Parenting

"Parenting (or child rearing) is the process of promoting and supporting the physical, emotional, social, and intellectual development of a child from infancy to adulthood. Parenting refers to the aspects of raising a child aside from the biological relationship."

As difficult as it is, as much as it's changed the path of our lives, there is nothing I would give up about having the two precious souls entrusted to us on such a huge, part-time basis. We may be aunt & uncle, but having a little being's face light up because she's so happy to see you that she leaps up to throw her arms around you and shower you with kisses is an incredible blessing - and an enormous responsibility.

I can't help but think, nearly every time I am disciplining the kids, or reacting to something that I *know* is developmental, what would my sister be doing in this situation? My sister and I were very different people. We had different backgrounds (I was an Army brat until 13, she only until 7), different fathers (biologically the same, just military vs. civilian), different social stratas, even different levels of university (state school vs. ivy league). Would we raise our children the same? During the short period she had with her children, I think not. She was dedicated to Attachment Parenting. I don't think I would have been, if I had been blessed with children, although I supported her parenting decision.

I am so very much aware that I am the closest thing to a mother figure they have. Every thing I do or say is coloured by what I think my sister would do or say in the same situation. I make a very concentrated effort to respect what I think my sister's wishes would be in a given situation. Yet at the same time, I have to do what I think is right, recognizing that there might be a divergence.

Tonight, the kids were being little animals. They were wild (understandable, given they had to sit in a car for an hour at 5pm), insane, crazy, over the top, uncontrollable. Yet, they were giggling adorably, so happy and having so much fun, I couldn't bring myself to stop them.

Until I had to, and of course, there were tears and sulking. But within a few minutes, smiles and cuddles were back in play.


Out of the blue, one of the kids starts telling a story (he has SUCH an amazing imagination!), and a throw-away line in the story was that his Mommy died. It really didn't have anything to do with the story, but was important enough to him that he included it. And my heart stopped. As I put each of them to bed, with the kisses and the cuddles, and the love (she insists on holding my hand when I sing the Shema to her - tonight she demanded "No shema!" but I said, "Okay, I'll sing it for myself." I was one line in, when she turned over and grabbed my hand. *heart melted*), I felt my sister's influence stronger than ever before.

Some of her friends have mentioned having comforting dreams of her, dreams that they felt sent a message of peace, comfort and love. I haven't had anything like that. But I like to think she'd be happy with how I deal with her children. I'd like to think she'd be proud of the influence we've had. I truly hope my influence is strong enough that these two beautiful children grow into amazing adults who are everything she would hope for her children. I hope my love for my sister shows itself in two loving, caring, sensitive adults. Someday. For now, I'm okay with the wild children wreaking havoc. To a point. And as long as I've had coffee. Caffeinated, because my decaf days went the way of the do-do bird because, Children.

Parenting. It's not biological.

Tisha B'Av is Hard

Well, it's supposed to be. But for me, it's especially hard because from the very first Tisha B'Av I spent in Israel, I spent it with Pamela. She and I, until she had children, would go together to Darche Noam. Then she got sick, and I spent Tisha B'Av that year taking care of her children while she was in the hospital. I went to hear Eicha at the Tayelet in Jerusalem, her stomping ground.

The next year, I was too engrossed in my mourning to do anything other than fast for Tisha B'Av.

This year, I am once again taking care of my sister's children when Tisha B'Av occurs. I have no sense of the Jewish history of this day this year. I have no feeling more than usual for the suffering of our ancestors this year. As a people, we have been living Tisha B'Av for 27 days. We are in mourning. We are living in fear. We are on edge. We fear for ourselves as Jews, not just as individuals. We have been trying to be strong, to protect our children, to protect ourselves, to put on a brave face for our soldiers - our sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, cousins, friends, fathers and mothers, aunts and uncles.

Today, we get to put that brave face away and show our true face. We get to cry. We can tell ourselves that it's for the day, for the kinnot that we read, for the history. We can let others think that it's the emotion of the prayers. We can release everything we've been holding in, without embarrassment or shame.

I have been been living Tisha B'Av for two years. Every morning when my sister's children wake up and run to give me hugs, it is with mixed emotions that I squeeze them back. I love that they love me. I love that they want to hug me. I adore that they want to greet me every morning. But it shouldn't be me that they are running to. I should be listening to their mother tell me how much she loves the morning hugs she gets.

My sister didn't die because she was Jewish, despite the statistic that breast cancer affects the Jewish population in much higher numbers, but nonetheless, my Tisha B'Av has been forever affected and forever changed. I don't need kinnot to make me "feel" this day. I have enough feeling to last me a lifetime. But this year, so many families are joining me in this new reality.

I'd really rather this club not grow any more.

May those who are fasting have a meaningful fast, and may next year see Tisha B'Av be a day of rejoicing.

The Cost

We have lost 27 souls, last I read. 27 boys and men who should be planning their future, or in the case of a few them, men who should be going to work at a "normal" job and coming home to their wives and kids. People are starting to ask if we're paying too high a price.

Ask the soldiers. I think - and I don't know for sure - they would say they belong right where they are. In six years, we're on our third incursion into Gaza. Each time, we lose precious lives. Each time, there is a high toll in Gaza, as well.

Meanwhile, for the last nearly 10 years, rockets have fallen regularly on Israeli communities in the south. An entire generation is growing up with PTSD. An entire generation from multiple communities will be suffering the lasting effects of trauma for their entire lives.

What price is too high? A soldier who is trained, prepared for battle, properly (we hope!) equipped - is his life more valuable than the young adult who can't function, who can't concentrate, who starts at every noise? Or do we say, at least they're alive? Having three separate people in my life who suffered from PTSD who chose to end their lives at the end of gun, I wonder. They chose death over living with such severe trauma.

Any life lost - ours or theirs - is too much. But sometimes the price we have to pay in order to have a future is so high, we can't even comprehend it. We can't wrap our heads around it.

Avraham was willing to sacrifice his son for what he believed in. It is too great a thing to ask, and yet the question came anyway.

