Mirror Mirror

My mother had me at the age of 21, I don't know if she was ready to be a parent, but that's just what people did then.  My mother had her last child at the same age that I had my first and only daughter.

Some days I wake up and I feel like a grown up:  I have a responsible job where I help people feel healthy, I am in charge of my life and the social secretary for my daughter, I do volunteer work and generally, I am seen as a competent adult.  Other days I look at myself in the mirror and think, "Who is that? How did I get here?"

Raphaela has three birthday parties this week, and that of course started the massive communication among parents for car pooling.  I had agreed to take Raphaela and one of her close friends, and along the way I picked up two other girls from the class.  My car was full of gorgeous chattering first graders, one of whom belonged to me.

One of the girls in the car told me that when I send pizza for Raphaela's lunch, she and other kids in the class get jealous.  Another girl in the car said that I was a "Cool Mom" and that Raphaela was lucky to have me.

Seriously, when did I become that person trusted by other parents to drive their children?  When did I renew my expertise in hair accessories and sticker trading and Barbie?  When did my nerdy interests become cool for the next generation?

I once asked a friend if I "looked like a mother," and she said that I look like the right age and station in life to be a parent, without looking "old."  My friend also said that I seem like the kind of person who should have had more than one.

And yet some days, I feel like I need someone else to be the adult, or at the very least, I need a personal assistant.

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.

Stories from the Parenting Front

When I became pregnant, I made a vow not to swear in front of my future child, because words have power.
Apparently during the birth (according to my doula) I "swore like a sailor," to the point that it shocked her slightly. I don't really remember, but can you blame me? I didn't get my epidural.

These days, my worst volley of curse words come out when I am driving, because despite the fact that I learned how to drive in Boston, Israeli drivers seem to be even worse.  Last night, while driving Raphaela to ballet in the rain, I substituted the classic Israeli "OOF!" for the F-word, because Raphaela was sitting in the back seat.  She obviously sensed my Code Red level of stress.

RR:  Mommy, Please don't use that word, it hurts my heart.
Me:  So what should I say instead if I am frustrated or nervous?
RR:  Try using "Yesh" [Hebrew for Hooray]. "I love you" also works nicely.

(I have this feeling that my daughter and the Dalai Lama could do good work together.)

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6:30 am this morning, while the two of us stood at the bathroom sink brushing our teeth.

RR:  Mommy, I washed my hands to take away the bacteria and stay healthy.
Me:  You know that there is good bacteria and bad bacteria in your body.
RR:  Why do we have good and bad bacteria?
Me:  The Universe is all about balance.  Good and bad. Light and dark. Yin and Yang.
RR:  Male and Female!  Like we learned when God created the world!
RR:  A boy has a penis, what does a girl have?
Me:  A vagina.
RR: Hey, that rhymes with China.
Me:  Indeed.

Parenting 2.0

My daughter is a good kid, and I say that objectively.  She is thoughtful and helpful and compassionate, and usually listens to me and follows instructions.

Hence, those infrequent bursts of defiance, totally normal for her age and bound to increase exponentially during the teenage years, completely surprise me.  Every time.

This morning while I was in the shower, she had apparently gone through my jewelry box, and chosen one of my necklaces to wear to school today.  A real piece of jewelry, not one of her sophisticated looking plastic accessories.

I told her "No," and asked her to return the necklace where she had found it.  She made her pouty face, stomped around for a minute or two and then walked away.  When I started to get dressed, I decided to make sure she had put the jewelry away in its proper place; not so surprisingly, the necklace was nowhere to be seen.

I asked Raphaela where she had put it, or lost it as the case may be, and she shrugged her shoulder (in the way that Israeli children do from age zero) and ignored my question.  I told her to look for it with me, and she refused.

So I told her that I would take one of her favorite toys away until we found the necklace.  "If you cannot take care of nice things, you will lose something you like." I said, firmly.  And showed her that her electronic story board was going deep in the back of a closet, way up high in the kitchen.

"I don't care Mommy," she said, with the pouty defiance face, "I find that toy annoying anyway."

So I went into her room and took her favorite doll and placed it next to the electronic toy, and then I saw panic in her face.

"I love you, Raphaela. I will always love you no matter what you do and how you behave." I explained. "At the same time, I have every right to get angry and punish you if you behave very badly and disrespect me."

"I know Mommy.  Because you're my Mommy." She said quietly.  "Sorry Mommy."

