A Turkey-Free Thanksgiving

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Holidays

Today I started planning our Thanksgiving dinner, and I couldn't be more excited.  Thanksgiving stands as one of my favorite holidays, American, Israeli, Jewish and otherwise.  In my mind it represents all those family gatherings at my grandmother's Z"L, the amazing smell when you walked in the door, the annual fight over which movie to see, the Macy's Day parade and the time spent bonding with cousins.

Living in Israel, we mostly ignore the American and the non-Jewish holidays, New Year's comes and goes without notice, except that I know that I will have to prepare my annual taxes around that time.  This year, however, Raphaela seems to have taken more notice of the global community.

She asked me why we don't celebrate Halloween, and I told her that we have Purim instead; I didn't mention that Halloween commemorates pogroms against Jews.  I remember, growing up in New York as a child how we spent that night:  we locked all the doors and windows, and closed the shades.  When the door bell rang, we ignored it, and the next morning, we hoped that the area where we lived had not been vandalized in any major way.  It was the one night out of the year that our quietly anti-Semitic neighbors had full reign.

It has apparently changed, evidenced by the huge amount of friends on Facebook - those of the Jewish faith and of all levels of religiosity- who posted pictures of their family fully costumed and celebrating Halloween on some level.

As far as Christmas, Raphaela thinks that Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny are fast friends of Diego and Dora, as they appear on the (Hebrew translated) cartoon to deliver presents and rescue animals.  Every year I go to a Christmas classic music/carols concert at the International YMCA in Jerusalem, but have not taken Raphaela because she cannot stay up that late into the night.  When she gets older, I may give her the option of coming with me instead of staying home with a baby sitter, though I doubt she will know the words to any of the Christmas carols or Handel's Messiah.

(The Tooth Fairy, however, is real.)

Our Chanukah rituals revolve around candle lighting with friends and family, eating doughnuts and taking day trips, rather than the rampant materialism that characterizes the season.  I am grateful to raise my daughter that way.

Ask any parent of children in Israel and they will say that there is far too much vacation from school for Jewish holidays as it is, we don't need to add in the other religions to the mix.

Tell It Like It Is

This weekend, I hosted my parents visiting from overseas, as well as my brother and his family who live in another (more religious) neighborhood in Jerusalem, not within walking distance of our house.  I had the following conversation with my seven year old niece, who went straight for the jugular, as children often do.

Niece:  Raphaela is really lucky, if you get married, she can go to the wedding!
Me:  Uh huh.
N:  Are you even anywhere near finding a husband?
Me:  Not yet.
N:  You know you are the oldest of all your brothers and sisters, and the rest are all married.
Me:  Uh huh.  (Feeling the unintended knife twisting in my back.) So, who wants some more Thanksgiving turkey?

Happy Holidays

This morning, with terrific excitement, I reminded Raphaela that today we celebrate Thanksgiving, a holiday left over from my American experience and yet shall be cherished every year, no matter where I live.  Raphaela asked if she was allowed to join in the Turkey Day festivities, as she was born in Israel and not the United States.  I told her that as she has an American passport and a mother born in the US, she is also a dual citizen and should enjoy all rights as such.

Later in the day, an Israeli patient asked me if I had commemorated Christmas in my house, as a child growing up in America.  After all, it has even become accepted among some observant American Jews to take their child Trick-or-Treating;  forgetting all historical background to the holiday IE pogroms and the slaughtering of Jews, kids get to wear costumes and collect free candy.  Harmless, right?

I laughed and pointed out that since my father is an ordained Orthodox Rabbi, it was never an option  to visit Santa at the mall or have a "Chanukah Bush" in our house.  Christmas is all about Saint Nick and Jesus and trampling a stranger to get a cheap X-Box, clearly religious in nature, as opposed to Thanksgiving.  My parents actually did a good job of giving the Jewish holidays throughout the year beauty and significance, without envy or wistfulness for the more Christian and pagan holidays.