Are we willing to sacrifice our sons for what we believe in - the safety of our people, the security of our nation? I think we would not be like Avraham and we would say no, but the question is not ours to answer, it is our sons' and daughters'. And from what I've seen, I suspect their answer would be the same is Yitzchak's - lead me to the altar and pray Hashem stays the hand that wields the blade.

I am heartbroken with every report I hear, with every grieving parent, spouse, child, sibling, friend, I hear about. And I am forever grateful to be protected by those who go to battle for me.

And please God, may this time be the last time we have to ask our children to sacrifice for us.

Heartbreak

The most heartbreaking experience I have ever had was not the death of my sister. That was number two on the list. An enormous number two, but two nonetheless. Number one was my 2 year-old nephew wailing desperately for "Mommy" while my sister was in the hospital in the weeks before her death.

Every night of his very short life, he had fallen asleep cuddling with Mommy, until she was inexplicably gone. I cuddled with him, his Nana cuddled with him until he would eventually quiet down, calmed, but not consoled. Because there is no consolation for that. Not as an adult, and certainly not as a toddler who has no concept of illness or death, no way to comprehend what is happening.

When Pamela, z"l, died, I was gutted beyond belief, but I knew what was going on. I might not have understood the why, but I knew the what. I knew she wasn't coming back. I had no way of helping this tiny little being soothe his pain and terror. There are no words to explain. His suffering was solitary. I can at least talk to others who have lost a sibling, and know that they understand. A 2 year-old has no one to feel his fear, and his is the only pain that exists in the whole universe.

Today I had a doctor's appointment. While waiting, a little girl, maybe all of 3, was wailing her heart out. She was terrified, sobbing with everything she had, "Ima, Ima" while her father tried to calm her and console her (he was brilliant, by the way). Every time she cried "Ima" I felt it right in my heart. Because I heard "Mommy" with every cry. I heard a little 2 year-old boy in my arms, howling into my chest. This little girl may have only been crying over getting a shot, but her pain and fear were the same. She wanted the one and only person who was her core support. The one person she trusted most to protect her and keep her from harm. And that one person wasn't there at that moment. And for a child, that moment is the only one that exists. Thank God that little girl was going to be able to go home and be soothed by Ima.

And I was able to hold it together long enough to fall apart in the car, instead of in front of a hall full of strangers in the doctor's waiting room.

Is It Time For A Self-Exam For The Breast Cancer Industry?

In honour of October aka breast cancer awareness month, a question for my survivor friends, if you don't mind my asking - and before you read on, please don't if reading about cancer will upset you or cause you stress. That is not my intention.



What do you all think about these kinds of videos, like the one below? I haven't personally experienced having cancer, thank God; I'm just a survivor of a non-survivor, so my perspective is probably different.

Personally, I hate them. I don't see the point. How is dancing around and wearing pink supposed to bring awareness? Or in this particular video, make the patient feel better? These videos seem to me to be self-serving, with the dual purpose of the participants having a great time, and feeling great because they believe they're contributing. Don't get me wrong - there's absolutely nothing wrong with that. Just don't pass it off as an awareness campaign (is there ANYONE who doesn't know about breast cancer at this point?). I resent the implication that if we would all just wear something pink and dance a flashmob, everything will be all better.

You want to do an awareness campaign? How about a campaign that lets people know that people STILL DIE from this disease?! The number of women who die every year from breast cancer, ovarian cancer and other cancers is unacceptable. The number of young women who leave behind children who have no understanding of what has happened to their mothers or fathers is deplorable. The number of families grieving their loss and struggling to carry on is offensive.

How about a campaign that forces companies like Susan G Komen to be completely transparent so we see how little of our donations is actually going to research for a cure*. How about a campaign to demand that our governments make finding affordable (dare I say free?) treatment a priority. How much money would the health care system save if we could just get a shot when that mammogram comes back showing a terrifying lump? How about we force those big-name pharmaceuticals to dedicate a set portion of their research towards certain diseases, in order to receive those government grants?

Do we need a month dedicated to breast cancer awareness? Really? Let's make October Breast Cancer PREVENTION Month. Or Breast Cancer Research Month. Or How To Do A Self-Exam Month. Or Stop Breast Cancer Month. I think we have enough awareness that there's something out there called breast cancer.**

The fact that so many people are shocked to hear of anyone dying from breast cancer ("You can still die from that?" and "I didn't know women still died from breast cancer" - actual quotes from someone upon hearing about my sister, z"l) means breast cancer research is not the priority it should be. No video with a bunch of people wearing pink gloves dancing to a catchy tune is going to change that.


*By Komen's own figures, about 21% of their total budget goes to research. 

** Edited to add: Male breast cancer could use an awareness campaign - Morey's family history includes his grandmother, two aunts and a great-uncle who died from breast cancer. A few years back, when Morey found a lump, he went to see his doctor, despite feeling embarrassed. He shared his feeling with the doctor, who reassured him saying Morey absolutely did the right thing, especially given his history. It turned out to be nothing, thank God, but in his case, it might not have been. (I have Morey's permission to share this story.) Men can, and do, also die from this disease. Thank you, Leah, and your cousin for reminding me that I needed to make that clearer.

In loving memory of Pamela;
the heartbreak will always be too great.

If you know of someone who is dealing with cancer, who has young children, this book, The Cancer That Wouldn't Go Away: A story for kids about metastatic cancer is a tremendous resource. Written and edited by two dear friends of mine who, with another sister, also lost a sister to cancer, it contains a guide by a child psychologist to help families talk to their children. May the day come that a book like this will no longer be needed.

Grateful and Gracious

The husband of a friend of ours is ill and in hospital. They have a subscription to the Israel Symphony, but with her husband ill, they are not able to use it. Even under the circumstances, my friends wanted to make sure the tickets didn't go to waste and that somebody was able to enjoy last night's concert in their place.

Due to their generosity and incredible thoughtfulness, we were able to have a fantastic experience last night. It was an evening of Tchaikovsky and Holst. I love Tchaikovsky, and Morey loves "The Planets" so it was a perfect match.

Some observations:

We never would have been able to experience if my friend wasn't so considerate. Sitting with her husband in a hospital room, she thinks of others.

