Summer Haircut

The heat in Jerusalem for the past two weeks has been unbearable.  I had gotten to the point where I was prepared to chop all my hair myself, and so I called my stylist two days ago, in the middle of the day, and declared a hair emergency. I begged him to find time for me in between his other clients, and my patients.

When I picked up Raphaela from school later that afternoon, she looked at my cool and breezy cut and gasped in horror:

Mommy, how could you, what have you done?!

What, you don't like my haircut? I love it!

I preferred it much better when your hair was long, like mine.  You are not going to make me cut my hair too, are you? I LOVE my Princess hair.

No!  You may keep your beautiful Princess hair as long as you want.

Thank goodness, that was a close call...

And the best part is, I can wear my hair short during this hot hot Summer, and then grow it long in the Winter again.

Well, at least that.  Thank goodness!

Post Shavuot Report

(Random musings after a long holiday weekend.)

I believe in reincarnation, though I have not put too much thought into who Raphaela might have been in a previous life.  This weekend she was playing with some Playmobil figures, and said, "This family is very poor, because they used up all their life savings to buy their house, and now they don't have a financial safety net."

Seriously.  I am not making this up.  Apparently in her previous life she was very fiscally savvy.

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Among the various Torah topics that came up during Shavuot were the Ten Commandments, and why some of them make sense intrinsically for society - "Don't Kill" "Don't Steal" - and why some are more difficult, like "Honor your father and your mother."  I explained that the Torah does not actually talk about love in this commandment, it is about respect for the person who brought you into the world.  It is about (in all practical terms) "listening to your Mommy."

Then I looked at Raphaela, straight in the eyes, and said, "The Torah talks about a child honoring and respecting her parents.  I will make you a deal:  if you listen to me and treat me with kindness, I will do the same for you.  Because you are my girl.  I will do the commandment of honoring you, your feelings and your needs."

Raphaela was most pleased.

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She has become a shrewd negotiator, this girl.  I wanted to take a nap on Sunday of Shavuot, because I so rarely get that gift during my work week, in fact, never.  Raphaela wanted me to play with her, all day, and resented my taking two hours out of that schedule to sleep.

Then she suggested to me, "Mommy, we always take a nap on Shabbat, and when we wake up, you give me a special Shabbat snack.  If I let you nap on a Sunday, on Shavuot, will you give me a special Shavuot snack when you wake up?"

Deal!  Done and done.

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Yesterday we spent some time at the Gazelle Valley near our house, and had a brunch picnic in the grass.  Remarkably, there was a group of three deer that had left the gated off sanctuary and were wandering around the park; they came within three feet of myself and Raphaela, we could almost pet them.  We were so excited and spend a good hour following this intrepid group around the grass and up the pathways, that I didn't notice that I had dropped my small bag.

When we sat down to eat, I realized that it was missing, and told Raphaela that if we didn't find it, so be it. It was not the worst tragedy in the world.

Then a little French boy walked by, and I noticed that he had my little pouch on his arm.  Raphaela jumped up and caught up to him, and said, "That is my Mommy's bag, can we have it back please?"  The boy agreed immediately and came over, telling us his and his whole family's life story;  they are moving to a bigger apartment, they are getting a dog, their exact address, his feelings on women who wear short-shorts...

I took him back to his parents and told them that he had done me a great kindness by finding my bag in the bushes and returning it to me without hesitation.  Parents should hear that they have done a good job, because we so often do not receive any external validation.

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On Pessach, the first day of school vacation, Raphaela lost her first tooth.  On Shabbat, Raphaela lost her second tooth.

I explained that the Tooth Fairy does not work on Shabbat or Jewish holidays, and that she would have to wait until Monday night to place her Precious under the pillow.  Raphaela carried around that tooth for two days straight, to be sure that it would ready and able the minute the holiday ended.