I know that she must learn that her actions have consequences;  and yet, I now will spend the whole morning feeling guilty that I sent her off to school in a less than optimal emotional state.

(That's the pouty face, same as it has been since she was born.  Here she seems to be disturbed that she was removed from the safe haven of the womb...)

Why and How

Lately, Raphaela is in this beautiful place intellectually where her curiosity factor seems to have expanded exponentially.  She wants to know how and why everything works, she wants to understand where everything fits into the larger picture. And she has started asking questions about my life in a detailed and interested way.

We spent an hour yesterday exploring every icon on the desktop, pressing every button to see what it did to the screen. It was as much an adventure for me as it was for her, as I am technologically challenged.

She asked me a series of questions about my medical degree and education.  How much homework did I do? How many years did it take to become a doctor?  Where are all my notebooks and school books, "are there more than one hundred"? After perusing my library, she chose a book about how to make natural herbal medicine from food in the house, and decided that we should mix up a batch of something.

Raphaela also wanted a play-by-play of every moment from my first labour pains and until I held her in my arms for the first time.

In the bath last night, in between splashing and playing, we did linguistic comparisons between English, Hebrew, French and Spanish;  Raphaela counted to ten in all four languages and noted that many of the words sound the same, because they share the same root.

This morning while I was packing her lunch box, she followed the electrical cords of all the appliances in the kitchen to their source, to understand where they plugged in.  Then she showed me how to use the microwave, a skill she picked up in school where they warm up their meals if need be.  "You just set the time and press this button, Mommy, easy peasy.  Why don't we use the microwave oven at home more often?"

When Raphaela was a baby, I could chart her progress through visible and substantial achievements, like walking or adding words to her vocabulary, or telling me that she wanted to walk into her nursery classroom by herself, because she was a "big girl now."

Her accomplishments these days are more subtle but no less exciting and impressive.

Right now, Raphaela has decided that when she grows up she wants to be an artist, a Zoo Keeper/Veterinarian, a dancer and a Mommy.  Nothing wrong with a little ambition, and I will surely be proud of her as long as she finds a path that brings her joy and satisfaction, and changes the world just a little.

Deep Thoughts with RR

Today's Topic:  Friendships

RR:  Mommy, are the friends that I have now going to be my friends for the rest of my life?
Mom:  Not necessarily.  People go to different schools or move to a different town or even a different country.  You lose touch with your friends even if you don't want to.
RR:  So you can keep some old friends and make some new ones.
Mom:  Definitely, it is the natural evolution of people and relationships.
RR:  Mommy, who are your friends?
Mom:  Some of my older friends live in America, and some of my friends are here in Israel.  I have only one friend whom I have known since we were babies, and she lives here in Jerusalem.  My best friend when I lived in New York was a girl named Beth, and I don't know what she is doing now or where she lives.
RR:  No, what I mean is, who are your friends besides ME?
Mom:  You're right, I am your Mommy and I love you and I am also your friend.  But first I am your Mommy.
RR:  When did we first become friends?
Mom:  When you were growing in my tummy.  As you know, I chose to have you, and I loved you as soon as you became an idea in my head.
RR:  What did we do together as friends, when I was inside your tummy?
Mom:  Well, I used to play you music, and read you stories, and talk to you, a lot.  You went where ever I went, since you were inside me.
RR:  What stories did I like?
Mom:  I read you Dr. Seuss "Green Eggs and Ham," and the poem Jabberwocky. I had them both memorized by the time you were born.
RR:  And we will be friends forever and ever?
Mom: I will always love you.


Post script:  It must be said that until I graduated from high school, I saw it as some kind of personal failure if a friendship de-evolved;  I am glad to have had this conversation with my daughter at a younger age.

Princess Charlotte and the Duchess

In May, when Princess Charlotte was born to Kate Middleton, Raphaela insisted upon writing her a letter and drawing her a picture.  Raphaela dictated to me, "Mazal tov! I hope that George and Charlotte will play nicely together."

I immediately mailed it out, and actually did not expect any sort of response;  I assumed that the Duchess of Cambridge would be receiving letters and  good wishes from all over the globe, and would not bother to respond to each individually.

I was wrong, and today Raphaela received a letter from the Duchess (her personal secretary) along with a photo of the happy family after Princess Charlotte's christening.  My daughter of course was thrilled, because Kate is our personal princess, the woman who is the sole reason that Raphaela will agree to wear warm weather clothing when it is cold outside.