We were doubly blessed - not only did we get to see a fantastic performance of the Israel Symphony Orchestra, the Tchaikovsky was performed by a mind-blowing 22-year-old prodigy named Daniil Trifonov. His fingers were like rubber spider legs; long, thin and moved like lightning (his whole body was long and thin, sort of stretched. He reminded me of Jack). His passion, timing and interpretation were brilliant. It was a true pleasure to witness. He was also the most gracious star performer I've ever seen: he hugged the conductor, shook hand with the first chair violin, bowed to the orchestra and only then did he turn to the audience and take his bow. And come back for an encore!

Which leads me to my next observation. Orchestral encores? I've never seen this, but within seconds, this very knowledgeable audience (every concert I've ever been to, there's always at least one person who is a first-timer and starts to applaud at the end of the first movement. Not one mis-timed clap in the bunch last night) started clapping as if at a rock concert - not applause, but clapping in unison. Trifonov came out for a few more bows, and then eventually sat down and played a cute little Chopin.

After the intermission, the full orchestra came on for The Planets. Throughout the Tchaikovsky piece (Concerto No. 1 for piano and orchestra in B-flat minor, Op. 23, for those who are wondering), I was observing the wonderful mosaic of the orchestra. There were older, stately men and women, a young woman with wildy violet hair, a male French horn player with gorgeous long, wavy hair. Blondes, brunettes, long, short, old, young, even an Asian violinist (which would not be at all unusual in any concert in the US, but she stood out here). We were wonderfully surprised to see not one, but two very obviously charedi musicians, long beards, black kippas and all. One was first chair cello (and magnificent. And for those who know him, the cellist reminded very much of Rabbi Dubrowsky z"l).

(And for the record, there were female musicians wearing pants, sleeveless outfits, and one of the movements has a female chorus. These two men did not get up and leave, fyi.)

This, by the way, is why I get upset when people say THE Charedi. Just like all Jews are not the same and do not believe exactly the same, so all Charedim are not the same. Obviously.

The conductor, Dan Ettinger, was probably the most calm, understated conductor I've ever seen. Morey gave names to some of his moves, one of which was a side-to-side sway ("rock the boat"). The other one isn't, erm, suitable for a family blog.

The concert was in Rishon LeZion, not in Tel Aviv or Jerusalem. High-calibre arts can be enjoyed all over this country. It probably doesn't hurt that a lot of the musicians are Russian ;) but there are plenty of very Israel names in the bunch.

We had a thoroughly enjoyable evening, 20 minutes away, courtesy of two very big-hearted people. We are grateful.

Please daven for a complete and speedy healing for Avraham ben Ida.

Breathing

Life is not measured by the breaths you take but by the moments that take your breath away.

We included this pithy quote in the program guide we created for our wedding. We wanted something that would explain all the Jewish ritual to our many non-Jewish relatives and friends who honoured us by being at our wedding. It being a wedding, I was feeling shmooey, and so, on each page of the program, I included a soppy romantic quote.

Life is not measured by the breaths you take but by the moments that take your breath away.

This quote is meant to convey moments of awe. Moments of profound awareness of being with your "other." Moments of appreciating how much you have and how great your life is.

I've since come to realize that it has another side to it.

Life is not measured by the breaths you take but by the moments that take your breath away.

Moments where you are crying so hard that you can't breathe. Moments where you are hit with such profound sadness, you feel a crushing weight in your chest that keeps you from taking in air. Moments where you feel, no matter how hard you try, that emptiness will never go away, never be filled, never fade. Moments of feeling a loneliness so profound, there aren't words to describe it.

Life is not measured by the breaths you take but by the moments that take your breath away.

One breath taken away took my breath away. I haven't breathed normally since.

A moment in the life

Today is the birthday of the sister z"l of friends of mine. She died last year after a long battle with breast cancer.

Today is the birthday of a friend of my sister's. My sister z"l died two months ago after a stunningly short battle with breast cancer.

My friends created a book to help their sister's children cope with their mother's ongoing illness. That book went to press today, on their sister's birthday.

 My sister's friend posted a picture of a beautiful card her daughter hand-wrote and gave her for her birthday. I don't have to tell her to cherish that.

It breaks my heart that there are children who will, God forbid, need the book written by Hadassah Field and edited by Sarak Mosak Saiger, "The Cancer That Wouldn't Go Away" (http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Cancer-That-Wouldnt-Go-Away-a-story-for-kids-about-metastatic-cancer/358690442097).

 It breaks my heart that my niece and nephew will never be able to see the pride and tears in their Mommy's eyes when they would have given her a birthday card written in a child's love-filled scrawl.

Today is just a heart broken day.

Kaddish and Cohanim

Saying Kaddish - the prayer that those in mourning say - has been hard. But not just for the reasons you think. I plan, eventually, to write a blog post about my experiences of my first week saying Kaddish for my sister z"l* after shiva**.  In the meantime, I had an experience this morning that affected me very deeply and was so very special.

For two years, one of our dearest friends was fighting his own cancer. Things looked up, then they looked grim. We cried a lot; we prayed even more. We were fiercely davening (praying), saying tehillim (psalms) and desperately trying to provide assistance to his far-too-competent wife (also a beloved friend). Last year, thank God, he finally received a clean bill of health, notice of remission, and gave me the go ahead to remove his name from my tehillim list for a refuah shlema (a full healing, basically). I continued davening to express my gratitude that this friend would remain in our lives, and go on to continue getting back to "normal."

This friend is also a Cohen***. While he was in the midst of his struggle, he could not perform  his Cohen duties, which include saying a special blessing during morning services. At the same time, we moved apartments. It was only a few blocks away, but too far from our shul (synagogue) to go regularly.

This morning, I went to services to say Kaddish for my sister. As is usual during the week, I  was the only woman present. The chairs are stacked up, so it's just me, in my one chair, on my side of the mechitza (divider). Without realizing it, I had positioned myself on the other side of the mechitza from this very same friend. When it came time for the Cohanim (plural) to make their blessing, I suddenly realized that I hadn't heard him doing his Cohen duties in a very, very long time. The Cohen blessing is one of my very favourite parts of the service, and to see my friend going up to the front of the room made me smile.

