Love and Marriage

Mommy, when you get married...

I am not really dating anyone seriously right now.

I know, it's a theoretical questions.

Okay.

So, when you get married, you will have another baby, right?  And I will have a brother or sister.

Not exactly.

But that's what happens: you get married, you have children.  (Patting my belly as she is talking)

First of all, I already had a baby, you!  Second of all, getting married does not determine pregnancy, it only happens if your body agrees.  And I don't think my body will agree to have any more children.

Mommy, I really hope you find a good man to marry. I want a Daddy to play with, and I can help both of you.

Raphaela, your job is not to take care of me, or your father. Your job is to help out a little, because you live in the house.  But more important, your job is to be a girl and experience the world and have a beautiful life.

Mommy, you deserve to have a beautiful life too!

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.

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.

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.

A Random Day on Vacation in Jerusalem

On the bus this morning, to get Raphaela's new eye glasses, from the center of town

"Mommy, when you were pregnant, did you wish for a boy or a girl baby?"
"Actually I wanted a girl."
"Why?"
"Because I think that girls have more options:  they can be strong and compassionate.  They can be an astronaut or a ballet dancer, without getting judged by society."
"And look at that Mommy, you got your wish, G-d gave you a girl." [Pause for dramatic effect] "Look who is sitting next to you!" [Another pause] "And I am funny too."

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On the way back from town, I suggested that instead of taking the bus home, we should walk, because I felt the need to move, and the swerving of the busses on Jerusalem roads make me nauseous.  I assured Raphaela that it would be easy, because it was downhill all the way home.

We played the Jewish version of "punch buggy," calling out Succot as passed them.

Then we happened to pass by the President's House, and there happened to be a Succot Open House.  Since we didn't have firm vacation plans until the afternoon, we went in and toured the grounds, made a decoration for the President's Succah, drank blue slushies and hung out on his extensive lawn. 

To top it all off, Raphaela got to shake President Ruby Rivlin's hand.

The best times happen when you are not planning or paying attention.

The Idiot Box Baby Sitter and School Jitters

When I was pregnant, I swore that I would never use the television as a baby sitter, that only irresponsible and lazy parents stuck their kid in front of the Boob Tube instead of investing in one-on-one time with their children.

Most rules are made to be broken, and until now (in Raphaela's almost six years) I have used this tool sparingly.  That is until this past Great Summer Vacation.

Often, when we got back from the pool and we were both exhausted, it was easier to give her a snack and let her watch educational videos.  Worse, in the past week our baby sitter has canceled at the last minute several times on days when I needed her to keep Raphaela entertained while I worked with patients. (I know, time to get a new sitter.)

Given the ten minutes warning, I could not find a replacement, and so the Idiot Box did the job of keeping her sedated while I worked.  This morning, on the last day that the sitter was supposed to arrive, she canceled again.  I tried to arrange some version of a play date, but that failed.

So Raphaela came with me to my business meeting.  (Yup, that's real professional...)  And Raphaela stayed home in front of the television while I worked, with only minor interruptions to change the DVD or feed her.  (Feeling so professional and non-distracted now...)

To add to all this stress, I seem to be much more excited and nervous about First Grade than Raphaela.  I am manifesting all my classic signs of stress, the same ones that appeared in the past whenever I had a major exam (SATs, Chiropractic boards, pregnancy ultrasounds). I tossed and turned all last night, waking up every few hours. I have lost my appetite because of stomach cramps.  I have less serenity and more impatience running through me, not great for taking care of my daughter or my clients.

And I have shifted into major list-making mode.

It is times like this when I wish I had a spouse, or siblings, or parents with whom I could share this momentous occasion, someone who could perform some of the errands that need doing, someone who could tell me that it will all work out in the end.

Or at least a responsible adult who could watch Raphaela while I worked.  But as I have learned, even when others say they will help lessen my burden as a single parent, no matter how good their intentions, I am alone in the good, the bad and the ugly.

Last week the guard at the supermarket said to me as I walked in, "When are you due to give birth?"  Mortified, I spent the week contemplating a tummy tuck.


This week, that same guard looked me up and down and realized his error from last week.  He smiled and then said, "Hot outside today, right?"