Color me impressed.

 

 

(Compare this experience to Disney, the supposed experts in Princess marketing:  Raphaela wrote a letter to Elsa and Anna, and didn't even get a generic post card in return.)

 

When I was in fourth grade, the boys in the class wanted to torture the girls, and told us that Judy Blume was dead.  Our favorite author at the time, we girls immediately wrote to her publisher and asked if this was true.  I remember to this day receiving a letter from Judy Blume, in which she reassured us that she was not dead, and that she would be continuing to write for many years to come.  The author also sent us (just the girls) an autographed photo, and I still have it in my keepsake box.

Mazal Tov Princess Kate

The two princess who currently serve as major role models and inspirations for Raphaela are the real-life Duchess of Cambridge, Kate Middleton, and Queen Elsa from "Frozen."
When Raphaela heard the news of the royal birth, she sat at her crafts table and drew a picture for Kate and William and their now two children, and insisted that I mail it immediately to England.  Then she took out her prince and princess play set from Playmobil, and that kept us busy for a few hours. 
Though we are "colonists" by British standards, we await with the rest of the loyal subjects to hear the name chosen for this little girl, fourth in line to the throne.
Looking at the photos of the Duchess as she and her husband when leaving the hospital with the new baby Princess, I could only be amazed and jealous.  Of course I don't have a full style team, but didn't she just give birth to an eight pound baby?  The only other woman I know who looked that good right after birth is my cousin in California; after the birth of each of her three children, she posted a photo on social media that had her looking serene and gorgeous, like she had just experienced a spa treatment rather than an arduous labour.

Every Day Heroes

As we move onto the next Jewish holiday, Chanukah, Raphaela's teacher asked the parents to prepare a project about family history, and about heroism.  The teacher explained that heroes come in small and large packages, and that each story would be read to open their mind to the idea that you don't have to lead an army against the Greeks to be considered brave.

A bit at a loss, because I don't see anything in particular that I have done in my life as especially heroic,  and I can't fall back on the Israeli soldier stories.  So I asked Raphaela if she thought that I was brave.  She responded with a resounding "Yes!"  When I asked Raphaela to elaborate on what actions in particular she admired, she answered, "Well, you dance and sing, you ran in the Marathon, and you eat and you read me stories."

Then it hit me, that the one thing I have done in my 46 years for which I can say I am proud and I feel quite brave...is in fact, Raphaela!  I made a choice to bring an amazing little girl into the world, to be pregnant and give birth and raise her every day, for the rest of my days.

Of course, I cannot write about being a single mother and about my fertility treatments to a group of five year olds; I have pledged to never allow Raphaela to feel from me that she and our family are too unusual,  and I will certainly not allow it to become a topic of general discussion among her friends.

First Haircut, Ever

Today, for the first day since her birth, Raphaela got a haircut.  Or rather, a trim, since a Princess is expected to have long flowing locks of hair.

The smile never left her face, as she got her hair washed and brushed and snipped and blown dry, and she handled it so maturely;  she loves the "girl" stuff.

At one point my stylist asked Raphaela if she would like a cup of coffee, and my daughter responded just as politely, "No, thank you!"

When we left, Raphaela informed me that when she would be older, she might consider taking off more than just the frizzy edges.

The few pieces of baby hair that were cut are now saved safely, as a keepsake for Raphaela's silly  sentimental Mommy.

Full Circle

In a beautiful symmetry, on the evening before her Hebrew birthday,  I took Raphaela tonight for her ballet lesson at the same youth center that once served as a school for recent immigrants to Israel, the place where I took my Hebrew lessons 17 years ago.

Labour Day

Five years ago on this day, October 1, I went into labour in the evening, after being told that I was not open AT ALL (true), and that I was two weeks over due (which I was not); the doctor threatened that I would have to be induced if he didn't see some action by the end of the weekend.

Twelve hours later, and after a completely natural (painful) birth, my darling amazing light-filled daughter came into the world, and quite literally, my life has never been the same.  All that happened before, all I learned and experienced BR ("Before Raphaela") started me on the journey of motherhood. AR ("After Raphaela") I cannot imagine who I would be and where I would find such joy and frustration and wonderment on a daily basis, if not for Raphaela.

My sweetest dearest girl, may you continue to be blessed with health and happiness, growth and wisdom, and may I continue to be able to help you along the path of becoming a fulfilled and completely realized human being.