She also wrote this letter, and folded it next to her tooth:

Chumash Party

Throughout this year, Raphaela and her classmates have been learning the stories of Genesis in depth.  Her teacher challenges them to think about the emotional implications of the stories as well IE "How do you think Noah felt when the dove didn't return to the Ark?"  "How do you think Adam and Eve felt when they were punished for not listening?"

Today, one month before First Grade officially ends, Raphaela received her official Chumash [Torah], covered in beautiful decorations and marking the time when she will start reading from the text itself; because now she can read in Hebrew all by herself.

This morning, while getting dressed, Raphaela's biggest concern was that her loose tooth would fall out during the performance on stage, in front of all the teachers and the visitors. I assured her that if her tooth dramatically popped out during the show, it would make it all the more enjoyable and memorable.

There was of course another twist to this celebration, grandparents were the honored guests, and having none in the country, Raphaela had to settle with me (boring Mom), and my brother.  Normally during the year, my daughter does not express regret or sadness at being relatively isolated from our family here in Jerusalem, Israel; in the last week we have had several conversations about all the people we love, who live far away.

There was singing and hand movements, speeches and plays, and the bit that always chokes me up, when they spread a giant tallit over all 80 girls and all the parents and grandparents gave them a blessing.

Afterwards, Raphaela's teacher asked me to give a short speech to the class about family and the chain of history that links us all. I was honored, and hope I did Raphaela proud.

All the way home, Raphaela hugged her Chumash like it was gold, and called it her "beautiful and holy book."  May she continue to grow in accomplishments and joy, and may I live a long and healthy life to be able to share in all these moving events.

A Tree Grows in Jerusalem, A Metaphor

Every year shortly before Pessach, Raphaela and I sort through her clothing and toys, and decide what she has outgrown.  Then, while Raphaela is in school (so as to avoid needless trauma), I donate the items to worthy places in the neighborhood.

The puzzles and books go to Raphaela's former nursery school, because at age three they helped my daughter recover remarkably quickly from her previous damaging child care environment.  Within a week of starting this new nursery, Raphaela had transitioned from a quiet mouse to a talkative, happy and glowingly positive toddler, and I will never be able to thank them sufficiently for that.

When I walked up to this building yesterday, I could not help but smile.  There in the upper courtyard grew a strong and healthy tree, a sapling that had been planted on Tu BiShvat the year that Raphaela attended nursery there, over three years ago.

I snuck inside the classroom and embraced her two teachers, and they inquired about Raphaela, the girl she is today:  "Does she still tell stories all the time?"  "Does she still radiate love and give hugs?"  "Does she have a beautiful group of friends?"  "How is she enjoying first grade?"

Like that tree, Raphaela has become a complete personality, with strong roots and opinions, and constantly amazing me every day with her warmth and insight.  And I am grateful every day.

Purim, A Photo Essay

Above all other Jewish holidays in the calendar year, Purim has the beautiful ability to cross lines of ethnicity and religiosity.  The whole country, whole families, celebrate the day together; everyone in costume, everyone exchanging gifts of food and giving charity, and all in joy.

Like any other religion, Judaism should be inclusive and make all feel welcome.  Purim celebrates just that, all Jews all over the known world at the time were saved, and most were unaware of the intervention (both human and divine) done on their behalf.

A Double Celebration

Today is a special day, and not because it happens to be International Women's Day.

First of all, today is Harry The Highlander's 14th birthday, that would be 72 years old in human terms.  Since Harry goes outside, where there is a constant danger of cars and other animals, I had assumed that he would live to be about ten, and that Raphaela would have the chance to choose the next kitten and raise it more as her own.

And yet here he is, thank G-d active and healthy, still chasing birds and lizards, and leading a generally fulfilling life, for a cat in Jerusalem.

To celebrate, Raphaela took a bag of treats to school, to share with all her classmates, as is the custom in elementary schools in Israel.

Today is also the second day in which Raphaela officially feels that her wiggly wobbly tooth may be falling out, sometime in the next two months...Her excitement grows as she imagines what it would be like to get a visit from the Tooth Fairy, and she wrote a note to her teacher expressing this anticipation and joy.

