Return of an Old Friend

It has been a few years since Raphaela has watched Dora the Explorer, she outgrew the fascination with a magical back pack and talking animals who live in the Amazon Rain Forest.  Dora never seemed to go to school, as she was too busy on her fantastical adventures, and her parents didn't seem to mind.

Recently, we discovered a new show called Dora in The Big City, in which Dora is a teenager, her family has moved out of their colorful isolated cabin in the Amazon and into a posh beachfront town.  Dora has one friend who is a boy (Pablo) and a group of girls who of course represent all the politically correct skin tones and ethnicities.  Dora has also traded in her magical back pack for a magical bracelet; at the end of each show, she and her friends hang out at a juice bar on the pier, and talk about how great it feels to help others.

Dora still does not seem to attend high school.

Well, yesterday we were channel hopping, and delighted in the teenage Dora show, because it was a reunion/cross-over with her old Explorer self.  Her best friend, the monkey Boots, needed help, because the Swiper the Thieving Fox stole Back Pack and Talking Map.  Which of course led to Dora and her troupe to travel by train plane and automobile, and boat, to the Amazon Rain Forest, her former home.

And of course we got to see all of her old friends: Benny the Strong Dumb Ox , Isa the Lizard Gardener, Tiko the Gay English speaking squirrel, Big Red Chicken, Roberto the Robot, etc.  They hadn't changed a bit, and I found myself getting choked up as well.

What impressed me most was that the fox not only acknowledged his stealing ways, but he also showed genuine remorse and helped locate the items.  A redemption of sort for the character, except for that brief moment when he contemplated grabbing Dora's magical bracelet.

At the end of the show, after they did the stupid kid Dora dance and sang of a mash up of the new and old series song, all the new and old characters had a sleepover in Dora's TARDIS-like tree house (bigger on the inside) in her backyard, in the Big City.  As Dora said, and as I concurred, "We were all having such a wonderful time together and getting along so well, I didn't want it to end."

As the screen faded to black, Boots the Monkey started to tell the story of how he and Dora accidentally turned Benny into a potato.

That was one of my favorite episodes...

Politics Start Young

Yesterday was the usual too-long Shabbat, with Raphaela's hyperactivity at maximum, with lots of energy and not enough outlets.

At one point during the day I said in frustration, "You are acting like a crazy person!"

Raphaela answered, "Does that mean I have to move to America and vote for Donald Trump?"

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The first US Presidential election that I remember was Carter, at the age of eight.  I distinctly recall walking around the house all day and doing impressions of Carter, with his Southern Drawl.  Among my other successful celebrity impressions was Dr. Ruth Westheimer, to whom I used to listen secretly on her radio show "Sexually Speaking."

A political science major at Barnard College, I continue to be politically active and aware, even though I now work in medicine. I suppose Raphaela's response was indicative of the ranting I have been doing lately about the insanity in the Presidential election.

Save the Caterpillar!

Every Shabbat, assuming the weather allows, Raphaela and I walk to the Gazelle Valley Nature Preserve;  we bring a picnic and hike along the trails, and enjoy the fact that the gazelle have become much less shy since the park opened, the 12 of them can be seen up close and with the naked eye.

This afternoon on the way to the Nature Preserve, we spotted a fuzzy caterpillar on the sidewalk, it seemed to be in distress.  We attempted to move it to the side so it would not get trampled, but the encounter left Raphaela quite disturbed.

For the rest of the way until the park, Raphaela got all fired up, and laid out her plans to create an international consortium to save this caterpillar.  "We need to tell EVERYONE  we see that they must be careful and not step on the caterpillar.  We need to recruit at least 200 people to join our crusade to save the caterpillar.  We need to increase awareness of nature and keep the insects safe from bicycles and pedestrians and strollers and dogs."

She caught her breath for a moment and then said, "And when our friends from Holland organize themselves, they will have to come over to Israel and help us.  We may just have to take the caterpillar to the vet."

Sure enough, once we got to the Gazelle Valley, Raphaela literally stopped every single visitor to the park (it was very crowded today), put on her serious face and instructed, "On your way home today, please be very careful.  My mother and I saw a wounded caterpillar."

I didn't even attempt to temper her enthusiasm for this project.

