You can go home again -- for a little while

We just got back from the International Jewish Hockey Tournament at the Canada Center in Metulla. Most of you know that I was really looking forward to it, but it wasn't until I walked into the arena that I knew exactly why I was so excited to be there.

In the two seconds it took to cross the threshold from the northern Israeli town of Metulla into the arena, I essentially entered a time warp that took me back 30 years.

The smells and the sounds of the rink are so deeply ingrained into my inner childhood being that if I had seen one of my old high school friends walking towards me in her Kodiak work boots and Ski Cruiser winter jacket, it wouldn't have surprised me in the least. I probably would have had a harder time explaining who my children were to my old friend because I am pretty sure I could have completely dismissed the past three decades effortlessly at that moment.

I have to admit that I felt more alive than I have felt in a long time. And it was easy to ignore the hebrew advertisements along the boards. I'm short -- I see what I want to see.

And then there was the audience. Mostly Canadians as I suspected. My cousin Sheila was there just as she might well have been in Sydney, Nova Scotia or Toronto. We have been watching hockey together for a very long time.

My other cousin Phil sat with us through the first two games. Now that was unusual because in the old days he would have been suited up and unable to sit down. Goalies can barely walk in their gear -- let alone sit in the stands. And he was a great goalie.

Since he is my cousin I have bragging rights. He was first goalie in one of the first Junior Canada Cup Tournaments years ago -- and the best part of the story is that Patrick Roi (who went on to become an NHL super-goalie) was second goalie. In case you are wondering why Phil didn't make it to the NHL, I will venture the guess that at least in those days Jewish boys did not become professional hockey players -- they became the players' lawyers and doctors. Their mothers didn't allow them to do things that could get them hurt.

I would say that nothing has changed, but I live in Israel and my sons are going to be Israeli soldiers before I know it. I don't want to think about that right now, so back to hockey.

I would be remiss to overlook the Russian colour-commentator -- who said about twenty words in English per game. In all fairness I couldn't manage 20 words in Russian on any topic but next year I think they should give the job to me. I would give them colour with a capital C.

The first game we watched was between the Canadian and US seniors' teams. Seniors here means 20 plus. Even the NHL hockey only had one real "senior" ever in its ranks and Gordie Howe as a very special hockey player. Obviously hockey has its own vocabulary.

The seniors played a great game. Or at least I thought they did. I haven't seen a real game in three years so I may have lost my critical observation edge. Canada was all over the US (as it should have been) for most of the game, but then they lost their will to win and those Americans took it by one goal in sudden death overtime. Oh the pain. I stood for the American national anthem out of Canadian politeness.

The second game was amazing. It was played by what was billed as the weaker Canadian Junior team and the US Junior team. Without going through the whole game play-by-play, I will simply say that one should never underestimate the will to win. The game went into sudden death overtime and then into penalty shots. The best part (besides winning the game) was that all the Canadians in the audience -- players from other teams and the rest of the fans -- worked together to harass the American players while they were trying to take their penalty shots. Everyone else in the rink just looked on in amazement -- because they had never seen the well-oiled Canadian hockey machine at work before. We didn't even know each other but that had nothing to do with us collectively working towards the same goal.

For the records, I didn't sing the Canadian national anthem because for some reason the Canadian government keeps changing the words and I don't even know the most up-to-date version. Who the heck changes the words in their national anthem? At least the Americans are consistent! I'll give them that.

The third game was a bit disappointing, but that was inevitable after the highs and lows of the second game. Also, the third game was played between the make-believe Israeli team (which consisted of a few Russian-born or raised Israelis and a lot of Canadian kids with Israeli-born parents) and the stronger Canadian Junior team. Not the best set-up for a group that had to work and think together. A team needs a collective psyche -- and a collective psyche takes time to create and requires everyone to speak the same language! Also, word has it that not all those Russian players were Jewish -- you can learn a lot when you get into the shower with another guy. So, maybe it was God's wrath. Oh don't roll your eyes; this is the Holy Land and things like that can happen here!

Finally, after three games, I reluctantly left the rink -- and my past -- behind. I had to get back to my real life and feed my starving children. Interestingly enough, I have been rather melancholy all day today but I wouldn't have missed it for anything. I just wish I still had my Kodiak boots.