Week 4: voice; childhood memoir /3

Swimming

I grew up in Jerusalem and so people naturally assume two things about me; first that I don’t know how to swim and second that I cannot ride bicycles. This is a common notion among Israelis about Jerusalem natives unchallenged by time like so many others about people who are from Tel-Aviv or even Haifa.  

I can understand the first assumption; there is no sea in Jerusalem and except for the hint of blue, of the Dead Sea, that can be seen on clear days there are no other accessible bodies of water. When I grew up the only public swimming pool was at the YMCA, a graceful mandatory era building in the center of town.  But the bicycle myth evades me till this day.

Be it what it may I did not learn to swim till my parents decided when I was twelve years old that I am old enough to take the bus ride to the YMCA by myself. For my part I think it was my fear of water more than the lack of swimming opportunities that made me so slow in mastering this skill. Every summer since my brother was born we spent few weeks by the sea but most of this time I sat on the sand far away from the water edge preferably with my back to the water.

Those summer vacations grew out of my brothers’ frequent health issues and our family doctors’ recommendation to spend as much time next to salt water as possible. And so every year just before summer vacation my father would take a day off and travel to find us an apartment for the summer. We, my brother and me, would wait impatiently for his return at the end of the day excited to find out everything about our summer destination.

But this is not about our summer vacations by the sea which I don’t remember much about except that they gave me plenty of opportunities to learn how to swim; it is about me taking the bus by myself to the YMCA and finally learning how to swim. I don’t remember much about the bus ride either so I cannot convey a long exciting story about this courageous endeavor aside from the fact that it was a lengthy ride from my neighborhood on the other side of town. I don’t remember much about the swimming lessons though I  am pretty sure I was instructed  after shown the basic movements to let myself lay on the water and  trust their ability to carry me safely.  This was so hard to believe that for the longest time I resisted the whole implausible concept.

 What I do vividly remember is that one single moment when I finally did let go. A glorious moment when gravity let go of me and a bigger power took over. It was a mind altering moment and a huge victory.

So if I could really remember my long bus rides crossing the town on my own I’d probably describe them in details. How the bus went by our first home at the town entrance how it slowed down next to the open market and let on women with huge baskets full of vegetables and fruits. How it crossed Jaffa Street with all the stores and cafes and then passed by the old post office and the wall dividing the town into two rival parts, finally stopping next to the King David Hotel and the YMCA.  All of this is just the back drop to the important part of the story in which I finally let go of the swimming pool wall and my fear of water.