So it's a good day all around to be a six year old, and to be her Mommy.

My elderly neighbor and friend died this past year, a woman who had shown myself and Raphaela so much kindness.  She left behind a beautiful legacy of family, and a life lived well. 

I had not thought of her recently, and then yesterday I went to our local library chapter to take out a ballet book IE something to keep me busy as Raphaela dances and the parents are relegated to sit outside and wait.

When I opened this book, there in blue ink and an elegant script (the lost art of writing) was the name Mollie Kolatch, and I smiled.  Obviously parts of her library had been donated after her passing.

As I read I smiled even more, because this novel was compelling, intelligent and thoughtful, and I could imagine my friend sitting on her couch and enjoying this book.

I could imagine discussing the philosophical and artistic elements with her afterwards.

I actually finished the whole work in one sitting.

Save the Caterpillar!

Every Shabbat, assuming the weather allows, Raphaela and I walk to the Gazelle Valley Nature Preserve;  we bring a picnic and hike along the trails, and enjoy the fact that the gazelle have become much less shy since the park opened, the 12 of them can be seen up close and with the naked eye.

This afternoon on the way to the Nature Preserve, we spotted a fuzzy caterpillar on the sidewalk, it seemed to be in distress.  We attempted to move it to the side so it would not get trampled, but the encounter left Raphaela quite disturbed.

For the rest of the way until the park, Raphaela got all fired up, and laid out her plans to create an international consortium to save this caterpillar.  "We need to tell EVERYONE  we see that they must be careful and not step on the caterpillar.  We need to recruit at least 200 people to join our crusade to save the caterpillar.  We need to increase awareness of nature and keep the insects safe from bicycles and pedestrians and strollers and dogs."

She caught her breath for a moment and then said, "And when our friends from Holland organize themselves, they will have to come over to Israel and help us.  We may just have to take the caterpillar to the vet."

Sure enough, once we got to the Gazelle Valley, Raphaela literally stopped every single visitor to the park (it was very crowded today), put on her serious face and instructed, "On your way home today, please be very careful.  My mother and I saw a wounded caterpillar."

I didn't even attempt to temper her enthusiasm for this project.

Most of the adults nodded their head and acknowledged Raphaela, a few said that perhaps the snails should be included in her efforts.  This past week we had one day of rain and the snails came out in full force, and several days after there are squashed snail shells everywhere.

On the way home, Raphaela and I passed by the spot where we had seen the injured creature, there were signs of a sad (and yet anticipated) end.  My daughter said to me, "We don't know exactly what happened to our friend, but I know we did the right thing by raising awareness."

(Six years old...)

The Empty Plate Club

The Jerusalem Marathon will take place next month, and thanks to the gift of beautiful weather, I have been able to train outside in the park for the last week.  Tonight I was talking to Raphaela and expressing the hope that some day maybe we could run together in the Marathon, and Raphaela said, "I will try to run very fast and win!"

I explained to Raphaela that I know that I am not going to come in first place, ("Because usually an African wins," said Raphaela AKA Little Miss Obvious)  and that I am running for enjoyment of it, and to know that I finished something I started.  "Because when you start something, you must commit to it, and finish it, see it through."  I explained.

Then Raphaela and I discussed the one exception to that important life rule, that if you eat and you feel full, you do not have to finish the rest of the contents on the plate.  While I am not actively encouraging wasting food, I have taught Raphaela to listen to her body, and stop eating when her body says "Enough."

"Because if you just eat food when you don't need it, you will get fat, and that's not healthy."  Added Raphaela, who has a Health Class in school.

"And then," continued my daughter, "if you go to a restaurant and you can't finish your order, you ask them to wrap it up for you and take it home, so you can eat it another day."

36 Grown-Up Hours

For the first time since Raphaela was born, she stayed with my parents (who were visiting from the US) over Shabbat, and I stayed home, alone, with no one to care for other than myself and marginally, our cat Harry.