Most of the adults nodded their head and acknowledged Raphaela, a few said that perhaps the snails should be included in her efforts.  This past week we had one day of rain and the snails came out in full force, and several days after there are squashed snail shells everywhere.

On the way home, Raphaela and I passed by the spot where we had seen the injured creature, there were signs of a sad (and yet anticipated) end.  My daughter said to me, "We don't know exactly what happened to our friend, but I know we did the right thing by raising awareness."

(Six years old...)

Last night I attended the 50th birthday party of my cousin; it was very much a grown-up affair, with a museum tour and a lecture from Moshe Arens, a beloved (retired) Israeli MK.  As much as I enjoyed the intellectual stimulation, let me say that when I turn 50 in a few years, there will be alcohol, and most probably and beach and BBQ involved.

Raphaela stayed home with a baby sitter, and this morning when she woke up, I saw that her very talented sitter Alexis had made my daughter a beautiful French braid, a skill set that I lack.

Mom:  Wow, your hair is beautiful!  Alexis is the coolest.
RR:  Mommy, you're still cooler.
Mom:  (blushing slightly) How's that?
RR:  Because there are lots of things that you know how to do.

Ezra Schwartz Z"L

Yesterday, after school and ballet and bath time.  After I had watched a live stream video of the funeral of Ezra Schwartz Z"L, the 18 year old boy from Sharon, MA who was murdered last Thursday by a Palestinian terrorist spewing bullets from an automatic weapon.  Ezra had been volunteering with Israeli soldiers, and was killed in an instant along with one other Jew and an Arab just standing on the side of the road.

I listened as the Rabbi, Ezra's father and mother and siblings, his grandparents and baseball coach and friends,  all talked about this boy who will not get the chance to become a man. This potential adult who has become a symbol for the growing cost of terror here in Israel and around the world.

I did not know him or his family, despite having attended the same high school as Ezra Schwartz in Boston (some odd 30 years ago).  But as an Israeli and a mother I feel the pain of the loss, and I cannot imagine (nor do I EVER want to imagine) how it feels for a parent to bury their child.

Ezra was apparently a mega sports fan and tonight, the New England Patriots will hold a moment of silence;  to remember a boy, a Jew, a brother and a son and a cousin, an innocent lost.

Good for them and shame on the ineffectual President Barack Hussein Obama.  A man who has insisted that he is "practically Jewish" and Israel's good friend;  a leader who decried the act of terror in Paris as a global call to arms. He has yet to personally acknowledge, in the international forum, that an American died on his watch.  Obama has yet to admit that terror is terror, and that the life of a Jew has the same value as the life of a Parisian, an African, a Syrian or a victim of the Beirut bombings, or the recent tragedy in Mali. The silence in the face of daily senseless death in the Middle East is deafening.

And just one day later, a 21 year old Israeli named Hadar Buchris was stabbed to death in the exact same location.  The New York Times reported "One Israel and three Palestinians killed in Attacks," thus equating the victim with her murderers.

Last night Raphaela wanted to sleep in bed with me and I did not refuse. I wanted to hold her close to me, to feel the warmth of her body, to watch her breathe and to play with her wisps of curly hair.

I needed to hold her tight.

Casualties of Divorce

In stealth, while her soon to be ex-husband was at work, the mother took her four children, and most of the furniture of the house, and moved away to another city.  She registered her children in a new school, told her children that their father was not to be trusted, that they would not see their friends again, and did not allow them to make contact with him once they had resettled.  When the father came home from work, he returned to a quiet empty house, totally bewildered as to what the hell had happened to his life.

Sounds like a soap opera, or an appeal for some foundation, right?  Well, these are my neighbors, and what makes the story even harder is this:  the mother is extremely abusive to her children, and the father has never prevented it, because he has been afraid of his soon to be ex-wife.  Anyone who knows the background of this family would agree that the children would still be better off with the father than the mother.

Before I am accused of slander or gossip, let me say that I have seen this abuse with my own eyes on several occasions, and have been this family's neighbor for over 12 years.  And the walls between apartments are thinner than one would believe.

The two older children have declared that they do not want to live with their mother, and have begged their father to take them away from her.  The only way they speak to their father was by sneaking in a phone call when their mother isn't paying attention.  The two younger children do not know their father's cell phone number, nor have they been able to reach their father in any way, though they too have expressed a desire to live with their father rather than their mother.

