Rosh Hashanah with a Different Accent

It’s still Rosh Hashanah, same prayers, different accent. 

Some of the differences drive the kids from their comfort zone:  Different friends to sit with, different pre- and post- synagogue meals, even the complaints about going to services are different.

We tested out two synagogues, one on each day.  One was considered reform and the other traditional.  While the reform service had a choir and organ, it was completely in Hebrew.  The Rabbi, a Member of Parliament, used the binding of Isaac as a launching point for her sermon on child abuse in the UK. 

The “egalitarian” traditional service had separate seating for men and women?

While the service is primarily the same, it is much more one sided, not terribly participatory, a lot of the Cantor chanting alone.  And when the congregation was asked to participate the tunes were all different.  I mean, completely different, not even Adon Olam.  I must admit, I longed for home.

And then the oddest turn came in the middle of the ceremony.  During the Rosh Hashanah service there is a lot of discussion of our King.  But when they say King, they mean, King.  Not the G-d from above, but the guy in Buckingham Palace.  So one prayer book, which was from the 1930s, had a prayer for King George and Princess Elizabeth, while the more recent edition asks for the safety of Queen Elizabeth and the Prince of Wales.

A whole new spin on Avinu Malkenu (Our Father, Our King).

Dis-Connected

Author Ed Hallowell spoke at the American School last night on the "Childhood Roots of Adult Happiness"

His first point is what he calls the unexamined assumption that the closer you get to being number one, the happier you are.

What struck me was his central finding that “connectedness” is the key. 

Positive connection drives the best environment for kids

He said to create memories of connectedness.  Friendships really matter, make time for them and model them for your kids

Connect to school, how do they feel when they walk in the front door?

That’s all well and good, but what do you do if you take your well-adjusted connected kids from their safe/loving/protected environment, rip them from their core and bring them to London where they are completely and utterly disconnected.

First he said the opposite of connection is indifference, not disconnection.  But second he said the kids need to get connected, to something, and at first they will connect, or reconnect as it were, to the family.

That must be what my son felt when he said, “Haven’t we had enough of family time?”

Answer:  No

Golders Green

Took a bus ride up to Golders Green,  it is the same Jewish neighborhood I saw in Oak Park Michigan or Wheaton/Silver Spring Maryland.  It’s the place with the Kosher butcher and the bakery with the Pareve and "the buttery" side of the store.  There is the Falafel house and the other Kosher restaurants with the distinctive word (כָּשֵׁר) plastered on the door. 

These towns are recognizable regardless of city or country.  There is an energy, a hustle to them especially in preparation for a big holiday.

There is of course the bookstore with the prayer books to the left, the Tallit, yarmulke and other Jewish paraphernalia in the middle and the good stuff to the right.  Just like your grandmother’s house the silver is off in a separate room where children playing is frowned upon.

On a Sunday afternoon it’s bustling with black hats and tsit tsits blowing in the wind.  Everyone running, the high holidays are coming, a mix of Hebrew, British and Scottish accents fill the main street.

At Solly’s Restaurant I experience the exorbitant prices (since when do you get a Falafel sandwich with everything sold separately?  Do I want pita?  Hummus? So what exactly do I get for my 13 pounds?)

And the service I will simply call, rude Israeli.

But it was delicious and the atmosphere was pure Middle East.  On the telly there was a constant loop of Israel-UN-Iran- Palestinian Statehood.  And while the discussion at most tables was animated, amid all the chaos “back home” in Israel, you wonder how the inter-country animosity lasts all these years.  Because on the ground here is what I heard:  A grandfather who was grateful to have Sunday brunch with his family, although the chicken soup wasn’t hot enough; a man from Glasgow who needs a new prayer-book for his adult son; a 15 year old boy who grew out of his Bar Mitzvah tallis and needs, as his mother says, “A tallis that will stick to his bony shoulders.”

Looking for Work-Life Balance? Move to GMT

How do you improve the main challenge of middle age:  Work/Life balance? 

The Answer:  Move to London.

The cliché of the American who moves to London, in my mind, was the hard driving finance guy who moves here on his way up the ladder.  On the ground I see a very different picture of the American family experiencing a far bar better balance.