Friday

On the way to school, half way down the block, a man called to me.  I turned around and did not recognize him, he had just dropped his little boy off at a nursery near our house.  He said to us, "I see you and your daughter walking to school every morning. I am headed in that direction, to that school, do you want a ride?"

"No thank you," I said. Because I know that Raphaela is very possessive of our time together in the morning, and because it is a beautiful sunny day, atypical for Jerusalem in February.

After we came home from school in the afternoon, I asked for Raphaela's help in packing the overnight bag, and showed her all her clothing and her toothbrush and hair accessories. "And WHY," she asked with suspicion, "will you not be able to take care of these things yourself?"

I had put off telling her that I would not be joining the rest of the family on this sleepover party, and could not avoid it any longer. I explained that she would have special bonding time with her cousin and her grandparents, and that I would pick her up after Shabbat.

Holding back tears, Raphaela and I chose a special doll that she would take with her, to remind her that I am always with her and always love her, no matter where I am.  That seemed to do the trick.

Friday Afternoon

After dropping Raphaela off at my parents and driving home, I could actually feel my stomach drop a little. It felt odd, it felt wrong for the house to be so quiet, for me to have not much of anything to do for anyone.  For the first time in six years I had free time without responsibility, and I had no idea what to do with myself.

Apparently, motherhood has altered my identity and my essential state of being, and there's no going back.

Friday Night

Dinner with friends, with good food and a very good bottle of red wine to share.  I would estimate that half of the conversation that I contributed to the evening somehow involved my daughter, not counting the people who said, "Too bad Raphaela is not here, I haven't seen her in a while."

I call that the "Mother of" Phenomenon:  since I gave birth, my name (and that of all mothers to children in Israel) became "Raphaela's Mother," even amongst the parents of her classmates. In Israel, where family values take precedence above all, you are defined by your relatives and most especially your children.

Shabbat Morning

I can do it!  And more miraculously, Harry can do it!  My cat (whom I have had longer than Raphaela) who usually wakes me up at the crack of dawn, let me sleep in until 8:30 am.   I have not slept past six am in years, and I did not think my body remembered how.  Of course, it meant that I missed the party at my friend's house for International Ice Cream for Breakfast Day.

Shabbat Day

I finally got into the groove, stopped feeling guilty, and of all the activities I did today, perhaps the most inspiring was the five kilometer plus hike around Jerusalem. I didn't have to pack a picnic lunch (Raphaela needs snacks when we go on trips), just myself and my sneakers and my bottle of water.  I walked through the park, felt the sun on my face, smiled at random people and generally remembered why it feels so good to get some exercise into my life.

I had been waiting for that push to return to an intensive training program for the Jerusalem Marathon in March, and now I have it.  That adrenaline also reminded me that I must take care of myself and my body, if I want to stick around for a long and healthy life, and watch Raphaela grow into her full potential.

Saturday Night

I needed time away from Raphaela in order to miss her, in order to understand how we fit into each other, even when we are apart.  The closer it got to the end of Shabbat, the more I started going back into Mom mode, thinking about how she has school tomorrow, and hoping that the weekend passed without incident.

I feel truly grateful that my parents were able to take Raphaela for her first ever sleep over, she enjoyed the time with her family, and I was able to have this time to myself.

As soon as she saw me she started crying and fell into my arms, saying that she missed me; my father said that she had been 100% until I walked in the door. It's nice to be missed.

Frozen, Jerusalem Style

Apparently Elsa was very busy last night, because this morning we didn't have any running water, and nor did the car start.

I was complaining about the fact that I would not get my morning shower, my ten minutes of me-time, and Raphaela said, with a practical tone of voice, "Mommy, be thankful for what you do have.  And besides, now we can have a great breakfast together, with all that extra time."

The predicted snow for Jerusalem did not arrive, and so Raphaela had school today.  Though I did not have any patients scheduled, because they all canceled earlier in the week, "just in case it might snow."