I can't wait to see what comes next.

A very close friend of mine, with a daughter Raphaela's age, is due to give birth this week to her second child.  We saw them on Shabbat and my daughter got very excited at the idea that I could also give birth to a baby brother or sister soon.

I pointed out the difference in size between my stomach and that of my friend, and Raphaela came over to my stomach, gave it a pat and said, "You could have an extremely small baby in there."

Theology 101

When I was about ten years old, I very distinctly recall asking the Rabbi of our local synagogue the following question:  "God created us, but who gave birth to God?"

The Rabbi stammered for five minutes, and quoted several lines from the Hebrew  prayer "Adon Olam" [translated as Master of the World] including, "God has been, is now and always will be."  Then he sent me off to my father.

I remember thinking that the answer was shoddy at best, and if the Rabbi had said to me, "Great question, I wish I had a full answer that would satisfy your intelligence and curiosity, but I don't.  God is, always has been, way before you or I were born.  And there are mysteries of the Universe that we cannot fully understand in our limited human capacity."  At least he would have been honest to me and to himself.

The Rabbi may as well have quoted Monty Python (Meaning of Life) to me:  "Oh Lord, you are so great.  And really really big...We're all very impressed down here."

Walking home from Gan yesterday, Raphaela and I had one of our more deep conversations:

RR:  Mommy, Hashem knows everything, right?
Me:  Yes.
RR:  And you know everything, right?
Me: (emphatically) No I do not, I know a lot of things, and at the moment I know more about the world than you do.  But I do not know everything and I am just as human as the rest, I will make mistakes and so will you.
RR:  Does Hashem take care of everyone or only Good People?
Me:  Hashem created all of us, and because we are all his children, he loves us all the time, even if we are not behaving nicely, and he takes care of all of us.
(I then reminded Raphaela that on Pessach we take away some of our wine to remember all the Egyptians who were killed, knowing that just because they enslaved us, they were also God's children and God loved them too.)
RR:  But Hashem punishes Bad People.
Me:  Life is not about reward and punishment, everything that happens to us is there to teach us something.  Good People will not always get great things, and Bad People will not always get terrible things.  Everything that happens to us is there to help us become better and kinder to each other.
RR:  But Hashem prefers it if we behave nicely, right?
Me:  Absolutely.

Loving this age...

Jerusalem Marathon I

After my Great Uncle died, his 86 year old sister Ida wrote to me and told me that I should not take a single day or a single person for granted.  And it got me thinking.

Raphaela is now four and a half, and it is time I took my body back.  It has been five years since I was running regularly, and two years since I last ran the Jerusalem Marathon.  I am quite tired of looking at that little bit of belly fat left over from my pregnancy, when I know as a Chiropractor I could actually do something about it, make it go away with consistent effort and hard work.

So I went online and signed up for the 10K Jerusalem Marathon.  I sat down and wrote up a calendar, showing me how many days I had to train properly.  I pulled my second-hand Treadmill out of storage and stuck it in the only available space in my house, taking up all the floor space in my bedroom.

When Raphaela saw the Treadmill, she assumed it was a fancy clothing hanger, because it had served that purpose for far too long.  Now, my daughter will be proud of me when she sees me run, victorious, healthy and happy.

I have devised both short term and long term goals for my training:
1.  Deadline, Purim (16/3/14):  I want to be able to show off my legs with pride in my Tardis Purim costume.
2.  Deadline, Marathon (21/3/14):  I don't care if I finish in professional time, but I am going to run that Marathon without pain or ungainly effort, cross the finish line and get my medal.
3.  Deadline, Bro's Wedding (13/7/14):  Must look smoking in the family pictures, as they will be on display for time immemorial.
4.  Deadline, 46th Birthday (24/7/14):  Beach day, one word:  Bikini

Truth be told, I am my own worst critic.  When I look in the mirror, I think that I look slightly pregnant, when I don't.  When I run 4 km after a break of two years, I criticize myself because I could have done more, once upon a time.

So my fifth and most important goal is to realize that the outside world makes women feel like S**t for no apparent reason, and I do not have to be a size zero to love myself, and be considered a sexy and date-able Mom.

I am not taking myself for granted anymore.

