Kabalat Shabat? No!!!

Dad meeting a long lost friend at the support clinic. The Professor is on the right (out of shot, but not his knicks knacks)
















Kabalat Shabat. Mum and dad in front, dad reading the song-sheet. Behind them - Idan and girlfriend Anat, playing furtively with his iPod Touch (yeah, I know!). Sitting on bar-stool at back: Dor.
















Kabalat Shabat in full swing.




Today mum has been calmer than usual. That is to say relatively calmer. One highlight was her objection to walking dad from the support clinic to the main lobby of the building to attend Kabalat Shabat, held at 6:00 pm every Friday. He had already missed out on this personal favourite 3 or 4 times while ill, so I was all for it. In the morning I go down to see him, and after breakfast when the room is being cleaned we step out of the patio door, dad sits and reads his paper, and it's all warm and pleasant. We walk a little bit more and I tell him to start picking up his feet a little. I think he is not trying too hard... Of course the truth is he tires very rapidly, so after a few steps he will stop, pretending something to his left or right has caught his attention and he must study it well before moving on. In the early evening I take mum down to dad, along with her friend Haya. Mum starts to protest against taking dad to Kabalat Shabat: "I was told it's absolutely forbidden to do that, on my life" she gushes breathlessly. I refute this load of nonsense. She leaves the room to ask the nurses just to prove her point, returns triumphantly and declares; "See? They told me the exact same thing. On my life!" (You hear that expression a lot around here). I go to see the head nurse. Mum had spoken to some young nurse (well, staff in a white coat) who helps residents in the more menial tasks. She is unclear about what that lady wanted of her. I speak to Hassan (who is a head nurse but dubbed "doctor" by some of the nurses). No problem. Back to the room. Mum protests, her voice rises: "They did. They told me it is strictly forbidden for him to get out of bed without help", she vainly tries to bamboozle us.
We are joined (mercifully after that last scene) by Lea's two boys - Dor and the older Idan, with his girlfriend Anat. Off we go to Kabalat shabat. One of the boys takes the few stairs half-level down to the ground floor to send the lift up to level 0 - the call button doesn't work on level 0, by design. The lift doors are held open for the entire party to enter. We are such a herd of sheep - why the hell do all of us have to take the lift - even the one who popped down to call it in the first place, just to descend back to the same level? We slowly arrive at the lobby, arrange comfy armchairs for mum and dad and sit around and behind them.
This event is popular in this community, and it is well-attended. The social strata here is of mainly well off people, and it shows. Mum has always felt out of it among them, never knowing what to say, other than on the subject of food and health-scares, never quite up with the others on fashion - they always looked effortlessly stylish, while she always had (still has) clothes with an unclear, sometimes downright suspicious origin or age. Mum forces smiles in all directions, they sit down, some people come by to greet them. They know a few of the residents, and fewer still former neighbours or acquaintances. The Soirée is conducted by the lady in charge of "culture". There is a young female on the keyboard with an older gentleman with her, they both sing some Sabbath related Songs of Praise, some of whom I recall from my childhood. My dad looks at his song sheet earnestly, but Idan whispers to me he thinks he is looking at the wrong page... There are some short speeches: this lady is celebrating her birthday, and she will light the Sabbath candles. Another will read this week's chapter from the Torah and deliver a brief sermon (my mum could never do that). Some new residents are made welcome. Applause. Some other lady reads a poem. The old folk here are lapping it all up. I don't care much for the content but the company and the human interaction as well as the sense of occasion and continuity must be great for them. Certainly dad loves every second of it, and doesn't give a damn about being late for dinner. The residents, temporary or permanent of the support clinic, on the other hand get a misrable little party, and dinner is served at 6:30 pm so not a lot of fun there. I nip up half way through Kabalat Shabat to ask the staff to keep my dad's dinner, as he will be a little late.
Our visitors leave after the Kabalat Shabat. My brother Benny and his partner Noga come to visit later in the evening. Benny keeps finding fault with almost everything he casts his eye on. "The maintainance here is beneath contempt" he cheers dad up. I have to admit there are some problems under the glossy surface, but generally this is a superb facility (I think).
Final part of the day is when we return to the apartment. Benny's boys, nephew Roey and his older brother Eran, with his betrothed Mali are here. They have missed their grandad by a few minutes, but he would have been a bit tired for more company anyway. We all file in, and I excuse myself as I quickly prepare some light supper for mum and I. That over, I get on to the business of refreshments, with Roey's assistance, and we are presented with Mali and Eran's wedding invitation. The envelope reads "Grandpa, Grandma and Moshe", So, it has come to this. I, a (nearly) 55 year old man, living with his parents. Compared to this description, Cliff (remember "Cheers"?) is a personal success story.
Evening over, I reward myself with a stiff drink. I find in the sideboard a small half-bottle of whisky. Must have been there for ages because it takes a few attempts to turn the screwtop and snap it open! Still, the hooch is good.
I forgot to mention that I also managed to do a spot of shopping with my sister before lunch. That gave me the opportunity to be in the flat on my own afterwards, so I could cook undisturbed for a while. I made my chicken paprika. Mum samples it (came back way too soon): "dry". Are you thinking what I'm thinking?