“Hey, Brother”
Yosef
“Hey, Brother, how-ya doin’?” That’s how I first greeted him at the Central Bus Station. I’d never seen him before, but there was an immediate attraction to the tall, dark-haired youth, about my own age, who stood in front of me. I admired the thick curls of the neat ponytail at the nape of his neck. Was it really that much shorter than my own, or did it just look that way because of the curls? We were both taking the bus from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv and we continued a lively conversation on the bus.
“See you around sometime,” he said as we parted ways at our destination.
That first meeting was five years ago. I didn’t even ask his name then, but I felt I’d known him all my life. He lived in a small town in the north of Israel; I lived at that time in a small town south of Jerusalem.
Two years after that initial meeting at the bus-station, I became observant and I came to study at a small yeshiva in Jerusalem. I’d been studying for three months when Jonathan came to study there too. Even though he had cut his long hair and grown a beard, I recognized him from our first meeting. I remembered his deep, searching black eyes and I could just about make out the shape of his lips under his full, black beard. Jonathan was given the dorm room next to mine at the end of the corridor, and we became fast friends. I’d take out my guitar after a long day of classes, sit cross-legged on my bed, and we’d sing together way into the night.
“If you two guys are singing,” my room-mate would usually say, “I’m going next door to sleep. You don’t mind, do you, Yoni?” And my roommate, more often than not, would change beds with Jonathan. We’d share our dining table too, in the large dining hall, where we ate all our meals.
Even though I’d often talk to Jonathan about my parents, and told him I was an only child, I never mentioned the fact that I was adopted when I was a few months old, or that I actually went to visit my biological mother and her family one free afternoon. It was too complicated for me to talk about it even with my best friend. I needed to unravel my mixed emotions first. On the one hand, a fuzzy feeling of abandonment lay somewhere within me, yet on the other, I felt a deep appreciation for my mom and dad and a deep sense of their acceptance of me, whoever I am. What? I have a mother and a father and also a biological mother? I felt more secure with and accepted by my adoptive parents than by my biological mother. Sometimes, a strange twinge of guilt would haunt me, but I’d push it to the furthest recesses of my mind. I was too ill at ease with the situation to discuss it. I preferred to keep life simple and discuss more theoretical complexities, such as the Gemara we’d been learning that week, or to pull out my guitar and sing.
Yonatan
Even though I knew I’d been adopted when I was fourteen months old, it was one of those things that I put in the back of my mind and carried on with my life. My mother was my mom, packing chocolate-spread sandwiches for my ten o’clock break at school when I was a kid, and telling me at least twice a day to clean up the mess from my floor (as if my floor was ever so messy with just a couple of magazines on it, and maybe a sock or two waiting to make its way to the laundry box), and telling me to “look after myself now” every time I walked out of the front door. My father was my dad, usually hiding behind the business news page of the paper, with a cup of Turkish coffee-with-two-and-a half-teaspoons-of–sugar in his hand, or yelling at me to turn down the volume of my CD player. I went to school and spent most of my free time playing soccer, and when I got to high school, basketball, or listening to music.
Soon after I finished the army, after reading about Jewish history in the local library, I decided to become observant. I looked for an intimate setting for study in Jerusalem. I wanted a place that would give me the background I lacked and after I checked into several possibilities, I found the perfect yeshiva.
“Hey Brother – don’t you remember me?” Joseph said almost as soon as I walked through the door, and I remembered our meeting two years previously on a bus trip to Tel Aviv. I was astonished to find someone I already knew in my new setting. No one was observant, or even thought of becoming observant in my army unit, and nobody in my neighborhood was observant. I didn’t even remember Joseph as looking religious on that bus trip. We had talked about music – jazz or blues. We both loved the music of Bob Marley.
