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Proud of your boy

In 2006, Disney released ‘Disneymania 3,‘ a CD with then-contemporary stars singing classic Disney songs. One of the cuts was ‘Proud of Your Boy,’ an original song from the movie ‘Aladdin’ that was not used in the final movie. The song is meant to be sung by Aladdin, and it’s his hope to make his mother proud of him after all of his ‘messin’ up, screwin’ up times.’ I fell in love with the song, relating to the theme of wanting your folks to be proud of you.

Flash forward to some point last year, when I first heard word that Disney UK would be bringing the ‘Aladdin’ musical to the West End. What a dream come true to be part of a West End premiere in some way. As soon as the opening night date was announced, I blocked off my calendar and made sure I wasn’t traveling anywhere. I couldn’t wait to see it and to hear ‘Proud of Your Boy’ performed live. 

Rewind to last month, the death of my father and the beginning of the mourning period. One of the key restrictions on a mourner is the ban on listening to live music. This applies to the full 12 month period of mourning. Once the shock of my father’s passing began to settle, I began reviewing all of my travels and plans in a new light. One issue was finding a minyan, as discussed last time. Another was the long-awaited opening night. Should I attend? It was work-related, and there is an exception to the rules – one can listen to music or attend a celebration if it is related to your work – so a wedding DJ can still earn a living. There is even a line of thinking that the average person can attend a celebration such as a wedding if he/she performs some part of the ceremony at the wedding, like washing the groom’s hands. Certainly I was expected to attend the event as a senior leader, and it was also going to be the first time some of our newest talent were attending an official Disney event, so I wanted to be there for them. And in my heart, well, I just wanted to go. 

As I sat shiva, I asked my mother what I should do – should I attend the event? ‘Would you be expected to be there?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Will your boss be there?’ ‘Probably.’ ‘You should go.’ ‘Ok.’ I didn’t argue all that much.

It was fun to meet two of our newest series talent, Jade and Jayden, as they came off their first carpet experience. It was the first time they would hear their names called by press and photogs, and I suspect not the last. I girded myself for ‘Proud’ – concerned I would lose it amongst my colleagues. Turns out the song is not only included in the musical, but is given special prominence as the ‘I wish’ song, giving Aladdin his big motivation for the musical – he wants to prove he is much more than just a street rat. And of course it’s reprised a few times. But I made it through without shedding a tear. The musical itself was a lot of fun – great music, strong performances and lots of theatrical magic – particularly the flying carpet. Even if I weren’t a Disney employee I would recommend it for families and those who love the film. 

The capstone to the mourning process is the laying of the headstone on the grave. The tradition in Israel is to lay the headstone at the end of the Shloshim (30 day period after the death). In the US it can be six or twelve months. We followed the Israeli custom, and held the Mekever (headstone laying ceremony) this past week. It was a short but powerful affair, with a few prayers said and my niece delivering a beautiful speech. It’s a nice headstone as these things go, nothing too ornate. The quote on the headstone is from Proverbs and reads ‘Above all that thou guardest keep thy heart; for out of it are the issues of life.’ Laying the stone gives just a bit of closure for us.

So as Shloshim ends, and the rest of my year-long mourning period stretches ahead of me, how do I make my Dad proud? I managed to say the Kadish for him every day, but I don’t think I can keep that up. So what then, once a week? Twice a week? I have a new-found solace in worship – is this temporary to comfort my grief? Is this hitting something deeper within me? I have all sorts of trips and holidays planned this summer, what is the right balance? How do I make him proud?

Dec 22 2013, the day before my Dad’s health slid

You’ll see now comes the better part
Someone’s gonna make good
Cross his stupid heart
Make good and finally make you
Proud of your boy


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A minyan in Milan

Sitting Shiva takes a pause on the Sabbath, and one can shower,  change into different clothing, and imbibe alcohol. I did all three. At the first Friday night dinner after my father died, it was very difficult to get through the pre-meal recitations.

Every week we sing a song called ‘Eshet Chayil’ or ‘Woman of Valor,’ sung to honor your wife, mother, sister. My father would always sing it for my mother, and by the song’s third line I was sobbing. I bucked back up a few lines later, determined to finish. But I could not get the final verse out under the tears. 

