I am writing this on Sunday morning. Since Tuesday is chag again, the plan is to publish this post on Monday (again). This will be the third week running that I have published on a Monday. There is a strong Jewish tradition that, if something is repeated three times (or, more accurately, for the pedants among you – and I promise you I know who you are – if something is done once and then repeated twice), then it acquires the status of a custom and should be observed in perpetuity.

I am very tempted to follow the tradition in this case, for a couple of reasons. First, provided that nothing untoward happens between now and then, next Tuesday morning at 9AM (standard posting time) will find me in Portugal, where it will be Tuesday morning at 7AM. I expect to be in one of two conditions at that time.

I might be sleeping off the effects of my (estimated) 22-hour Monday that will, I hope, start with a 45-minute walk in Maale Adumim at 6AM and end with a three-and-a-quarter hour drive from Lisbon airport, arriving in Penamacor around 1:45AM local time on Tuesday. Or I just might be downstairs playing with, or more likely reading to, Tao. Either way, a post will not be the first thing on my mind. It is therefore almost certainly safer to post on Monday morning, before all the big events of the day, and the coming month, begin.

An additional reason for publishing on Mondays is that every week, just before I post, I check how many people read my previous blog. Until now, I have done this by adding the number of visitors each day in the previous Tuesday–Monday period. However, since the software I use to write and publish my blog starts its week on Monday, if I switch to publishing on Monday I will be able to switch to view the visitor stats in a weekly display rather than a daily display, and avoid the need to do all those sums. Or, if I feel that I ought to keep doing the mental arithmetic to stave off Alzheimer’s, I will at least be able to check the accuracy of my calculations.

All of which is merely a preamble to the official announcement that:

Henceforward (if we don’t dig these words out every now and again from the dusty recesses of our thesauruses, they will go rusty on us), Penamacorrespondent publication day will be Monday, and not, as heretofore, Tuesday.

By the way, the morning synagogue service on Monday (which is Hoshana Raba) is particularly long. By dint of having led prayers three times on Hoshana Raba – see my opening paragraph above – I appear to have become the traditional leader of prayer on Hoshana Raba in my shul. Since I am not noted as one of the speedier leaders of prayer, we will be finishing fairly late on Monday morning, and so I doubt that I will publish on the dot of 9AM. I’m aiming for 10AM.

Unsurprisingly, at a time of year in the Hebrew calendar that is packed full of traditions, my thoughts have been turning, over the last few weeks, to the power of tradition. I have just reread what I wrote on this subject two weeks ago, and, if you will indulge me, I wanted, this week, to reflect further on the power of tradition.

In my previous reflection on this subject, I spoke about the mechanical act of executing a mitzvah, and the conscious intent in fulfilling it. On the surface, tradition seems to be much more about the first than the second. This seems particularly true if, over the generations, understanding and explanation fade, and only the rote tradition remains. It is easy to find both common and exceptional examples of this, sometimes within the very same mitzvah.

Take, for example, the practice of lighting candles on Friday night. Today, throughout the world, millions of Jewish families do not observe the bulk of the commandments, nor even most of the commandments relating to Shabbat. Nevertheless, in many of these same families, the mother will light candles every Friday evening. After their meal, family members may then watch television, or go out to the club with friends. They may not even eat a meal together first. But the mother will still light candles.

There are even, as I mentioned in a previous post, some families in Portugal in which the mother, completely unaware of her Jewish heritage, has maintained the tradition of lighting candles in the basement every Friday night, a tradition handed down from mother to daughter from the time in the late 15^th Century when those Portuguese Jews who were not prepared to leave either their home or their religion became anusim – clandestine Jews.

I find myself unwilling to accept that even this kind of candle-lighting is merely mechanical, a rote action devoid of any deeper meaning. It seems to me that traditions absorb something of the conscious intentionality of the originators of the tradition. Tradition takes on a resonance of its own, reflecting the originally fully understood significance of the tradition. This resonance remains, even after the significance is forgotten.

Traditions, I feel, exist, in Jewish religious life, both to reinforce the understander’s conviction and to act as a substitute for understanding in the ignorant. Whenever a Jewish man recites a prayer, even if he is only parroting it without any understanding, or a Jewish woman chooses to hear the shofar, even if she knows nothing of its symbolic significance, the performance of the tradition allows the performer to feel deep within herself the echo of that resonance.