In Israeli (Draconian) divorce law, the mother always gets custody, and the father has to work very hard and spend lots of money on lawyers to even get partial custody.  In recent week, there have been several attempts in the Knesset to change that law, to put some of the responsibility of custody decisions on the social workers as well.   An attempt to objectively as possible asses the situation and do what is best for the children.

The amendment to the law was shut down last week, in a disappointing vote.

If I am being truly honest, over the past 12 years I have contemplated many times calling the police and reporting this family, but never did, as I was advised by my Israeli neighbors that it would not help the situation in the end.  Now I am wishing that the father's lawyer would start knocking on doors and asking all of us who live in the building to testify on his behalf,  Because I would.

Caught in the Middle of a War and my Profession

I have several Arab/Palestinian patients, though they don't come in for treatment on a regular basis.

During this time in Israel where any Arab could potentially pull a knife on any Jew, anywhere in Israel,  I had not thought about the implications on my work, until this morning.  A Palestinian patient of mine who works for the United Nations called and said that he needed an emergency appointment.

I know him.  I have treated him over the years, and in the sense that I am mostly a good judge of character, he has in the past not seemed like the kind of person who would stab his Jewish doctor.

(NOTE:  Most of the Palestinians who have been actively involved in terror attacks have come from East Jerusalem, they are Israeli-Arabs with a fair amount of wealth and are gainfully employed, fully enjoying the benefits the Israeli life has to offer.)

On the other hand, when I am taking all sorts of precautions in my life, and in the life of my daughter, a part of me went into a panic when he asked to schedule.  I have sworn an oath as a doctor to help all humans, regardless of race, religion or color.  But what good am I to anyone, especially my own child, if I let this person into the office and he ends up hurting me, or killing me?

A Brief Comment on Middle East Politics

There are terrible things happening in Jerusalem and the surrounding areas right now, with three different terrorist attacks occurring in the last 24 hours.  Senseless violence that has left 14 children orphaned, while Abbas stands at the United Nations and declares that Israel will pay in blood.

Then media outlets like the BBC have the most absurd headlines, implying that the Israelis killed a Palestinian for no good reason, while coincidentally at the same exact time two Jewish men were stabbed to death in the same location in the Old City of Jerusalem by a mysterious someone. Barney the Dinosaur perhaps?  But certainly not the Arab holding the knife right next to their bodies and the body of a small Jewish baby.

The New York Times barely covered the murders, making vague reference within the context of the poor suffering Palestinians.  Wouldn't it have been rational to point out that after Oregon, there were no groups celebrating death and terror in the streets? Do the Americans remember the Palestinian festivities after 9/11?

When the Iranian regime screams "Death to Israel" and "Death to America" in front of the cameras, when they promise to use their first nuclear bomb to wipe Israel off the face of the earth, we Israelis are told that they "don't really mean it."  We, apparently, who live in daily fear for our land and our children, are "over-reacting," and have no right to defend ourselves against an existential threat.

These Arabs are not terrorist, they say, they are "freedom fighters." They deserve to have a flag fly at the United Nations, and they deserve to voice their solid commitment to slaughtering Jews in Israel, because they have suffered so.  No one mentions that there are 22 other Arab states in the region, and NONE OF THEM have offered to take them in or assist them.  No one mentions that most of the Palestinians would prefer to live under Israeli rule, rather their own people, because they know that Israel would not put missiles in their living rooms and their schools and their hospitals, and use their families as human shields.

I am not a politician, I am an American and I am an Israeli,  who chose to raise a family here, build a life here.  Personally I am tired of the rest of world telling us to roll over and play dead, no actually, be dead, because it makes it more convenient for the rest of them.

It is time we took care of our own without being afraid of the rest of world, because the rest of world wants us gone.

A Random Day on Vacation in Jerusalem

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vacation and Politics in Israel

Since we are not taking any major vacation trips this summer, I had decided that I would take off certain random days of work so that Raphaela and I could do local day trips, have bits of vacation inside a regular work week.  I also felt it was important to spend time with Raphaela before she starts First Grade in the fall, to make her feel special.

