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.

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.

The New Synagogue

For several years now I have avoided regularly attending the synagogue right down the street, despite the fact that many of Raphaela's classmates play there during the services.  This particular congregation takes a very conservative view on families, and as a single mother I have never felt welcome there.

Recently, Raphaela has asked that we try the synagogue that meets in her school building; I don't think my daughter has a real interest in the prayers per se, one of her best friends goes there, and it is another opportunity for them to play.

Today we braved the horrible heat and walked there, Raphaela immediately found a few of her friends and disappeared in play.  I noticed that most of the other married women there did not cover their hair; and that when the Torah was being put away, the scroll was passed to the women's section in the most natural and accepting way.

Statistically speaking, there were more children than adults, and they made a real effort to encourage each new person to come back next week as we build this community together.

I may have found a place I like, after all this time.

Yom HaShoah 2016

RR:  There are Israeli flags on cars and houses!  That's because Yom HaAtzmaut is coming. [Israeli Independence Day]
Mom:  Actually there is another reason for the flags, tonight starts Yom HaShoah. [Holocaust Remembrance Day]  There was an evil man named Hitler, he was kind of like Haman from Purim.  Hitler wanted to kill all the Jews, and he did kill too many of us.
RR: How many?
Mom:  Hitler killed six million Jews, and lots of other people as well before he was done.  This was before there was an Israel.
RR:  (in her quiet voice)  Six million...that's a lot.
Mom:  Yes. And still, the Jews are here.
RR: We are still here.  When I have a baby, I will become a Mommy and you will become a Bubby.  Life continues, and we will grow and grow.
Mom:  Indeed! Tomorrow when you are in school, there will be a siren to remember all the people who died, the soldiers who helped them, and all the Jews who survived and built families again.
RR:  But not the kind of siren that you have to run to the bomb shelter, right? I know where the bomb shelter is in our school, we did a drill.
Mom:  Right, that is another kind of siren that I hope we don't hear again.
RR:  I will make sure to drink a lot of water before the siren, so I can stand still and quiet and not be thirsty.
Mom:  The siren does not last that long, I don't think you will get too thirsty.
RR:  It goes by quickly.  And next week there will be another siren, for the Israeli soldiers who keep us safe.
Mom:  That's right, for the soldiers who were killed protecting us and our country.

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 2016

When I was single, Purim held little appeal for me, though I did try to wear a creative costume each year.  When you have children, in Israel, the holiday of Purim (officially one day long) lasts close to two weeks, and the joy and anticipation of the kids is infectious.

On the first day of the month, the school had a Purim Opening Ceremony. There was Pajamas Day and No-Homework Day, and You-Don't-Have-To-Wear-A-School-Uniform Day.  In past years in nursery and kindergarten, the menu included Clown Day, Silly Hat Day, Kings and Queens Day, and the like.

Today, however, the Purim Carnival and Costume Festival takes place.  Raphaela woke up at 5:30 am out of pure excitement.

It is a half day of school with the promise of no academic activity whatsoever.  Pizza for breakfast, and a roaming popcorn stand!  Among their classmates, the exchanging of Mishloach Manot, traditional Purim junk food gift baskets.

To top it all off, this afternoon Raphaela and a friend of hers will be hosting a six and a half birthday party. Both girls were born at the beginning of the school year during the Jewish holidays, and did not have a private party because it was school vacation and the start of the school year, when the girls didn't really know each other and hadn't coalesced as a group.

Raphaela, of course, chose to dress up as Queen Elsa from Frozen, despite my protestations that it was one of the least original costumes out there.  She carefully put on her gown this morning, her crown, some eye shadow, an Elsa ring and an Anna bracelet.  Raphaela was bedecked and bejeweled.

When I suggested some faux sparkly earrings as well, she scowled at me, horrified at my apparent lack of fashion sense, and said, "Really Mommy, it is too much. That's over the top!"

Needless to say, the halls of a Raphaela's school felt like a Disney princess convention.