When Joseph got married a few months ago, he invited all his classmates to the wedding. This was the first real Jewish wedding I’d ever been to. The ceremony took place at the end of the lawns of a wedding hall on the outskirts of Jerusalem. When Joseph returned with his bride to join all the guests, after the ceremony, a fanfare of music greeted their entrance. I was so excited. I lifted him up on my shoulders and I danced and danced with him. Even though he’s tall and muscular, he felt no heavier than a package of sugar. All the boys danced in a circle around us. Their jackets and sweaters were all left on chairs, and their shirts became moist with sweat. I guess I didn’t even notice the sweat on my neck then. I felt as if clouds were beneath my feet. When I eventually lowered him to the ground, his father came over and hugged him. Oh – I could see the emotion in his face: his eyes were moist with joy. I wished then, that my father could show such emotion. But my father was the reserved type. I don’t think he ever hugged me.
I was sorry, on the one hand, to loose such a great next-door neighbor, I was sorry to loose our mid-night music sessions, but I was really happy to see my best friend so very happy, and we would still continue to see each other in the study hall
Yosef
About a month ago, Jonathan mentioned to me that he’d looked in his adoption file for the first time. An orange light blipped in my mind. I hadn’t told him I was adopted or that I’d gone to meet my biological mother, but I guess he sensed my interest.
“Er, Joseph,” he said to me, “I know this sounds kind of strange, but I’d like to bring a friend for moral support when I go to meet my biological mother for the first time. Would you do me the favor and come with me?”
Even though I hadn’t wanted anyone to come with me when I went to meet my own biological mother, I could relate to Jonathan’s anxiety, and I agreed to accompany him.
We traveled on the bus from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv, just like we had done on our first meeting. Jonathan had arranged to meet his mother in a restaurant in downtown Tel Aviv.
“I spoke to her on the phone,” Jonathan told me, as we got off the bus near Dizangoff Center. “She said she’d be wearing a dark-blue corduroy shirt and blue jeans.”
We walk down the busy street, filled with sidewalk cafes and tables with umbrellas opened as shade from the hot Tel Aviv sun. We continue walking and turn left to reach the Circle Restaurant. We enter the restaurant. The only woman in a dark-blue corduroy shirt and blue jeans is my biological mother….
_______________________
Based on a true story
Yosef
“Hey, Brother, how-ya doin’?” That’s how I first greeted him at the Central Bus Station. I’d never seen him before, but there was an immediate attraction to the tall, dark-haired youth, about my own age, who stood in front of me. I admired the thick curls of the neat ponytail at the nape of his neck. Was it really that much shorter than my own, or did it just look that way because of the curls? We were both taking the bus from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv and we continued a lively conversation on the bus.
“See you around sometime,” he said as we parted ways at our destination.
That first meeting was five years ago. I didn’t even ask his name then, but I felt I’d known him all my life. He lived in a small town in the north of Israel; I lived at that time in a small town south of Jerusalem.
Two years after that initial meeting at the bus-station, I became observant and I came to study at a small yeshiva in Jerusalem. I’d been studying for three months when Jonathan came to study there too. Even though he had cut his long hair and grown a beard, I recognized him from our first meeting. I remembered his deep, searching black eyes and I could just about make out the shape of his lips under his full, black beard. Jonathan was given the dorm room next to mine at the end of the corridor, and we became fast friends. I’d take out my guitar after a long day of classes, sit cross-legged on my bed, and we’d sing together way into the night.
“If you two guys are singing,” my room-mate would usually say, “I’m going next door to sleep. You don’t mind, do you, Yoni?” And my roommate, more often than not, would change beds with Jonathan. We’d share our dining table too, in the large dining hall, where we ate all our meals.
Even though I’d often talk to Jonathan about my parents, and told him I was an only child, I never mentioned the fact that I was adopted when I was a few months old, or that I actually went to visit my biological mother and her family one free afternoon. It was too complicated for me to talk about it even with my best friend. I needed to unravel my mixed emotions first. On the one hand, a fuzzy feeling of abandonment lay somewhere within me, yet on the other, I felt a deep appreciation for my mom and dad and a deep sense of their acceptance of me, whoever I am. What? I have a mother and a father and also a biological mother? I felt more secure with and accepted by my adoptive parents than by my biological mother. Sometimes, a strange twinge of guilt would haunt me, but I’d push it to the furthest recesses of my mind. I was too ill at ease with the situation to discuss it. I preferred to keep life simple and discuss more theoretical complexities, such as the Gemara we’d been learning that week, or to pull out my guitar and sing.