I had decided that tomorrow would be one of those days, a hike/exploration of the Herodian archaeological site followed by an afternoon of fun by the pool with our adopted family in Tekoa. [Near Herodian, very much over the Green Line, a stressful car ride on a regular day]

First came the heat wave, over a week of temperatures throughout the country in the mid to upper 30 degrees Celsius.  Not a time to be out in the sun and hiking the top of a mountain, no matter how interesting and historical it might be.

Then came the promise of violence, from Jews and Arabs alike, following the burning death of an Arab baby, one day after a deranged Ultra-Orthodox man stabbed six people at the Jerusalem Gay Pride parade.  So I have to ask myself, given that the road to Herodian and Tekoa runs through several Arab villages, is it actually safe or smart to drive there?  Am I putting my life and that of my daughter in danger, or am I over-reacting to the news and the politics and the threats of Armageddon?

I may be more aware than some, since I was almost killed by a Palestinian sniper during the Second Intifada, in 2001.

Flashback Wednesday

Last year at this time, we here in Israel were sorting out the sirens and the bomb shelters and the consequences of a war.  It was a hard place to live.

This morning a test siren went off, the population had been told in advance and yet...when it started I had a flashback to last summer, and I had instant nervous tension in my stomach and the beginnings of a terrible headache.

And when the siren ended, I started thinking about the deal the United States just made with Iran, how that puts me and my child and everyone in my country in harms way, not to mention any other Western infidel within reach of long-range ballistic missiles.  Then the headache flowered, full force.

I love Israel, I would not want to live or raise my daughter anywhere else,  but during that siren I was less than convinced.

Fight the Power...Oops, Too Late

For Kindergarten and grades one and two, the city has a program called the "Eleventh Month," whereby the school year is extended one more month, it is called camp instead of school, and parents have to pay extra for it.

The theory behind this option is solid:  kids they know, the place they know, and staff they know, with a more relaxed environment.  Raphaela had a wonderful and full experience last Summer, even though there is no pool or amusement park on the program.

This year, the responsibility for organizing and funding was transferred from the Jerusalem Municipality, to local authorities instead.  In a letter that one of the parents only chose to share one day before camp is meant to begin, it states that the local authorities cut the budget, making it next to impossible for the staff to have enough supplies to keep the children busy in a meaningful and deep way. "Glorified babysitting," the letter called it. Instead, they are apparently skimming off the top to cover their annual budget, and asking parents to kick in extra money;  because they know that working parents have no other options, and that we want the best possible experience for our children.

To add insult to injury, the Ultra-Orthodox camps are almost fully subsidized by the taxes that we regular citizens pay.  So the group of people that as a whole takes advantage of the Israeli government, their kids will have a better camp that our kids, and we are paying for it.  I personally know several families who have a difficult time paying for two months of camp for their multiple children, and they are not Ultra-Orthodox.

Who is to blame here?  The City, for outsourcing to a corrupt organization.
No, the corrupt organization, for taking advantage of desperate parents.
No, the state government, that continually gives into the demands of the Ultra-Orthodox.
Or perhaps the parents committee can take some of the blame, having informed the rest of us when it was too late to choose another camp, or protest the current situation.

Who suffers here? Our kids.

The American-Israel Divide

In less than one week, I will celebrate my 18th year anniversary of moving to Israel.  There are days where I feel fully integrated into Israeli culture and society, and days where I question my sanity of staying in this country another day.

For example, on Shabbat Raphaela took our weekly walk to the Valley of Gazelle's near our house, for our weekly Shabbat picnic lunch.  Sitting quite close to our picnic spot were two families, and one mother was discussing - actually shouting loudly, a crime we Americans are often accused of - her son's upcoming birthday party.  She proudly declared that her son would "hit the jackpot with stupid presents," and that he would never get the chance to use any of them.  This mother had planned on exchanging all the gifts toward the purchase of school back packs for next Fall.

When the boy heard this (obviously for the first time), he complained loudly that they were his gifts for his birthday, and that she didn't have a right to confiscate them for something as practical as school supplies.

The mother replied that he has no choice in the matter, that she planned on earning back her investment in the party, and he had better suck it up for the good of the family.

At that moment I felt more Israeli than American, in the sense that it is a practical approach, and realistically, this boy would not play with most of the presents he would receive for more than five minutes.  On the other hand, the birthday-hater in me sympathized with him.