Boys Rules

This past Shabbat, we spent lunch and a lovely afternoon with the family of one of Raphaela's school friends, a girl the same age who has been in her class for the last three years.

At one point, her brother and two of his friends were wrestling on the trampoline, and Raphaela came to me, quite concerned.  She told me that the boys were fighting, were not playing nicely and were going to get hurt.

I explained to Raphaela - a child who has essentially grown up like Wonder Woman and the Amazonians - that sometimes this is how boys play, that it looks like they are trying to hurt each other but it's really all in fun; they are friends and will be friends after they finish wrestling.

"Really?!" she asked, incredulously.
"Yes, really.  This is how boys play sometimes." I answered.
"Strange, but alright..." said Raphaela, and returned to playing with her friend.

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.

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."

Play Date

After almost four months, Raphaela has a BFF in school, at least for this week...

Yesterday afternoon, she and N had a playdate at N's house, a successful one, so happy that Raphaela did not want to come home.  Raphaela also came up with a "great idea, I will dress up as Elsa for Purim and N can be Anna, we can be like sisters!"

This morning I saw the mother of this girl, and she thanked me.  She told me that Raphaela is "such a good influence" on her own daughter:  "Not only did N clean up her room, she behaved so well, and really related to Raphaela, really played and gave of herself.  So thank you!"

Israel Family Day 2016

Family Day is Israel's answer to Mother's Day or Father's Day or Grandparent's Day, traditionally celebrated by Hallmark in the United States.  When Raphaela was in nursery and kindergarten, they made more of a fuss about it, this year it seems to have gone by almost un-noticed by her First Grade teacher.

This morning I took a picture of our family, and explained to Raphaela that today's holiday works for everyone, all kinds of different situations, because all of them are loving and valid.

Raphaela nodded her head and said, "God has the biggest family of all, everyone is related to him!"

The Big Talk

For most of the six plus years of Raphaela's life, she has very rarely asked about the identity of her biological father/sperm donor, and when she does ask, the subject passes fairly quickly.  In the last two weeks, Raphaela has become almost obsessive about it, and will frequently get this terribly sad look on her face and say, "I miss my Daddy."

Despite the fact that she knows the story of her conception, that I chose to have her and that she does not have a father who will come home, it has obviously become more pressing to her.  Since nothing has changed at home, I can only assume that not only is she more aware now that she is older, but that her classmates have also discussed it with her.

Toward that end, I met today with the School Counsellor/Psychologist, with the intention of gaining some insight and perhaps some tips as to how to deal with this in the best and healthiest way possible. After telling the Counsellor about my approach, she assured me that I am in fact a very good parent and that I am handling it well.

Then she expressed a desire to do more within the realm of the school, because it will undoubtedly come up again in Raphaela's six years at Evelyna.  The Counsellor suggested that she first have a casual sit down with my daughter, to see where her head is at.  Following that discussion, she plans on leading an activity in the classroom to talk about the legitimacy of every type of family;  every family is different, and what matters most is that there is love and a sense of security.  "The girls," she said, "need a common language of respect on the subject."

The Counsellor also told me that there is another girl in the class whose father died over two years ago, during the most recent war in Gaza.  She assured me that both my daughter and this other child show no signs of depression or a "lack thereof" of a father, that Raphaela is warm and well-adjusted, with a deep sense and appreciation of self.

I closed the session by telling the Counsellor that I do tell Raphaela that just because there is no father in the house at the moment, does not mean that someday I will meet a wonderful man who will become both husband and father.

To which the Counsellor applied, in true beautiful and authentic Israeli style, "Tell me what you are looking for, I know people, you know!"

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.

I Already Have a Teenager

This morning on the way to school, Raphaela used a term in Hebrew and I corrected her.  She continued to insist that she was correct and I was wrong, and would not listen to my explanation.  Raphaela literally covered her ears and did the "La la la, I'm not listening" show for my benefit.

I told Raphaela that although I don't know everything, I know a little bit more than her at this point in my life.  She replied, "Well we are the First Grade girls of Evelyna, we can be smart too."