Anat Gertner Z"L

Today my friend Anat died, after a terrible battle with stomach cancer that appeared somewhat suddenly, almost ten years after she had survived breast cancer.  She leaves behind a loving husband and two exceptional children, brave and strong kids, like their mother.  Anat was not that much older than me, and even knowing how much she suffered before she died, I am still in shock and overcome by sadness.


Anat befriended me when I first moved to Israel, and for many years I was an almost weekly house guest for Shabbat, and most holidays.  Her family became my family, and to this day I thank them for it.  We had a falling out a few years ago, because she basically told me to stop wasting my life with dreaming and regrets, and instead to take action and live in a way that is true to yourself.  Because you never know how much time you have on this earth.


And she was right about me.  Except for choosing to get pregnant and give birth to my daughter, I spend a lot of time looking at my limitations, instead of trying to find ways to burst through the glass ceiling I have built for myself, my own personal prison of sorts.


So now I re-dedicate myself to listening to my friend, whom I loved. I am only sorry I didn't get to tell her that before she died; that is one regret I cannot fix.

Oh, How I Wish...

"Oh, how I wish you would give me a little brother or sister!"


That has been a common refrain the last two weeks, though I keep explaining that one does not simply order a baby from the store or wish it into existence.
We were walking home from Gan one day with Raphaela's friend and her very pregnant mother, and Raphaela asked her, "Are you pregnant or are you just getting fat?"


Yesterday Raphaela and I walked to the new Gazelle Nature Reserve near our house and spent a lovely Shabbat morning there, so comfortable we were in the puffy beanbag sofas that we could have stayed there all day.  Every time a woman walked by, Raphaela would jump up and ask them, "Do you have a baby inside your stomach?" Israel being Israel, it so happened that every woman she asked answered  yes.


But I was most pleased when my daughter told one of these women, "You know, once you have a baby, you can do and be anything that you want, even when you are a Mommy.  Like, my Mommy is a doctor and a Mom, and she can even be a doctor when she will be a Grandma."


Score one for the home team, someone is listening to my feminist ramblings.

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.

Love and Marriage

"Mommy, I am going to marry E from my kindergarten!"

"What is it that you like about him?"

"Well, he's silly, and he teases the girl in my class who hurts my feelings, and then I feel better."

"Being married is great Raphaela, when you find the right person to be the Daddy, and when you both love each other and treat each other nicely.  A sense of humor is important as well. "

"What if you don't find the right person to marry?  How do you get to have babies?"

"The same way I had you, when I could not find the right person to be the Daddy."

"Oh, right.  You went to the hospital and the doctor helped you."

"That's right, and maybe even some day I will get married to the right person, and you will have a Daddy who loves you and lives in the house."

"Hooray!  That would be wonderful, Mommy."

A Year Older

The physical therapist had suggested a group physical activity, in order to increase Raphaela's self-confidence in a group setting.  The Talmud states that it is the parent's supreme responsibility to teach a child how to swim, literally a matter of life and death.  I figured that we had taken a break from swimming lessons, and I love the water:  I had worked for many years as a lifeguard at a lake near our house in Boston.  Since  Raphaela has shown so much maturity this Summer, why not try again.

I found a class down the block from our house, and the director of the swim program seemed quite efficient and understanding of the psyche of young children.  We arrived at the pool this evening, Raphaela spent ten to fifteen minutes rolling around the floor, explaining that she refused to go into the pool because she did not like the ladder;  it was one of those ladders that perhaps seems scary because it is carved in the side of the wall.  Then when she finally agreed to go into the water, she held onto the instructor Anna for dear life, practically choking the poor woman; after screaming, "This is too hard, too hard!, she was eventually asked to leave the pool.

The director of the pool swimming classes suggested that (a) perhaps Raphaela is too young for lessons or (b) perhaps we need to start with a series of private one-on-one classes to help overcome the fear or (c) I should randomly take Raphaela to the pool with me and "play around" and blow bubbles until she increases her comfort zone.  In any case, I await his call.

