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!

A Visit to the Vet

I dedicate this post today to my first born, Harry The Highlander.  At the honorable age of 14 and a half (that's almost 80 in human years), this cat has taught me patience, and how to love without expecting anything in return.

At home, he is almost human:  needy for attention from people, extremely verbal, easy to purr even with strangers, and always placing himself at the center of any action.  When we go to the vet (thank goodness infrequently) he has been red-flagged by the doctor as a vicious, uncooperative, scratching tiger.  Even if he has to get a simple procedure, he must either be sedated or put in the Squeeze Cage.

Yesterday he had an appointment, and needed to get two injections.  As Harry gets older, the doctor has advised less shots and less intervention, so it was three years since our last visit.  It was a new vet, and I advised him that unless he didn't value his hands, it would be best to use the Squeeze Cage.

"But he looks so sweet and friendly," the vet said.
"Trust me." I replied.

Once caged, Harry allowed the vet and his assistant to do their work, not acting out at all, though  certainly complaining loudly the entire time. No humans were harmed in the attempt.

The vet thought that I had overestimated Harry's resistance to the doctor's office.
I know I didn't.  Because I heard about it all the way home, from Harry.

And finally, to show his displeasure, he ran into the garden and hid from me for the rest of the day, refusing to come inside as it got dark.

(Raphaela, who aspires to be a Veterinarian and Zoo Keeper when she gets older, found the whole experience hilarious.)

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.

Money Matters

Yesterday Raphaela had a day off from school; yes, yet another Jewish holiday in the series for the month of May.  We met up with cousins in the morning for breakfast, and then took advantage of International Free Museum Day.

For whatever reason, Raphaela seemed fixated on the topic of money and personal finances the entire day.

As we waited for the bus, Raphaela asked me what kind of grand celebration I had received when I turned 12.  I told her that when I was that age, no one made a big deal about girls, and other than a pretty standard birthday party in our backyard, the event came and went.  She seemed shocked and sad for me, because, she explained, I didn't get loads of presents.  Then she said, "Don't worry Mommy, when I have my Bat Mitzvah you can make me a fantastic party, and give me lots of presents."

When I took out coins to pay for the bus, Raphaela asked me where money comes from, and how did I (personally) have money to spend. I explained to her that I work very hard, and that I get paid for helping people feel better, and then I have money to take care of us.  Raphaela, proud of herself and her future earning capacity, told me that when she gets older she is going to be a Veterinarian.

"That's wonderful, " I said, "but right now you are a little girl who doesn't work. Your work is to go to school and learn great things, play with your friends and do your homework.  And you are too young to baby sit."  Then I explained the concept of an allowance, that if she does her specific jobs around the house all week, she will earn money, and she can then spend on herself or save toward something bigger.

Raphaela loved that idea, and starting next week, we have a chore chart.

When we met our cousins, my very Israeli daughter asked them how much money they make and basically, what is their net worth.  With a nervous giggle, I stopped Raphaela and explained to her that the question was not polite, and that it is really none of our business how much anyone else earns, or where they spend it.

Another life lesson for her to check off the list.

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.

Deep Thoughts, the Pessach Edition

Every year Raphaela asks more advanced questions at the Seder, as her worldview widens.  Here are the top four issues addressed this weekend:

1. " I see they have the four boys, when do they address the four girls?"

Mommy thinks to herself:  I see I have a budding feminist in the house, though I can't say I am surprised.  I copped out on this one, simply saying that the language of the text addresses the subject in masculine, but the four sons really represent four different kind of children, boys and girls.

2.  "How does the evil son come about, if he was raised in a good family?"

What followed was a discussion about personal choice, and about how eventually a person makes their own path outside their family, and then has to take responsibility for their actions.  "A good person come out of a troubled family, and a bad person can come out of a perfectly beautiful childhood.  Not every Egyptian was bad to the Jews when they were slaves, just like not every Arab wants to hurt us because we are Israelis.  That's why we take away some of the wine when we recite the plagues, because all human beings are God's creations."

3.  "The animals, like the cows and sheep and goats, and the horses at the splitting of the Sea, why did they have to get punished when it was Pharaoh who was not letting the Jews leave?"  Asked Raphaela, the vegetarian.

My daughter had asked this question several years ago, and I admit that I didn't have a great answer then, nor did I have one last night.  Her current food choices only made this more concerning to her.  Someone else at the table explained to Raphaela that animals "exist to serve man and God" and that they were doing God's work by participating in the miracle of the ten plagues.  Secretly, I didn't buy that explanation.