When we got to school, I sat down with her and wrote out my explanation, trying to make it clear that it's OK to admit that you made a mistake, and that others have something to teach you.

Raphaela took the sheet of paper and crumpled it up, saying, "I am not interested in this conversation anymore."

Six years old.  Lord help me when we get to the teenage years, where she will know everything and be invincible.

The Beautiful Lights

Last night, the First Grade girls in Evelyna held their Chanukah party, and considering the 31 children plus parents in the room, it went more or less smoothly.

Their teacher talked about the creation of the world, and how God created a special light, but then didn't know where to put it.  Upon consultation with the angels, God placed a piece of this special light into each person, deep inside so that only those who were actively searching for it would find it;  "because many people don't bother to look and examine deep inside themselves," said the teacher.  Then she thanked each of the girls in her class for manifesting that truly special light.

The Principal also spoke, and pointed out that while gravity on Earth will pull most things down (as he dropped his iPhone to the floor, ouch!), the flame of a fire defies these basic rules of physics and reaches upward, toward the heavens.  Then he as well said that each of these girls are lights, always reaching upward and always lighting the way with their camaraderie.

And indeed, I saw it with my own eyes.  At one point the teacher was leading an activity in which she sang a (very long) song about all the Chesed [good deeds in Hebrew] that we can do for each other, and every time she tapped a child on the head, they were meant to open a little flash light and wave it around.  It was dark in the room and she was not utilizing any particular system of order, patting heads haphazardly,  and ultimately she skipped over Raphaela.

Raphaela said nothing.

After putting on the lights of the classroom and starting to move on, one of the other girls in the class got up and pulled on the teachers shirt and said, "You forgot Raphaela!"  Whereupon  the teacher immediately shut off the lights, made special notice of my daughter and had all the children wave their flash lights together.

Afterwards I was talking to the teacher and she told me that Raphaela thanks her every day, for the lessons and the affection and the effort put into guiding these girls.  The teacher told me how impressed she was that Raphaela can say "thank you" and can make others feel genuinely appreciated.

Thank you, Raphaela, for making me proud.

The Reality from Jerusalem, Israel

I am not going to delve into the political, historical and religious underpinnings of the current Blood Libel/Pogrom/Intifada that is currently taking place all over Israel, compounded by the irresponsible and frankly, ridiculously biased treatment of Israel by the American administration, the United Nations and the international media.

I am not going to describe how I feel as a parent, dropping my daughter off at school every day, terrified and wondering if the one armed security guard is actually capable of protecting anyone, as he cannot be in all places at the same time.

Today I spoke to Raphaela's First Grade teacher and asked her if the girls seem to be affected in terms of focus or fears by the events of the past two weeks.  She explained that they had a brief discussion in class, in which they clarified that there are good people and bad people in the world;  they talked about how parents might be asking them to be more aware and more careful, and how maybe it is not the best time to ride on your bike alone and far away from the house these days.

Her teacher explained that she purposely held this forum right before the morning prayers, to emphasize that there is only so much that we can control, only so much that their parents can do to be extra-careful, and that through prayer we put our faith in a higher power, one that is meant to protect us and bring us comfort in the bigger picture.  Thankfully, Raphaela's teacher reported that most of the girls seem to be clueless and as happy-go-lucky as ever.

For my own part, I have not shared the gory and scary details with Raphaela.  She knows that there are people out there today who do not want what is best for Jews, just as there has been throughout our history:  Nimrod (who tried to kill Abraham), Pharaoh (who enslaved and tried to kill the Jewish people), Haman (who tried to wipe out all the Jews under the rule of Persia), Babylon (who destroyed the Temple and exiled most of the Jews from Israel),  Hitler (The Shoah, six million Jews and several other million non-Jews), Idi Amin (Raphaela learned the story of Operation Entebbe), Arabs etc.

As far as Raphaela is concerned, this current state of undeclared war is just a continuation of history, "so let's go to the zoo." Except that the zoo is a wide open space and full of potential targets, so I as a parent do not feel comfortable taking her there. Instead, we have scheduled lots of indoor play dates.  These days we don't dally before and after errands, we do what we must and get home as quickly as possible. 