Then I realized: here I am, saying Kaddish for my beloved sister who never even really had a chance to fight her cancer, while being given a blessing from a beloved friend who struggled so long and hard to come through his battle with this devastating disease. We were so scared for so long, and, Baruch Hashem, there he was, standing where he belonged, looking healthy and serene, sending out God's blessing to us all.

I was so grateful and so moved. I simply don't know how to put into words how beautiful a moment that was for me. To receive such a blessing at the moment of such devastation fills my heart. I tried to explain this to my friend, and he got it. I know Pamela would get it, too.

May the neshama of Ayala Pamela bat Avraham v'Leah be elevated.

* Zichrona Livracha - may her memory be a blessing
** Shiva - seven days of mourning
*** Cohen - priestly class.

Tisha B'Av: Now it's Personal

We're told to find ways to make Tisha B'Av, our day of fasting for the destruction of the Temple, personal to us. The Beit HaMikdash is so far removed from our experiences as Jews today, that it is sometimes hard to relate to the Kinot of Eicha.

While we think of Tisha B'av as being the memorialization of a national tragedy - the destruction of the Beit HaMikdash - we are also recalling a million personal tragedies. We try hard to identify, then, not only with the destruction of walls, but rather the upheaval of lives. Thinking about it, I realized the Jews of the time must have had their entire worlds turned upside down when the Temple was destroyed. Daily sacrifices, Cohanim, the festivals where Jews travel to reach the Temple - these were things that were an integral part of every Jew's life. We are told Hashem dwelt among the people in the Temple, and we lost that Presence when the we lost the Temple. The lives of the Jews must have been shattered.

My sister's diagnosis of cancer has turned our world upside down. Her life as a mother, her excitement in a new job, is now all completely focused on healing, caring for herself and learning how to accept each new limitation. Her husband's world is all about her - he rarely leaves the hospital, his existence revolves around doctors, radiation appointments, making her comfortable.

Her young children - an infant and a toddler - haven't seen their mother for more than a few minutes in two weeks. And when they did see her, she was too tired to do more than sleepily cuddle. They were thrust into full-time daycare, are temporarily living in their grandparent's rental apartment. Her parents, those same grandparents, have left their retirement life, dropped everything to come to Israel to help out however they can. Her father, who likes a clean, quiet home, is doing his best to contend with the chaos that children bring into a home - toys, diapers, clothes, bottles everywhere. Her mother spends a good part of the day tending to the baby.

Her sister - me - hasn't slept in her own bed in over a week. I haven't been to my own home in that time, aside from a quick 2-hour trip, where I spent lots of time snuggling with my animals, who seemed surprised to see me. Along with my niece and nephew, I have also temporarily moved into my parent's rental apartment. Shabbat was the first day my husband and I have spent together in a week, and the night was shared with the kids. I sleep with the kids, and get up with the baby every 2 or so hours. I have no children of my own, so this is very new to me.

Her brother-in-law- my husband - is basically holding down our household alone, and spending a good amount of time driving back and forth from Modi'in to Jerusalem to see me for an hour or so, and always helps with the kids.

We're not complaining; we all do these things willingly, with hearts full of love, without hesitation, and will do them as long as necessary, until my sister, please God, is well enough to take care of them again herself. But one person's diagnosis of cancer is not just one person's diagnosis - it turns whole worlds upside down, shatters expectations, and sets people adrift. No. I have no problem relating to Tisha B'Av this year. May we only hear good news.

Airing Dirty Laundry

There's a battle going on in my town that is hurting my heart. I don't know what to do about it. I know if I speak up on the maillist (which has been going nuts over this), I will get stomped on. But this is weighing on my mind. How can I not speak up? But what do I say? No one will listen if I start jumping up and down, yelling, "but we're all the same!!" I'll get my head slammed if I even try anything religious. I've found a number of quotes, just in davening that address the hate that is flying. But no quotes like that would fly. I'm stumped. And heartbroken. Considering the last time I commented on a thread on the maillist, about dog poop, I had my head bitten off. So since I suspect anything I could post to the Modi'in list would be dismissed out of hand, I'll post it here. Hardly anyone will read it, but at least I will have spoken up somewhere.

The background: According to nearly everyone involved, at a recent Chol HaMoed event in Modi'in, a Charedi woman went up to to a man performing a clown/juggling act and asked if the female volunteer he was using could be switched to a man. The performer stated the woman asked "very politely." He agree to switch, the audience protested, the female volunteer was reinstated and that should have been the end of it.

Except the Modi'inites are now out for blood. The email list for the town has become a basket for vitriol, for anti-Charedi rants to be spewed without limit. The few times someone has spoken up about the hate language being used, they have been viciously shot down. People have requested that the moderators stop this topic already, but nothing has been done except the posters writing back to say stop asking that the topic be stopped. If I hear the term "free speech" one more time, I may scream. Everything has been claimed from Holocaust comparisons, to keeping women from performing is illegal, to who does this woman think she is, to keep them out of our town. The whole situation makes me very sad to think that we can hate each other so much. How we feel about ultra-Orthodoxy's marginalization of women is a valid issue, but not one that is being discussed here.

We should appreciate that this woman approached the performer and spoke "very politely" to him. There were no rocks thrown, no demands made, no names called, just a quiet request. We, as a community, reject that request. We reject the beliefs that are behind that request. That is a good thing. There is nothing wrong with making a request.

The performer chose to honour her request. We, as a community, disagree with his choice. What was behind his response, we can't know. Was he just trying to be nice? Did he think that's what the majority wanted? Did he just want to avoid an argument? Did he not even think about it, because he was focused on his act, so he just said yes because it was easier? Who knows.

We, as a community, rejected that request. We do not believe that women cannot be on stage. We do not believe that men and women should be separated in public. We do not believe that women have no place in mixed public events. We made that very clear, very loudly.

We should proud of that. Instead, we are using terms like "Modiinistan" "those Charedi people" "keep them out." We are generalizing, we are making them the "other."

We are being hateful.

There are no two ways about it. We are secular and Orthodox, we are left-wing and right-wing. We are business executives, blue collar workers, military officers, mothers and fathers. We are respectable, and we speak of respecting each other.

But that is not what we are doing right now. And what we are doing right now, as a community, makes my heart hurt. Generalizations, rumours and negative talk have no place here. We spoke up, we put our collective foot down. No one is saying we were wrong.