And now for the American experience.

A decision had to be made in Raphaela's Gan by all the parents, except that no one  - including the teachers or the Parents Committee - would take responsibility for the project.  Naturally I, being a political science major, enthusiastic facilitator (I should get therapy for that trait) and the token blunt American, took on the job of polling all 34 families toward coming to a decision.

The parents had from Friday through the end of Sunday to text a simple "yes" or "no" to my phone, so that only I would know their opinion, without retribution from the Kindergarten staff.  By the end of the voting period, less than half the Gan population had voted, and even getting that result was like pulling teeth.  I suppose this echoes the nature of real national elections, so I shouldn't be disappointed or surprised.

The American in me, that proactive person who believes that you get involved and defend the cause in which you believe, just doesn't understand why no one seems to care, why humans are content to allow others to make decisions for them.  You could argue that Israelis live life-and-death decisions almost daily, and are therefore willing to take a back seat on the smaller things, like their children's education.

Whatever.

Here's how clueless I am about trending topics in the infotainment industry:  the news on the Israeli radio announced this morning that a "Caitlyn Jenner" had broken the record for the most Twitter followers in the first 24 hours, beating the previous record set by President Barack Obama.  My first thought was this, "Oh no, another Kardashian sister crawling out of the wood-work for their 15 minutes of fame.  Haven't we had enough of that family?" 

Kardashian Syndrome

Internet goddess Kim Kardashian, her husband Kanye West, their two old daughter North and the 'fragile' Kardashian sister, Khloe, landed their private plane in Ben Gurion earlier this week for a brief visit, along with their support staff and their massive marketing machine.  Immediately, a group was set up on Facebook to follow their every move, with abundant tweets begging Kanye to arrange a free concert.  The magical duo were featured on the covers of every major Israeli newspaper, and the info-tainment industry will probably air a special program on the outfits they all wore to little North's baptism.  Rabid hordes of fans began to stake out hotels and high-end restaurants in Jerusalem, with the hopes of spotting, and maybe even, yes, touching the sparkly celebrity couple.  As if simply being near their assets (pun intended) would rub off on the common folk in some small way.


Who cares, really.  This is a woman who comes from a family more than eager to prostitute themselves for fame and fortune.  We have suffered through daily updates about Kim's gynecological issues and her frequency of love making, her sister's painful divorce, her other sister's dysfunctional non-marriage, her step-father's transgender evolution, and her brother's spiral into mental illness.


I feel dirty just reading that last sentence.


Kimberly even used the Armenian Genocide to manipulate a photo opportunity. Her husband, Kanye West, is at the very least a thug and an anti-Semite, a rapper who felt it appropriate to humiliate a disabled man at one of his concerts;  one of the human beings least qualified for public admiration.


You could argue that I am reacting out of jealousy. After all, I don't have a full make-up and wardrobe team, my apartment could fit inside one of their walk-in closets, and Kimye's clothing budged rivals the GNP of our small country of Israel.  Whereas I can only dream of actually being able to afford a home of my own, something modest in Jerusalem, the Kardashians flew in for two days to purchase a multi-million dollar penthouse in Tel Aviv, on a whim.


This is not about envy, I pity this family for having strayed so far from the norms of basic decency.  I do not aspire to my own reality program, I have enough to deal with on a daily basis in my real life, between single parenting and living in a country surrounded by our genetic cousins who want to wipe us off the map.


This rant is about the Kardashians, the Honey Boo Boos and the Toddlers with Tiaras. The parents who find it praise-worthy to exploit their offspring and actively place their children in harm's way, in order to make a buck.  It is not a far leap from the 21rst century mental illness called "Kardashian Syndrome" to the ongoing tragic news story coming out of Maryland.


It is this same set of skewed and twisted values that allows two Jewish parents to purposely send their ten year old Rafi and his younger sister Devorah alone to the park, so they can be picked up by local police and held hostage for several hours by CPS.  After, all, when the authorities in Maryland have already threatened to remove their children from the home forever, why take that seriously?  And now that the parents are suing the local police, they can expose their children to even more trauma, forcing them to testify in court and relive the nightmare.


The more drama, the better the reality show...


