My ex-wife and me in 2006, when she was pregnant with my eldest daughter, Adi.

My marriage (2003-2013) is not a chapter I revisit with joy. 
I cannot recall many good moments with my ex-wife, but if I look at myself objectively,
I can also understand that she has her own reasons for speaking critically of me. 

Family time with my ex.

When conflicts arose between us,  I chose silence. Instead of arguing,  I slipped quietly into the refuge of  my music — a world where tension  dissolved and only melody remained.  Music became my escape, my shelter,  and sometimes the only place where  I felt steady.

The only thing my ex and I still share, is the date of our birth.
I was born on 13 May 1969, and she on 13 June 1974 — both of us carrying the 13.
What some traditions call an “unlucky” number is, in Judaism, a sign of blessing and good fortune. And yet, looking back, whatever luck the 13 is meant to hold didn’t stay with our marriage.
But it did give me the one bright, undeniable light of my life: 
my three children — Adi, Hila and Ariel — two girls and a boy, each of them means the world to me. 
They live with their mother, yet I see them regularly, several times a month on weekends. 
Those hours with them are simple and precious. 
We play UNO, Taki and Domino  — games I enjoy not only with them.
In fact, my daily life is full of small games I play with the people I’m connected to.

My kids had grown a little since the last photo. I, however, continue 
to stay young — mostly because my inner child refuses to hand over the keys.

From the left: My daugther, Hila, me, my son Ariel and Adi, my eldest daughter.

Adi and me in 2018.