On the way home, Raphaela asked me if I was angry at her, if she was going to get a punishment. I assured her that I cannot be angry at her if something scares her, but that I would be quite disappointed if she doesn't even give new experiences a try.  I told her that very often, things do not go your way the very first time, and you must push through failure in order to get better and have that satisfaction of knowing that you overcame your fears.

"But I want my life to be easy.  Easy EASY.  Easy peasy lemon squeezy!"

I reminded Raphaela that for example, when she was a baby, she didn't know how to walk.  And that when she decided to start walking, there was lots of falling and mis-steps.  And that if she had given up on walking, she would not be a big girl today, a girl in Kindergarten who can walk and run and jump and skip and hop and climb ladders and dance.

Then I asked Raphaela if she had any ideas about what she wanted to be when grew up.  She immediately answered, "A soldier and a doctor, and a doctor for soldiers and animals."

Mommy:  Those are wonderful goals.  Do you think it is hard or easy to learn to be a doctor?
Raphaela:  Easy.
Mommy:  Nope!  Mommy had to work very hard and learn a lot of things and take a lot of tests to become a doctor.  I work hard every day too.   If you want to be a doctor some day, and I am sure you will make an excellent grown-up, you will have to work hard.
Raphaela:  Why?
Mommy:  Because if you give up and don't try, you will never know what you are truly capable of.

Raphaela was quiet on the way home, and when I tucked her in tonight, I looked her straight in the eyes and told her this story:  "Mommy really wanted to be your Mommy, and I went to the hospital and ate healthy and exercised and prayed to G-d, asking for the most special and wonderful baby Raphaela.  It didn't work right away, it certainly wasn't easy, and I kept asking G-d to help me and I cried a lot, but I kept trying, I never gave up.  Because if I had said, 'This hurts too much, this is too hard,' if I had stopped trying, I wouldn't be the luckiest Mommy in the world right now.  And I am so glad that I kept trying and finally got my dream."

Post-script:  Tomorrow afternoon we are scheduled to scope out a pre-ballet class. Oy.

Daniel Tragerman Z"L

This past Friday, a four year old boy named Daniel Tragerman was killed by a Hamas bomb, fired from the premises of an UNWRA school.  He died because there was only 15 seconds between the launch and the impact, and his parents did not have enough time to bring all three of their children to safety.

A few things need to be said here:

1.  Shame on the United Nations for keeping uncharacteristically silent when a child was killed in the Middle East by the other side. Oh, that's right, sorry, they only accuse Israel of murder when Hamas uses their own children as human shields.

2.  Israel is fighting a war with a group of people, a made-up nation, that does not believe in the sanctity of life;  they eagerly sacrifice those they love, their husbands and brothers and their innocent children.  It pains me no end for the Palestinian civilians, the ones who just want to get out of Aza now, alive.  As a reminder for the international lobotomized community, Hamas started this, and they will not be satisfied until all Jews, all over the globe, are dead, and if it means trampling over the corpses of their own people, so be it.

3.  I cannot wrap my head around a religion and/or culture that somehow manages to delete that basic maternal instinct that puts the LIFE and safety of a child over all else.

A video going around Facebook features a happy smiley Palestinian mother who told the following story:  her young daughter expressed an interest in becoming a suicide bomber, a desire to kill as many Israelis along the way.  The mother responded that she would support her daughter, and that she would only be pleased if her daughter came home in a "body bag," because otherwise it would indicate that she failed in her "holy mission."

3.  To paraphrase a bumper sticker I saw on a car last week, I will always choose and defend my child over my enemies, the enemies of my child's future.  F**k the moral high ground.

Years ago, the New York Times Magazine featured an editorial piece by a woman (who remained anonymous) who wrote about her dilemma, she was pregnant with triplets and had been told by doctors that if she carried all three fetuses to term, at least one of the babies would be born dead or would have to live with debilitating and limiting health issues.  This potential mother went on to describe her internal deliberations, and surprisingly, revealed her decision to the readership of the newspaper.  She and her husband chose to "terminate" the two fetuses who were identical twins, because she couldn't bear the idea that some day one of the twins would ask why he/she was spared over her identical sibling.

This mother had to make an awful choice, and subsequently came under fire by most who read the article.  Daniel Tragerman's parents didn't willfully choose two of their children over the other,  Hamas murdered their son, and they will never get to see him grow up.