That being said, I do have a secret indulgence:  Christmas carols.  They bring me some joy as it reminds me of the warm atmosphere of New York City that month before the holiday, where New Yorkers seemed less cut-throat and more friendly, "Happy Holidays!" wherever you went, skating at Rockefeller Center, the MET tree and the window decorations.

Ahh, nostalgia!

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!"

=================================================================

Thanksgivukkah Cucumbers (Family Recipe)

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

Rehab for Antiochus (Channukah I)

Raphaela has shown a consistent tendency to see the best in people, and to try to rehabilitate the reputation of the less than positive figures she encounters. 

For example, the Wolf (from children's opera Peter and the Wolf) started as the enemy, the eater of the duck and evolved into a household pet.  During the period of her obsession with this show, her wolf doll went everywhere with her and was the focus of all her imaginary play.  The Wolf had emotional needs for hugs and kisses, which she happily provided.

Now we have a new candidate for her Social Services:  Antiochus the Ancient Greek king who destroyed the Temple in the time of the Chanukah story, the holiday we Jews will celebrate in about two weeks time.  They have started teaching the song and symbols of Chanukah at Gan, partially in preparation for the parents' party, and I have heard much about Antiochus, how he wanted everyone to do what he did, how he put a "stupid idol" in the Jewish Temple, and how he focused on outer banalities like beauty rather than morality and devotion to G-d.  (Yes, this is what my four year old learns at Gan...)

And yet, I think Raphaela feels badly for him in some way, that he has such a terrible role as the baddie of the Chanukah story; so Antiochus has begun to join us at playtime and at the dinner table, and when he behaves nicely, I am informed by my daughter that "Antiochus deserves a cookie."

I love and admire the loving acceptance that Raphaela shows to others, both real and imaginary, and I hope that life does not disappoint her when reality sets in, that not everyone can be saved.

Just wait until I have to tell her the real story behind Thanksgiving.

Point Taken

Ever since our trip to the United States last year for Thanksgiving, Raphaela inevitably ends up in my bed at some point during the night.  Sleeping with her is like sleeping with a washing machine.

Last night she chose to sleep in her own bed, and I did a little victory dance in my head.  Around midnight, I heard a thump, and then a sweet little "Ow!" and then the beginning of crying. I went into her room and she had rolled off her bed and found herself on the floor.

I picked her up and hugged her, and she said to me, "And THAT is why I like sleeping in your bed better."  Then she took a stuffed animal, walked into my room and settled in, falling back asleep almost immediately.

No Place like Home?

Born in New York, moved to New Jersey, moved to Boston, back to New York for college, Toronto for grad school, Israel in 1997.  I've been around, and perhaps the fact that I don't have one space where I can say, "I was born there, I grew up there, I have roots there," that allowed me to move to Israel to start fresh.

The only house that ever stayed the same, an emotional constant for me, was my grandparent's place, but now that they are both gone, the house feels empty and sad.  I would rather remember it when it was infused with the sounds of family and the smells of my grandmother's cooking and baking.

On this trip thus far, I have spent a week with my brother, or as Raphaela calls it, "Hilary's House" in Washington DC, and while in New York for Thanksgiving, I visited my aunt and uncle; theirs is a house where I spent many weekends during my college and post college years.  Now Raphaela and I spend the last leg of our trip in my parents' house in Boston, where I did not grow up, as they bought it just as I was leaving home to go to Barnard College.

My home lies in Israel, where I have given birth to my daughter and started a business, though I would be fibbing if I said that I will not miss being surrounded by familiar faces and family.  I think that Raphaela in particular will have a difficult time returning to our Jerusalem apartment, after spending two weeks in multiple story colonial homes with big back yards and crunchy leaves.

Today in synagogue, the Rabbi gave a speech with the intention of mobilizing his congregation to empathize with and support Israel.  While his motives may have been positive, he manipulated facts and portrayed a skewed view of life in Israel, the place I actually live and raise my daughter.  I felt angry, and wanted to interrupt him in the middle and say, "Hey everyone, we may have troubles at the moment, surrounded by enemies who have wanted to wipe us off the map for quite a while now, but we live a rich and beautiful and almost normal life. We are not all war refugees or orphans.  We appreciate your help, so come support us by visiting, step outside your suburban illusion and experience it first hand."