Another tradition my family keeps is the Sabbath familial blessing. My Dad would bless each of us children, the grandchildren, and any other kids in the house, of any age really. He would always end with ‘You’re covered’ – in his Brooklyn-ese accent the ‘r’s barely pronounced. Even in his state the past two years, I would crouch next to him, put his hand on my head, and ask him if I was ‘covered.’ A few times he would respond. As the time came for blessings it hit me that I would never get the blessing of my father again. And I sobbed some more. 

My nephews-in-law and I downed a half bottle of single malt scotch over the course of the meal. More songs were sung, memories shared. 

Sabbath came to an end, Shiva resumed. By Sunday night I was heading back to London, and finished Shiva the next morning. This began the next period of mourning called ‘Shloshim‘ or ‘Thirty’ for the number of days it lasts. During Shloshim, you aren’t supposed to listen to music or go to celebrations, shave or cut your hair – so I’ve been looking slightly scruffier than usual. You are also supposed to say the ‘Kaddish‘ or ‘Mourners Prayer’ every day. The Kaddish needs to be said at a service with a ‘Minyan‘ (10 Jewish males). For mourners of parents, the Kaddish needs to be said not only for Shloshim but for 12 months from the time of death. 

I am not particularly observant, although I was raised Orthodox. I hardly go to Synagogue, let alone every day to a proper service. But I have been determined to say Kaddish at least once a day for the Shloshim period. Finding a Minyan on a weekday in West London has proven a bit tricky. The most dependable one is the Western Marble Arch Synagogue, a tube ride away. Praying has had to take the place of the gym, and even with the extra walking and biking to/from services, I’m putting on some weight. 

an added bonus

walking to work from minyan

The more challenging bit was finding a minyan in Milan. I had a business trip planned, and I needed to find a place to pray. I searched Chabad, and reached out to the main Chabad center – the Rebbetzin (Rabbi’s wife) called me back and recommended two places run by her two sons-in-law. I wondered if they competed? After a few calls, the place with a ‘guaranteed’ minyan was Beit Hatalmud. This was clear across town from the office. So for a 7:00am minyan, I was up early, and the Italian taxi driver did not disappoint – he zipped across Milan along the streets where the trolleys run. 

inside Beit Hatalmud

The service was a bit different than what I am used to, but the other congregants helped me along. I was able to get back to the office each day using the Metro, which I found very easy to use, clearly signed and inexpensive – €1.50 flat fare to use the system (like NYC). 

back/forth across Milan

subway lines have easy names (M2, M3) in milan

While in Milan I was slightly frustrated by one of the other restrictions for Shloshim and the year – one isn’t supposed to buy new clothing. Some interpret this as fancy clothing like suits – so under garments, T shirts and casual clothing are OK. This restriction probably saved me a lot of money – but I did manage to get to the beautiful Emporio Armani flagship store and leave with a new belt and messenger bag. 

Duomo by night

Duomo by day

One of the fun experiences was taking a trolley tour around the city. Work organized this for us one evening, including nibbles and drinks. The weather didn’t quite participate, so the sights were a bit grey – still a fun experience I would recommend to get a good lay of the land. The food and drink in Milan didn’t disappoint – lovely veal Milanese (natch) at Ristorante da Ilia, wood-fire pizza at Piccola Ischia, and Aperol and Campari spritzes in the Navigali area right off the canals.   

Now back in London for Sabbath and the Shavuot holiday, bouncing between services at the Sephardic Holland Park Synogogue and Western Marble Arch. Next week I trek to Disneyland Paris for a presentation .. Does Mickey Mouse count for a Minyan? Let’s see…

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A eulogy for my Dad

This was my eulogy for my father. 

My Dad was not a rabbi but he was a great teacher. By his words, but mostly by his actions. He taught me – and my sister, my brother, my nieces, all of us – a great deal. 

