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June 2, 2006
Capturing the higher ground
Water battles are half the fun of spending Shavuot in Jerusalem.
BRIAN BLUM
We were walking home from a friend's house after lunch on Shavuot
last year. It had been a blazingly hot day, a real Jerusalem sharav
(scorcher), but at one point we were sure we felt a slight drizzle.
As we entered the courtyard to our apartment complex, we felt it
again.
Then we noticed them: a group of nine- to 11-year-olds huddled together
in what I can only describe as a scheming posture. In the centre
was one child with an enormous water pistol.
That's when we remembered. The holiday of Shavuot, as it's observed
in Israel, is also known as Yom Ha'Mayim – Water Day.
"Run for it!" I yelled as we scampered towards our apartment
before a stream of water headed our way.
We avoided any serious soaking – this time. But the battle
had only just begun.
The doorbell rang. Two of seven-year-old Aviv's friends were outside.
"Can we use your terrace?" one of them asked.
Before I could think if this was a good or a bad thing for the Jews,
Aviv had already ushered them inside.
Now, we live in an upstairs apartment that has several inside levels;
the sought-after terrace is actually three storeys up, giving anyone
standing on it an unparalleled strategic advantage over enemies
in the courtyard below. It truly is the high ground in the battle
for Yom Ha'Mayim supremacy.
Aviv and his friends surveyed the scene from the terrace, then headed
downstairs to our kitchen, where they raided our collection of plastic
water bottles that were waiting for recycling. They filled up three,
then resumed their positions. When the first volley of water was
launched, the hapless soldiers below didn't know what hit them.
What are the origins for this uniquely Israeli holiday custom? No
one I asked could give me a definitive answer and the Internet wasn't
much help either.
Perhaps it has something to do with the parting of the waters of
the Red Sea as the Jews left Egypt in preparation for receiving
the Torah, the main event that Shavuot commemorates.
Or maybe it's more related to the symbolism surrounding Moses, who
was rescued from the waters of the Nile and raised in Pharaoh's
palace.
My friend Yuval claims it's originally a North African custom that
was elevated in importance when the country's secular founders were
trying to emphasize the agricultural nature of the holiday.
Or maybe it's because Shavuot usually falls at the beginning of
the summer and it's just plain hot.
It wasn't long before the doorbell rang again. This time it was
11-year-old Merav's friends. More recruits for the Blum brigade.
They too headed for the kitchen, but they were more interested in
our supply of small plastic sandwich bags.
"Can you tie this for me?" asked a 10-year-old named Daniella,
holding a filled bag. She and her friend Dara were building a not
insignificant stockpile of water bombs. After the 10th bag, I told
them to hold off, there might be other kids coming who'd want some.
Which there were – in droves.
Over the course of the next half hour, no fewer than two dozen pre-teens,
most part of a loose collection of friends of Merav and Aviv but
others complete strangers, entered our kitchen, refilled their bottles
and guns or built their own bombs, and headed for the terrace.
At one point, I don't think there was anyone even left in the courtyard.
Naturally, all of this created no small amount of mess. Puddles
of water formed around the kitchen sink and the water tap in the
entry-level bathroom. A small river of mud and twigs snaked from
the front door to the terrace.
My wife Jody pulled me aside. "I think that's enough,"
she said.
But the kid inside me had other ideas. "Why don't we just let
them have fun?" I asked Jody. "Yom Ha'Mayim is only once
a year."
Jody's eyes surveyed the accumulating devastation that was taking
over our living room.
"Don't worry," I said. "I'll be responsible for cleaning
up. Just sit back and enjoy."
"I think I'll enjoy it more if I don't look," Jody said
with a smile and promptly closed herself off in a secure room while
the Yom Ha'Mayim battle continued unabated outside.
For the next hour, I helped them keep the supply lines open. I made
sure no one slipped or got hurt. I cheered on the battle –
especially when the target was the 11- and 12-year-old boys from
Merav's class. We provided drinks and cut up watermelon.
Eventually, the battle wore down. The plastic bag supply ran out.
Several girls were wrapped in towels as they shivered. I actually
managed to get a few kids – led by Aviv, Merav, Dara and Daniella
– to help clean up the garbage below.
As I squeegeed the water towards the terrace drain, one of the kids
asked me, her eyes glazed with drops of water and appreciation,
"Is your house open like this every year?"
"It is now," I replied.
As Jody emerged from her room, I said, "Next year, we have
to be better prepared. We need to stock up on plastic bags and save
up the recycling for several weeks."
"Or maybe," Jody said, as she surveyed the damage, "we'll
just lock the doors and pretend to not be home."
Brian Blum writes the syndicated column This Normal Life.
E-mail him at [email protected].
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