I think I am ready to go home.

American Thanksgiving 2012

My grandmother must be smiling right now.

Rebecca Keller, after whom Raphaela is named, was born in British Palestine in 1922 and orphaned at the age of 11, worked all her life as the matriarch of the family to keep all of her children and grandchildren close.  Every Thanksgiving and Pessach we crowded into their Rhode Island house - 25 people and one bathroom - and ate and played and ate together.  It is her effort all those years that have kept the cousins together.

Since moving to Israel almost 16 years ago, I have never had a full and proper Thanksgiving.  All that changed yesterday, when my brother and his family and my family piled into the car, got lost looking for gasoline, and arrived at my cousin in Long Island at one am.  The holiday must be inaugurated with stress, right?

Each bedroom was full last night, with cousins and in-laws, and this day promises to bring my mother's extended side of the family for the festive traditional meal; all but three of my first cousins arrived, from as far as North Carolina and Philadelphia.  There were enough men to make a minyan (Jewish quorum) for my uncle, who lost his mother last month and had to say the Mourner's Kaddish.

But first, this morning, we watched the Macy's Day Parade in our pajamas, and I felt like a little kid again.  My brother and cousin left the house for a local and semi-competitive football game.  The nieces and nephews borrowed my iPad and played Angry Birds during the commercials.

My cousin, whose wife cooked and organized the meal for 24 adults and 17 children, had started preparing the enormous amount of food over a month ago, and told the following story:  they had lost power during Hurricane Sandy, and of all their priorities, she strung a cable from her house to her neighbor, for the sole purpose of keep that one refrigerator and its contents safe.

There was enough food for all of us, with second helpings, and probably 50 more.

There was a family football game with all the kids in the backyard. There was of course the Thanksgiving football game on television in the background.

The meal concluded with a surprise birthday cake for Raphaela, so she could remember that she not only met her nearest and dearest, but that they honored her with a celebration as well. 

And my grandmother smiled.

Jerusalem of Gold

This morning, after dropping off Raphaela at Gan, I looked at the phenomenal view from my neighborhood:  the Israel Museum, the Knesset, the stupid expensive cable bridge, and all the other buildings in the horizon still twinkled with the early morning golden sunlight.  And I thought to myself with a contended smile on my face, "This is my home."

I took a virtual snapshot in my head, to carry the image with me on our trip to the States.

This afternoon when I picked Raphaela up from Gan, I saw that the nursery teachers had arranged an impromptu party for my daughter instead of the usual three o'clock snack time.  They were explaining as I entered the room that Raphaela would be going on a plane and would not be in Gan for a little bit of time, that they would all miss her and wait for her safe return.  As we left the class room, all the children threw kisses in our direction, and it moved me to tears.  In fact I had a hard time leaving Gan today, because that is Raphaela's second home, and it has become a place of happiness and loving kindness.

Almost sixteen years after moving to Israel from America, I feel more Israeli inside than ever, and though I look forward to Raphaela meeting her extending family this Thanksgiving trip, I know that it is a short two weeks and then I return to place where my heart belongs.

We return just in time for Chanukah, the Festival of Lights.

Matters of Perspective

One more week before we are meant to travel to the States for Thanksgiving.  I, or rather the nerdy girl in me who always hated missing even one day of class, sat with her teacher today and asked essentially how I could make up for the loss of "material" about Chanukah that Raphaela would miss while we are away.

Her Head Nursery Teacher, who recently lost her 91 year old mother to prolonged illness and old age.

Meanwhile, our actual Thanksgiving plans remain in the Undecided category;  the original plan included a festive meal with cousins (in Long Island) and Shabbat with my sister (in Long Island).  Due to Hurricane Sandy, my cousin does not have electricity, and my sister cannot live in her house. 