And I’m not talking about fishing – everyone else but me learned that I think. Dad taught me how to be a leader, how to stand up for my beliefs. He was a boss in every sense of the word and I can only hope to live up to his example. He taught me about being a husband – “marry your best friend.” “Never go to sleep angry.” He taught me about unconditional love. When he was confronted with things he didn’t entirely understand, he always told me I was his son and he would love me no matter what. He taught me to be strong. ‘Keep it together during a crisis, fall apart afterwards.” He taught me there’s the right time to worry. When things looked bleak he’d say “don’t worry. I’ll tell you when to worry, and now’s not the time.” 

Well Dad we don’t have to worry about you any more. Your suffering is over and you are in a better place. I’ll do my best to stay strong and follow your example. I ask you mechilah (Hebrew for forgiveness). 

Thank you for being the best Dad and teacher a man could have.

The forgiveness bit I put in after hearing my siblings put it in theirs. I guessed it was something you do. 

The grave was very deep – 12 feet as it was a double plot. When it comes time for my Mom, she has a space six feet under, and over my Dad. That was new. 

The funeral kicked off the first part of the Jewish mourning process – sitting ‘shivah.’ ‘Shivah‘ means seven, and for seven days you sit in mourning. You sit at the family house, on a low chair, and can’t do much other than sit. You wear the same outer clothing from the funeral for the whole week – so those were strategically chosen for comfort. You also can’t shower, wash your hair, wear leather, shave, cut your hair, do business or serve yourself. 

This was how I looked at the end. The ripped white shirt lasted the week. 

I sat at my sister’s house with my mother, sister and brother. My sister’s friends were incredible – they organized all our meals for the week. My nieces and nephews-in-law were also incredible, taking care of our needs, fetching endless cups of water, coffee, tea. Pictures of my Dad were spread in front of us – good conversation and memory springboards. The purpose of shivah is to work through your grief. It is also, to be honest, a bit of work to have to make conversation, and also put those visiting you at ease themselves. By the fifth day or so you find yourself repeating the same stories, explaining once again how he died. My sister and I joked we needed new stories after a certain point. 

I have only a few friends in Israel, so most of the visitors were friends of my sister or mother. When I did have my friends visit it was very special – one of them reached out to some childhood friends he knew were in Israel – so two guys I hadn’t seen since high school paid shivah calls. That was pretty cool. 

Sabbath came on the fifth day of the shiva, and you don’t sit on the Sabbath, so by late Friday afternoon the house was cleared, and it was just family. We were all in the kitchen, a few hours before sunset and the beginning of the Sabbath. I told everyone that Friday night would be hard, and that there will be crying, and I will likely be the first. 

I was right. 

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A funeral in Israel 

My father, Bennett Sydney Levine, died a week ago Monday, on May 23, 2016. 
He died peacefully in his sleep in his home in Modiin, Israel. One of his live-in health care aides, Rolly, found him at 9am. In Israel, usually a person is buried the day he or she dies. Because my brother and I couldn’t get to Israel until Tuesday, we waited until then for the funeral. I am not a particularly religious Jew. I was raised Orthodox but don’t practice or pray that much. I have a lot of pride as a Jew, and I love the land of Israel. My family is Orthodox, over half of it very much so. As we progress through the burial and mourning process, I am re-connecting with things in a different way. 

Burials in Israel are different than in America. The Jewish practice is to have the body touch the earth in some way. In America, the law requires a body be buried in a coffin. Jews will make a crack in the bottom of the coffin, so the body is in contact with the earth. 

There is no formal viewing. No embalming. No fancy suit or makeup. A simple cotton ceremonial robe, wrapped in a prayer shawl. In Israel there is no coffin either. 

When we get to the gravesite, we are told that the custom is for the oldest son to put dirt on the closed eyes of the deceased – this symbolizes the essence or strength of the deceased to the son. Then we will have an opportunity to see him and formally identify him. 

My brother agrees to place the dirt. He does this by himself. My mother cannot see my father in this state. My sister and I join my brother with my father laying in state. My brother quickly leaves, having already seen my father, leaving my sister and me. It is a hard moment for us both. I pick up the shawl, and for the last time see my father’s face, sand over his closed eyes. 

I say goodbye and leave him with one of the religious caretakers. 

