The Olden Days

I remember growing up in predominantly Catholic Colombia in the late seventies and early eighties (I will now pause so those mathematically inclined souls may now attempt to calculate my age—go on). While my husband was feasting his eyes on Rocky, Bullwinkle, and Captain Caveman in his native Michigan, I, at that tender age, had totally different scheduled programming. I would watch the same procession on Colombian national television every Sunday—the televised church service which culminated in the most ‘exciting’ part—the eating of the oblong wafer. I didn’t understand the meaning behind it at the time, but I remember sitting there hypnotized as parishioner following parishioner stopped before the priest, opened their mouth, and received their round edible disk. I always wondered—what does it taste like?

This was all that Colombian television had to offer back in that era—it was either that—or nothing. So I sat through the proceedings, out of simple boredom, my Jewish mind not comprehending why the entire country had to tune into snack time at the church week in, week out. Now, of course, Colombia is on par with the rest of the world in terms of programming—but back then, this was it—at least on Sunday mornings. Oh those uncomplicated ‘olden’ days!

My children cannot fathom growing up in the ‘olden days’, when ‘going viral’ basically meant that you had spread your stomach virus to everyone in the family. Windows were things we looked out of on long road trips, and a ‘search’ was just that—something we did when we couldn’t find something.

Each time our dad wanted to film us performing some of our antics, we would have to stop so he could lug out his ‘Beta-max’. It was the size of about two VCR’s, and we had to wait patiently until our parents set up the lighting. And let us not forget the camera that must have weighed at least ten pounds. There was no reaching for the palm sized digital version to capture the moment impulsively—if we did something cute, we’d have to do it again. I give such credit to our parents for all of our home videos—it definitely was a labor of love.  

I remember receiving my driver’s license towards the end of tenth grade. What freedom! To finally be bequeathed my own car!

And what beauty did I inherit for my sleek set of wheels? The family’s 1981 Chevrolet Caprice station wagon, with wood paneling and all! I had to chauffeur my brother and sister to school each morning (I was carpooling even in my high school days!), enduring the inevitable ‘who will sit on the metal protrusion sticking out of the backseat’ today? I did the best with what I was given, and I drove that humongous car with the ‘I love My Cairn Terrier’ bumper sticker for a few years. I put a WSHE 103.5 “She’s Only Rock N’ Roll” sticker to compensate, lest we forget that there was a teenager at the wheel—but it never occurred me to complain or look for an upgrade. I didn’t bemoan the fact that I couldn’t turn my boat on wheels into a cute little red sports car. I just drove that monster up and down the streets of Miami Beach and Collins Avenue, and looking back, I’m just grateful that the local population was miraculously spared from my less than stellar driving skills with a car that size!

Times have most certainly changed since then. Station wagons have basically been phased out and been replaced by mini vans. We now find ourselves living in the era of the perpetual upgrade, be it a phone, a computer, or yikes!—even a spouse. We have become a throwaway society, where disposable everything is becoming the norm. My parents had their GE fridge for over two decades—these days, five years is the normative life expectancy of many of our appliances. As a society we are in constant search for the latest bells and whistles—the latest model, the fastest speed, the most technologically advanced. In essence, we have become enslaved to the upgrade culture.

Now one can learn a lot from a Chevrolet, because before making Aliyah, my husband had gifted me with a huge upgrade from our older, and much smaller Nissan minivan. Yep—I got another Chevy, except this time it was much bigger than my first Chevy—a Chevy Suburban to be exact! Oh, what an upgrade that was! Aside from the bells and whistles (there go those bells and whistles) leather seats, sunroof, DVD player and surround sound system, I was literally driving on top of the world in my mini Mack truck. I felt like I finally arrived at the carpool lane in my sleek set of wheels. And then, too soon after our purchase, my husband announced this ‘crazy’ idea that had been percolating in his mind, about moving to Israel—and one of the first things that I thought upon hearing this, was the impending separation from what had come to be my beloved truck.

My lower lip began to tremble as I looked in the direction of my larger than life, upgraded Chevy, glinting in the sun like nobody’s business. My truck! “What about the Chevy?” I said in my most pathetic little girl voice. My husband waved his hand impatiently.

“The only people who drive Suburbans in Israel are the diplomats! We can’t take that gas guzzler with us!”

I wanted to run into our parking space and hug my Chevy. I wanted to climb into its interior and wet the reclining self-heating (very handy in the  Florida heat—not!) leather seat with my tears. I wanted to run my fingers along its dashboard and tell it how much I would miss filling up its trunk from all of our trips together to Costco and Target. I felt like calling the Online On Star representative that was always available to help me  twenty four hours (in my case) six days a week, in case I got lost, or stranded—and bemoan this bitter parting just because…..oh, my Chevy!

Of course, as the story goes, the Chevy got left behind. After emptying out whatever bits and pieces of our lives were left in its innards, my husband did the deed, and drove it away. I don’t know how long I stood in my parents’ driveway after it was taken away, watching mindlessly as the exhaust clouds melted in the Florida heat. Except this time, there would be no upgrade….we were moving to The Holy Land, where the majority of the people drove Subaru’s and Skodas—a land where cars are more utilitarian than for show. A Land where upgrades were not so ingrained in the fiber of its people, and life moves at a much different pace. If something is sitting on the curb by the trash, it’s most likely lived through more than one owner, and every bit of usage has been sucked out of it. Things are used and valued and passed on—unlike the American culture where many furnish their homes by shopping in the trash bins in many cities, finding like new items discarded after a single use!

 Don’t get me wrong—Israel is one of the most technologically advanced countries on the planet, and Israelis can be obsessive about their smart phones, or cars (I even saw a Ferrari dealership the other day!). But for the most part it’s a different reality here, devoid of the constant need to upgrade every aspect of our lives. The pace is a bit reminiscent of the ‘olden days’, where kids still play in the streets, and entertain themselves by building clubhouses out of wooden boards and whatever odds and ends they find in the neighborhood. There’s that element missing for the most part, of pining for the latest hand held gadget, or toy, or whatever fad seems to be afflicting all the kids at school.

We are soon embarking on ‘mish-mish’ season here, where the boys stand over you impatiently, waiting until you take that last bite of your apricot, before they wash and clean it, and add it to their collection of other apricot pits. These they store in shoe boxes, with holes cut out on the lid, which they use to play against one another, the winner with the best shot collecting the most pits. These are part of the landscape of simple pleasures, the insatiable need for upgrades noticeably absent. It’s a life where every material possession has a value, where nothing is taken for granted.

I look back at the deep “love” I had for my Chevy, and I can’t help but laugh at myself at how ridiculous and pathetic I was. Hashem did such a kindness for me, by bringing me into a Land where a car wasn’t even on our radar screen for the first seven years…I learned to stop the urge to upgrade every aspect of my existence, and instead turned inward, to a part of myself hidden by all the bells and whistles which had been clamoring for my attention most of my adult life. I had to struggle to find my core amid all the fluff, to a life whose simpler pleasures brought me back to a life of real meaning. I almost feel like I am back in those good ‘ol olden days, where an apple was a snack, and blackberries were what we ate on top of dainty tarts. Oh, those good ‘ole olden days…..

If there is one thing that living in Eretz Yisrael has taught me, it’s that there is no longer a need to upgrade, when you have finally upgraded by living here. And that is good enough for me.