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."

Lest We Forget

Raphaela is now four and a half, and it has been at least a few years since someone has made a snide or inappropriate comment about my status as a single mother by choice.

I think the Universe wanted to remind me today that I had done a brave thing, and to test my resolve at viewing myself and our non-traditional family as loving and normal, rather than a freak of nature in the Orthodox world.

A patient (with children, though seeming intolerant of the younger set in general) started telling me about the wonderful synagogue right down the road from my house, how this person (who shall remain nameless  and genderless) has so many friends who pray there, and how it seems like such a welcoming community.

I then made a comment that in my own experience, the members of that synagogue are for the most part old fashioned and somewhat non-welcoming to those who defy the standard rules of the Orthodox Jewish community.

Patient:  Why would you say that?
Me:  Because when I have walked in there with my daughter, we have been largely ignored and once or twice verbally accosted.
Patient:  Why would they do something like that?
Me:  Apparently they have a problem with a Jewish single mother by choice.
Patient:  Well why don't you just lie about the circumstances of her conception, so that you will be more acceptable to them, and to the larger Jewish community?
Me:  (Chin flat on floor, brain screaming inside, taking a minute to breathe again)  Why should I have to make up a story, to make myself more acceptable as a Jew or as a mother of an innocent child?  Shouldn't they be the ones who reach out to me, and who open their mind to 21rst Century Judaism and the reality of Israel?
Patient:  (Heavy Silence)

And THAT is why I need to eventually move to another neighborhood in Jerusalem, where many of my tolerant and accepting friends with children live.  Men and women who are both married and raising their children together; and women who like me, chose to not miss the opportunity to experience pregnancy and bring a beautiful child into the world.

People who understand that a Mom is a Mom is a Mom.

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.

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. 

52Frames

As a high school student, if you had asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would have answered without hesitation: a photojournalist.  I saw myself traveling the world, taking fantastic photos that would appear on the cover of magazines like National Geographic and newspapers like the Boston Globe and the New York Times.  I was going to make a difference in the world by exposing the truth of our existence through the lens of my Minolta camera.

In college I took photography courses to counter-balance the difficulty and the intensity of the pre-med studies, in art I found my joy.  I enjoyed the challenge of each week's assignment, and welcomed the critique that helped me grow as an artist.  Once a week, usually on a Monday, I would take two rolls of black and white film and walk through Central Park and other parts of The City, and was not allowed to go home until I had 72 photos;  if two or three were decent out of the lot, I had had a good afternoon.

Since moving to Israel, the extent to which I have indulged my creative side and the dedication to photography has waned, put on the back burner for starting my career and getting pregnant, raising that child and sleeping every once in a while.

Recently, a friend told me about an online international project called 52Frames, a collaborative effort with both professional and amateur photographers; each week a new mission is posted on the site, to be fulfilled and exhibited and critiqued by the group.

I should have jumped for joy when I heard about this, immediately turned on my computer and applied to be a part of this beautiful initiative.  Surprisingly, the only thing I felt was ambivalence, and a pervasive hesitation about even thinking about joining.  I felt sad, and it confused me actually.

Am I afraid of the competition, that I am not good enough to show my work?  Have I been so focused for so long on other endeavors that I have lost that spark of the Inner Artist and that competitive edge?  Is this a fear of commitment masking itself as, "I don't have the time..."

Whatever it is, it concerns me and I must figure it out before it has greater repercussions in my life.

Free Gital

Doubtless you have read or heard the story making the rounds in the New York Press and throughout the Jewish world: Gital, law student and suffering wife of the great-grandson of Rav Moshe Feinstein*, this man refuses to give his wife a Get, employing the logic of "If she doesn't want me, then no one can have her."  If even half of what Gital reports about their brief marriage is true, then indeed, this Ultra-Orthodox couple got married too young and this man is a controlling bastard; unfortunately, their three year old has become collateral damage as well.

She only went to the press to plead her case with the public after it became clear that her community would not extricate her and her baby from a terrible situation.