There is an open area with a fabric covering, a large stone slab in the middle. My father is carried out and laid out on the slab, wrapped in the shawl. There is a lectern but no microphone. It is unusually overcast for Israel in May, and it’s been raining on and off all morning. Abe, our family friend and Rabbi, is the master of ceremonies. My mother and sister give their eulogies. My brother reads letter from five of his children, and then gives his eulogy. 

Mine is the last family speech. 

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Spring has Sprung at the Serpentine

When I lived in New York City, there was always that first Spring weekend, when Central Park would explode in people out running, biking, and enjoying the returning warm weather – that day in the Park was always one of the best days of any year. Yesterday was my first ‘London’s first warm weekend day,’ and Hyde Park did not disappoint.
My friend Ian and I spent most of the day around the Serpentine, the large lake inside the center of the park. We found a spot at the Serpentine Bar & Kitchen which was a bit challenging given how crowded it was. You have to put your order in at the queue, and they deliver your food to your table – the waits were a bit long, but understandable. We passed on the pizzas (the looked good) and stuck to a few pitches of Pimms & Lemonade – a perfectly sweet cool drink for the warm day.

20140310-105731.jpgWe had good intentions to rent a rowboat (no paddle boats for us real men), but were undone by another long queue.
Instead we took a walk around the lake, finding the Princess Diana memorial fountain. This is a granite fountain at low ground level which is designed to have your feet dangling into it and feel the water rush past as you relax. Signs admonish you not to actually walk in it – but lots of people and little kids were ignoring that bit.
We stopped at the Lido Restaurant, ordered a few more bottles of rose, with the full intention to head back to the boats – alas when we did, it turned out they were closing up for the day, so no rowing for us – not that I minded to be honest, the strenuous activity inconsistent with the overall relaxation of the day. We will try again another time, as they certainly looked fun, giving a great vantage point from the center of the lake.




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Bulldog Sunday (no BS) at Kensington Gardens

I finally got a chance to take the dogs on a long run this morning to Kensington Gardens. Less than a mile from house, Kensington Gardens is the western part of Hyde Park, the Central Park of London. So named as they are the gardens around Kensington Palace. I’ve always liked Kensington side of Hyde Park, as there are great running paths and the trees make the park seem quite different in winter or summer – the leaf-less trees open up the park in the winter, and create great foliage-filled canopies in summer.


Running selfie in Kensington Gardens Summer 2013

Running selfie in Kensington Gardens Summer 2013

Most of the trees are still bare this time of year, but some flowers are fighting their way out as spring isnt too far away, and we’ve been deluged with water which must be helping the early flowering.IMG_4157
As we hit the inside of the park, we stumbled upon a not-so-random gathering – of bulldogs, lots and lots of bulldogs. On the first Sunday of every month, bulldog owners from London meet up and share information about the breed – and let their little babies run and play together. It drew quite a crowd as the sight of about 30 or so of the little guys snorting and cavorting is quite humorous.


Turns out the group has been meeting every Sunday for the past 6 years – and during the summer can get up to 60 dogs per meet-up.

IMG_4144 IMG_4146 IMG_4145
Lucy felt quite tall amongst the crowd of bulldogs and had a blast meeting the little guys… there was a wide mix of breeds and types. Ronnie stayed on leash and didn’t quite to know what to make of it. In all, a fun visit to the park on a lovely Sunday morning.

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March 2, 2014 · 6:21 pm

Find Me a Flat, Stat! (Part 3 – Conclusion)


So to remind you – I narrowed down my neighborhood to Holland Park, Notting Hill and Kensington. The key aspects I was looking for was close to parks for the dogs, close to fun on weekends, and manageable commute to work.
Before looking at actual flats, I spent a fair bit of time looking at flats online. There are a few good sites – has great pictures and is fairly easy to use, and Foxtons is one of the larger agencies with lots of listings. What I used most though was an app called Zoopla.