An Ultra-Orthodox mother of five and due to give birth in December to her sixth child, my sister and her family lost their car and the entire first floor of their house to the flooding.

Not Undecided is the American Public, who go to the polls today in an atmosphere of a dead-heat between Romney and Barack Hussein Obama.  Will it be the Muslim or the Mormon who wins the day?  Is there ever really a candidate who likes Israel, or just likes getting that bloc of votes?  What effect will Hurricane Sandy and its terrible aftermath have on the election?  When do the Americans get smart and abolish the Electoral College?  And how many lawyers are gearing up as we speak to fight the inevitable recounts and State-by-State law suits?

Hey, that's a thought, maybe my Absentee Ballot will count this year, for a change.

Leap Frog

First the month of back-to-back Jewish holidays and intermittent vacation from Gan.  Then Raphaela was ill, and last week her birthday party dominated my schedule.  Now that all those events have passed, our visit to the United States takes priority.

While indulging in excessive list-making for the trip, it occurred to me that soon after we return from America after Thanksgiving, it will be Chanukah, time once again to register Raphaela for Gan, for next year!  Since I wanted to give myself the opportunity to choose wisely, knowing that next year Raphaela must officially enter the public school system, today I visited a Gan down the street, one whose principle Nursery Teachers has not only received personal recommendations, but has also won award from the Israeli Ministry of Education.

The location of course presumes that we will continue to live in this neighborhood next year, though my thoughts wander towards a more single Mom friendly area of Jerusalem, if only it didn't involve moving. (Sigh)

The kid to staff ratio was good;  their program extends for two years, so Raphaela would not have to switch yet again before first grade; I observed during unstructured play time, and there was plenty of choice of activities;  I was particularly impressed with their library corner.

The teacher with whom I spoke said that she would be happy to have Raphaela join their nursery next year, but warned me that the ultimate decision lies with the Municipality.  Because my daughter was born on Erev Succot, she straddles that boundary of being a bit young within the rest of the group.

Countdown to Birthday I

While watching Dora the Explorer last week, Raphaela became over-excited by an episode in which all of the characters stage a surprise birthday party for Swiper the Fox.  For at least the past month, every morning Raphaela will take a dress out of her drawers and ask me if this is the day she gets to wear her birthday dress.  Recently, I pointed to the moon and explained to her that when the moon is at its fullest this month, she will be three years old.  We check the skies every night in anticipation.

For years I shunned my own birth day, after a 'traumatic' event that occurred to me at the age of 11:  my mother forgot to make my birthday cake (banana with chocolate icing) because my parents had to deal with some tantrum from my brother.  Even now, as an adult, I feel the remnants of anger and think, "How could they have forgotten me?  Birthdays? Bah humbug!"

Only through Raphaela's enthusiasm for the birthday ritual - crown, cake, balloons, party, friends - I have re-discovered the joy and celebration of the event.

This year she will surely have one party at Gan, after the holidays of Succot.  When we visit the States in November, I have already arranged for a celebration of her third birthday with 50 of her relatives, at Thanksgiving Dinner.  The question remains regarding a separate, small, private party with friends and adopted family from Israel.   The only time which is both appropriate and feasible falls on Chol Hamoed Succot, but most of those days are 'booked' by her friends' parties, and the school year at Gan is still too fresh to know who she would invite from this new group of children.

Red Hot Chili Peppers

Despite all sorts of international pressure to boycott Israel, the Red Hot Chili Peppers came to our little country, visited the Western Wall before their concert, and then performed last night in Tel Aviv.

I did not go to the concert, because it would have meant figuring out a place for Raphaela for the approximately 12 hours she would have needed care;  it would have meant arranging for someone to pick her up from Gan and take her home until this morning, in order to arrive in time for the concert  by 6:30 pm. While we have many good friends, at this point Raphaela will not stay with them alone for more than several hours.

