During the Worst of Times, the Best of Times: Live Like You Were Dying

On the non-Jewish calendar, today is my 61st birthday.

Last week was the saddest of times. The 45-year-old father of four, Ari Fuld, Hy"d, was murdered. While grocery shopping. For being a Jew in the Holy Land. I cried a lot during Yom Kippur, for a young widow and four orphans. I cried for a Jewish people who had lost a hero, a man whose passion for Israel, for the Jewish people, for Zionism, for teaching Torah, was unquenchable and inspirational to countless people around the world. He was also a teacher of self-defense to men, women, and children. And my heart broke for them: if the Lion of Zion could be taken down, who couldn't be? Who could feel safe at a shopping center ostensibly designed to show the world that coexistence is possible, when some shoppers believe that it's okay to stab a man in the back?

But from the little that I personally knew of Ari, I believe the best tribute I can give him is to continue living. In Israel. Proudly Jewish. Proudly Zionist.

My sons arranged for the best birthday present I have ever received, and a wonderful tribute to LIFE. They took me skydiving.

This was actually the bachelor party for my son that was postponed due to weather. (He's been married for just over two years. Spoiler alert: marrying her was a great idea.) Dani told his buddies that this was the day to give it another go, and that they'd have one more attendee. While none of my other sons could participate due to the demands of work, they paid for my ticket, sent supportive comments throughout the day, and cheered at the end as if Moms had climbed Everest.

I had a great crew, including my youngest son and my Dearly Beloved (who chose to play the role of ground crew, since he doesn't believe in jumping out of moving vehicles at 11,000 feet in the air). One a kid I've known since he was born. Another, my son's brother-in-law. The last member of the crew is one of our star football players, whom I will miss very much. Until he can't handle the sidelines any more...)

L-R: Gideon Reis, Dani Eastman, Ruti Eastman, Avi Eastman, Avi Schamroth, Avrami Farkas

The flight crew, geared up.

Paradive in Haifa is staffed with people who clearly love their work. First, young ladies with great senses of humor had us fill out the usual "if you die or are badly injured, don't blame us" legal paperwork. (All jesting aside, they really are careful to make sure you are not jumping into the deep end, so to speak, without knowing the dangers.) Then they showed us a promotional/instructional video. There was constant briefing to be sure we knew what to do and when to do it, and what not to do. The instructors/guides were calm and patient, and fun.

My guide was a very respectful fellow named Arnon. He was a great teacher, giving information and encouragement as needed. He taught me how to twirl the parachute so that it was like a wonderful aeronautical waltz. We had a very pleasant flight over the teal-blue of the Mediterranean Sea. Arnon didn't seem to mind when I chattered joyfully about the amazing world of beauty God has created for us to enjoy.

Paradive does a very cool thing for the spectators (in this case, Team Avi): they post the parachute colors of each participant, thus allowing the spotters on the ground to get some good aerial shots.

Hey, Avrami! Lookin' good!

Howdy, Avi S. Smile for your mom and dad.

Roger, Haifa. The Ema has landed.

These guys look all Top Gun now, don't they?

There is simply nothing as sweet as benship*.

We all discussed post-experience how we felt. What were you feeling when you jumped out of the plane? Which did you like better: the free-fall or floating under the open parachute? (I couldn't decide. Like steak and red wine, each has its contribution to the total adventure.) Were you scared? How did you handle the moment the chute opened? Would you do it again? (If money were no object, a few of us at least would have gotten back in line.) "I think I'm seeing the fifteen-year-old mom," said Dani, with a grin.

None of us could stop smiling (except for the few moments during which we composed the #toocoolforwords gangsta post-flight photo). I'm still grinning.

#thugflight

You can do a lot of things on your 61st birthday.

You can hang out with your best friend.

You can paint your nails red. (I recommend it.)









You can also go skydiving. Now I need to go 2.7 seconds on a bull named Fu Manchu...

With the best friend, best ground crew, best cheerleader God ever created, puh-puh-puh. (Caryn and Inbar, take note: your earrings, your necklace. Ruti's tee shirt courtesy of the Paratroopers branch of the IDF.)

*Benship - a Ruti-generated word for that unique and special relationship you can only have with your adult children

Moms - not a typo. One of my frighteningly large array of nicknames.