At first sight, tradition looks very much like blind execution, but its resonance, I believe, can sometimes add something that sounds, looks and feels more like fulfilment. Rav Joseph Soloveitchik, in his theologian’s analysis of execution and fulfilment, made a very clear distinction between the two. However, in the heart of the follower of the tradition, this distinction may be less clear.

Traditions, then, may be the strongest remaining point of contact a particular Jew has with his religious heritage. They may also be one of the aids an observant Jew uses to move from ‘mere’ execution to more meaningful fulfilment. Either way, if you are looking  for a way to explain to an interested non-Jew the relationship between Jews and their religion, buying them a ticket to Fiddler on the Roof remains a pretty painless, but not inaccurate, introduction.

Meanwhile, under the guidance of Tao, Bernice and I seem to be creating our very own traditions. Our weekly WhatsApp video calls have now reached the point where Tao shoos Micha’el away, and we and he enjoy up to an hour of story-time and action songs. We are normally sitting in the salon, but last week, since it was sukkot and since the weather was cooler when we called, we were in our sukkah. As soon as Tao saw us, his face dropped. ‘Outside?’ he declared. ‘Salon! Books!’

We were eventually able to reassure him that reading need not be exclusively an indoor activity, and, as this screenshot from the story-time shows, he was soon, as always, completely absorbed in, and delighted by, what we were reading.

The experience demonstrated that, even at this young age, he clearly has a healthy respect for tradition. I couldn’t be more thrilled, speaking as someone who revels in a variety of British traditions, even those I have never actually particpated in. I bring you, as a parting shot (across the bows, in all probability) that extraordinary celebration of perhaps the most jingoistic extolling of all that we used to know was great and good (but now that we have been ‘woked’ up we are required to realise was despicable and bad) about the British Empire.

Ladies and gentleman, you are invited to wallow in (or, alternatively, stagger in shocked amazement at) the 2009 version of the closing concert of the BBC Promenade Concerts (The Last Night of the Proms): more specifically, Land of Hope and Glory, containing the immortal sentiment: ‘God, who made thee mighty, make thee mightier yet’. If you’ve got it, flaunt it (or, in England’s case, flaunt it even when you no longer have it). If you are a snowflake, consider yourself to have been trigger-warned.

Well, dear reader, so much has happened since last week that I hardly know where to start. If you follow the news in Israel you probably already know the bottom line, but, even if you do, please accompany me down the highways and byways of my idiosyncratic path to that point where we feel we can leave our worries on the doorstep as we plan to direct our feet to the less sunny side of the Mediterranean. (Catchy lyric, no? I think there might be a song in that.)

I left you last week in limbo. Portugal had announced that it was banning Israelis from entering the country, but had not (yet?) issued any guidelines about possible exceptions or appeal processes. We were desperately trying to find reliable information. Let me now bring you up to date.

Last Tuesday, Bernice stumbled, online, across a statement from the Israeli Embassy in Lisbon, simply restating the Portuguese Government’s bald official statement. However, this site included the Embassy’s email address. She suggested that I write to the Embassy and ask whether they knew anything more. I agreed that it couldn’t do any harm, and was better than stewing quietly and doing nothing, and so, more in hope than expectation, I dashed off the following email at 3:42PM (1:42 in Portugal):

Dear SIr/Madam

I understand that Portugal has banned entry to Portugal of all Israelis, other than for  Humanitarian Reasons and Essential Needs.

My wife and I have dual Israeli and British nationality and are resident in Israel. We are booked to fly from Tel Aviv to Lisbon on October 4, to visit for a month our son, his wife and our grandson, who live in Portugal as foreign residents and landowners. My wife and I own a house in Portugal.

We are unable to find any information on Portuguese Government websites about the ban, and, specifically, about qualifying as essential visitors. Would our trip constitute family reunification?

Can you advise me whether there is any way we can find answers to these questions?

I immediately received an automatic reply, acknowledging receipt, and assuring me that I would receive a reply shortly (Yeah! Sure!)

Then, at 3:48 (6 minutes after I sent my email – let me say that again: SIX MINUTES AFTER I SENT MY EMAIL), I received the following reply:

Dear David,

I enclose the wording of the announcement for you.  