Let us be the example of community. Let us turn this around and stop talking about what didn't happen, and instead talk about what did. And this is what did:

1. Someone politely made a request that was objectionable to our community.
2. We said no, that is unacceptable to us. And we were heard.

Please, let us be proud that we spoke as a community. Let us take comfort in the knowledge that as a community, be us secular, orthodox or somewhere in between, we have essentially the same values and the same goals for our community. To live together, peacefully and with respect for each other.

Defining Freedom

One of the most common gripes heard just before Pesach (usually from me) is, how the heck can you call Passover the Festival of Freedom when we are slaves to our kitchens the week before? Many of us start preparing immediately after the holiday of Purim, cleaning rooms and closets, emptying our refrigerators and cupboards of anything that remotely resembles Chametz, checking our couches for those sneaky little Cheerios that get down into the cushions (or in my case, stuck to the back of the couch).

Then we spend days scrubbing our kitchens, emptying our cabinets, boiling, burning, buying new to prepare for this seven- (eight if you live outside of Israel) day holiday with its strict rules. If we’re cooking for the first night, the Seder, then we have to “turn over” our kitchens at least a day before. All the regular dishes and cookware has to be stored away, and all the special Passover pots and pans brought out. So we spend a day living in limbo – the kitchen is cleaned for Pesach, but we don’t have the Pesach supplies out yet, so we can’t cook anything. Therefore, we go out for pizza.

With all this preparation and hard work, how could this possibly be freedom? And then, when the physical work is completed, we have the psychological work of having to figure out how to cook food without the ingredients we’re used to having. Want Passover noodles in tomato sauce? You can’t reach for that jar stored in your pantry, remember? It’s Chametz, forbidden during Pesach. Want to make some Passover brownies? Uh-uh-uh, don’t touch that vanilla. You need that special Passover vanilla. I baked a few times this year for the first time during Passover and realized I don’t have Pesach measuring cups. I did a pretty good job of guessing, but that went on the list for next year.

So where, exactly, does this freedom thing come in?

I have a couple of thoughts on this. The first Seder was celebrated when we were still slaves in Egypt. We didn’t know freedom yet. Now when we hold Seders, we’re too exhausted from all the preparing to think about freedom. Okay, so that connection makes sense. So we’re not meant to be free the first night of Pesach. Now, define freedom. We left Egypt and left slavery behind, but did that mean we were free from work? Heck no, we were on the first day of a 40-year journey through the desert. We still had to get across the Sea of Reeds yet! Not to mention all the stuff we were carrying; y’know, all the goodies that the Egyptians so kindly gave us to wish us well on our desert trek. We had battles to fight, doubts to overcome, Golden Cows to build, terror to feel, Torah to learn, an Ark to shlep*, a Mishkan to build, a law-abiding society to create... Makes kashering my oven look like a day in the park.

Freedom is not an absence of hard work. It’s not an absence of rules. Shabbat, with all its rules and restrictions, gives me such a sense of freedom: I may have piles of laundry to do, but they’ll have to wait, I can’t do laundry on Shabbat. I need to enter bills into the family budget? After Shabbat. I feel not one whit of guilt for sitting around for hours straight reading (my guilt is reserved for when I sleep through the alarm and miss shul).

My second, more light-hearted thought was that Pesach is a little more free in Israel, where it started. Yes, it’s easier to get kitniyot-free products outside of Israel, but where I lived, if you didn’t get your Pesach goods two weeks before the holiday, you didn’t get your Pesach goods, period. The stores ran out and didn’t resupply (although, unsurprisingly, mayonnaise and Kedem grape juice were plentiful throughout the holiday week). Unless you have small children, you’re really not supposed to go out and buy milk or eggs during the holiday; stock up before. Here in Israel, we do our Passover shopping the day or two before, with few exceptions. Here, when we decided in the middle of the week to make matzo-lasagna (trust me, it’s better than it sounds), we ran to the local market to get Passover pasta sauce. Eggs? No problem. Milk? Sure. It’s just easier here. It takes less planning. And much less stress.

It’s a hard holiday, to be sure. And I’m still trying to put my kitchen back together and find all the non-Pesach things I stashed away at the last minute. But I’ve once more celebrated our Exodus and been forced to think about what that means. And now I’m free to think about what I’m going to do with all that leftover matzoh...


*Forgive my artistic hyperbole. Carring the Ark was a mitzvah, it was not a shlep.

Ulpan: To do or not to do

(yeah, yeah, it's been a long time.)

Someone on LinkedIn posted this question, I felt like answering it, and then realized it would make a good blog post. So here ya go!

Question: When first making Aliyah should you work or study Hebrew full time be fluent? Some say yes, and some say no! what is the best ideal answer?

Answer: My own opinion (and it is my own :) ) is it's best to do Ulpan first. It won't make you fluent, but it will give you a good foundation. More importantly, ulpan is where you will make lifelong friends. Your ulpan classmates will be your social environment for the first few months (assuming you don't already have an existing one, of course. Some people do when they make aliyah) and, since nearly everyone - if you're taking Ulpan Aleph (the first level) - will have recently made aliyah, it will give you moral support. You'll have people who will truly understand you when you are frustrated with the bank, when you keep buying tomato paste at the supermarket when you really want tomato sauce, when you are unbelievably thrilled with yourself the first time you manage to order pizza to be delivered ALL IN HEBREW and your pizza showed up exactly how you ordered it!

This will also be the only time you really get to freely travel around the country and explore. Once you start working, if you're lucky, you will have Friday off, which is a crazy day for most people preparing for Shabbat and hard to do tourist-y stuff. Some ulpans arrange day trips for their students, as well.

Fluency with Hebrew will come when you start working (unless you're in an all-Anglo environment) and making Hebrew-speaking friends and forcing yourself to speak Hebrew when you're out. Don't be afraid to say you're an oleh and that you really want to speak Hebrew; nearly everyone will accommodate you - to a certain extent. :)

On the other hand, if you get offered a great job that seems stable that you really want and will be happy in for a long time - how do you say no to that? You can take a night ulpan class (be prepared to be exhausted!), you can get private tutoring, you can throw yourself headlong into Hebrew seminars, lectures, movies, etc and try to learn that way.