The title (to those for whom it isn't apparent) is a mashup of  Charles Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities (from 1859) and Tim McGraw's song released in 2004, just to display the broad palette of inspiration out there in history.

The Depth of "Modah Ani" on My Birthday

Yom shishi, 24 Elul 5774.

Lovely artwork by my dear daughter-in-law, Tova.

The days of our years among them are seventy years, and if with strength, eighty years. ~ Psalm 90, a prayer by Moshe Rabbeinu

So it's my birthday.

Ahhhhhhh!

And on my 57th birthday, it suddenly occurred to me at about four in the morning that unless I get special dispensation, I can only expect about 13 more years of life. (And that's without any disasters happening.)

This is not meant to be morbid. Nor is it intended to frighten my friends who are closer to seventy (and with strength, eighty) than I. It wasn't fear of death that waked me in the wee small hours.

It was the need to assess. How do I want to spend my last decade and slightly less than a half?

A short commercial announcement for my very religious friends in the Kine Hora Puh-Puh-Puh Club. Of course I believe that God will decide when each of us moves on to our next adventure; and of course I will be delighted to stick around until a hundred and twenty -- but only if it's in good health. And I hope that my speaking the words in the paragraphs above does not trigger your fear that I will make it so by saying it. I like to believe that God is not troubled by words, if they are used thoughtfully.

End of commercial.

Thirteen years to be all I can be. To do everything I ever wanted to do as Ruti. The mind boggles at the shortness of the time to do so very many things!

While I have no intention to quit my job and go off to hike the Alps or volunteer to save babies in Ethiopia -- though I have a certain admiration for those who do -- I hope I will live with more keen awareness of the value of every day.

A country song comes to mind. (Doesn't it always?) This song, written by Tim Nichols and Craig Wiseman and performed most famously by Tim McGraw, says it well.

For the usual reasons, I prefer the version by my son, Aryeh... but until I can record it, here's the original.



Seems like a nice message for the upcoming Days of Awe, too. For my birthday present to you, I give you the blessing that you will live your nice, long, healthy, happy life... like you were dyin'.

He said I was in my early 40's,
With a lot of life before me,
And a moment came that stopped me on a dime.
I spent most of the next days, lookin' at the x-rays,
Talkin' 'bout the options and talkin' 'bout sweet time.
Asked him when it sank in, that this might really be the real end.
How's it hit ya, when you get that kind of news.
Man what ya do.
And he says,

[Chorus]

I went sky divin',
I went Rocky Mountain climbin',
I went 2.7 seconds on a bull name Fumanchu.
And I loved deeper,
And I spoke sweeter,
And I gave forgiveness I've been denying,
And he said someday I hope you get the chance,
To live like you were dyin'.

He said I was finally the husband,
That most the time I wasn't.
And I became a friend a friend would like to have.
And all the sudden goin' fishing,
Wasn't such an imposition.
And I went three times that year I lost my dad.
Well I finally read the Good Book,
And I took a good long hard look at what I'd do
If I could do it all again.
And then.

[Chorus]

Like tomorrow was a gift and you've got eternity
To think about what you do with it,
What could you do with it, what can
I do with with it, what would I do with it.

[Chorus]
Sky divin',
I went Rocky Mountain climbin',
I went 2.7 seconds on a bull name Fumanchu.
And I loved deeper,
And I spoke sweeter,
And I watched an eagle as it was flyin'.
And he said someday I hope you get the chance,
To live like you were dyin'.

To live like you were dyin'.
To live like you were dyin'.
To live like you were dyin'.
To live like you were dyin'.

Thanks, kids! Loved the candles, too!

Dear Young People: You can tell the elderly by the fact that they like to talk about their health, the weather, and how the weather affects their health.

Stay tuned for a post about the weather. ;-)


And thanks for the love!

Stayed overnight at my recently marrieds, and was met with these lovely gifts. Deluxe, five-star accommodations!

Lovely artwork by my dear daughter-in-law, Naomi.

The shot glass was to add to my collection. But the award from his peers in 20 countries was probably inspired by his midot as much as his skill. And that is a pretty great birthday present for a mother.