Take the Long Way Home

In which I chronicle uncertainty, endings, beginnings and the weight of the world.

Photo by Tal Surasky on Unsplash

I’m sitting across from Shirley in our garden, under the pomegranate trees. Some of last year’s fruit still hangs on the not-yet-green branches, withered and ruby red. I really ought to do something about that.

Gidon and I live in a Hobbit House in a forest on a hill. About 75 feet from our Hobbit House, there is a stone wine press dating back to the 9th century, CE. Things are like that in Israel.

It’s a warm Spring day in the Galilee. If I got in my car and drove 45 minutes, I would be at the shores of the Sea of Galilee, or as we call it somewhat less musically around these parts, Lake Kinneret. The whole fishes and loaves of this never ceases to amaze me.

In fact, it’s Purim, and visions of Queen Esther abound in my mind. I ain’t no Queen Esther, no heroine, no brave soul. I wish that I were.

At length, I expressed my exhaustion, worry, and fears about Gidon’s failing health to Shirley. Inside, Gidon lies on the sofa, sleeping peacefully. He’s been doing this for hours every day – sleeping – and I’m scared.

Shirley listens politely and supportively to my complaints before reminding me that her husband, Yaakov, has been dying of cancer for a long time, and she gets it. Suddenly, I feel ashamed of myself. How can I complain after two paltry weeks? And yes, it was the same deal a year ago when Gidon needed a pacemaker, but wow, Julie, I think to myself with chagrin.

Suddeny, I think about caregivers the world over. Images of people caring for the elderly or disabled emerge from the Brigadoon of my privilege and humble me. A crack of understanding widens under my feet in both painful and beautiful ways.  I guess this is growing up.

Doing stuff helps me cope. I make six tiny meals every day that aren’t eaten. I serve Gidon tiny dishes of strawberries, loquats, and Greek yogurt. Macaroni, a cookie, a broccoli floret. Bolognese, blueberries, watermelon slices.

You’re on a collision course with Ensure! I tell Gidon one day.

Gidon hates Ensure with a passion. A lightbulb goes off over my head - I pour a banana Ensure into a glass and tell Gidon this is a banana smoothie I just made. He doesn’t seem to notice that he has not heard a blender and drinks it without complaint.

Note to self: White Lies are okay when someone is dying.

 I find a physical therapist and a Feldenkrais instructor, and I bring her to our home twice weekly. Gidon and I do “our” exercises religiously. I found an end-of-life counselor to come and speak to Gidon. Elad was very sweet and used aural therapy in the form of bamboo windchimes on Gidon, massaged his neck, and talked to him about whether he was afraid of death. Gidon is not afraid of death, he tells Elad resolutely; he just wants to make sure to see the documentary about his life, if you please. Good answer.

Later, Gidon told me he didn’t really see the point of that visit. Okay fine.

I’m trying here, people!

The emails, messages, texts, and phone calls are nonstop, and I realize that

Gidon is an emblem of hope for millions of people.

I never intended that, and neither did he, but here we are, and it feels like a wonderful thing but also a heavy weight. So many hearts will be broken. But Gidon is still here.

But it’s more than that. Gidon is one of the last living survivors of the Holocaust willing and able to tell his story. And I am the only thing between Gidon’s presence in this current reality of 2025 and death. But no - it’s not me - it’s Gidon’s decision to stick around or not. I have to remember that. Still, it feels as if the weight of the world is on my shoulders.

I think/hope/pray that Gidon will make it through this latest health scare. But I worry about what happens when he decides to go on his next adventure to a place where I cannot follow him. After a period of deep mourning and buckets of tears, I will be okay. But what about Gidon’s fans? How will they handle his departure to destinations unknown? These are not just “fans” - these are teenagers, older people, regular people all over the world who have come to experience Gidon and his story very powerfully. What will they do when his light goes out?

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One day, I got Gidon into the car, and we headed to a nearby town with actual streets and stores. We were on our way to get Gidon a cane to help him be more mobile and stable. At the cane place, the guy asks Gidon whether he would rather have a walker. No, Gidon says. Then he repeats it – N – O – (enn-OH), and for extra emphasis, he draws an “n” and an “oh” in the air. My shoulders drop a little in disappointment. He’s fallen several times lately. But the man does not want a walker, and I cannot force this.

The day after Shirley visited, Gidon’s daughter Hadasa came up from Tel Aviv to be with her dad. I took advantage and drove to the next village, which has a pool. I spent an hour in the cool blue water, swimming more than two kilometers a bit robotically. It felt good to feel weightless for that hour. To be doing something that was not about fear and grief and loss and don’t fall down.

On the way back home to Gidon – I cranked up the car stereo and listened to Supertramp. What a luxury to listen to music - loud. As I drove past the green fields of the Galilee, I saw young Arab boys galloping on horseback and fighter jets headed toward Syria and Lebanon. I saw stacked yellow chairs symbolizing the Israeli hostages still in Gaza. And there were the usual jerks driving too fast and signs for closed cafes because it’s Shabbat, duh. And I sang along at the top of my lungs – take the long way home.