Sartorial elegance: that’s just one of the many things for which I was not known among my circle of friends growing up. It’s fair to say that, in my teens, I had an under-developed dress sense. Bernice managed to drag me into the 1970s, when I sported a denim suit (from Burton’s, I believe, which rather undermines the image I’m going for here), and a velvet jacket (but not simultaneously). Beyond that, my wardrobe was markedly unnoteworthy. I did buy a brown corduroy cap – at Lake Bala in mid-Wales – which I flattered myself made me look like Tom Paxton. Mind you, since I thought around the same time that I played guitar and sang like Tom Paxton, my judgement was possibly not entirely to be trusted.

However, some fifteen years ago, having largely relied over the preceding 35 years on Bernice’s impeccable judgement in matters concerning my wardrobe, I started buying my own clothes, sometimes even unaccompanied by her. This more or less coincided with my discovery of Zip, a mid-market clothing chain where I could almost always find what I hadn’t realised I was looking for until I walked in and saw it.

Fortunately, Zip opened a store in our local mall, and over the next few years I basically replaced my rather tired wardrobe. The store recently closed, leaving me very relieved that I now have enough teeshirts, collared shirts, polos and sweaters, jeans and what my brother and I are probably the only two remaining men to call slacks, to see me out. However, not long after, it reopened, so if I ever do need to buy clothes again, I shall be alright.

All of which is a prelude to something that happened a couple of weeks ago. We were in Zichron when Bernice received a WhatsApp from a very close friend of ours that her mother-in-law had just passed away. This was a not unexpected event: since her 100^th birthday a few months previously, she had grown steadily weaker. The funeral was to be that evening, at 9PM, in Jerusalem.

We decided immediately that we would attend the funeral. However, with the temperature in the high 30s, I had travelled to Zichron in shorts, and I told Bernice that I wasn’t comfortable attending a funeral in shorts. We therefore considered driving home, where I could change into long trousers before we left to go to the funeral. The expected flaw in this plan was confirmed when we checked on Waze: we discovered that, in order to arrive home in time to change and leave home again in time to get to the cemetery at 8:50, we would have to leave Zichron at 5PM.

We also knew that even that might not be early enough. For any journey home around the evening rush hour, Waze tends to start off with an optimistic estimate, which it then adjusts upwards as the journey continues, so that, at some point, you begin to feel like Achilles in Zeno’s paradox: you don’t think you will ever get home.

At this point we decided that, rather than risking being late, we would cut our travel time by over two hours, and drive straight to the cemetery. This meant that we did not need to leave Zichron until 7:20. Esther then brilliantly suggested a solution to my sartorial problem. Esther frequents a wonderful second-hand charity shop in Zichron that offers clothes (and other goods) of excellent quality at ridiculously low prices: adult clothes are 5 shekels an item and children’s clothes are 1 shekel an item. I felt sure I would be able to find something suitable there.

So we all set off for the second-hand store. This proved to be a big tactical mistake on my part, as will become clear. Once there, I discovered that the selection of menswear was severely limited. Of the trousers on offer, only one pair fitted me around the waist. Unfortunately, these were a pair of drainpipe (skintight) jeans. Fortunately, they were in a stretch cotton which made them easy to put on and comfortable to wear, but I was concerned that they might be – how shall I put this – a little young for me. Or even – which sounds even worse – that I was a little old for them.

Esther was kind enough to say – although she confessed that this was not a sentence that she had ever imagined saying to her father – that I had the legs to carry it off. When Bernice also gave her guarded approval, I decided that, given the straits I was in, I was prepared to be in the straights, particularly since, for 5 shekels, I would not feel bad about donating them back to the second-hand shop immediately after they had done their funereal duties.

I was also comforted by the fact that I would be perhaps the most peripheral participant in the funeral, and being concerned about the impression I would make on other people was unhealthily self-centred. Finally, I reminded myself that a 9PM funeral in the main Jerusalem cemetery is conducted in pitch blackness, so nobody would actually be able to see what I was wearing.

Of course, in the time it had taken me to find and try on the jeans, Esther and Bernice had both found multiple items, and we then sorted out some plastic fruits and vegetables for Raphael’s play kitchen. So, in the end, my 5-shekel trousers cost me 40 shekels. In fairness, even that was a bargain.

Our journey to the cemetery was very smooth, and we arrived at exactly the right time. I felt a little self-conscious in my jeans, but, of course, even though some lighting was provided by everyone’s smartphone torch, nobody gave me a second glance. The jeans were very comfortable to wear, and, as I peeled them off at the end of the evening, I even contemplated, for a fleeting moment, holding on to them, and adding them to my permanent wardrobe. On reflection, perhaps not. I certainly ought to get rid of them before any of my grandsons are old enough to laugh at me for wearing them.

I leave you today with a rare treat: a single picture featuring all 5 of our direct descendants. We were in two different countries at the time, but Tao and Micha’el thought it would be nice to call us while we were with Esther and Raphael. As Micha’el pointed out, you need to use your imagination a little, since not one face is full, but I hope you feel it’s worth the effort. Anyway, it is a kind of prelude to the autumn, when, bli neder, Tslil and Micha’el, Tao and Ollie will be coming to Israel for a month, and we will all be physically, and not just virtually, together. Something to look forward to!