My father was the principal of the orthodox, Jewish day school I attended. (For the record, someone suggested to me recently, that I may be short on material to write about and so consequently, consciously and somehow create pain in my life just to fill that void - almost like a perverse form of research. Besides being a statement that hurt me immensely, the opening sentence above obviously renders their notion completely false. Anyone who can claim to have experienced any, let alone all the elements of that sentence, possesses enough mental anguish to fill books with.) Whilst all old collegians, excepting those that may have been his oldest son, remember him as warm, trusting and as a sort of early mentor, at the time they were passing through their days of attendance, they saw him a little differently. See, the old man, whilst on the surface quite cherry and literal, was also an incredibly and unconsciously idiosyncratic fellow. Extremely.
They say the apple never falls far from the tree and I am sure that those of you that have never before encountered my father, yet have met me, are grinning in smug discovery of the foundations of all the idiosyncrasies of this young waiter. However, as those of you out there who did attend Yeshivah College in St Kilda (another experience that would fill one with enough material to in turn fill infinite reams of parchment) can attest to, The Rabbi's variety of inanely repetitive, blindly habitual, functionary illogical and interminably imitated habits, comfort zones and routines, was, and is, so wide, that, next to him I seem flat, dull and generally just not trying hard enough.
I will not be listing all or some of them here for you today. As a young kid, I was mercilessly tortured, taunted and bullied over them and I don't really wish to relive those particular experiences (more material). Sure, with the benefit of time, hindsight and perspective, I do find so many of the ridiculous things that he did and I'm sure, still does, to be fucking hilarious and it was - I know that there are many reading this now, who are fighting back childish giggles as they do remember their old principal. But you know what? As with all great jokes, you just had to be there.
I will, however, talk about one in particular. One that I seem to have inherited. Let me give you the set up framework first.
The old man, despite being a well respected Hassidic Rabbi, as well as accordingly quite unfit, was also an incredibly talented sportsman. In particular, all sports that required a bat, club or racket. Often, he would take quiet delight at the shocked expressions on the faces of the strangers, many of whom had probably never met a Hassidic Jew before, who would end up partnered with him at various golf courses up and down the Australian East Coast. In the rational of their bigoted minds, before he had even taken a club out of his bag, they would tee up (really bad pun, but couldn't resist. Idiosyncratic? Perhaps just short on material....) a projected image of him flailing about madly. The Rabbi would then pull out his driver, coolly step up to the ball and smash it a mighty distance, in a dead straight arc. He'd look across at them and watch their jaws drop. He loved that. As if he was winning a battle for his people. And that was just on the first tee. Once he got close to the green and his short game took over, then he'd really mess with these poor fool's heads. I remember one story, when some very large investment bankers, who had deigned to create a little friendly pre-tee-off wager with him, asked for a change of terms after only the third hole.
"Its not fair," one of them said to my father's playing partner "The way The Rabbi is chipping and putting out here, he clearly has God on his side!"
It was just the same with cricket. Over the years, those that knew him before I was even born, have told epic stories of barnstorming and famous innings blasted out by The Rabbi. Personally, I only ever got to experience a few first hand. He didn't play that much as we kids got older, but he still loved to practice. Not practice in any traditional sense, however.
But before I get to that, let me give you a little more of the set up info.
Occasionally, various individual teachers would need either entire or portions of shifts they were assigned to, covered and the school did not wish to go through the cumbersome procedures of installing an Emergency Teacher for such a short period. So, in would step The Rabbi, to essentially just babysit the class, whilst they would carry on with work and assignments the original teacher left behind.
This is where the promised description of the idiosyncrasy comes in.
