F Train to Paris

In which a Jewish family from Brooklyn moves to Paris, France for two years of work, school, and adventures.

 

For two-fifths of our family, the Paris experience has ended. J. and R. finished school last week and left yesterday for NY, on their way to camp, which starts on Wednesday. They will rendezvous with us back in Brooklyn at the end of August.

It's much quieter around the house as a result. It also means I no longer have home-grown babysitters around, so I can't go out as much as before. But above and beyond the fact that it's been convenient to have them around to babysit for E., I miss them. For a couple of teenage boys, they are pretty great.

Just before he left, R. had the world's most low-key bar mitzvah. For friends and family who read this and panic--no, you didn't miss the big event. The bar mitzvah celebration will take place as planned in October, in Brooklyn. But in order to mark the fact that he had actually reached the official age of bar mitzvah, R. had an aliyah last Shabbat at our shul in Paris. There was a bat mitzvah going on, and in the midst of it we had arranged--without telling the rabbi why--for R. to be called up for an aliyah. Besides us and our friend James, who happened to be there and who we clued in, no one there was aware of the significance. It was the ultimate private party.

posted by: pariskleinmans at 10:15 | link | comments (3) |

Tuesday night was  La Fete de la Musique, when France (and now many other countries around the world) traditionally celebrates the summer solstice with free music in public spaces.  Last year, we had a very successful evening, and this year we tried to duplicate it.  We discovered last year  that the Louvre is a great place to find musicians--especially classical ones, as you might expect. Musicans station themselves all around the central courtyard and the Cour Carre, especially the covered passageways. Ralph and I took E. (the older boys opted out) and met up with some friends near the pyramid. We heard an all-male trio singing in Latin, and an accapella  chorus singing Spanish songs. Then we left the Louvre via a doorway in the Cour Carre and crossed the river on the Pont des Arts, a pedestrian bridge that links the Louvre with the Institut de France. The Lourvre complex had been fairly calm, but the bridge was crowded with picnickers and amateur musicians, plus a more professional group of (very loud) drummers at the far end. When we reached the Institut de France we were pleased to find the same band we heard there last year, the Saints Peres Band. These are talented musicians who wear funny animal hats, as you can see in the photo on their site. The first song they played was "YMCA,"  but the rest of their set was a little more traditional. We listened for about half an hour, then decided to make our way to Bd St Germain and catch the 63 bus home.

What a mistake! The left bank was wall-to-wall people, and it took us half an hour just to walk the couple of blocks to Bd St Germain. We ducked into the nearest metro and headed home.

posted by: pariskleinmans at 11:13 | link | comments (1) |

So often these days I'm wistfully aware that I'm doing something for the last, or almost the last time before we leave Paris. But certain just-one-more-time experiences I really could have done without. Like taking a child to the emergency room at Necker (more about that later). Or waiting for the depanneur--the applicance repairman. Yes, once again the washing machine has broken down. And if the repairman can't fix it today (assuming he shows up), I'll get to visit the local laundromat again--another experience I could have happily skipped.

I won't leave you hanging about that emergency room visit. As my father would say before beginning to tell a story like this, "Don't worry, everyone is all right. But...."  Last weekend R. (age 13) complained that his leg hurt. We ignored it for the moment, as we had tickets (all of us except E., plus a group of our friends)  for "Julius Caesar," in English, at the Theatre de Chaillot, starring Simon Russell Beale and Ralph Fiennes. (Yes, we went on Shabbat, but we bought the tickets in advance and walked home.)  On Saturday morning I looked at his leg, and just above his knee it was extremely swollen. When it hadn't improved by Sunday, I took him to the emergency room. After several hours of waiting, x-rays, and blood tests, a surgeon saw him and felt, based on the fact that R. has had a number of swollen joints over the past two years, that it could be  serious rheumatological disease. He wanted to admit him and do a procedure in the morning to drain the swelling and investigate. This procedure, it turned out, was actually surgery, under general anesthesia. To make a long story short, they kept R. in the hospital for four days and eventually determined that he does not have  serious disease, but a condition, which he will outgrow, called reactive arthritis, in which his immune system overreacts to an infection by swelling a joint. (In fact, he had strep throat a week before.) Virtually all of this took place in French, by the way. Necker Hospital is the one place I've found in Paris where people don't automatically switch to English--or at teast slow down--when they detect my accent.