4.  "How does the Prophet Elijah get all around the world in one night?  Does he actually visit everyone who is doing a Seder with their family, like even in France and America?"

I briefly explained the miraculous circumstances of the Elijah's non-death, and that God has given him the job of doing special assigments.  In a fun twist, my cousin (with whom we celebrated the Seder) had left a note from the Prophet Elijah at the doorway, so when Raphaela opened the door to invite him in, she received a pleasant and unexpected surprise. 

To me, the Seder should be about transmitting personal and communal values to the next generation, and I appreciated that all the adults at the table made the night a dramatic and almost magical adventure, geared toward the children.

A Time of Memory Making

Pessach in Israel feels very much like Christmas  or Thanksgiving did in the United States:  it is impossible to find parking at any store or mall, there is way too much preoccupation with food; and people need extra sessions with their therapists, because of the emotional trauma of the Seder and the week long vacation IE lots of family time.

This time of the year I find myself becoming nostalgic, thinking about my grandparents who not only led Seder for many years, but also hosted the whole family (25 people, one shower, two toilets) in their New England home.  The boy cousins slept in army beds in the basement, the adults got actual bedrooms, and the few girl grandchildren were scattered on various floors.  Along with the usual dysfunctional family dynamics, it allowed me to know my cousins well, well enough that we are still in contact and still friends.

So many small things bring back the memories of those relatives, some now passed on and most of us scattered around the globe.

Yesterday was the last day of English Camp, and Raphaela came home tired and sad, already missing her teacher and the other children, including her "boyfriend."  Raphaela started crying, and as I comforted her, I couldn't help but think about my grandmother, for whom my daughter is named.  My Bubby hated saying good-bye, and I have this image in my head of boarding a train some time in college; as the train pulled away I could see my grandmother waving and crying, as if we would never see each other again.

Later in the evening, I had a dentist appointment at the mall to repair a cracked tooth; no Matza for me this year, yay!  Since Raphaela was officially on  vacation, she came with me.  It took 20 minutes to find a parking spot, we stalked shoppers leaving the building and practically ran them over, staking our claim.  I never like to arrive late, so we rushed straight to the doctor's office, but on the way out, we had to walk through the mall and the bustle of the pre-Pessach customers.

I have never liked shopping, especially during the holiday season, and wanted to just get to the car and leave. My daughter the Fashionista was fascinated by every store window, and insisted several times that we go into the store and find me a new dress for Pessach.  We failed in our mission, but her enthusiasm was running at a high, and let me tell you, she has very good (read: expensive) taste.

"My mother would love to shop with Raphaela, " I thought. "Too bad we live on different continents."  Because I spent most of my childhood and high school years moaning and groaning while my mother made me window shop with her.

Today, after I finished working, Raphaela and I went shopping, again.  (Have I mentioned that I dislike shopping?)  Our first stop was the shoe store, toward the purpose of getting Raphaela new socks for Spring/Summer.  Well, Raphaela saw a pair of the coolest, most fashionable sandals in the store and had to have them.  And yes, they look great on her and she has excellent taste.

Then we went to find me a new outfit for the holiday, and Raphaela became my style consultant.  "No, Mommy, that dress makes your tush look big." "Mommy, that dress is so boring, you need something with color, something light and fun."  "How about this shirt, Mommy, it would look beautiful on you!"  Today I did find something to spruce up my wardrobe and my mood.

It hit me that I have a real person with me, someone I love because she is my girl, but also because she is genuinely fun to have around.

Our last stop was the supermarket, the final food run before Pessach starts on Friday. Once again we waited 20 minutes for parking, and another 15 minutes to nab an available shopping cart.  We went through our list, adding extras only slightly, and when we came home, Raphaela helped me unpack the groceries.

I do feel truly blessed.

Only in Israel

While driving yesterday, a curious radio advertisement came up on the radio.  It begins with a woman excitedly telling us, the listeners, about this great surprise party that her co-workers threw for her. Then the announcer breaks in, and suggests to this woman sharing her story, that she actually communicate with her family, her parents and grandparents. That perhaps her relatives would be happy to hear about her day, rather than random people on social media.

Apparently there is now a state-sponsored program to encourage people to stay in touch with their loved ones.

This would only happen in Israel, a country that places family above all else.