These days, the streets of Jerusalem are pretty empty, and there is a small canister of pepper spray hiding inside my pocket book.

On the way back from the supermarket this week, five police vans zoomed past us in the other direction of traffic toward one of the multiple attacks of the day, sirens blazing, and my heart sank. I sighed visibly, and Raphaela asked me what was wrong.  I replied that there was lots of traffic, and that I just wanted to get home safely.

The other day, picking up Raphaela from school, a little girl from her class and her older sister seemed to be scared and confused, because the building was closing for the day and their parents were not there yet.  "Don't worry," said her older sister, "we will just walk home by ourselves." I would not allow it, I called their mother and told her that they were coming with me, and that they could stay with us as long as they needed to.

Last night, as Raphaela sat in the bath tub, we could hear the endless stream of helicopters and police and ambulances outside.  Raphaela said, "Oh, so many sirens! Maybe someone is really really sick.  Or maybe a woman is about to give birth and she has to get to the hospital really quickly."

I am OK with that level of denial for now, she's only six years old.  One of us has to sleep at night.

One of the nice aspects of Raphaela's class at Evelyna is the fact that many of her friends live quite literally down the street.

Yesterday, we met one of her friends on a walk, and the girls ran off together to play. Next thing I know she is inviting her self over to their house (Succah) for Shabbat lunch, and several hours later, she returned home, accompanied by her friend's father.  I was involved in approximately zero of these arrangements for a play date.

As well, Raphaela went on and on about the delicious lasagna she ate, and how from now on when I make the same dish she will not reject it.  Lasagna is her new favorite food, and she made particular notice of the fact that she did not "give up" easily and was willing to try something new.  At someone else's house.

I think we experienced an important milestone while I wasn't paying attention.

Rosh HaShanah

This year we attended synagogue both days, for the sounding of the shofar and because so many of Raphaela's friends from school seem to attend this particular place of worship. (Instant play date, yay!)  Additionally, it is located oh so conveniently three doors away from our building.

Before the blowing of the shofar, they lay out several tables of all the most classic/salty/unhealthy Israeli junk food that exists in the market.  Plus cakes and lollipops and Coca Cola, in case you didn't have enough variations of bisli, bamba and wafers.

On the first day, Raphaela filled her cup, and went back for second and fourths and sixth helpings.  I was almost embarrassed at a certain point, I could feel the disapproving stares of the other mothers who I am sure thought that I never feed my daughter. Anything.

At one point one woman came over to me and said, "I am guessing that you don't stock up on these things at home." Relieved that I was receiving the benefit of the doubt, I replied, "We have some basic treats, like chocolate and cookies, but nothing this unhealthy crosses the threshold into our house."

"Don't worry," this woman continued. "She seems like a self-assured and happy child, and when it comes to the Jewish holidays, give up any control you think you have over the engorging of junk food."

She continued, "As my saintly father of blessed memory used to say, 'Better a visit to the dentist than a stint on the psychologist's couch.'""

And to add to the party, the youth group also awarded the kids lollipops and marshmallows.  I prayed (in the spirit of the season) that Raphaela would come to her own conclusions, with a little help from a stomach ache.

Needless to say, on the second day in synagogue Raphaela showed a little more restraint, without any encouragement from me.  She even chose to eat dates over toffee.

The Money Game

When you hear the phrase, "Education in Israel is Free," don't drink the Kool Aid.

Yes, it is most definitely true that compared to equivalent Jewish educational options in the United States, the system here is practically free.  But there is always the fee to cover the extra activities that the city budget does not supply, plus the extra payment for the glorified baby sitting [Tzaharon] to keep your child in school until four pm, and the fees for extra-curricular classes that take place on the school premises or elsewhere during the year.  And school books and uniforms and extra-special class trips...you get the idea.

Since Raphaela has started First Grade, I have had more homework than she;  they send home a new form daily for the parents to fill out, because it would have made no sense to give us all this paperwork at once, in a single package.  In addition, they have included the requisite requests for donations, toward the recent refurbishing of the playground area, or for the scholarship fund for needy families within the school population.

