Mikhail’s All-Star World Tour 2006

Tonight I said good-bye to grandma and took a local train to Tel-Aviv. I’m staying with Lesha and Natasha, some of our family’s closest friends - I remember hanging out in their Moscow kitchen with my parents when I could still walk freely under the table (ah! my golden years…) It’s fun to talk to people who knew you when you wore diapers: there’s no danger of embarassment, so I can let down my guard and be myself. We talked about Van Gogh and Cezanne, beads as a hardcore hobby, my family and plans, my travels, their travels, a nice town to visit near Barcelona, my parents and a vacation in the US, work and being self-employed, and the generation gap. Of course I must mention the layer cream cake and eclairs: they accompanied our conversation so well!

Yura, Lesha and Natasha’s son, just got out of the Israeli army, so he’s home - I talked to him a little as well, though it’s a little harder because Hebrew is his best language. It’s cool that he’s into skateboarding and soccer, so there’s a Juventus match running in the background. Yura’s sister Masha lives in Cologne with her husband and daughter; I plan to visit them in a week or so.

My hosts are graciously indulging my Internet addiction, but I should go to sleep because the alarm is only four hours away. Gotta rise for that morning Amsterdam flight; I hear it’s 45 F and freezing rain over there. No matter, we shall overcome!

Most people have kindness in them, or they are good people within. Volodya is one of very few people I’ve met who embody human kindness: it practically radiates from him. Officially, he is hired by social services to come in and help my grandma with chores (cleaning, cooking, shopping) for a couple of hours a day, five days a week. He’s known her (and my late grandfather) for seven years now, and he is more like family to her. In fact, he calls her his second mother, brings her presents, helps her far beyond the requirements, and often invites her over to meals with his own family. Everyone I met at the hostel told me how lucky my grandma is to have Volodya assigned to her, and how great he is.

When I came, Volodya drove my grandma to the airport (3 hours round trip) to pick me up at 7am, refusing all offers to pay for the gas. Then he invited us over for lunch on Friday. “It’s too much trouble!” my grandma protested. “No, Mama, you know me,” he said, “there won’t be much food: just bread, salt and water.” Bread and salt, of course, is the Russian phrase for hospitality: this photo shows but one corner of a table straining under numerous dishes like rabbit chops, little meat pies, vinegret salad, and golubtsy (stuffed cabbage leaves). Volodya is on the right, next to his wife Lyuda.

Four (five?) generations of Volodya’s family were there for the meal, and grandma and I were treated as guests of honor. Rami, the four-and-a-half-month-old grandson, took the spotlight in his high-tech rocking musical swing. Later that same night, Volodya and family took me to the resort town of Netanya for kebabs and billiards. I had a great time; I just hope that I’ll get a chance to repay their generosity in kind.

Spent the last four days with my grandma in Israel. She lives in a “hostel”, in a small town of Pardes Hanna which is close to the slightly less small town of Hadera. In this case, hostel means a kind of apartment building for senior citizens: there’s medical help available for emergencies, groceries and clothing come to you, and pretty much everyone there is over 70 and speaks Russian. Grandma likes it, except for being far from the rest of the family: she’s surrounded by people who speak her language, she’s got her own place and lives independently, and help is there when she needs it.

I was largely raised by my grandparents back in Russia (after school I’d go to their apartments until Mom and Dad came home from work). So we’re very close, and it’s been great to see grandma again. Crashing on her couch has lots of side benefits too: mandatory naptime (finally!), the best borsch on the planet (tied with my other grandma) - and that’s just the first course, endless compliments from grandma’s friends, and 24/7 attention. I feel like I’m a spoiled 7-year old again. (”Who’s spoiled? We didn’t spoil you. And besides, you grew up to be such a fine young man.”)