My older sister, Tami, who is 4 years older than me, has always been extremely close to me. This is in part because in the early years of our lives we were each other's only kids company - my father was a ship captain, and the whole family would occasionally go on those extended, several-months-long trips on dad's ship. The ships changed from time to time, but were always really, really tiny, shabby looking barely-afloat things. In fact, being that most of our trips were to northern Europe, and many were in the winter, our accommodations, indeed the whole ship, looked and felt more like a submarine than a surface ship. My "reserved" seat was on the bridge's right-hand side, on a small table meant for spreading out the nautical chart when the weather turned foul, making a trip back to the chart room (some 10 ft away) too taxing a maneuver. From this spot, nearly the highest throughout the entire ship, I would observe those massive mountains of gray, murky water coming toward me all covered with white foam streaks, and my little boy's heart would just sink. With unstoppable regularity, and ferocious power, those monster swells would lift the bow way up in the air until the sea surface would momentarily disappear, and all the eye would see is the cloudy, inky sky. A fleeting moment later, as the wave passed under, now lifting the stern, the bow would dive deeply down, as if seeking the bottom of the ocean (which appeared to me to be our inevitable destination). If the next wave were fast enough to arrive, which was often the case, the ship would simply take it on its fore-deck, riding so low as to be practically under water. We could then see the wave's crest working its way along the ship's short hull, burying everything under tones of water, and turning the comforting view of the floating, water-free deck into just another patch of ocean. A few horror-filled seconds later, the crest would arrive just in front of the wheel-house, where we were watching in awe, and promptly thereafter crush onto the wheelhouse windows, obliterating whatever poor visibility was there to begin with for long, scary moments.

Sharing those experiences, and many more, brought my sister Tami and myself really close together. When we grew up, we drifted apart for a number of years, as each of us pursued our own ideas about `adulthood'. In time, she got married, and quickly had her first son, Yonatan. He was the first baby whose existence I actually recognized. In fact, I really loved him from very early on, and still do. Afterwards, she had another son, Shaul, who is Israel's answer to Eric Clapton; he will be a great electric guitarist if he chooses to. So here they are.

Here is Tami, nursing and admiring her second son Shaul when he was 7 days old.

Here's Shaul at 1 month. Ever since birth, Shaul had this half-smile on his face that makes you think he has a deck of aces up his sleeve...

Tami's husband Yosi, by far Israel's greatest theater actor (and now director), doing a little jig for the camera...

And here he is on stage, in his latest play, Enigmatic Variations by Erik-Emanuel Schmidt.

Tula, the family cat, in the back yard. For me, she always goes by `Mitzi'.

Yonatan at 2 weeks. He looks incredibly like my own son, Adam.

My hero Yonatan, 1 month old. He is held by Avshalom, Yosi's son from a previous marriage, who is now roughly 30, also a theater actor, and a really great guy.

Now, many years after these pictures were taken, Yonatan is 19 (years old, not days or weeks or months...) When it was said to be time for him to go to the Army to police Palestinians in the occupied territories, he didn't think so. So he did what he had to do, and promptly upon getting the right clearance from the Army authorities, left Israel for Amsterdam, where he now lives. He is a big idealist, who believes strongly in animal rights, as well as those of workers of huge, international corporations. For the last year or so, Yonatan has distinguished himself as Amsterdam's chief squatter. He is part of a group of people who occupy unclaimed decrepit buildings in the heart of Amsterdam, fix them up themselves, and form small communes in them. I am very proud of my little nephew, who is now a big guy. So here goes, from Yosi's recent trip to Amsterdam.