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Israel has had a great deal on her plate over the past three years. Do I need to list them? Thank you. But we now have another challenge — one which, in my humble opinion, is fixable, and thus entirely avoidable. If only we had the forethought to solve this pressing issue before it leaps on us again next year. Sadly we are too busy with an upcoming election and a million unsolved problems to give my idea any thought at all. And this is to our loss.
I nonetheless wish to propose something radical. Let’s ban August. Yes, get rid of it altogether. Delete it. Pulverize it. Let it languish in the annals of history. I am not alone in this view. In fact, having conducted some ad hoc research on the topic, very few people I interviewed have anything remotely positive to say about this month of the year. They don’t just dislike it. They simultaneously detest it and dread it each year. And who can blame them? This pesky month wreaks havoc on our homes, our streets, our skin, our digestive systems, our nerves and our joy of life. If I try to imagine what hell is like, it is a place that is stuck in August for eternity.
Israel has an added challenge. While much of the developed world appears to have quietly given up on reproducing, Israelis are still having babies with tremendous gusto. It’s like this. We Jews love a bargain. So, if you can have one, then why not have two, or three, or four or perhaps even seven? Yes, right now strollers are a more common sight in this country than Chinese cars, and that’s saying a lot. Of course children are a blessing. Of course the Jewish people take “go forth and multiply” very seriously. Like literally.
I spent long and arduous years as a mother, soothing, calming, managing. I think I deserve to drink a cup of coffee without a split eardrum. In August, however, our caregivers are supposedly having a well-earned rest. No daycare, no gan, and an August summer camp is only available for those with well-lined pockets or on the verge of a complete nervous breakdown, or both.
Well, it’s barely a rest for these wonderful caregivers and educators of ours (like me) if there’s no quiet! Is my proposal starting to sound a little more sensible now?
So the babies, bless them, are out and about, along with their siblings. And their parents are running on a skeleton crew, letting out the odd mutter when it looks like the kids are about to kill each other. The children are bored, they are hot and they have driven their parents to let them do things that go against every code of parenting. Just for a few minutes of peace.
And there is no escape. In a country that you need a magnifying glass to locate on a world map, you will not find a quiet corner anywhere. At all.
Case in point. I recently went out with family to a relatively high-end Asian restaurant. The sort of place that needs an online booking two weeks in advance. I admit, we did arrive at the senior hour of 18:30, but guess who was occupying the table next door. An adorable little girl who sadly could only make herself understood in baby-yell language. Her pitch was perfectly designed to drive a sane person to utter distraction within minutes. And we didn’t even get a discount.
I have thus become a true August hermit, spending most of my August days as a recluse. Ironing my clothes, making pancakes and avoiding the news. Anything, but anything, but venture outside into the August hellscape of Jerusalem. Yup, it’s just me and hubby and the gentle purr of our AC. Thank God. But. Every now and then, however, I have no choice but to venture outside — God help me.
For the past two years, for mysterious reasons, Jerusalem city council has been hard at work, randomly carving up different parts of a main road just outside my apartment. One day there’s no left turn. One day no right turn. One day there’s a pothole. One day three lanes merge into half a lane. Rude sun-beaten men with mirrored sunglasses and high-viz jackets make mysterious gesticulations at me. I do not understand — do I stop or go? His mirrored expression is unreadable as he waves his arms, flashlight in one hand and cigarette in the other. Bottom line, the road you wanted to turn into has become a fortress of trucks and asphalt. Or your traffic lights have been replaced by another high-viz man sitting in a discarded office chair, letting traffic pass after he’s brewed his Turkish coffee.
Downtown used to be a nice place to go, but no longer. Instead of Judaica, coffee, and boutiques, you have rubble, trucks, and corrugated metal blocking where you need to go (on foot). And when you do, you’ll find the Jerusalem sidewalks have become fatphobic. Especially if you want to overtake anyone. Our beloved King George Street would make the good King shudder in his grave — it’s just a seething cauldron of dust and fumes — but that hasn’t seemed to have stopped the babies. Watch out for the speeding Mercedes stroller. You don’t have room to dodge it.
And did I fail to mention the weather? The less said the better. We crawl in and out of heatwaves and extreme heat warnings. We may get a temporary reprieve, but there’s another heatwave lurking round the corner. A trip to the beach might sound like a good idea. It isn’t. Our beaches are so packed that you emerge from the sea, head confidently towards your umbrella, and discover you’ve joined an entirely different family. Five minutes later, you’re chasing someone else’s toddler down the beach with a bottle of SPF 50. So don’t risk it.
The sun beats down mercilessly. My water bottle has a silent and vicious plot against me. It will spill its contents on my car seat before I’ve ventured outside. And I just want to run home, screaming. But I can’t. I’ve got a dentist appointment for root canal work and a double crown. It costs a lot — the same amount of money as a flight to somewhere that is not here.
At this point, you, the reader, have designated me to the shit pile of cruel, callous, cynical, and dismissive boomer somethings who wax lyrical about the way back. But I was right there. I am an August survivor. I see you all. In my time, I spent entire half days just taking my kids to the grocery store round the corner for a loaf of bread. It was something to do. I mentally crossed off those August days, one by one, as they slithered past at a snail’s pace. I understand why your children are roaming around taking apart supermarket shelves, their mouths smeared with chocolate ice scream. I get it.
Yes, it utterly sucks. And this is why August should be banned.
Skip the month entirely. June and end of school year, hurrah and all that. July and a bit of heat, a bit of beach, a fast day (that I ignore), and hup, it’s over. Then we go back to school and the regular chaos of elections, wars, terror, political crises, strikes, etc., etc. As simple as that.
Isn’t that a genius idea, or what?
How are you surviving August? Have you filled out any Anti-August online petitions? I’d love to hear your opinion on this issue.
Very original but impractical
absolute genius