Esau

My grandfather Misha Nazarov was a Russian peasant.

His nickname was Papa Bell.

His bells famous for their majestic sound

tolled in churches all over Russia.

But his dream was to hear his bell toll in Jerusalem.

For 20 years he prepared his journey.

When he was ready, the entire village joined him.

The horses did not survive the desert heat.

So the pilgrims harnessed themselves to the wagon.

Jerusalem!

Jerusalem!

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen.

And then Grandfather developed symptoms of Jerusalem fever,

a mysterious illness

that prevents you from leaving Jerusalem.

He was unable to walk.

So his sons carried him on a stretcher.

My legs.

It hurts...

But the greater the distance from Jerusalem,

the greater the pain in his legs.

When the pain became unbearable,

he saw the angel.

Nobody knows what the angel actually told him,

because only Grandfather could see and hear him.

That's Jerusalem fever...

Mazel tov.

You're Jew now and your name is Michael.

Michael?

You know what your name signifies in Hebrew?

Who is Godlike.

Mi-cha-el. Michael.

Michael...

Michael.

Michael.

He even smiles like a 'Zhid'.

Michael.

Everything in the world is the result

of a broken chain of the cause and effect.

Sometimes a seagull's cry near Cape Cod

can sink a ship in the English Channel.

And sometimes a Russian bell in Jerusalem

results in the birth of Jewish twins.

Hello.

- What is your name? - Jessica.

Jessica?

- Thank you, Jessica. - Thank you.

- Stephanie. - Stephanie?...

Yeah.

- Loraine. - Loraine?

Yes.

- I hope you enjoyed it. - Thank you,

thanks for writing it. My husband bakes.

- Hi. - Hello.

- My name is Angie. - Angie.

Hi. I have a treat for you.

- How was it? - Not exceptional.

I used your recipe.

You shouldn't trust everything in the books.

- What is your name? - Do you bake?

No. My father was the baker.

So was my brother. I just write.

Everybody calls me a writer.

But a writer writes about people.

And all I write about is bread.

Fortunately, people like bread.

Hello?

Hello?

Who is this?

Hello.

Is this a joke?

No.

Who is this?

I need you. Please. Come.

Leah, is that you?

Hello?

- Who is this? - Jacob, it's me.

What do you want?

I am...

Is everything okay at home?

Home? This is not your home.

Jacob, please. Please.

How is Abraham? Is he okay?

He's dying. Not fast enough, though.

Gonna put him in a nursing home.

Can't keep doing this on my own.

You need any help? Money?

From you?

First time in Israel?

Excuse me?

It's your first time in Israel?

Yes. Yes.

My father never lifted anything heavier than his baker's peel.

So my mother harnessed herself to the wagon.

Like father, like daughter.

Grandfather Michael built us a bakery in a new village

to convince father to live in his beloved Jerusalem.

We've missed you so much!

You little handsome Jews!

What would you say, Evra?

Shh, shh, shh.

- - Shh!

Not bad, not bad.

You feel this sour smell?

It's the dough starting to rise.

Nothing can stop it now.

Now we must hurry.

Let's say the toast...

A toast! Aristophanes said:

"Don't feed with words instead of bread."

Come on, come on!

Just recently we gathered from all over the world,

and came to this land,

and here we are - we already have a bakery!

Best of luck! Long live the Levi family!

Especially Sara! The beautiful Sara!

Leheim, Sara!

[singing song in foreign language]

Stop, Stop! Sara, Sara, stop please.

Stop it. What is this song, this goy song?

Let's sing something ours, some Jews' songs! Hmm?

Everybody!

That was the first time I heard Father call Mother a goy.

At that time I didn't understand what it meant.

Goy is different. Not Jewish.

Slowly...

Slowly... Slowly...

I stop...

Open the bathroom door...

Take my pants down...

Take it out...

Oh...

My hand!

Close the door! Don't let the heat out.

Hey...

I told you not to come.

Wasn't I clear enough on the phone?

Well, I did anyway.

Dad...

Go on with your hugging, I don't want to interrupt.

Gonna give me a heart attack, this one.

Not a moment of peace with this goddamned camera.

Hey there, uncle.

- Hey there, niece. - Nice to meet you.

You, too.

You know, Dad always said I look like you.

Guess it was his way of offending me.

Satanica?

A step...

I stop...

...to the bathroom door.

Careful, Dad. It hasn't dried yet.

Who are you?

It's a dream...

I'm wrong...

It's only a dream...

I'm wrong...

It's just a dream...

Slowly...

Just follow the white line...

Now be careful when you dreaming that.

You might start flying.

Jacob!

Idiots.

Dad...

I'm not hungry.

Okay. We understand you have a horrible headache,

so can you please stop it. Thank you.

Hope you are hungry.

I don't know what to do with this postema.

All day long she sneaks behind people,

surprises them.

They say it's some kind of exhibition, photography and all.

I've a name for it.

Shot in the back.

- Funny, no? - Yeah, well...

She's an artist, you know.

Yeah, she is an artist. Like you?

Doesn't like the work. Likes the easy life.

- Like the eggs? - Mm-hmm.

Enjoying them like three little piggies!

- That's so funny. - Help me.

Okay...

Can we have one breakfast

without this thing on your head?

Ah, Dad?

You can eat over there.