The title of this week’s post is borrowed from a book I first read over 50 years ago. In the 1940s and 50s, a number of books were published evoking life in the shtetls (the Jewish rural communities of Eastern Europe), a life that was utterly destroyed in the Shoah. The most famous and the most warmly received of these books was Life Is with People, which grew out of a broad academic study at Columbia University led by Margaret Mead. There were two things I did not know at the time I read it. The first was that its idealized and romanticized picture of shtetl life was largely rejected and scorned by academics: it is a very warm and fuzzy read, but there are apparently many places where it sacrifices accuracy on the altar of sentimentality. The second was that the co-author, anthropologist Mark Zborovski, was, when he wasn’t at his day job, an influential Russian spy. I kid you not. You can read more about the book and about Zborovski’s extraordinary story, in this article from Jewish Review of Books.

The reason why I have borrowed this title is because Micha’el and Tslil’s experiences since they first arrived in the village of Penamacor five months ago have demonstrated very clearly what it means to be welcomed into a small, close-knit community. I had been thinking for some time about writing about this aspect of village life, and events this past week helped me decide that now is the time. Even before the kids moved in, in the few days I spent house-hunting last June, I already felt some of this sense of community. The estate agent (realtor) who showed me the house we eventually bought (Eventually? From first viewing to transfer of ownership was only 55 days!) is Anabella Gaspar. a very friendly woman in her 30s with whom I quickly developed a warm relationship, even though her English was marginally less good than my Portuguese. We did a lot of gormless smiling at each other.

We had corresponded for a few weeks before my trip: she in English (courtesy of Google Translate), and I in Portuguese (likewise). In one afternoon, accompanied by an English-speaking colleague, she showed me three properties. The first remarkable fact was that all three properties met the criteria I had given her. (My experience in Israel is that estate agents always believe they know better than you what you are looking for…or, rather, they believe that their powers of persuasion are so remarkable that they will be able to sell you whatever property they most want to move, regardless of your needs.)

At the end of the viewings, she gave me a three-page questionnaire, inviting me to comment in detail on what I had liked and disliked about the properties I had seen. This is something I’ve never encountered before, but it really makes sense. In our case, we bought one of the three houses I viewed; in the event, however, that we had rejected all three, the agency already had a clearly-documented and detailed analysis of what we were looking for.

In the following weeks, we continued to correspond, while Bernice and I waited for the results of a ‘check-up’ we ordered for the house, for confirmation that the renovations we wanted were feasible, and for a detailed estimate. During this time, Anabella was anxiously pressing us for a decision, but always in slightly formal and very polite language, her emails always beginning: ‘Dear Mr David…’

When the sale was completed, Anabella sent me an extravagantly grateful email. When, a couple of months later, the kids moved in, she came round with a bottle of wine as a token of her gratitude. She was not to know that we couldn’t drink it because of kashrut, and the kids wouldn’t drink it because they don’t drink alcohol; it was a lovely thought.

Over the following weeks, she proceeded to take the kids under her wing. She accompanied them on their first trip to the health clinic, and introduced them to all the key people. She became their go-to person for advice on all matters Penamacorean. During our first stay in November, when Tslil needed to go to A&E one Sunday morning (Don’t worry: all was OK), the kids phoned Anabella to ask her which hospital she advised them to go to. (There are two fairly equidistant, about 35 minutes’ drive away.) She immediately came round to the house, with her husband, who happens to be an ambulance driver. They advised on which hospital to use, and we were only just able to persuade the husband that he didn’t need to drive in front of Micha’el all the way to hospital, because google maps would get him there.

And then there are the neighbours. Going up the hill, our immediate neighbours are a couple perhaps a little younger than us. The husband, Joce, was born in Paris, but moved to Penamacor in his childhood and was raised here. He spent his working life in Paris, and then retired to Penamacor. We reckon they bought a row of four houses (which I never even managed while playing Monopoly) and converted them into a single home, including putting a covered swimming pool in the back garden. Every detail of that description should indicate to you how little they have in common with Micha’el and Tslil, and yet… They have proven to be wonderful neighbours, starting with inviting the kids in for tea. This led to a bizarre conversation. They introduced themselves in Portuguese: “We are Joce and Lucrecia – Portugal”, and so the kids introduced themselves as: “Micha’el and Tslil – Israel…and what is your family name?” “Portugal,” was the puzzled and rather puzzling reply. Yes, their family name is indeed Portugal, and the sign bearing that name on the wall of their home is not, as we originally thought, evidence of extreme patriotism, but rather a routine name plaque. On reflection, ‘England’ and ‘Britain’ are both surnames.

When a friend brought the kids a sack of citrus fruit last week, Tslil took a bag of oranges in to Lucrecia, who immediately asked: “Would you like me to make some marmalade and give it to you?”

The kids’ car was due for its annual roadworthiness test last week. This is a 1991 Opel Astra that they bought from a couple they are friendly with, who are in the middle of a period of spending a couple of months in one country then moving to another. In each country they visit, they buy an old car and use it to get around. Micha’el broke off a wing mirror last week on the dirt track to the land, when he was negotiating a particularly treacherous pothole after torrential storms a couple of weeks before we arrived. Obviously they needed to replace the wing mirror before the test, and we suggested that, before the test, it would be wisest to get the car checked, and have any necessary work done in advance. The testing centre is in Castelo Branco, and Micha’el would not want to have the car fail, be forced to leave it in a garage (repair shop) he didn’t know, and have to travel back to Penamacor without the car, then back again to Castelo Branco. Much better to find a local mechanic. Bernice sensibly suggested asking the neighbours, which Micha’el did. Joce was indeed able to recommend a reliable garage, and insisted on leading Micha’el there (10 minutes outside the village) and introducing him to the mechanic, waiting while the car was checked in, and driving Micha’el back. After a couple of days, when Micha’el had not heard from the mechanic, he went next door to ask for a phone number. Joce tried phoning, but was unable to reach the mechanic. Joce then launched a village-wide search to locate him. I believe he had gone to his brother’s smallholding. Anyway, when he was finally reached, he assured Micha’el that everything was progressing well. There were a number of replacement parts needed, and he had ordered them all. Micha’el made it clear to him that he would have expected the mechanic to submit a quote and get Micha’el’s authorisation before starting work and ordering parts, but, naturally, Micha’el agreed to the work, all of which was essential to pass the test. Joce had heard Micha’el’s end of the conversation, and immediately offered to lend Micha’el the money to pay the mechanic. Micha’el assured him that the money was not a problem, but it was important to establish the principle of getting prior approval for work. When the work was finally done, Joce offered to take Micha’el back to the mechanic, but Micha’el explained that I was able to take him.

Incidentally, the car passed the test with flying colours, the tester assuring Micha’el that he had “a very good car there.”

I know that the Portugals have a daughter and grandchildren in Paris, and I imagine they hope that neighbours are looking out for their family in the same way as they are looking out for our family.

These are two extreme examples, but, walking around the village with the kids, and listening to the stories they have to tell, it is clear that they have been made to feel very welcome, by neighbours and nodding acquaintances, bureaucrats and shopkeepers. It is very good to know that our children are living, and our grandson is growing up, in a genuine community.

Speaking of our grandson, he went down to the land yesterday with his father and us, and, while he seemed a little concerned about the condition of the soil, he was very pleased with the new growth.

If you are interested in learning more about Tao’s plans for the land, you can follow, subscribe to, and like his family’s youtube channel.