30 days

After the shock of losing an old friend has subsided somewhat, I feel a little more ready to share…

So many people have been writing about him on Facebook, but I think it’s actually taken me this long to let the news sink in. I mentioned in my last blog that an old friend passed away on pesach. His name was Jez Freedman, and he was a writer, film-maker and father of 2 little girls. Since this blog is a truly personal one, I hope you will indulge me if I share a few memories of this very special person.

Randomly, the first one that springs to mind is bunking off together in BA machaneh. There was some cold tiyul to some miserable place in the dead of winter that no one in their right mind would want to do and what with his illness and me getting over some nasty virus there was no way in hell we were going on that. So we had a lie in and then met up for lunch only to discover that some moronic madrich had left our food warming on the hotplate, on a PLASTIC PLATE.

I have two years of fond memories of sitting next to him at school (we shared 2 of the same A levels. That’s a lot of time being bored together) and I remember him in English classes as being a man of few words. Not because he had nothing to say, but because most of the other people in our class talked INCESSANTLY and we just sort of gave up. We had more fun in our Religious Studies lessons, which he didn’t put a lot of effort into, possibly because his energy levels prevented him from doing the work, or perhaps he was just lazy… I will never know. But I do remember the lovely teacher we had coming to the common room to teach the class, because Jez was on the sofa and seemed happiest there (we love you Mr Drucker). Anyway he got through that one by spending a weeks worth of afternoons in my back garden just before the exam, where I coached him. God knows how he passed that exam. His brilliant writing skills must have convinced the examiners that he had done the work.

I have another memory of traipsing through Jerusalem on a freezing winter night to get to his birthday drinks in the famous Second Cup cafe. We were halfway through our gap year but the living conditions were just too difficult for him, and he left shortly after. It must have been lonely for him returning when most of his friends were off on their gap years, but I don’t recall him grumbling about it, at all.

Then there are all my fond memories of working with him on our Young LIFE committee, which we set up with 2 other post-grads (and later, Husband joined too) and raised over 11,000 quid for various little known charities in Israel. I remember we had a meeting scheduled during a period where he was really unwell. Since it would not occur to Jez to miss out, we took the meeting to him in Northwick Park hospital.

In more recent years, I am just bowled over by what he has achieved despite his condition. This was something he almost never talked about, and I only know what he had because I asked him. You cant imagine how little he grumbled about his condition, or moaned about anything connected to it. Even though he must have suffered with a lot of pain, most likely on a daily basis… plus there were things he just couldn’t do and no teenager likes to miss out on stuff. I have no idea how he dealt with that.

But that was Jez really.

In fact there was a known list of things he Just Didn’t Do. Sport (with the exception of football – Jez would never think to miss out on that one, I think the boys just sort of learned to be careful with him). Music. Despite my best efforts to get him into it he just didn’t do music. Tiyulim. Early mornings (or mornings in general come to think of it). We didn’t really question this stuff, we knew he was unwell and that was that. Now I find myself wondering what he would have been like if he hadn’t been ill. Might he have been a very different person? Probably not so much, as I think he was a very strong character, and his essence would have been as I knew it. Football was in his blood. The fact that it was more of a spectator sport for him did not make him any different from the average British male. I remember him making me watch Fever Pitch, in an effort to get me to Understand (I am a true football Philistine). I still don’t get it, how anyone can get so emotional about football. But I will forever associate that film with him.

These past few weeks I often think of Jez when I write. What would he think? Would he think my novel was drivel? I know for a fact he would hate my poetry (my inspiration is Sylvia Plath. She drove him mad during our A levels). But mostly, I am just so terribly sad that I will never get to ask his opinion. Every so often this crosses my mind, or I think of another past memory and my eyes just fill up with tears.

Jez was the friend we chose to be a witness to our marriage, and his signature will alays be close by on my ketuba, where it hangs in my room. A permanent reminder of a very treasured friend.

Below is Jez’s award winning short-film, The Funeral.