The app has the standard search parameters along with a text box so I could put in specifics – but I quickly learned there were a few tricks… “garden” means backyard and a “mews” house is one of the small homes down a side street. “Communal gardens” were tricky, as there are lots of rules with them even if you have access, a common one being no dogs allowed, and very likely no dogs allowed off-leash. “Reception” rooms are basically living rooms, and “en suite” meant a private bathroom.
The company does a great job in helping you relocate, and they hooked me up with a guide named Erryl Tudor. Erryl is a nice Australian gent, and he and his wife wrote a book on moving to London, so I was in pretty good hands. The best thing about Erryl was that he was paid on a day rate basis, and his only job was to set up the appointments, take me to them and advise me – he had no financial interest in any of it, which made him a great resource. I had three days with Erryl set aside, and he would pull together the viewings based on my criteria.
I had done some research on my own, but the challenge I had was that the pet policies were not searchable on line, so many of the places I liked in the end were not going to work. The one set of homes I was interested in were a few on a particular street in Holland Park – Hippodrome Mews. There were a few of these mews homes that had been sitting available on line – and I took a walk down the block in my earlier exploration and had a good vibe about it. A few of these allowed pets, so they were added to the list of homes we looked at.
On the first day, we started off nice and early in Notting Hill and headed out to see our first flat – up on the third floor of an older building. This wasnt going to work – while the dogs are in good shape now, in a few years they might not be able to take stairs as easily. We had a few in Bayswater, which I wasn’t really that interested in.. and we saw an amazing flat on Holland Park Ave, a few doors down from the Ukranian Embassy, and down the block from where Richard Branson bought two houses and combined them into one stellar mansion. This flat was fairly spectacular – on the high end of my price range, and not quite enough space for the dogs.. but if it was just me this would have been an amazing place, with a very posh address.
We also checked out a few mews homes in Notting Hill. Lurot Brand is a real estate agency which specializes in mews homes, and one of their brokers took us to several in Notting Hill and Kensington Gardens. Mews homes are interesting in that they are converted carriage houses. The mews homes are generally around on the backs of the grand mansion blocks or row houses. Each mews usually has two to three floors, a roof deck or terrace, and some have garages or extra storage. Given the combo of outdoor space and overall size, I was quickly gravitating to this type of home.


Towards the end of the day, we saw the first of the Hippodrome Mews homes – this was a three level home, with the kitchen and reception area on the bottom floor, and the garage converted into a storage area. The two bedrooms were on the second floor, with a dressing room in lieu of actual closets – this was another facet to get used to, no closet space, everyone uses wardrobes to store clothing (and few go to Narnia unfortunately). The top floor had a terrace, with a view of the tree-tops of the park across the street. I got a good vibe off of this place, and there were two more on this street that were available which we would view the following day.

On the second day, we continued to look at places throughout Notting Hill and Kensington – one was a block north of Kensington Gardens, with a grand room – but no outdoor space. Another had not one but two Murphy beds in the same room – very strange. We also got into see the other Hippodrome Mews homes – one had a full garage, and the other fronted the Main Street and the interior street, but both also looked out across into the other mews – a strange lack of privacy.
On both days we had lunch at Daylesford Organic Cafe which brings in (virtually) all of its produce and meat from its farm out in the country. They have a great lunch special of three salads, with a wide variety of vegetables, fruits, herbs and meats.

20131216-211458.jpg I highly recommend a visit, and taking home some of the great food and produce they sell.

Erryl continued to take me to a variety of flats, including one actually on the famous Portobello Road, home of the open air market and yearly carnival. This one was a second floor walk-up with a roof terrace and two large bedrooms – set over a corner tea/hookah joint. If I was 25, dog-less and straight, this would have been a killer pad – being none of those things, it didn’t work.
Having seen about 30 places as the second day was drawing to a close, we made a return trip to the first Hippodrome Mews, measuring tape in hand. The floors were connected by a small circular staircase, and in order to get my California King bed into the home, we would need to go through the second story window – with a bit of a squeeze, it would fit. It seems that as doorways and stairwells are narrow in London, all sorts of moving techniques are common place here – from cranes, to pulleys to conveyor belts through open windows.

At the end of the visit, we prepared an offer in the car around the block, and by the time I got back to my office Erryl sent it to the landlord. After some back and forth about some needed repairs, we had a deal. I didn’t even set out on the third day I had with Erryl, as we had secured the new place. In the beginning of January, the London Levine pack will have a new place to call home – Hippodrome Mews, Holland Park, London. When will we throw the housewarming party?


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