. Those weeks after Passover and before the Independence Day except for Yom HaShoah which was another sad day in memory of the Holocaust, we would enjoy the fresh air and feel the approaching summer.
***