Cosmic Connections

At around noon today, as I was walking through the supermarket, I quite literally left my body.  I suddenly felt sad and spacey, my body may have been in the store in Talpiyot but my soul was somewhere else.  The feeling was heavy, and even a bit scary, because it came out of nowhere and made me feel like I was choking.

Unpacking my groceries at home, I stared at half the items, having not remembered taking them off the shelves or paying for them.

As my anxiety mounted, the phone rang and the caller ID said, "Gan Hila."  A call from the school in the middle of the day is never good, any parent will tell you that your stomach drops and you stop breathing until you have heard the words, "Don't panic!"

Turns out, around the same time I went into my psychic trance, Raphaela had fallen in school and hurt herself, of course around the area on her chin where her stitches are still healing.  The teacher assured me that there was no real bleeding, only "scuffing and redness," and that Raphaela did not cry or express any real pain.

I have previously reported in this blog the discovery that when children are born, they leave a small cellular piece of themselves in their mother's brain, so that they are actually both emotionally and physically connected to their incubator and primary care giver. 

Amen, I believe!

Baby Boom

The Israeli television Channel 10 premiered a new reality show last night called "Baby Boom."  The premise is simple actually, it follows a woman from the time they enter the hospital until they give birth and hold their son or daughter in their arms for the first time.  There are minimal reality type show shots of the people talking directly into the camera, which makes it easier to watch.

I cried last night along with the mothers and the fathers and the mothers-in-law and the midwives and the official birth videographers, and I am fairly sure that most of the viewers did the same.  One of my close friends who also watched the program texted me, saying, "I am predicting lots of births nine months from tonight."

It got me thinking:  when I was pregnant, I did not get all hormonal or obnoxious and demanding, but I do remember crying every time I saw a commercial on television of some version of a happy family.  Father playing with son, mother holding baby, family on vacation etc., they all made me bawl. 

But when it came to Raphaela's birth, I don't remember crying at all.  Not during labor - although there was lots of "Get me an epidural, for the love of G-d!" - not after I held her for the first time and not for two days afterward.  I had had in the end a totally natural birth, and was high from the adrenaline of the event, not to mention flooded with the joy of this beautiful new life.

Three days after the birth I cried for the first time, when I said her name aloud.  Hearing "Raphaela" come out of my mouth, the name I had chosen when I was five months pregnant, it made it all real. 

I am looking forward to the next installment of Baby Boom, and will have my box of tissues at the ready. 

Connecting to my Past

Yesterday at work, during an initial visit for a client, we both got very excited when we realized that we had started life on a similar route;  same high school and same college.  Then I asked her for her birthday (for my records) and guess when she was born?  In 1991, the same year that I actually graduated from college. I felt mighty ancient and was hit with the scary realization that I am, in fact, a grown-up.  When the hell did that happen?!

Until Raphaela was born, if you had asked me what part of my life I would gladly repeat, I would have answered my college years, without hesitation.  18 years old, living on my own in a dormitory in the middle of Manhattan rather than under the supervision of my parents in boring Boston, choosing my class schedule and making new friends.  Essentially, figuring out for the first time who I wanted to be, and loving myself inside and out for the first time in my life.

Now that I am a mother to a beautiful, intelligent and stubborn four year old,  I would answer that question differently;  I would not miss a moment of the time I have with my daughter, though the joy and the happiness represent a completely different animal than my loveliest memories from my Barnard College years.

Spurred on by these thoughts, I posted a shout-out to my Columbia/Barnard Facebook friends, and was rewarded beyond expectation:  one of my contacts answered by posting a photo from our Freshperson* year, all of us bright eyed and oh so young, eating in Kosher Kitchen.

(Photo credit:  Cindy Kosowsky Mann, Columbia Class of 1991)

I kept returning to that photo all day in between patients, it was phenomenally distracting and brought so many smiles to my face, I could hardly contain myself.

Later that day at a play date, speaking to the mother of Raphaela's friend while the girls played;  Turns out we went to Eagle Day Camp together, THE Jewish Summer Day Camp for anyone who was anyone living in the Tri-State Megalopolis.  We sang the song of the head of the pool, Chief Takazees, and yes, he did walk around camp with a full complement of Native American feathers in his head;  I can still see myself in that blue and white Eagle Day Camp shirt and blue shorts, and I remember enjoying it from start to finish. 