If I had several million dollars at my disposal, I would be happy and eager to sponsor an entire wing of the school.  I can remember from my own elementary and high school experience that the parents who had "real money" and not only built new classrooms but also served on the board, their children got special treatment.  It was obvious to me then that money talks, even when the intention comes solely from a place of good,  and giving purely for the sake of giving.

However, I am a single parent with no trust fund (that I know of), and most months of the year I can stay on budget.  Some months of the year, for example the upcoming period of Jewish holidays at the beginning of the Hebrew calendar, I barely work, and I put much effort into not going into a tailspin of panic.  Myself, and in fact most parents in Israel, married single or otherwise.

I will give when I can, because I actually do want to invest in my child's future, and I am truly impressed with the investment this staff and this school has already made into my daughter.  I hope that it is not held against me that I do not at the moment have as deep pockets as I would like.

And So It Came To Be

Monday Night

8:00 pm,  Raphaela goes to sleep, leaving her back pack right next to her pillow
11:45 pm, After watching a movie, reading a few chapters of my book and drinking a small glass of wine, I fall asleep.

Tuesday, First Day of School

2:00 am,  Raphaela comes into my bedroom, wide awake, and asks, "What are you doing?" I answer, "I am sleeping."
5:30 am, Raphaela wakes me up, gets dressed by herself, and puts on her back pack.  The back pack does not come off.
6:00 am, Rapheala informs me that her sport shoes are too small for her, and indeed she is correct; her toes can be felt at the tip of the sneakers. Because of my background in the Jewish Girl Scouts, I have a pair for her that is the next size up, and some lucky person will basically be getting a new pair of girl's shoes.
7:30 am, We feed the street cats and I throw out the garbage, and we head out for the first day of First Grade.  I show Raphaela various markers along the route (a big rock, twin trees, a small forest, a tunnel) so that when she is older, she will have no problem walking to school with her friends.
7:45 am, We are greeted by the principal at the front gate, and see lots of different families we know from the neighborhood and from previous incarnations of Gan.  Raphaela goes to her classroom and sits in the front row.
Then another little girl comes and sits next to her, and her parents explain that she is an English speaker, and that her name is Elsa.  This is starting out well, thank you G-d for small and large miracles.  Of note, there are three angel-like names in the class - Raphaela, Michaela and Gabriella - so there will lots of divine energy in the room.
8:00 am, Raphaela's teacher arrives and my daughter kicks me out the door. I join a group of parents staying right outside the classroom and all of lamenting, "I am so emotional.  I don't want to go."
8:20 am, I drop off all the charitable donation items at Raphaela's Gan from last year. Several of the parents look at me funny and say, "Didn't your daughter move on?" Yes she did.
Walking home to get ready for work, I realize that I am exceptionally sweaty and it is not all that hot in Jerusalem.  It must be the nervous excitement.
12:45, Early pick up from school as it is the first day.  The teacher is running a little late, which causes the next cascade of homework issues.
13:15 pm, We get home and Raphaela takes out her folder, with one page for the parents to fill out, and a letter for the parents from the principal.  When I ask Raphaela if she has any other homework, she says that she has forgotten, and then gets impatient with me for asking. 
We are going to have to come up with a system for this.
So I call the mother of one of the girls in her class, who was also in her Gan class last year.  She laughs and explains that this teacher purposely does not tell the parents about assignments, because she wants the girls to take responsibility for themselves.  The teacher is fully cognizant that it means that some homework will be forgotten at the beginning of the year.  But apparently tonight there is no problem, nothing more to do.
As soon as I hung up, the phone rang and it was another mother who had the exact same discussion /argument with her daughter, and was unclear as to whether there was more homework.  We laughed at our situation as newbies, and decided that we need to set up a whatsapp group to support each other and ask stupid questions.

With the last little bit of vacation remaining, Raphaela and I ate a quick lunch and went to the pool.
Tomorrow it's really real.