As we arrived at the school building, one of the older girls was giving out a note to the parents who walked inside:  festooned with colorful flowers and butterflies, the note read, "The Keys to a Great Day are a smile, an orderly house, and a cup of coffee."

I asked the girl if she drinks coffee, and she laughed, but said, "I'm only in fifth grade!  But we know that parents need lots of coffee."

Anger Management

Normally, Raphaela and I walk to school, but today the heavy rain and the frigidity of the air decided differently, we drove. (They are maybe expecting snow in Jerusalem later this week.)

Quite close to the school, they have a designated drop-off/pick up parking area, where it is expected that parents will stay there no longer than ten minutes in the morning or the afternoon.  As I pulled into one of these spots, so as to avoid getting soaked on the way into the building, one of the teachers from the school (whom I did not recognize) stepped in the way of the car.  I rolled down my window and she said, with a smile frozen on her face, "Were you going to park here?"

"Why yes," I said. "I will be out in five minutes."
"Well," said the teacher, with that odd smile still stuck there, "my friend wants that space.  And she says she was here first." 
I pointed out that the laws of space and time would dictate that if she were here first, her car would already be parked there, and I would have to find another space.
"I SAID," the teacher continued, not budging an inch, "MY friend WANTS this space.  She is going to park here all day."

As it was getting closer to the school bell, I begrudgingly agreed to move my car.  Not because I avoid confrontation;  Israel has cured me of that.  But rather because I knew that someday my daughter might have one of these two teachers, and telling the truth of this situation ["Fucking Teacher Mafia" and "Selfish Bitch" come to mind] would bring harm upon Raphaela some day, in the way that she would be treated by a teacher I am meant to trust with my child and her education.

I spent the next few minutes re-parking, taking deep breaths and muttering, "Let it go, let it go..."  As Raphaela and I were walking up to the school, this pair of teachers happened to be right in front of us.  They looked back at me with defiance and guilt, and I could hear one say to the other, "I wanted that spot. It was mine! Really, I wanted it. "

A less mature me would have walked up to her and said, "Oh, it was your spot? I didn't see your name on it."  A more mature me would have walked up to her and said, "If you have to spend ten minutes justifying your actions, you must know it was wrong."

The mature me said nothing.

This morning I had an errand in the center of town in Jerusalem, where the parking goes from horrendous to impossible, so I decided to take the bus instead.

A few minutes after settling into my seat, the woman across from me started kicking my leg, hard.  I put on my best stern Mommy voice and told her to stop and she continued, harder.

So I moved seats, and she turned around and started spitting at me, and grabbing at my shirt, trying to tear it. 

It was obvious to me that she was mentally impaired, and I did my best to get away from her, but hey...it's a bus.  When I stopped making eye contact with the woman and also saw the futility in asking her stop, she turned her attentions to the bus driver.

For the record:  I did nothing to deserve and provoke this attack.  No, not a single person watching stood up to help me.

And lastly, if she had not been so clearly emotionally and mentally disturbed, she would not be walking now.

Hell of a way to start the day.

The Shiva Crashers

Growing up in the United States, Shiva [the seven day period of mourning] was a serious adult deal, quite formal in its rules and code of behavior.  Even when my great-grandfather died, I did not attend the funeral or the Shiva, because it was not a place for children.  And I was old enough to know that he was gone.

This past week, the 92 year old father of one of our neighbors died, and the Shiva is taking place quite literally next door.  Every time we leave the house to go to school or to ballet, the door is open and the sign on the door declares that this is a house of mourning.

The first day of the Shiva, I told Raphaela that we were going there not to entertain, but to sit quietly and take our cue from our neighbor. If he wanted to talk, fine, and if not we would sit there out of respect.  Well, Israel being Israel, Jerusalem being Jerusalem, and this being the Jewish country, apparently the law of One Extended Family applies.

At our first visit, Raphaela spoke less than her normal self, but was still warm and engaging, and as we left, she gave him a big hug.  She also left with a glass of juice and piece of cake, kindly given to Raphaela by the mourner's wife.  And every day since, every time we pass the door, Raphaela insists upon going inside for even a minute, to say hello and to deliver one of her patented hugs;  to show him a shiny rock she has just found, or to perform the dance she has just learned.