Purim, A Photo Essay

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I actually finished the whole work in one sitting.

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!"

36 Grown-Up Hours

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

Friday

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

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

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

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

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

Friday Afternoon

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

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

Friday Night

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

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

Shabbat Morning

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

Shabbat Day

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

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

Saturday Night

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

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

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

I Have a Dream

And in that dream, I get one month off from my responsibilities as a mother, where I don't have to get up early and make lunches and take to school and pick up from school and supervise homework and hear another story about the imaginary unicorn who went to school.

Of course I am more realistic,  and so God Willing, this coming Shabbat, my daughter will be having a sleep over from Friday to Saturday night with my parents, who will be visiting from the United States.  That is assuming that Raphaela's cough does not develop into anything real;  my parents are essentially coming to meet my brother's new baby, and I don't want her making anyone ill, especially not a newborn.

What will I do for that 36 hour period?  I am hoping to make arrangements with friends and have some grown-up play time.  Or maybe I will stay in my pajamas all Saturday and eat junk food all day.  But this would be the first time that I will be alone, away from Raphaela, since she was born, unless you count the three days I was hospitalized with my emergency appendectomy.

There is, however, a major catch:  the last two times my parents have visited Israel, marks the last two times that Raphaela fell and split open her chin, necessitating a visit to the emergency room at Shaarei Zedek Hospital. One of those events occurred when Raphaela was playing with my mother, who has never gotten used to my child's high level of energy.

Accidents, both times, totally unintentional and I do not blame my parents in any way.  The second time we went to the emergency room, they looked at me funny and asked many questions to confirm that I am not a negligent or abusive parent.  If we show up a third time with the same exact injury, I can pretty much guarantee that Social Services will show up at my door.

So yes, I admit that there is a part of me that does not trust my parents to keep my child out of harm's way, given their track record.  Three times is NOT a charm.  Considering that the entire weekend will be spent running around with cousins, I pray that the cycle of dangerous falls and stitches is over.

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!"

The Shiva Crashers

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

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

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

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

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

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

Star Wars for the New Generation

After a treacherous battle to find a baby sitter for Raphaela, I finally got out of the house and met up with a friend to see the new Star Wars film, The Force Awakens.

It took me back to the nine year old girl who saw George Lucas special effects, it was overall a thrilling and satisfying experience.

MINOR SPOILERS

I have two gripes with the story, one:  if you may recall from the first three movies (Episodes IV-VI), no matter how much Force Luke inherited from his father, he was a crappy Jedi for a long time, and only really confronted the Emperor and Darth Vader properly in the third movie.

In this movie, the two main young leads (Rey and Finn) find Luke's special light saber, pick it up, and not only do they connect immediately IE the light saber decides to turn on at all, but they are master swordswoman and man. In the first film of this series, with no apparent training at all, they are fighting with the light saber against Kylo Ren, the Big Bad, and Rey almost succeeds in killing him on her first go.

WTF. Or as Han Solo says in this movie, "That's not how the Force works!"

I think it is because this generation has no patience, and they expect that everything will work out for them right away, without any practice or any struggle to succeed. Or their parents will take care of it for them.  Harry Potter, Wonder Boy Wizard, is the "Boy that Lived."  So with all that magic inside him he is automatically prepared to travel around with Dumbledore and smite Voldemort, or become a vigilante Wizard with his friends Ron and Hermione.  And Harry isn't even aware of all the strings that are being pulled for him in the background by the adults around him.

We are raising a generation of lazy and entitled children, woe unto us.

My second gripe is derived more from a feminist stand point.  Rey is clearly being groomed to become a Class A Jedi, despite the fact that in the horrible prequel movies they made it clear that women are not capable of controlling the Force.  But Princess/General Leia ("There is another!") seems to have completely ignored her innate gift of the Force, using it only to sense that something bad has happened to someone she loves.  Why couldn't she have become a General and a Jedi Master, and why can she not find her brother, with whom she is telepathically linked via the Force, and their father Darth Vader?

It's almost 2016, and just because they have a woman and a black man as the new generation of Jedi, doesn't mean that they have done enough to restore the honor of all potential female Jedi warriors who came before them.

Oh, and as a bonus gripe, why can't they come up with a version of the Death Star that does not have a small but fatal structural flaw? Just saying...

The True Spirit of Chanukah

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Turkey-Free Thanksgiving

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

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

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

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

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

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