Family Fault lines

The Shiva took its toll on us, i.e. me. I never got along with my big brother Benny. From childhood we've been chalk and cheese. So now that tragedy and tradition threw us together for (nearly) seven days, it very rapidly turned into our own reality show type thing, with me finding fault in everything he does, and he getting fed-up with my disdain and disapproval .Just for the record, he's 57, I'm nearly 56 year old. As it happens my sister Lea, who lent her home and garden for the week-long event works for the Ramat Hasharon City Council. Therefore seemingly the entire workforce turned up, a liberal handful of people every day, throughout the day. Nobody stayed away: from the cleaners and tea-ladies right through to the Mayor. Benny begrudged that. "If I still worked for El Al there would be thousands of people here". I confess I kind of chuckled at that bizarre comment. He also tends to hog the conversation and his voice gets louder and more shrill as he whips himself up into a frenzy of extacy. He rants (my mum is really scared of him, and he is capable of smelling fear or vulnerability, particularly in women) endlessly, tends to repeat words for emphasis and he listens and talks with his mouth. Take that for seven days, from 9:30 AM (Lea soon told him not to show up a second before 10:00) till 22:00 at the earliest. We were soon at each other throats, almost to the point of fistycuffs, to my mum's horror. Several callers were old chums of dad's from when he was an officer in the air force. Although he was ground crew, in admin, some old buddies were airmen. One such visitor was for many years our next-door neighbour in Ramat Hasharon. Let's call him Ron. Ron was one of the founding fathers of the Israeli Air Force, the first Israeli to fly faster than the speed of sound, and later, at over mach 2. He was the top test pilot, unmatched by anyone in almost any air force under the sun, with unparalleled experience in all French jet fighters during the 50s and 60s, with American and Israeli aircraft added to his resume thereafter. What that man didn't know about flying wasn't worth knowing. Even now, at about 80 years, he still is a handsome man, as cocky and charismatic as he's ever been. But even he crumbled before my brother onslaught of opinions about the ins and outs of a recent news item regarding the crash of an F-16 that cost the life of a brilliant young airman, an incident that touched a nerve in Israel as the pilot was the son of the first Israeli astronaut who died along with the entire crew of the the space shuttle Discovery upon re-entering the atmosphere few years earlier. Ron wanted to opine on it, having been asked to do so by Benny. I was in the living room, they were on the patio, and all I could hear was Benny prattling on and on while Ron merely managed to sneak a word in here and there, only to be thwarted by Benny agreeing or otherwise, loudly, with him before resuming this monologue of his opinion, how he felt about the whole thing, and who he held responsible for the incident. He then proceeded to deliver the all but defeated Ron the coup de grâce: the sales pitch. Benny works for a place that fits people with special insoles etc., and he identified Ron as a perfect target audience. I thought: yeah, mention what you do. Hand out a card, sure, why not. But to use your father's demise as a business opportunity really grated on me. The torture went on all morning that day, till Ron decided he's had enough and left, having had scant chance to actually talk to my mother. Other irritating things about Benny: his phone would ring (need I tell you he has nothing but the loudest, most annoying "joke" ringtones and message alerts), he would calmly stick the bluetooth earpiece in and carry on talking loudly (the only way he knows) wherever he may be: among people around one of the tables, in the garden, on the recliner. Not once would he get up and walk away a couple of steps. I'd look on with disbelief as people would look at one another, at him, and he would remain blissfully oblivious to all around him. I kept thinking: this is totally wrong, but if we weren't siblings I doubt if we would even be acquaintances socially. I can't fucking stand him, and I'd be stupefied if the feeling weren't mutual. How sad.