My Israeli friends tell me that in this country the process of Shiva is far less formal, and that it is "lovely" that Raphaela has made it her mission to cheer up our mourning neighbor.  They cite many examples where the Shiva evolves into a celebration of life and family, a place where smiles and stories are welcome.  I am still uncomfortable with the behavior to some degree, it is the stiff New England American in me, despite the 18 plus years I have lived here.

Far be it from me, however,  to teach Raphaela that compassion toward another person should be limited, in thought or in deed.

Stories from the Parenting Front

Among the various Jerusalem superstitions about pregnancy and childbirth, I had heard many times that if you do not make some sort of official celebration for a daughter, she will not get married in the future.  Sounds to me like an excuse for a catered party.

Last night Raphaela and I attended the Simchat Bat [Hebrew for The Celebration of a Girl] of a new cousin, Baby Rachel.  Between the family gathering, the loot bag for children and the giant table of candy AKA Raphaela's dinner, my daughter declared it to be "the best day ever."

I asked her if she really meant it, that this day and this party held the number one spot on her Best Day Ever List. I reminded her about our beach vacation, my brother's glamorous wedding, starting First Grade, and other events in our lives that could just as easily top the list.

Raphaela agreed and said, "I have a lot of best days ever."

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This morning on the way to school, Raphaela asked me, "Which nation does God love best?"

Me:  God loves all his creations and all his people.  Like our friends in Singapore, they are not Jewish and God loves them too.
Raphaela:  And what about the Arabs?
Me:  God created all people, including the Arabs.  God loves them, though sometimes he wishes that they would behave a bit better.
Raphaela:  And what would happen if the Arabs behaved better and everyone was nice to each other?
Me:  Planet Earth would be a great place to live.

A Children's Bedtime Tale

As in most houses in Jerusalem, our apartment becomes frigid, igloo-like, fairly early in the Israeli winter season.  Even the space heaters in each room don't seem to help, and we have gotten used to bundling up inside.

Last night I tucked Raphaela into bed with her heavy quilt.

" Mommy," teeth chattering for effect, "I am still cold."
And so I gave her a second, pink fleece blanket.
"Mommy, I am still cold, I will not fall asleep."
And so I placed a third grey blanket that we usually use  on picnics.
" Mommy, it's not working!" Said Raphaela, clearly enjoying the game.
And so I gave her our camping sleeping bag, and suggested she sleep inside the sleeping bag, under the other covers.
"Mommy, but there's my head sticking out and it's cold. And what about my hands, if they come out of the blanket?"
And so Raphaela put on a wool hat and gloves.
Kisses all around, about a minute passes and I hear a muffled, "Mommy, I am getting a little sweaty and I can't fall asleep."

This morning Raphaela had me re-tell this story several times on the way to school, laughing each time.

"This would make a great children's book." I mused.
" And here is how it ends, Mommy: 'And then Mommy was so exhausted trying to put Raphaela to bed.'"

Brush with Fame

About a week ago, I got a call from a casting director for Warner Brothers, they were looking for:
A girl aged 6-9
Brown hair, brown eyes
English speaker, specifically with an Israeli accent
No particular acting experience required.

The casting director wanted to know if Raphaela would audition for them at their office in Tel Aviv, as she fit the bill, perfectly.  I answered a tentative yes, but told them that if she was quite determined not to participate, I would cancel our meeting, so as not to waste their time.

Warner Brothers sent me a page of script for Raphaela to memorize, as well as certain requests, including that the child not wear make-up for the audition.  ("Make-up?!" I thought, "At age six?")  They specifically set the audition for the Chanukah holiday, during school vacation.

When I told Raphaela about the opportunity, she couldn't have cared less.  When I told her it was about a brave girl, a heroine who is good at a bow and arrow and protects her family, she was worried because she does not know how to shoot a bow and arrow.  When I did a read-through on the script and it mentioned a bear, Raphaela decided that she did not want to come face-to-face with a bear.  Explaining modern movie-making and CGI technology did not help.