The pre-Mommy adult went to movies and concerts, and listened to the RHCP; that person I was before I had a child had the freedom to take the weekend and travel, or just sit on the beach and read a good book;  the woman I was before I had Raphaela could get involved in either frivolous relationships, or try out a more serious connection and experiment without worrying too much about the consequences.  The Me that I was before Raphaela could sleep past five in the morning, and could get in a nap on Shabbat without having an interruption every five minutes, "Are you sleeping Mommy?"

I know that today is September 11, and I should be saying something deep about the import of the day.  I know that Rosh HaShanah fast approaches, and I will state for the record that I am eternally grateful that both I and my daughter are healthy, and that I have the privilege of watching her grow into an amazing human being every day.

So, G-d, Universe and Everything, thank you, and please keep us safe and well this next year and beyond.

But I am also a woman who has no instant family as baby sitters, no secret account or trust fund that allows me to work part-time or take even the brief Sabbatical I need after almost 17 years of working in the field of Chiropractic.  I run  and react and serve others from the moment I wake up until the moment I collapse in bed at night, worrying if I have done enough to take care of us as a family,  and to make a difference on the planet.  I am also the woman who has not been intimate with a man for way too long, has not taken a vacation for close to five years; I miss the days when I would choose a random European country and wander around, meeting the citizens, observing natural wonders and learning a new language.  I am the adult who has had way too many conversations with a three year old about bodily functions and Dora the Explorer and Bob the Builder.

Our planned trip to the States in November for Thanksgiving, it is my gift to Raphaela so she can get to know her cousins and extended family.  I am paying for the entire trip myself, and I am under no illusions that this family affair will qualify as my vacation.

I wanted to go to that concert last night, I really really did, for me this day and the person who used to inhabit this body.  I am burning out, and this morning I am feeling tired and resentful, instead of appreciating the blessings I have in my life.

The Jewish Child in Me

Communal Jewish tradition thrives best in an environment of families with kids. 

It has taken me many years to overcome the resentment I felt as a single person (without children), that feeling of being side-lined, left out, and not in on the private joke.  The exception to that experience being Barnard College, where Rabbi Chuck Sheer and the Columbia-Barnard Jewish community embraced students from all levels of Judaism;  and where my daily observance and the holidays were based upon joy (and great parties), rather than fear of the lightning bolt, or fear of being judged by others.

I understand this even more today, when I have a two and a half year old child.  I eagerly await Purim, which arrives next week, because I can picture Raphaela in her costume, singing songs and collecting candy and celebrating with family and her Gan friends.  I have developed a modern Purim tradition of my own, as a parent living in Israel:  the day after Halloween in the United States, I cruise online and buy Raphaela an amazing quality costume for 75% off the regular prices.  This year we will sport matching outfits, Supergirl and SuperMommy.

Pessach, the problematic food holiday at the beginning of April, has taken on much more significance for me, as it now represents an opportunity to sit with friends and extended family, tell the story of our slavery and redemption, and give my daughter the foundations of belonging to a people with a history.  In the past, I never enjoyed the academic competition, and the gloating afterwards of "Our family stayed awake reciting the Hagaddah until 3 am..."  The seder should be geared toward the wonderfully curious children in the group.

Raphaela still plays with the dreidel from Chanukah, and will occasionally sing the songs she has memorized from Gan, and from her Chanukah CD.

Through Raphaela's eyes, I re-experience the gift of wonderment of the world in which we live, and the Israeli-Jewish community which I chose 15 years ago as my home.

(As a child, Thanksgiving was always my favorite holiday of the year, because we all gathered at my grandparents, the entire extended family.  We ate straight through Thursday to Sunday, in between the Macy's Day Parade, the football games, the grandchildren poker games, and the annual argument of "What movie will we see at the mall this year".  It combines the best of thankful-ness in the American tradition, with a Shabbat family weekend.)

Black Friday

If I ever needed a reminder as to why I do not plan on raising my daughter in America, the media came to the rescue. 