Everytime and I mean everytime, he would follow the same routine. After sitting down for a few brief moments, he would rise and grab the 1 meter long, wooden ruler that sat replete on all blackboard ledges at the school. He would pause, gather himself ever so seriously, just like a Tibetan monk might clear his mind before entering a total trance and proceed to execute infinite Forward-Defensive after Forward-Defensive. If you don't know the game of cricket, and most of you won't, a Forward-Defensive is the foundation shot, that all batsmen need and rely on, before moving onto other more attacking requirements and skills of the game. The key to a great Forward-Defensive, is to step you front foot out and point it towards the bounce of the ball. Align the bat perfectly parallel and completely adjacent to you front leg, raise your front elbow, keep your head down and push confidently towards the ball. It is a defense move, but enacted in an attacking and proactive manner. The prettiness (and there is no other more accurate adverb) of the shot is only superseded, by the purity of confidence, serenity and accomplishment the actual executor feels himself. It is such a technique laden procedure, that when you nail all the elements in one synonymous harmony, you can acquire these moments of euphoria, even when just mucking around with a blackboard ruler and an imaginary ball. (Here is a link if you'd like to see a youtube version, but if you really want to experience the poetry of the shot, search for highlights of Ricky Ponting batting and scan through until he executes one.) The Rabbi's form, was always perfect. As perfect as was his total unawareness of the dozens of beaming young children, forcing back strained guffaws. He used to do it around the house a bit as well, but, in the privacy of one's hard built home, seems a far more acceptable venue for this bizarre form of meditation. Perhaps in the classroom, he should have exercised a bit more, to use one of his famously overused words, 'Decorum'.
The other day, as I clomped along The East River on my morning exercise, mulling over the events of the past week or so and feeling a little flat, distracted and blue, I noticed my left hand hand begin to reach out in repetitive, involuntary movements. Fingers pointed down, in a mimic of the front of a cricket bat, I had been unconsciously pushing a pointed elbow out, just like one would do when executing a Forward-Defensive. As my Trouble In Mind increased, so did the intensity of my technique, as shoulders and neck became involved. I even managed to tilt my head back and to the left, as if to sway out of the way of a rising imaginary cricket ball - the bail out required for an initially misjudged attempt of the Forward-Defensive.
Crazy. Really crazy. Crazy like the old man.
But here's the craziest part - it actually felt really good. Really soothing and comforting. Reminded me of feeling solid and both protective and protected on the cricket pitch. Somehow, and this is no exaggeration, it washed away the self doubts that had been coursing through my head all through the sleeepless night. Such a simple action, with such a profound consequence.
So, here's my announcement for today New York:
If you are walking down any of the street or avenues of the downtown area and you notice a tall, dark haired fellow walking towards you, whilst singing along with a blaring iPod and executing some strange jutting movements with his left hand, don't be alarmed. It's just a young man inheriting a gene from his old man.
"If only you believed what you preached........ Or I didn't......"
I will not be listing all or some of them here for you today. As a young kid, I was mercilessly tortured, taunted and bullied over them and I don't really wish to relive those particular experiences (more material). Sure, with the benefit of time, hindsight and perspective, I do find so many of the ridiculous things that he did and I'm sure, still does, to be fucking hilarious and it was - I know that there are many reading this now, who are fighting back childish giggles as they do remember their old principal. But you know what? As with all great jokes, you just had to be there.
I will, however, talk about one in particular. One that I seem to have inherited. Let me give you the set up framework first.
The old man, despite being a well respected Hassidic Rabbi, as well as accordingly quite unfit, was also an incredibly talented sportsman. In particular, all sports that required a bat, club or racket. Often, he would take quiet delight at the shocked expressions on the faces of the strangers, many of whom had probably never met a Hassidic Jew before, who would end up partnered with him at various golf courses up and down the Australian East Coast. In the rational of their bigoted minds, before he had even taken a club out of his bag, they would tee up (really bad pun, but couldn't resist. Idiosyncratic? Perhaps just short on material....) a projected image of him flailing about madly. The Rabbi would then pull out his driver, coolly step up to the ball and smash it a mighty distance, in a dead straight arc. He'd look across at them and watch their jaws drop. He loved that. As if he was winning a battle for his people. And that was just on the first tee. Once he got close to the green and his short game took over, then he'd really mess with these poor fool's heads. I remember one story, when some very large investment bankers, who had deigned to create a little friendly pre-tee-off wager with him, asked for a change of terms after only the third hole.