So R. is home, wearing a sort of half cast (open in the front, then wrapped in bandages like a mummy) to keep his knee from bending. He will leave for NY on Sunday as planned, along with his brother J. He's back in school to spend the last few days of the term with his friends, having missed all of his final exams. And his parents may recover one day from the shock of hearing that their child might have a serious, chronic disease.

The repairman arrived, by the way, and it looked at first  like the washer problem, too, might not be serious. But, in fact, he needs to order a part, which may be ready by the end of the week, or perhaps not until next week. So I'm off to the laundromat once again, and I'll finish this post later on.

posted by: pariskleinmans at 09:54 | link | comments |

It takes only four hours to fly from Paris to Tel Aviv. That's close enough to make a long weekend worthwhile, especially when there's a special reason to go. Last year E. and I attended a family bat mitzvah in Oranit, and last weekend R.and I flew to Israel for a wedding. R. turned 13 on May 26th, a significant birthday for a Jewish boy, of course. His actual bar mitzvah will take place next October back home in Brooklyn, but to commemorate this milestone, I invited him to join me on the trip. The bride, Jessica, is the sister of my very close friend Beth, and I have known the whole family for close to 20 years.

We arrived in Israel on Thursday in the late afternoon, went straight to Oranit where my stepsister and her family live, and went with them to a bonfire in honor of the holiday Lag Ba'Omer. Israelis all over the country built bonfires (a tradition that recalls Jewish revolts against the Roman empire), and later that night, as we rode to Jerusalem in a taxi, the air was heavy and gray with smoke.  In the morning, we went to the wedding, which was held outdoors in the courtyard of Beit Shmuel, an educational and cultural center just outside the Old City.

In New York, a house is considered practically ancient if it's built before 1950. In Paris, anything built after the mid 19th century is new. In Israel, there's a wondeful contrast between old--meaning a couple of thousand years, or more--and new--meaning anything built post 1950. Our trip involved mainly the new: we flew into the brand-new Ben Gurion airport, open less than a year; visited Oranit, a community built in the 1980's; and toured (with my cousin Marc--thanks for chauffering us around!) the new museum at Yad Vashem, the Holocaust memorial complex on Har Herzl in Jerusalem.

Most exciting, we celebrated a new family at Jess and Daniel's wedding, and on Sunday morning we met my friend Karni's two-week-old baby. But it's impossible to visit Israel without getting a taste of the old. For me, the most moving aspect of an extremely beautiful and emotional wedding was seeing Jess and Daniel, surrounded by their family and friends, participate in the traditional rituals of a Jewish wedding against the backdrop of the walls of the Old City. I have to admit I was so caught up in the ceremony that I hadn't even noticed the view. Then, just before Daniel broke the glass, everyone began to sing "Im Eshkachech Yerushalyim (If I forget thee Jerusalem)," Psalm 137:5, and I suddenly looked past the chuppah and remembered where I was.

The second-to-last thing we did before leaving Jerusalem for the airport was to visit the Kotel (Western Wall) and wander around the Jewish quarter of the Old City (which is itself a fascinating mix of old and new, since it was rebuilt post 1967).

What was the last thing we did? R. wanted a pair of Naot sandals, so we found a store in the newer part of Jerusalem and bought them before heading for the airport. When you go to Israel, you gotta shop!

Mazal tov, Jess and Daniel! Thank you to the entire clan for making me feel like part of the family. Happy  birthday, R.--even though you abandoned me for your friends, I loved traveling with you. And thank you, Ralph, for holding down the fort so I could go to Israel.

Lisa's Travel Tips: If you’re planning a trip to a Jerusalem and can’t afford to stay at the King David, I recommend Little House in Bakah, an inexpensive small hotel in a charming neighborhood. We’ve stayed there a couple of times and have enjoyed getting to know this part of Jerusalem, from which you can walk to the Old City or downtown. The neighborhood’s two main drags, Emek Refaim and Derech Beit Lechem, are lined with cafes, boutiques, and sandwich shops. (You could call it the Park Slope of Jerusalem.) We particularly like Shraga and Kalo on Derech Beit Lechem, and Café Hillel on Emek Refaim (get a jar of their fig jam to bring home). If you’re there over Shabbat and want to attend services, try Shira Hadasha, a (believe it or not!) Orthodox egalitarian minyan. It’s located in a youth center at the northern end of Emek Refaim, just north of Rechov Lloyd George. The singing is transcendentally beautiful--I suspect they audition new members before letting them join.

posted by: pariskleinmans at 09:41 | link | comments |