Every 40-50 year old male I know is trying to balance his work life-- so he works hard enough, makes enough money and does enough things to satisfy his inner man -- with his family life -- so he can be a good father, have dinner with the kids and make his wife happy.  And moving to London solves this?

I am not a morning person.  I do not get up at 5:00, workout until 7:00 have breakfast with the kids so I can be at my desk by 8:00.  I am also not the guy who is in his office at 7:00 in the morning so I can get a jump on the West Coast and try to catch up with Europe and Asia.

But living in London I can be that guy, without the sleep deprivation.

First of all, much of our work is still US focused, so our afternoons are much more meeting filled than our mornings.  So we can get up, go to the gym, see the kiddies off to school and still get into the office 5 hours before our US counterparts.

However, the real surprise comes in the evening.  Instead of staying at the office until 10 PM, when it’s closing time in the US, almost all the men in my unscientific study find they tell their teams in the US they will be offline for a couple hours, they leave the office at 5:30, even with a stop at the pub they’re home early enough for dinner with the family and nighttime activities.  Then they get online at 10 for another hour and complete the day with the US.

The time difference affords me, and most of the families we've met a far better work-life balance than we could have ever found in the States.

Pub Culture (Part 1)

I love the Pub and the culture around it and have made it my life’s work to de-construct it (not really). 

The Pub is a bigger part of British life than the Queen, St. Paul’s and Piccadilly.  While pubs are declining due to the smoking ban and the cost of alcohol, it’s cheaper at a package store, they are still visited by more than a third of the population at least once a week (those numbers seem low from my observation)

Here are some tips:

When you enter a pub you can take a table and wait as long as you like for service, but it will NEVER happen (I’m not saying this happened to me, but most Brits make a sport of watching the tourists wait for service). 

You go to the bar and get the Publican’s attention.  But never by speaking.  A raised cup, an eyebrow, a non-flirtatious wink is all you need.  Once you have their attention you order quickly and pay.  Please don’t stand there and ask, “Hey what do you have on Tap?” "What's a lager?" "Can I have a taste of the Guinness?" "Why isnt the beer colder?"

The regulars are exempt from these rules, they come in and can make comments like “Ow about a drink this millennium?”  A newcomer is strongly advised NOT to follow this lead.

Once you have your drink and pay you do not tip, that is very bad form and insults those serving the drinks.  You can however offer to buy them a drink with a phrase like, “And one for yourself?”  This is not an attempt in any way to hit on the Publican or server, instead it is simply offering a roundabout way of tipping.  You know they have accepted your invitation because they add it to your tab.

If they do not want the drink they can accept the money, put it aside and when they do take the drink they will point their pint in your direction and say "Cheers." 

Quite the complicated dance for a pint.

Forgetting to Take Notice

Rushing home on the Tube, it’s Thursday night and running late.  I look up from the Evening Standard and realize we’re only one stop away from home, St John’s Wood.  And then it occurs to me I barely noticed the day. 

I ate lunch at my desk not at some market tucked in a city corner.  I didn’t watch London from my office window with my coffee.  I didn’t appreciate the break in the rain.  I didn’t notice the sun setting over St Paul’s or the crush of people crossing London Bridge. 

It was just a day. 

Living here I feel like one of those terminal patients with a year to live.  The ones who talk about  every day being one less than they had the day before.  Every day is a gift, all the dying clichés. 

But I expect every day here to be special.  And the city doesn’t disappoint.  As long as I take notice.

Quiet Amid the Noise

The city is noisy.  The first few nights we wondered if we’d ever get to sleep.  Would we get used to the city life, the noise, the car alarms, screeching tires, fire engines, drunk kids walking home.  But if you listen closely there are also Church Bells, the clack of heels on wet pavement and birds. 

But with the noise all around us I actually have more thinking time.  Back at home the television was always on, in the car there's the radio, the phone, the distractions.  Morning television here is terrible, I talk with my family, walk them to school, plan the day together because without a car everything needs to be mapped out.  The rumble of the tube, quiet in the morning, loud chatter in the evening.  And then the walks to and from the tube and to work with just me and my head.

I’m finding more quiet in the noise of the city.