So I let it go.  Over the week I read the script to her/with her and she remained completely ambivalent.  Today, the day of our appointment, a cold and rainy day in Jerusalem, Raphaela made her resistance clear, she was not leaving the house for anything, and I canceled the audition.

I have learned (since she was 20 weeks old in the womb) that Raphaela does what she wants when she wants, and when the answer is "No," it is not worth the fight and the trauma.  Walking, toilet training, ballet lessons, reading, selective vegetarianism,  it all came when it came, when she decided that she could commit fully.

She does not want to be in the movies right now, and fame does not motivate her in the least. And I have no intention of becoming that reality star monster, Kris Kardashian. Even if my daughter is the next Gal Gadot or Natalie Portman.

I would have liked to go, just for the experience of it, but as the mother of this child- this warm, dramatic, stubborn, opinionated and social child -I have to know what is best for her.  I trust the Universe that if this is indeed Raphaela's path, another opportunity will arise, when she is ready.

The True Spirit of Chanukah

Yesterday I received a call from friends of my parents, visiting Jerusalem for the holiday of Chanukah.  They told me that parents had sent a bunch of presents for my daughter and her four cousins;  we went to pick them up, as we had plans to meet with my brother and his family yesterday evening.

Amongst the presents for the children was a small gift for me from my parents, a unexpected and pleasant surprise.  Raphaela asked me if I felt badly that she had a large box from her grandparents, and mine was much smaller.  I replied that since I had not expected anything at all, I was quite pleased actually.  Raphaela responded, "Because we are happy with what we have."

Later on in the day, Raphaela asked me why in fact my parents had sent presents for Chanukah at all, and I could not have been more pleased that my daughter was not connected into the materialism that typically characterizes this time of the year.  I asked her, "What does Chanukah mean to you?"

"Well, we get vacation from school and go on great day trips.  We light beautiful candles each night and eat delicious snacks, like doughnuts and chocolate coins and pizza.  We get to count menorahs in the windows and on the street and on top of cars, I already found more than 200!   And we get to have lots of parties, spending time with our Mommy and our friends and our cousins."

"But it is nice to get presents, every once in a while, right?" 
"Yeah, sure!" Raphaela answered with a broad smile.

And this is one of the most huge benefits of living in Israel.

A Turkey-Free Thanksgiving

Normally we get together with three other families to celebrate Thanksgiving in Jerusalem; this year did not work out, and so Raphaela and I had to come up with an alternative plan.

For the past few months, Raphaela has chosen vegetarianism, not out of ideology or philosophy, but rather as an active protest against the Jewish laws of milk and meat.  Raphaela resents that she must wait three hours after eating a meat meal, that an outside authority is preventing her from having, let's say, a piece of milk chocolate as dessert.

Thus her refusal to eat anything but dairy products and fish and salads, and my need to become quite creative when it comes to her school lunches, and our dinners at home.

Thus for Thanksgiving we had sushi instead of turkey and stuffing, leaving plenty of yummy dairy options for dessert.  Then we got into pajamas, settled in front of a video with a big bowl of popcorn, and started our Israeli non-meat version of Thanksgiving festivities.

Despite her having school tomorrow, we will stay up late and enjoy our holiday, because hey, it's Thanksgiving, a day of gratitude and family.

(We will attend in spirit the wedding of Sara Litman, the daughter of a recent terror victim.  She and her fiancé Ariel Beigel have invited the entire country of Israel, actually any Jew from all over the world, to attend the dancing at their wedding celebration, which was postponed when she had to sit shiva for her father and her brother.  The event will take place at one of the largest convention centers in Jerusalem, so that all can join them at this joyous event.  A company in Israel has bought the couple a car as a surprise gift, and people from around the world have contributed to a fund in their name.  Gotta love how Jews come together when it matters.)