So you see, there is no best ideal answer. You have to decide what works for you, based on your situation and your needs. B'hatzlacha!! May you be successful in your aliyah!

The Good, The Bad, The Aliyahversary

I recently posted on Facebook that we just celebrated our 3-year anniversary of making aliyah. One of my friends asked what was the best thing about making aliyah and what was the worst. I gave a nutshell response of,

"the best: I live in Israel for cryin' out loud! :)
the worst: not being able to easily see friends & family. Although many of them come to Israel, so I do get to see a lot of people, despite leaving."

I decided to answer this in more detail. So without further ado, here goes (and I am SURE I'll think of more after I post this blog!)

THE BEST

• See above ;) This country is beautiful. Everywhere you look, there is amazing beauty. From the green fields and mountains in the north, to the pristine beaches, to the rocky Judean hills, to the stunning variations of the desert. I never get tired of looking at this place. And that's not even taking into consideration all the ruins to look at!


• I am not "the Jew" - one of a few, someone different, standing out. I am one of many people who look like I do, live like I do, eat like I do, believe like I do. Yet, all those many people are still very unique and individual.


• My holidays and the country's holidays MATCH! My goodness! I don't have to use my personal or vacation days for my religious holidays. Along with that is the fact that the store decorations at holiday times are relevant to me.


• People truly do treat each other like one big family here. If you are in trouble or need help, your neighbours will be on you in a flash (assuming, of course, they know!). Of course, this also means that they will ask you too-personal questions like family would, yell at you if they think you're doing something stupid and ignore you if they just don't feel like dealing with you right now.


• In keeping with the family theme, people here know how to disagree with each other. A good friend of mine is very left-leaning. I'm more centre, with an occasional toe into the right. We occasionally work together, and one day during a break we got into a big debate about a very hot, touchy political topic. For 15 minutes we spoke vehemently (I wouldn't say we yelled) about the subject, disagreeing completely. After 15 minutes, we looked at the clock and said, "should we get back to it?" and went back to work. It affected our friendship not one whit. I think he's wrong, he thinks I'm wrong and we accept that.


• Men are not afraid to ask for directions. Or wear pink. Or carry a man-bag. Or take their baby out for a walk in the stroller. With another dad taking his baby out for a walk in the stroller.


• The weather. For at least 10 months out the year. One month is cold and rainy, the other month is stinkin' hot. The rest of the year is usually pretty amazing.


• No matter where you are, you're never really that far from the beach.


• Vegetables have taste. Wonderful taste. And smell! I never knew red peppers had a scent until I moved here, walked into a grocery store that has the vegetables right at the entrance and walked around trying to identify that wonderful odour.


• Dairy. The spectrum of dairy products makes my head spin. I eat yogurt and cottage cheese ("cottage") and feta and leben (kind of a yogurt-y cheese) on a regular basis. With those tasty veggies!


• Almost everyone visits Israel at some point, so we get to see friends and family all the time!


• Two words: kosher cruises


• Two more words: ice cafe (which is very different from iced coffee. Think frappacino.)


• Antiquities and archeology. The trail through the forest where I regularly walk the dog takes us past ancient graves, ancient mikva'ot (ritual baths), wine presses, old wells and cisterns and buildings carved into stone.


• Consumer goods are plentiful. You can get pretty much anything here. A lot of it will be more expensive, but a lot of it won't.


• Cheerios! I can get Cheerios here!


• The sun is the best dryer in the world. And the best stain remover. And the best bleach. Unless of course, you accidently leave your navy blue shirt outside for 3 days. Oops.


• Getting to know other branches of the family better.


• So many people speak English here that when I get stuck for how to say something, between my broken Hebrew and another person's broken English, I can usually make myself understood. Or vice-versa.


• Our soldiers are HOT. Seriously. We have the cutest guys & gals in uniform in the world. IN THE WORLD.


• We have the silliest names for things that lead to many innuendoes and lots of jokes. Kfar Pines (which is pronounced pee-ness), the HOT company (which results in everyone saying "I'm home waiting for the HOT guy to show up."). You get the idea.


• There is still a shuk (street market) mentality here. You can bargain for anything.

THE WORST

• As much as Israelis are some of the most giving and helpful people I've ever met, they can also be some of the most self-centred. I can't count the number of times people have parked their cars up onto the sidewalk - blocking it completely from strollers or people walking their dogs - so it can be in the shade, despite there being an EMPTY parking lot across the narrow street.


• Hardly anyone picks up their dog poop. Sitting in the park is a hazardous enterprise.


• The dog culture here in general kind of stinks. A large number of people are afraid of dogs (it's a Middle Eastern thing), dogs very rarely get properly trained so socializing is difficult, dogs have to be leashed and there are no dog parks, so the dogs are not getting appropriate exercise, which means they have too much energy so they bark. A lot. It is getting better, though.


• There's nowhere for Maimo to swim, no doggy friends for him to play with regularly, he went from having a big yard to living on the 3rd floor with no elevator, he's a black dog living in the desert.


• Despite the plethora of consumer products, the quality of some things just sucks. Oh, quality ziplock bags! You are like gold to me! And baking soda. Can someone please explain to me why baking soda comes in teeny tiny little bitty packets?


• Salaries kinda suck.


• In line with that, when you send a resume in response to a job ad (or in my case, audition), it can be 3 months before you hear back. Or never. But 3 months is not unusual.


• Not being able to easily see friends & family. Although many of them come to Israel, so I do get to see a lot of people, I still miss a lot of folks.


• I miss Vancouver & the northeastern US. Green piney forests with soft undergrowth. And water. Lots and lots of water. And Allan's cabin on Helby Island. ;)


• HEBREW. It's killing me. And arguing with very sweet Israelis who insist on speaking English to me when I'm trying to speak Hebrew with them is getting annoying. Especially when I finally give up, speak English, finish my transaction with them, and their parting words are "You need to learn Hebrew! You should try to speak Hebrew!" gaaaaah


• People truly do treat each other like one big family here. Which means no one has any qualms about randomly starting up conversations with the strangers standing around them, because, of course, we're not strangers, we're family. This is kind of a nightmare for me, because eventually it will get to the point where I no longer understand what they are saying, they will then switch to English, and then, refer to the paragraph above.