"Its not fair," one of them said to my father's playing partner "The way The Rabbi is chipping and putting out here, he clearly has God on his side!"
It was just the same with cricket. Over the years, those that knew him before I was even born, have told epic stories of barnstorming and famous innings blasted out by The Rabbi. Personally, I only ever got to experience a few first hand. He didn't play that much as we kids got older, but he still loved to practice. Not practice in any traditional sense, however.
But before I get to that, let me give you a little more of the set up info.
Occasionally, various individual teachers would need either entire or portions of shifts they were assigned to, covered and the school did not wish to go through the cumbersome procedures of installing an Emergency Teacher for such a short period. So, in would step The Rabbi, to essentially just babysit the class, whilst they would carry on with work and assignments the original teacher left behind.
This is where the promised description of the idiosyncrasy comes in.
Everytime and I mean everytime, he would follow the same routine. After sitting down for a few brief moments, he would rise and grab the 1 meter long, wooden ruler that sat replete on all blackboard ledges at the school. He would pause, gather himself ever so seriously, just like a Tibetan monk might clear his mind before entering a total trance and proceed to execute infinite Forward-Defensive after Forward-Defensive. If you don't know the game of cricket, and most of you won't, a Forward-Defensive is the foundation shot, that all batsmen need and rely on, before moving onto other more attacking requirements and skills of the game. The key to a great Forward-Defensive, is to step you front foot out and point it towards the bounce of the ball. Align the bat perfectly parallel and completely adjacent to you front leg, raise your front elbow, keep your head down and push confidently towards the ball. It is a defense move, but enacted in an attacking and proactive manner. The prettiness (and there is no other more accurate adverb) of the shot is only superseded, by the purity of confidence, serenity and accomplishment the actual executor feels himself. It is such a technique laden procedure, that when you nail all the elements in one synonymous harmony, you can acquire these moments of euphoria, even when just mucking around with a blackboard ruler and an imaginary ball. (Here is a link if you'd like to see a youtube version, but if you really want to experience the poetry of the shot, search for highlights of Ricky Ponting batting and scan through until he executes one.) The Rabbi's form, was always perfect. As perfect as was his total unawareness of the dozens of beaming young children, forcing back strained guffaws. He used to do it around the house a bit as well, but, in the privacy of one's hard built home, seems a far more acceptable venue for this bizarre form of meditation. Perhaps in the classroom, he should have exercised a bit more, to use one of his famously overused words, 'Decorum'.
The other day, as I clomped along The East River on my morning exercise, mulling over the events of the past week or so and feeling a little flat, distracted and blue, I noticed my left hand hand begin to reach out in repetitive, involuntary movements. Fingers pointed down, in a mimic of the front of a cricket bat, I had been unconsciously pushing a pointed elbow out, just like one would do when executing a Forward-Defensive. As my Trouble In Mind increased, so did the intensity of my technique, as shoulders and neck became involved. I even managed to tilt my head back and to the left, as if to sway out of the way of a rising imaginary cricket ball - the bail out required for an initially misjudged attempt of the Forward-Defensive.
Crazy. Really crazy. Crazy like the old man.
But here's the craziest part - it actually felt really good. Really soothing and comforting. Reminded me of feeling solid and both protective and protected on the cricket pitch. Somehow, and this is no exaggeration, it washed away the self doubts that had been coursing through my head all through the sleeepless night. Such a simple action, with such a profound consequence.
So, here's my announcement for today New York:
If you are walking down any of the street or avenues of the downtown area and you notice a tall, dark haired fellow walking towards you, whilst singing along with a blaring iPod and executing some strange jutting movements with his left hand, don't be alarmed. It's just a young man inheriting a gene from his old man.
"If only you believed what you preached........ Or I didn't......"
H.A., http://twitter.com/behaimah