If you want to apply for family reunification, please attach:  
   *Passport photos  
   *Flight ticket  
   *Vaccine certificate  

We will try to help.  

Regards,  

Consular Section – Lisbon.

When I had recovered sufficiently to tell Bernice the amazing news, I plunged myself into the welcome busy work of digging out and scanning documents. I also contacted Micha’el, and asked him for proof of residency in Portugal, and some proof of his change of name. (When Tslil and Micha’el married, they took the new surname Orlev.)

Bernice eventually managed to locate his birth certificate. Within a few minutes, Micha’el sent his NIF certificate (the equivalent of a certificate issuing a social security number), his Portuguese driving licence, his Israeli ID card, and the Israeli Population Authority certificate of name change.

With the adrenaline now pumping fiercely, I sent all of our requested documentation (but not Micha’el’s), with the following covering email, an hour and six minutes after receiving the consulate’s reply:

Thanks so much for the speed of the response!  

At your request, attached:  

   * Photographs of 2 passports
   * 2 flight tickets (E-TICKET)
   * 2 vaccination certificates
I also have photographs of our son Michael’s documents: ID, NIF, Portuguese driver’s license, change of name. They are not attached.  

Thank you and [since this was now about 25 hours before Yom Kippur] Gmar Hatima Tova

So, Bernice and I went into Yom Kippur struggling to manage our expectations. We knew that we had to be realistic. With Yom Kippur and Sukkot, there would probably be very few working days before we were due to fly (which was now only two-and-a-half weeks away) when the Consulate was working. In addition, even with the help of the Consulate, there was absolutely no reason why the Portuguese Government should be co-operatively expeditious.

Then, on Friday, at 1:34PM, another email arrived from the Consulate:

Dear David  

Attached is a letter requesting entry to Portugal.  

We would like to emphasize that the Embassy cannot take responsibility for the entry itself, and that the discretion to authorise entry or not rests with the authorities in Portugal.  

Regards,  

Tal  

Consular Section

This was amazing progress. In one bold stroke, the Consulate had given us not only the identity of a real human being (bless you, Tal), but also the following letter (and a similar one covering Bernice).

It may be that some of, you, like me, can remember receiving your first British passport, turning to the inside cover, and reading the glorious copperplate inscription:

Her Britannic Majesty’s
Secretary of State
Requests and requires in the
Name of Her Majesty
all those whom it may concern
to allow the bearer to pass freely…

I don’t know about you, but, my goodness, it made me feel very special that my free passage was being required in the name of Her Majesty.

While considerably more ‘chummy’ (‘I would much appreciate your cooperation’) and less ‘gunboat-threatening’ than the passport (‘requests and requires’), this letter nevertheless gave me the feeling that, just like Her Majesty, the State of Israel has my back.

I was also rather impressed that, on the basis, presumably, of the warmth of both my expression of gratitude for the alacrity of Tal’s response, and my greetings for a positive outcome to Yom Kippur, the Consul felt that he (or, indeed, she) was a good enough judge of character to take my word for it that we have a son who is resident in Portugal.

And so, as we entered Shabbat, Bernice and I were, in discussion with each other, managing our expectations by kicking the can down the road. ‘Even if our claim is approved, the approval is never going to come through in time.’ ‘The greatest likelihood is that we will be able to go some time in November, probably when numbers in Israel have come down and Portugal aligns itself with the emerging EU countries’ position of accepting fully vaccinated or recovered Israelis.’

And then, as I came in from davening at the end of Shabbat, Bernice showed me the message Micha’el had sent – a screenshot from facebook:

Portugal adopts EU decision – Recognize Israeli vaccine certificate starting tomorrow.
Following the report of the EU decision, the Portuguese government approved by government order the recognition of the Israeli vaccine certificate. This will take effect from 18.9 and will apply as of this moment until 30.9 (probably extended thereafter)

This was followed by fuzzy screenshots of 5 pages from the Portuguese Government website.

At this point, Bernice was failing to suppress her inner Piglet’s enthusiasm, while I was channeling my inner Eeyore* (which, if I remember rightly, includes the cochlea, the vestibule and…I forget the third part). The five pages (in Portuguese) were tantalisingly almost legible. I could make out a list of countries, which I thought I recognised, from previous viewings of this page, as countries from which Portugal was accepting visitors. However, Israel was not on this list.