This morning I received a special delivery from my Great Aunt, the youngest and only sister of my Bubby Z"L:  my aunt Ida sent me a copy of her short stories, a memoir she had written several years ago which includes accounts of my grandmother's difficult childhood spent in British Palestine and later in an orphanage.  At 86 years old, this woman so closely resembles my grandmother, she corresponds with me regularly via email, and seems to be living a fulfilling and active life, pthoo pthoo.  I nearly cried reading about my grandmother and her three siblings, finding it almost impossible to imagine her as a despondent serious child, because that is not the grandmother I knew and loved as a second mother.

Once an acupuncturist friend of mine told me that I could not fly until I had solid roots in the ground of Gaea, and now I understand her more than ever.  After spending two days rediscovering the child in me and learning about my family, I find myself bouncing around the house, smiling with wild abandon, and dreaming of a beautiful future.

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* "FreshMAN" is apparently misogynist, and so we called ourselves (in cynicism and mockery of Fascist Feminism) Freshpeople.  Someone on our floor crossed out the word "Women" from the bathroom door, and rewrote it as "Womyn," because G-d Forbid we want to imply that Woman is derived from Man, and therefore secondary in the evolutionary chain.  Seriously.  True Story.

Evolving Friendships

From the age of one to thirteen, I had a BFF named Beth.  We did everything together, and confided everything in each other.  When my parents were going through a divorce I practically lived in her house, and when her parents were having issues with Beth's older brother, issues that completely disrupted their family life, she practically lived in mine. 

We swore that we would never lose touch and that we would be, literally, best friends FOREVER.

Then we moved from New York to Boston, and Beth became Ultra-Orthodox. Our lives and our belief systems diverged, and after attempts to stay in contact via snail mail - remember that this was the pre-internet and social media generation - we drifted and she became a pleasant memory for me.

It took me until post college to understand that if a friendship changes or fades, it does not reflect badly on me as a person.  We as human beings evolve individually and as a peer group over time, and some connections that once made sense lose their focus and their purpose.  And that's OK, perfectly normal for most of the population of Gaea.

It's the reason couples get divorced, they become different people and if they don't work at it, they fall out of love.

I met one of my current closest friends at the pregnancy and birth preparation class at Hadassah Hospital.  Our daughters were conceived on the same day through fertility treatments, and they were born a week apart.  For the first several years of their lives, we four girls hung out together, and I imagined that these friendships would last FOREVER.

In the last year or so, because the girls attend different school program and because we see each other less, that aspect of our connection has fallen apart, and for a while it made me sad.  I resolved however that it should not affect my adult friendship, and last night the two Mommies got sitters and met for dinner; the first time in a long time.

The food was yummy, the restaurant warm and cozy, and the conversations wonderful.  It is the kind of relationship that is quite simply familiar and comfortable, where you immediately slip into patterns of trust; my own little Field of Dreams.

We even joked at one point that we will still be friends at the age of 90...

Happy Thanksgivvukah 2013

Particularly because it happens once every 70,000 years...

I have always felt that it is most important to be thankful, on a daily basis, and I welcome the opportunity of Thanksgiving to teach Raphaela that we should express gratitude for the people who influenced us and the places that gave us context for our lives.

Each Thanksgiving we are in Jerusalem, we join 40 or so expats at the Inbal Hotel and feast upon the traditional holiday foods and listen to music.  Between the turkey overload and the lateness of the evening, Raphaela and I crash as soon as we get home, regretfully knowing that we must wake up on time the next morning for Gan, and Israeli normal life.

This year, bonus, we can pig out Thursday night and sleep in Friday morning, because Chanukah and Thanksgiving overlap, almost as if we were celebrating with our family in the States!

With a talented jazz band playing in the background, we enjoyed our meal surrounded by friends.  Among the varied meats and side dishes, there appeared latkes, and for dessert, along with the usual fare, the table featured jelly doughnuts, in the spirit of Thanksgivukkah. 

Caught up in the atmosphere, Raphaela disappeared on and off to explore the hotel, and would then come running back into the room, curls bouncing, grabbing the hands of strangers so they could dance with her.

I think this is the first time since her birth that she has basically amused herself, allowing me to have a truly grown-up social experience. I didn't want to leave.

In the car on the way home, Raphaela and I reminisced, replaying our favorite moments of the evening.  Raphaela's recollection of the meal?  "Man, those cucumbers were mighty tasty!"

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Thanksgivukkah Cucumbers (Family Recipe)

Peel cucumber, cut into round slices (thin or thick, as per preference)
Place in serving bowl, serve.