• Bills and banking. Native Israelis cannot figure out how to read their bills or bank statements. There is a 5 shekel charge on my water bill every month that no one seems to be able to explain. Not even the water company.


• Oh, the bureaucracy. It's enough to make your head explode. Everyone has a story about having to go back to the same office 5 times to get one thing processed.


• CORN. Israelis love their damn corn. It's in everything. Even pizza! I hate corn. Corn is stupid.


• Cereal is expensive, and 90% sugar. Finding a non-sugar cereal is near impossible.


• It has to be said - the politics. The world thinking it knows what's best for Israel. Israel knows what's best for Israel, thank you very much. Go pay attention to the countries that truly need help. Anyone ever heard of Darfur?


• There is still a shuk (street market) mentality here. You have to bargain for almost everything.

So there you have it. THE BEST far outweighs THE WORST. Everything under THE WORST is easily handled or easily ignored or will improve someday. Nothing tops the fact that, plain and simple, I live in Israel. Every day I have to pinch myself.

You meet people in the strangest places

There's a blogger we follow, a blogger we accidentally met - along with his wonderful family - by being placed at their house for a Shabbaton. That story, in case you've forgotten is elucidated here and here.

David Bogner, the blogger behind the blog, has embarked on an ambitious journey to celebrate my his birthday. He's also using this journey to raise funds for the The Efrat Emergency Medical Center Radiology Suite. He's making many pit stops along the way, and at those pit stops is meeting up with people to sign his trip log as proof of actually making this long ride. Read about the details of this trip and how to donate.

The Maimo & I volunteered to meet up with David at, if I'm not mistaken, his first pit stop just outside of Modi'in, and sign his trip log (I took care of the signing part. Maimo just watched). And of course, we took pictures to mark this auspicious occasion!

Our intrepid traveller. Who coordinates so nicely with his surroundings.

Gettin' out the iPad

Aaaand our first from-the-road blog post!

Go Team!

Good luck, נסיעה טובה and Happy Birthday to us! :)

Strange things you see in the forest

I love that I live in a country where there is such a love of nature. People regularly take advantage of our parks and forests and deserts to go walking, biking, camping and hiking. Every time Maimo and I go walking through the forest, we run into someone biking, picnicking, horseback riding, touring the sites. We frequently even run into people davening (praying). And sometimes, even dancing.

The downside to all this love and appreciation is that the concept of "pack it out" has not reached Israel. Every day, I see enough broken bottles to start my own stained glass window company. Back when JNF had a dumpster in the picnic area where we park, I used to pick up the glass (filling my fannypack!) and dump it before we left. Now that the dumpster is gone, I do my best to drive it into the dirt so there won't be any cut doggy feet or sliced tires. Aside from glass bottles, we have seen plastic 2-litre bottles, foil roasting pans, styrofoam packaging, and even the little hibachi-style grills. Apparently they are cheap enough to just leave behind. Occasionally, we see a neatly packed bag of garbage. Which of course, doesn't stay neatly packed for long, once the animals get into it.

Today, we even saw rolled up diapers, next to a bag of garbage, which was not far from plastic plates and cups strewn about, as if waiting for their guests to sit down and fill them. Not all of it is waste, though; someone once left a case of tetrapaks of non-pasteurized milk - the kind that doesn't need to be refrigerated until you open it. I guess they didn't need it all, and left it for the next campers.

All this is mostly outweighed by the beauty of being part of a people who love their outdoor spaces (if not cleaning them); of seeing a religious man in the middle of group of trees, davening out loud so the only sounds you hear are the birds and his voice, followed a little while later by a group of men dancing and singing in the forest for the sheer love of Hashem.

I get it. Being in the forest makes people happy. It makes me want to dance. But then Maimo looks at me funny.

And on the third day

Actually, it's only the second day, but Frenchie has risen again! Turns out, something did hit the car - in the fuel filter. So what I thought was oil spilling all over the road was, in fact, gas.

You're welcome, Modi'in.

Our mechanic, Oded (who is somewhat of an automotive celebrity here in Modi'in. I think he even has a fan club.) was able to get a new part the next day, and we picked Frenchie up last night. He seems none the worse for his little adventure; I actually think he secretly enjoyed it. Oded showed us the fuel filter, and the gash in it is pretty impressive. The mind boggles at what could have caused it.

The mind also boggles at how close we came to major disaster. Oded said we have such mazal (luck), because an inch or two either way and the whole fuel system could have been shot. Mazal tov!

In the end, optimism was warranted. Frenchie is home, pretty inexpensively. The cherry on top of our automotive sundae is, after all that, where I thought the car dumped a whole tank, we actually only lost half a tank of gas!

You're welcome, Modi'in.

A Day in the Life of a non-Hebrew Speaker

You ever have one of those days when all the little individual items add up to make one bad thing that much worse?

Yeah, that was my day.

It started with the rain. Maimo wouldn't, er, do his business this morning, so I brought him along with me when I took Morey to the train, figuring we'd stop at the park on the way home, since by that time the rain had let up a bit.

We drop Morey off and head home. Two minutes later, I hear a 'thunk' that sounds like something hit the side of the car. Based on where we were (there is SO much construction in this city, I was neither worried nor surprised), I decided to continue around the corner where I was turning, and park.

Except.

The car died just as I made the turn. In the middle of the road. Next to two blocks of red & white striped "no parking" zones. He just would not start, and the sudden, overwhelming smell of oil convinced me that it probably wouldn't do much good to try. I did, a couple of times (what? You've never touched a freshly painted wall, despite the "Wet Paint" sign?), but my first instinct was right. I was able to roll a little out of the way of traffic, and up against the curb. I was hoping to roll back out of the turn, and roll down the main street a few feet to a legal parking spot.