I read the announcement again, and wondered aloud whether it meant only that Portugal was still banning Israelis, but, when it decided to let them in, it would recognise the Israeli vaccination.

Briefly checking on Israeli news websites was enough to convince even Eeyore that, indeed (as I hinted two weeks ago) our superpowers have enabled us to leap mountains of paperwork at a single bound (or, perhaps, that a gentle and companionable hint from the Israeli Consul was all that was needed to nudge the Portuguese Government into line with the EU).

Either way, the skies are open and our trip is on, leaving on 4 October. Wait a minute! That’s two weeks tomorrow!. You can’t imagine what we still have to do before then! And sukkot occupies one of those two weeks (which is why you are seeing this on Monday morning, and not Tuesday morning).

Never mind. I’m sure we’ll manage to sort everything out, and just this morning I received a message. We ordered, for our trip, Sonovia masks (that claim to neutralize over 99% of bacteria and viruses). They were due to arrive on 27 September, but now I am told that they are arriving today. Another item from the list that we should be able to tick off.

Of course, while we are running around here, life in Portugal proceeds at a more leisurely pace. I personally can’t wait to grab some of that!

*See my post of 7 July 2020: Could Be Worse. Not Sure How, but it Could Be.

Travel update (perhaps that should be Lack of Travel update): No official Portuguese site has yet acknowledged the fact that Portugal has closed its doors to Israelis. I have not yet received a reply to my query through the Portuguese Government website. The Israeli Portuguese news website has no update. Facebook is full of questions, but no answers, from Israelis (some of them people who have received preliminary approval of their applications for Portuguese citizenship under the ‘Law of Return’ that Iberia introduced some years ago).

Meanwhile, TAP has cancelled our return flight from Portugal (so we may not be able to get there but at least we won’t be able to get back), and moved us to the following day (a Thursday, which makes preparations for Shabbat exciting, but we feel up to the challenge).

Watch this space for further updates, as, when, and (I increasingly feel) if they become available.

As I grow older, I am increasingly mocked by my close family for the fact that I have lost the ability to act spontaneously. This is a very unfair accusation. I can still be spontaneous….it just takes me longer than it used to.

My thoughts have turned to spontaneity this week because of the Jewish calendar. As I write this on Sunday, we are midway between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, in the sixth day of the period known as the Ten Days of Repentance. This is a period when we are called upon to contemplate our actions of the last year, consider how we have fallen short of ideal behaviours, acknowledge our sins, resolve to do better in the coming year, and plan to make that possible.

While this is a set of activities bound up in Orthodox Jewish rituals, liturgy and traditions over the Yamim Nora’im, the Days of Awe, a surprisingly large number of Israelis, secular as well as religious, spend time (particularly on Yom Kippur) conducting some form of heshbon nefesh (literally ‘spiritual accounting’). Clearly (as shown also by the practice in the Christian West of adopting New Year resolutions), taking stock and vowing to turn over a new leaf are activities that speak to humankind. We strive to be self-improving individuals.

Precisely because this is so thoroughly ritualised in Orthodox Judaism, there is a very real danger that the process can become mechanical, automatic, unthinking. The pre-eminent twentieth-century Jewish theologian Rav Joseph Soloveitchik identified some mitzvot (commandments) for which the execution of the mitzvah is sufficient, and some for which it is not.

When we build our sukkah next week, and dwell in it, the ‘mere’ act of dwelling will be enough to fulfil the mitzvah. Even when a Jew is asleep in his sukkah, he is fulfilling the mitzvah. However, when we pray, ‘merely’ reciting the words is not enough. There must also be conscious intent, and it is only through such intent that we fulfil the mitzvah.

Repentance is an example of the second kind of mitzvah. Mere performance of the rituals and recitation of the prayers does not achieve true repentance. It must be a heartfelt process.

This leads some people to feel, understandably, that the rituals, and the formulaic prayers (many of them repeated word for word four times throughout Yom Kippur) actually get in the way of genuine repentance. They feel their spontaneity stifled, and they feel the prayers do not speak to, or come from, their heart.

For me, however, who is not by nature spontaneous, the liturgy offers a way in. I find that reading the familiar words prepares me to be receptive to more personal thoughts of repentance, and creates an atmosphere where I can look inward without feeling self-conscious. The prayer (not every prayer, and not even every year, but at some precious times) is a launching-pad for my own heshbon nefesh.