Gital's feeling of helpless-ness saddens me the most, she states that already after their second "date" she already expressed that she did not want to marry him, and was pushed into the relationship. When she felt miserable and trapped and abused almost immediately after the wedding ceremony, she claims that she could not reach out for help, not even to her own parents, for fear of shaming her family.  That this woman was not even given the option of holding off on pregnancy until the marriage had solidified (or not) speaks volumes about the unrealistic and antiquated matchmaking and family practices of the Ultra Orthodox.

I pause, allowing myself to remember the cardinal rule on Star Trek, that of non-interference.  Perhaps it is not my place, or that of the press or the public to impose our own sense of morality upon another community.  Then I remember that each Captain of the Enterprise eventually violated that line in the sand, stepping in when it seemed not only necessary but vital to the survival of the future.

And so I say, the time has come to officially expose the Ultra Orthodox community in their mistreatment and generalized debasement of the rights of women, and good for Gital for seeking outside help.

I close with two stories from my personal experience in my Chiropractic Clinic:

Many years ago, when I started working in Israel, an "older" IE over thirty woman became my patient.  Well educated and gainfully employed, combined with her age, she was categorized as a lost cause within her community, and told that she should marry the first man who looks her way, because she "cannot be too picky."  She married a man who has been since banned from my office for bad behavior:  boorish, perpetually unemployed, obese and apparently covered in burn scars on half his body, this woman married so far below what she deserved for herself and her life.  Several years later, three children later, she works full time as the Principal of an Ultra Orthodox school, and suffers daily. But she is not allowed to complain because she must be grateful than any man was willing to have sex with her.

Yesterday, another patient, an older Arab woman came in for her maintenance care Chiropractic adjustment.  In the past year, her daughter, a young woman with two children, died suddenly and mysteriously;  because of questions about her death, her burial was delayed and the whole family lived a nightmare.  When this woman came in yesterday, I asked about her grandchildren, how they were coping these days with the loss of their mother.  "They have a new Mama," she answered.  It seems that the husband was forced to remarry rather quickly to a woman he didn't really know and doesn't love, because "someone has to be a mother to those children."

When I suggested that it might have been easier to hire a baby sitter or nanny, my patient responded, "That's how we do things."



*  Ironically, Rav Moshe was one of the first Orthodox Rabbis in the 20th century to actively fight for the rights of Jewish women in cases of divorce and Agunah  [Hebrew for a woman trapped in a marriage by her husband]

Get this Girl a Sandwich!

I remember a specific two weeks during my pregnancy when the doctors were concerned that Raphaela's stomach was not growing in proportion with the rest of her body.  Until they performed that second ultra-sound and confirmed that she was in fact healthy, I had made a lot of bargains with G-d.

From the moment she emerged, my daughter has enjoyed the experience and sensuality of food, without over-eating.  I feel like I spent most of this past vacation either preparing snacks for an outing, or answering the question, "What can I eat?" 

This morning when we arrived at Gan, one of her friends sat at a little table eating a sandwich his mother has sent.  One of Raphaela's teachers came over to me and quietly asked, "Is there a reason you don't send a sandwich for Raphaela for morning snack? She always seems hungry."

I replied, "I don't send a sandwich because I know that Raphaela will not eat it. She and I are not 'bread people,' now matter how hard I try to introduce her to the joy of the P and J."  (Believe me, I would rather not have to be quite so creative with her options for snack time.)

When her teacher continued to look concerned, I asked why the staff was under the impression that Raphaela goes hungry, and she explained that during snack time, Raphaela devours her fruit.

"That's because Raphaela loves fruit." I explained to the teacher.  "In fact, given the choice between junk food and a fruit, she will more often than not take the healthy option.  She has always been a solid eater."

The teacher seemed puzzled and murmured under her breath, "A child who likes fruit rather than sweets, hmmm."

And just to assure her further, I added that Raphaela eats a small breakfast before even arriving at Gan.  The teacher's face lit up (how Israeli...) and hugged Raphaela and exclaimed, "Ah, your mother takes such good care of you!"

Post script:  One of my patients a 91 year old Holocaust survivor, takes a special interest in Raphaela.  Today, when this woman came for an appointment, she asked to see an updated picture, and then said with a smile, "This is clearly a child who is well-fed and well-loved."  It's all about perspective.