Best laid plans and all that, blah blah. The curb was angled, and since the car was turned off, I had very little steering control, so the rear tire bumped up against the curb, and there she stayed. And of course, there is no one around, and none of the cars flying by me slowed down enough for me to even hope to get their attention to maybe help push me. I sat there staring at the perfectly legal and empty parking spots maybe 50 feet ahead of me. If this had happened only 10 seconds earlier, I could have coasted into a perfectly legal and empty spot on the main road. If it happened on 10 seconds later, I could have pulled into one of those spots right in front of me.

What to do? Call Morey, of course! He was on the train, so he made a few calls. The call to our mechanic went to voicemail, and when he tried our insurance company (we get one free tow), he was hurled into a Hebrew phone menu that went by so fast he couldn't even be sure he called the right company. He had to wait until he got to work, to enlist the aid of an Israeli co-worker.

Which would have happened faster if his train hadn't been delayed by 15 minutes.

I've now been sitting in the car - with the dog - for over an hour. I, too, have to get to Tel Aviv for a recording session. But since I was just planning on dropping Morey at the train, then heading back home, I am not dressed for Tel Aviv, I have no cash on me, nor do I have my bankcard. I also have no water, which by now both Maimo and I are regretting.

In the meantime, I take Maimo out for a quick stroll near the car; he does his thing, so we at least got one item on the to-do (to-doo?) list checked.

After another half-hour passes, I cancel my gig for today, and call a friend to ask for a ride home. Of course, she has a kid home sick today. But she's a great friend, and willing to drag her poor, sick kid out of his sickbed to come get me and the dog. Morey finally calls; while trying to figure out the best place to tow the car to, our mechanic had called and explained that one free tow is a tow to anywhere. It's good to know that had we been in Eilat, we could have gotten a tow home. I'd feel really bad for the tow guy who then had to drive a tow truck 5 hours back home, but hey.

So after Morey's co-worker gave a sob story about how the car was blocking traffic (well, it had been) and "his wife" was in the car, the tow company said they'd send someone right away. This, of course, was the Israeli "right away," but it wasn't too bad, especially given that I was starting to need to use the human facilities, and you. just. know. if I left the car to go to the shopping centre around the corner, that would be when the police finally showed up - to give me a parking ticket. Plus, I had the dog and that's... just... weird.

The tow truck shows up, and it figures - I can speak enough Hebrew to do just fine in a restaurant, or a supermarket, yet everyone always wants to speak English with me. I know not a single word relating to mechanic, tow, car repair, etc., (the best I can do is "my car is not working"), and I get the one guy who doesn't know a single word of English. He left, it started raining as Maimo and I waited outside, and stopped just before Kate came and picked me up. Her sick little kid got lots of doggy kisses, and less than 3 hours after the start of our ordeal, Maimo and I got home. We're still waiting to hear if Frenchie is dead in the water, given up the ghost, returned to his Peugeot maker or if there is a small modicum of hope. Sadly, I am not optimistic.

What I am optimistic about, however:

• It was raining today!
• I have a friend who was available to pick me up. And if she wasn't, I had backups.
• I was able to move the car out of the flow of traffic, and not block the road.
• We can get a tow to anywhere! Please God, may we never have to use it again.
• Today's gig was with a long-term client, who has me doing a big project, so re-scheduling is not too much of a big deal. If it had been a one-off client, that would have been very very bad.
• This happened while I was in Modi'in. It could have just as easily happened at 110 km/hr on the highway on my way to Tel Aviv.
• Maimo is a rockstar. He could have been a right royal little pain in the tuchus, being stuck in a car, with no water, toys or food for so long, but he eventually curled up (with his head on my lap - aww) and sacked out.
• Morey is an awesome rockstar. While I normally can handle stressful situations, there were too many factors that threw me - being in a no-parking zone, having the dog, having to get to a job, not having the language skills, not being sure what our policy covered... Morey handled it all with aplomb. I should hire him out.

Yes, this is what it takes to get me blogging again. Expect some "I hate Connex" posts in the near future.

Hebrew word of the day

What's the definition of a "frier"? Let me give you an example:

Two people go out for a lovely lunch. Person B cannot finish her lunch, so she saves half of it to possibly have for lunch the next day. She could have easily nibbled away at the remaining yummy bits, despite being full, but utilizing her willpower, she fights the temptation.

When the waitress comes to clear the table, Person B asks (in Hebrew) for the leftovers to be wrapped to take home. Person B even does "the gesture" indicating that she'd like the food "to go." The waitress responds, in what to Person B sounded like (in Hebrew), "to take with you?" Person B responds in the affirmative. Despite this, Person B has the sneaking suspicion that the waitress is not going to wrap up said leftover food. This suspicion grows when the waitress stacks up the other dirty dishes on top of the leftover salad.

The bill comes. The take-away bag does not. Person B waits for a few minutes, then finally asks the waitress where the salad is, saying that she had requested it to be wrapped. The waitress responds, in English, "I don't know about it."

Person B, due to a lack of the proper vocabulary to say, "That's not my problem. I specifically asked you to wrap up my leftovers. You answered me. I deliberately left food over. I paid for my food and you tossed it. Please either make me a new salad, or give me a discount, or let me see the manager," sighs and quietly says, "B'seder" ("okay").

Person B is a frier. Any questions?

Signs, signs, everywhere are signs

The government of Israel has a number of grants for new Olim (immigrants) to help them get started in new careers, or to establish an existing career in their new country. One of these grants is for artists, including singers. I figured, what the heck, I could use the grant towards setting up voice over shop.

Our Absorption Department submitted my information, and eventually, I received an invitation to audition. Actually, I received a faxed and photocopied piece of paper that was in Hebrew. Our always-to-the-translating-rescue cousins translated the paper and told me I had an audition. Since I wasn't initially told that there would be an audition, I had no idea what it was for. Once I spoke to the office, we figured it all out. I had applied for an audition to receive a grant. Ah, all is clear now.

These auditions are held once every 6 months. Here is the rundown of how they have been scheduled:

Audition 1, Oct '09: The day after I was leaving for a trip to the States
Audition 2, Mar '10: Two days before Passover. I guess people complained, because this was cancelled.
Audition 2, rescheduled, May '10: Two days after I was scheduled for surgery
Audition 3, Sep '10: Scheduled for September 13. The notice was dated August 25. I received it today, September 21.

I think I'm not supposed to be auditioning for this grant. What do you say?