An editorial in The Forward, entitled "The American Shabbat, " stated the following:  "Macy's flagship store in New York City's Herald Square and more than 800 branches around the country opened just after the clock struck midnight on Black Friday.  So did Target and Best Buy. Walmart got the jump on its competitors by opening at 10 pm on Thanksgiving Day, but Toys R Us beat them all by starting it Christmas sales that day at 9 pm, three hours before Black Friday even officially began."

Reuters news service reported that "Black Friday turned into a black mark against American shoppers as riotous crowds brawled over video games, waffle irons and towels, drawing international condemnation and even raising questions about the state of humanity."  [Emphasis mine]

The article continues, "One of the most outrageous incidents of the day was in the Los Angeles area, where up to 20 people were injured after a woman at a Walmart used pepper spray to get an edge on other shoppers in a rush for Xbox game consoles." [Emphasis mine]

Pepper spray!?  What is the point of the Occupy Wall Street Movement in New York and around the United States, and the parallel Social Justice Initiative in Israel if not to point out the idiocy of crazed consumerism, and its negative affect on the spiritual and economic development of the human race?

The new battle cry for the United States seems to be, "Give me $1.88 towels or give me death!"

I fully admit that Israeli society is not totally innocent in this regard, the local paper Kol Hair reported this weekend that the Malcha Mall in Jerusalem is the highest grossing mall in the country, ironically, in the poorest city in this country;  and there are plenty of Israeli citizens who get wrapped up in the status game. However, the values of family, community and tradition still outweigh the trend toward emulating the American model, and for that I am grateful.

To paraphrase a core value in Judaism, "Who is wealthy? She who is content with her present life."

I am Thankful

I am thankful for last night's delicious Thanksgiving dinner at the Inbal Hotel in Jerusalem, and for Ruthie, who put together a fun group of 30 plus proud and hungry Americans at our table.
I am thankful especially for the turkey, roast beef, Cornish Hen and duck, and the hot Apple Brown Betty.  Less impressed with the stuffing (too much pepper) and most of the desserts (parave, looked better than they tasted).
I am thankful to the woman at our table who said the following, when I expressed concern at the amount of food I was inhaling:  "You can afford to eat this way, you're so thin!" (G-d bless you!)
I am thankful to my daughter Raphaela, who fell asleep in her stroller at some point in the meal, so I was able to socialize with other adults, as an adult.

I am thankful to my lawyer, who must now handle a second round of negotiations with my amoral criminal former landlord.
I am extremely thankful to the Universe that when Raphaela fell yesterday during a day trip at Gan, and hit her head against sharp rocks, they missed her left eye by the most minute amount.
I am thankful that despite the standard s**t that goes on my life, I feel like I am in a good place.

I am thankful for the next round of holidays, both Jewish and international, and for the Christmas carols already swimming around in my head.  But why can't they wait in Israel until closer to Chanukah, before they start pulling out the jelly doughnuts?

Pre-Thanksgiving Thoughts

Last year, when my parents came to visit for Chanukah, the Jewish holiday happened to fall closer to Thanksgiving rather than Christmas.  I had wanted to take my parents to the Inbal Hotel in Jerusalem, for their very fancy gorge-yourself Thanksgiving dinner, which takes place even on the appropriate day every year, the last Thursday of November.  We're talking all the traditional foods, plus...salads and appetizers and desserts galore.  All that's missing are the Black Friday sales the day after the feast.

Unfortunately, Raphaela and I were not feeling 100%, and my parents used the opportunity to fulfill an obligation to visit Ultra-Orthodox relatives, so we missed the first opportunity in too many years to celebrate Thanksgiving together, as a family.

This year, I decided that I would take Raphaela to this meal at the Inbal Hotel, no matter how much it cost and no matter how late it starts, because I want to start a new Israeli tradition with her.  I remember and appreciate where I came from, all that my American cultural background has given me, and the positive memories I have of our extended family gathering at my grandmother's house on Thanksgiving each year.  And my grandmother was a phenomenal cook and baker, we did indeed stuff ourselves.