I am, I know, fortunate, that my Hebrew is good enough, and the prayers are familiar enough to me, for me to understand what I am reading. Of course, someone not so lucky can read the prayers in their own language. However, as I have said before, and will doubtless say again, any translation is, at best, a pale reflection of the original.

Yom Kippur, a day stripped of all distractions – a day when we are not rushing home to eat, and when bathroom breaks are uncharacteristically few and far between – is a day when I can dwell on every word of a prayer, and take the time for it to unfurl within me. These are words that were refined in the mouths and hearts of righteous men centuries ago, and that come down to me bathed in the tears and mounted in the cries of the generations of worshippers since. For me personally, they are words that I sang in the shul choir almost 60 years ago, that have echoed in my ears sung by leaders of prayer in Ilford, Swansea, Gilo, East Talpiot and Ma’ale Adumim. My life is measured out in them.

I recognise, of course, that not everyone responds to these rituals and this liturgy in this way. There are many to whom these things do not speak. I used to think that these were people who rejected ritual and embraced spontaneity. But, increasingly, I suspect that all of humanity welcomes ritual. Both of our children created their own, unique, wedding ceremonies. However, those ceremonies contained many elements that drew on rituals from a variety of sources, and were variations on a clear theme.

I know someone who is very unhappy with synagogue services. He feels unable to pray at his own, considered and measured, pace; the lack of decorum and multiple distractions interfere with his concentration. He therefore chooses to pray by himself, in the open air. However, I know that he has favourite spots that he always goes to, and he has created his own routine.

There may be some people who can, with no pre-determined structure, stop what they are doing and, at any moment, turn to God and speak to him directly. Tevye the Milkman is one such person. I have always envied him his personal relationship with God. For most people, I believe, a supporting framework offers a guided path into the appropriate frame of mind. For me personally, the Orthodox liturgy, annealed in the furnaces and ice-baths of Jewish history, represents my best chance of feeling a connection with God. It does not always – or even often – work, but I firmly believe that if you don’t show up, you can’t win. If I keep giving it a shot, I won’t miss the occasions when it does work.

In the spirit of repentance, I now turn to each of you: if, in the course of the last year, in anything I have written in this blog, or said to you, or failed to say to you, or in any way that I have behaved towards you, I have upset or offended you, then I sincerely ask your forgiveness.

Meanwhile, Tao appears not to be upsetting or offending anyone,

The story so far: Bernice and David booked a month-long trip to Portugal, flying out from Israel on October 4.

Now read on.

Some of my happiest memories of illicit pleasure from 60+ years ago are of being locked with my friend Peter in the bathroom of his home.

I’ve just read that sentence again, and it strikes me that it’s possibly open to misinterpretation, so let me explain.

Peter’s parents, like my own, and like many from the period, regarded American superhero comics as works of depravity and evil, explicitly designed to corrupt young innocent English children. I don’t remember ever discussing with them exactly what it was they objected to. (These were not the kinds of conversations I usually had with my parents.) I suspect it was a combination of what they perceived to be bad English language and inferior American popular culture. They surely could not have objected to the moral virtue of the superheroes’ championing of justice over evil!

If the finer points of their objections were a little hazy to me, the absolute nature of the ban on our buying these comics was crystal clear. My rebellion against my parents consisted of reading these comics whenever I could, at the homes of friends with a greater spirit of rebellion, or, alternatively, more liberal parents. Peter, who certainly had more of Che Guevara in him than I did, took his rebellion one step further, and defiantly collected Superman comics.

This presented him with the problem of where to hide his collection. He came up with a brilliant idea, worthy of the British World War II prisoners of war in Colditz, whose escape exploits we so enjoyed reading about. Peter unscrewed the formica board panel that boxed in the bath, and stashed his hoard behind the panel. When we wanted to read the comics, we would creep into the bathroom with a screwdriver, retrieve a comic, and, with one of us sitting comfortably on the toilet seat, and the other less so on the side of bath, we would escape into the (only temporarily) troubled streets of Metropolis.

I seem to remember one edition that dealt with Superman’s arrival by spaceship on earth as an unaccompanied baby and his discovery and adoption by Jonathan and Martha Kent. That edition included a scene where the Kents first became aware of the baby’s superhuman strength. At that moment, they were overwhelmed by a sense of wonder at such power, and concern over the harm that might result from it.