Yonatan
Even though I knew I’d been adopted when I was fourteen months old, it was one of those things that I put in the back of my mind and carried on with my life. My mother was my mom, packing chocolate-spread sandwiches for my ten o’clock break at school when I was a kid, and telling me at least twice a day to clean up the mess from my floor (as if my floor was ever so messy with just a couple of magazines on it, and maybe a sock or two waiting to make its way to the laundry box), and telling me to “look after myself now” every time I walked out of the front door. My father was my dad, usually hiding behind the business news page of the paper, with a cup of Turkish coffee-with-two-and-a half-teaspoons-of–sugar in his hand, or yelling at me to turn down the volume of my CD player. I went to school and spent most of my free time playing soccer, and when I got to high school, basketball, or listening to music.
Soon after I finished the army, after reading about Jewish history in the local library, I decided to become observant. I looked for an intimate setting for study in Jerusalem. I wanted a place that would give me the background I lacked and after I checked into several possibilities, I found the perfect yeshiva.
“Hey Brother – don’t you remember me?” Joseph said almost as soon as I walked through the door, and I remembered our meeting two years previously on a bus trip to Tel Aviv. I was astonished to find someone I already knew in my new setting. No one was observant, or even thought of becoming observant in my army unit, and nobody in my neighborhood was observant. I didn’t even remember Joseph as looking religious on that bus trip. We had talked about music – jazz or blues. We both loved the music of Bob Marley.
When Joseph got married a few months ago, he invited all his classmates to the wedding. This was the first real Jewish wedding I’d ever been to. The ceremony took place at the end of the lawns of a wedding hall on the outskirts of Jerusalem. When Joseph returned with his bride to join all the guests, after the ceremony, a fanfare of music greeted their entrance. I was so excited. I lifted him up on my shoulders and I danced and danced with him. Even though he’s tall and muscular, he felt no heavier than a package of sugar. All the boys danced in a circle around us. Their jackets and sweaters were all left on chairs, and their shirts became moist with sweat. I guess I didn’t even notice the sweat on my neck then. I felt as if clouds were beneath my feet. When I eventually lowered him to the ground, his father came over and hugged him. Oh – I could see the emotion in his face: his eyes were moist with joy. I wished then, that my father could show such emotion. But my father was the reserved type. I don’t think he ever hugged me.
I was sorry, on the one hand, to loose such a great next-door neighbor, I was sorry to loose our mid-night music sessions, but I was really happy to see my best friend so very happy, and we would still continue to see each other in the study hall
Yosef
About a month ago, Jonathan mentioned to me that he’d looked in his adoption file for the first time. An orange light blipped in my mind. I hadn’t told him I was adopted or that I’d gone to meet my biological mother, but I guess he sensed my interest.
“Er, Joseph,” he said to me, “I know this sounds kind of strange, but I’d like to bring a friend for moral support when I go to meet my biological mother for the first time. Would you do me the favor and come with me?”
Even though I hadn’t wanted anyone to come with me when I went to meet my own biological mother, I could relate to Jonathan’s anxiety, and I agreed to accompany him.
We traveled on the bus from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv, just like we had done on our first meeting. Jonathan had arranged to meet his mother in a restaurant in downtown Tel Aviv.
“I spoke to her on the phone,” Jonathan told me, as we got off the bus near Dizangoff Center. “She said she’d be wearing a dark-blue corduroy shirt and blue jeans.”
We walk down the busy street, filled with sidewalk cafes and tables with umbrellas opened as shade from the hot Tel Aviv sun. We continue walking and turn left to reach the Circle Restaurant. We enter the restaurant. The only woman in a dark-blue corduroy shirt and blue jeans is my biological mother….
_______________________
Based on a true story
This story first appeared in Yated Ne'eman, 19 December, 2003