Then I thought, it would be more fun to go with other American friends, those who still think about this holiday with pleasure and pride in their heritage and upbringing.  That's where I got stuck:  my one close (single) friend who would have come with us will actually be in the States this year for Thanksgiving.  Another American couple I know have other plans with work friends for the meal. 

Turns out that most of my close friends in Israel are not English speakers, nor Americans, but rather Israeli, Russian-Israeli or some European version thereof.  After 14 years in this country, most would congratulate me on a successful integration into Israeli society, and some part of me feels most pleased at this surprising realization.  The other part of me could not fall asleep last night, mining my brain to come up with one name of an American whom I could invite.

Yom HaAtzmaut 2011

On Yom HaAtzmaut morning, my mother decided that she was too old or too tired or in too much pain to perform the job of helping me with Raphaela.  She slept in late, watched TV and complained about back pains.  She bitched about jet lag, getting too little sleep and not understanding how she was supposed to function and take care of Raphaela. She napped while I walked to the supermarket with my broken body to get some groceries.

When I said to her, "Welcome to my life," she said the Lethal Weapon equivalent of "I'm too old for this shit."

By the time the afternoon arrived, my mother was in better spirits as we drove to my friend in Hashmonaim for the traditional Israeli engorgement of all things BBQ.  It was an anniversary celebration of sorts with my friend, whom I had met last year at almost the exact Hebrew date, when we both got stranded in Boston because of the volcanic ash travel incident. 

We had the Yom HaAtzmaut feast at her parents' house, with her whole family.  Her husband, who has been in and out of the hospital in the last year with a severe degenerative neurological disorder, he was healthy enough to attend, and when my back started hurting he offered me a Morphine (Lovely Morphine) lollipop.

Raphaela enjoyed the day most of all, playing and flirting with the older boys and racing on mini-bikes, and eating from the huge selection of meats, vegetables and of course, desserts.  These people, with their staggering generosity and warmth, live on a quiet street with a house and a yard, a rarity for those of us who live in the city of Jerusalem.  She crawled on the grass and went up and down stairs, and we both enjoyed the clean air and fresh breezes.

Yom HaAtzmaut reminds me of family gatherings in the States on Thanksgiving, or even during Christmas break.   On this day, the greater family of Israel remembers that despite our differences, we are one people and we must join together to protect our interests.

Travel Plans

I had originally thought that the summer, when Raphaela has a vacation from Gan in any case, would be the best time to travel to the States.  My sister-in-law is due to give birth some time in July, and it would be nice for Raphaela to meet her new cousin and play with the other children in the family.  Growing up, my grandmother worked hard to get all the aunts and uncles and grandchildren togethe at least twice a year;  to know each other and see each other as friends as well as relatives. Because of geography (by choice), Raphaela will not experience that.

Then I called the airlines, and it would cost me close to $4,000 just to fly in August, not counting all the expenses and shopping once we arrive.

Then I thought that Thanksgiving presents a wonderful opportunity to see the family for a holiday, and the plane tickets are certainly cheaper.  I had resolved to book the tickets once Pessach ended and life in Israel returned to "normal."

But last night, I lay in bed thinking about the experience of traveling with a two year old, and remembering that the last few trips to visit my family have provided more trauma than family bonding.  I felt selfish but honest, announcing to my four walls that as much as I want Raphaela to know her family - especially since she technically has only one side of relatives - I don't want to go to the East Coast for two days, nevermind two weeks.

I don't want Raphaela to miss nursery, I don't want the hassle of the trip, and I don't want to go with rosy expectations of spending quality time with my siblings and my parents, and inevitably feel disappointed and hurt.

Not to mention that moving will cost money, and no one in my family is volunteering to help pay for the expenses of traveling and missing work.

I don't know what to do, and have consulted with my brother.  If we can spend at least one week at his home in Washington DC and then the holiday itself in Boston, it would go a long way toward making the trip emotionally bearable.