I feel as though I know how the Kents felt. Having spent months debating over whether to book flights for Portugal, we eventually took the plunge on August 23, and, less than a week later, the EU decided to advise a travel ban on Israelis. There was just one glimmer of hope: the EU’s position was advisory, and individual EU member-countries were free to decide whether to ban Israelis from entering.

And which was the first EU member to make that decision? Why, Portugal, of course. I feel personally responsible for triggering that chain of events, by booking tickets. I now find myself in possession of these incredible powers, and I’m terrified, because I have no way of knowing what will be the consequences of any further action I take. From the decisive action-taker I presented you with last week, I have reverted to being the deer in the headlights…who now, having leapt off the road, finds that he has landed on a railway line with a 1000-tonne high speed train bearing down on him.

It’s even worse than that. If Britain were still a member of the EU, Bernice and would, I believe, still be able to enter Portugal on our British passports. So now I feel directly responsible for Brexit.

I have also discovered that I can add another sentence to the list of things there is no point in saying:

• Don’t tell someone in the middle of a nervous breakdown to pull herself together.
• Don’t tell someone suffering from clinical depression to cheer up.

And now:

• Don’t tell someone who’s just booked a ticket to manage his expectations.

When the news broke a week ago, Bernice and I tried different coping strategies.

She went upstairs, fought back a few tears, took some deep breaths, entered a meditative mood, and eventually recognised how much more terrible our situation might be.

I, on the other hand, wasted an hour on the internet, hunting, with an ever mounting sense of frustration, for details of just what the ban meant. Here is what I discovered:

The Portuguese government has not updated its website advice since April, and gleefully declares that travel is now open to Israelis.

None of the Covid-19 Travel Update links on the TAP website or any Portuguese Government agency website links to updated information.

It appears that there are certain exceptional circumstances, under which individuals can appeal for special authorisation to visit Portugal. One such exception is if the trip is for reasons of family reunification.

This last sounds promising. Unfortunately, we still have several unanswered questions:

1. What family relations qualify? Specifically: Does this include parents ‘reunifying’ with adult, married children?
2. Does ‘reunification’ mean moving permanently to Portugal, or does it also include visiting for a month?
3. Does ‘family reunification’ apply only to reunification with Portuguese citizens? Or does it extend also to foreign residents (as Micha’el is)?

Let us assume, since we’re not managing our expectations, that the answers to all of the above questions are in our favour. We will then have to face the bureaucratic questions of exactly what documentation, in which language(s), we will need to submit to which authorities, when, and also what tests we will have to undergo when and what period of isolation we will have to serve.

I would say these are trivial matters, but, having watched my brother and sister-in-law struggle for months to submit the paperwork and get approval for a family reunification trip from Britain to Israel, I know it is far from straightforward. (Incidentally, they unexpectedly received authorisation a couple of weeks ago and are now in Israel, out of isolation, and having a wonderful time.) In addition to which, we would undoubtedly have to conduct at least part of this process in Portuguese.

Are we daunted? You betcha! Are we defeated? Far from it! Bring it on! We may still be learning how to control our superpowers, but, who knows, we may find that we are able to leap a mountain of paperwork at a single bound, and maybe even fly to Portugal under our own power.

A more realistic view might be that sometime in the next few months Israel’s numbers will come down. Portugal (and the other EU countries that have subsequently joined the party) will reconsider and, possibly demanding reciprocity (which Israel might by then be prepared to consider), will allow Israelis to visit. The fact is that we can take a trip anytime between October and March. Meantime, we did have over five weeks with the kids here in June-July, and we hope they will come over again next August, to help us, PG, celebrate our golden wedding.

And we still have WhatsApp video, for our regular calls with the kids and Tao. We’re building up our library of reading books that we have here and there, so that Tao can follow along as we read to him, and, as his speech develops every week, we are more able to have a sustained conversation, so those calls are becoming even richer. It also helps that Tao has spent an extended time in our home, so that he can recognise where we are when we video-chat.

It’s not only his speech that’s coming on: he’s also working on one-handed bamboo knife grape cutting…and that’s a skill his grandpa, for one, hasn’t mastered yet!