All to make a point about Free Range Parenting and American Constitution, whatever that point may be; and more importantly, to stand in front of the camera while the mother weeps crocodile tears and the father grins with giddy excitement, soaking in the attention from the media.


Let's end the 15 minutes of fame of these parents, the Kardashians and their ilk.  If we really care about our own children and their future, let's stop elevating pond scum into false gods.

Pessach Vacation II

Day Three
Despite the phenomenal heat wave in Jerusalem, we returned to the newly opened Nature Reserve near our house, and because of the hoards of holiday people, the deer remained hidden.  Once the mad crowds die down and children go back to school, Raphael and I will walk there - it's less than ten minutes from our house - and observe the wildlife.
Even without the deer sightings, it is a beautiful and serene place.


Day Four
The Prophet Elijah (or at least his human proxy) finished the cup of wine last night and left a note in Hebrew for Raphaela, "Thank you for the delicious wine!  Happy Pessach, all my blessings, the Prophet Elijah."


Raphaela was of course ecstatic, and wants to start a regular correspondence, reasoning that if we write the Prophet's name on an envelope and put it in the mail box, the letter will most definitely arrive at its destination.


Though we still have plans to make a trip to the Old City before the end of the holiday vacation, today promised to be even hotter than yesterday, so we had brunch with friends who are visiting from the United States, followed by a BBQ with Israeli friends.
Finally today, a decent cup of coffee and a filling dinner.


Day Five
The heat wave broke last night, leaving Thursday cloudy and a bit chillier, a perfect day for a local day trip after several days of sweating.  The closer we got to the Old City, the sunnier it got, and the more pleasant our walk.


Raphaela as usual was in charge of distributing our spare change to those asking for charity, and one of the more elderly women physically captured my daughter into hug, praising her for being a "Mitzvah Girl."  I also gave Raphaela some money to spend on herself, as a reward for her generosity and altruism; she bought herself a new book.


When I asked Raphaela what she prayed for today, she said that she asked for Love, she thanked G-d for keeping us safe, and then asked G-d to send her a father.  Raphaela also took some photos with my camera, she wanted to "practice being a Mommy."


She was full of fabulous questions today, like: "Why does Israel need a President AND a Prime Minister?" "How does God read all those notes that people put in the Wall?" She also wanted to know the background stories behind the names of all the gates to the Old City of Jerusalem; I actually couldn't answer her, and promised that I would look it up on the internet when we got home.


To finish off our vacation, Raphaela agreed to taste my matza brei, which so far has been lacking in consistent quality.  We have barely gone through a half of a small box of matza, and for that I am proud.

Pessach Vacation 2015 (Part I)

Upon returning from Seder with my brother and his family, and upon rejoicing that we as Israelis have the most excellent privilege of only going through that ritual once, our stomachs celebrated as well.  Thus we began our full week of vacation.


Day One


In the morning we went to the Bible Lands Museum, where Raphaela seemed actually nervous and uncomfortable around the tour guides dressed as Pharaoh. She kept telling herself out loud, "They are just wearing costumes, they are just wearing costumes..." I assured her that that kind of slavery would not fall again upon the Jewish people.  (Though I cannot give her any real assurances about Iran and the threat of global nuclear destruction.)  In the afternoon we walked to the Jerusalem Botanical Gardens, where the guard thanked us profusely for not driving there.  The exposure to sunlight after a bizarre Winter and the laid-back bonding time did us both a world of good.


In what seems to becoming a tradition for the past few years now, Raphaela has requested that we continue to welcome the Prophet Elijah into our house, even once the Seder has passed.  So she left a full cup of grape juice out on the counter when she went to sleep, and can't wait to wake up tomorrow and see if he took a sip.


Day Two
We arrived at the Jerusalem Biblical Zoo ten minutes before it opened, got an excellent parking space and within an hour the place was predictably beyond crowded.  I am not sure who would win the competition today of the most people squeezed into a limited area, the Zoo or the Old City (for the official Priestly Blessing ceremony).  Raphaela especially wanted to see the newest couple, the lions Ziv and Ayisha, and we met up with our cousins for lunch on the lawn near the lake.


My daughter would not share her snacks with me, the Pessach picnic I had so thoughtfully packed for us, reasoning, "Mommy, I am doing this for your own good. I don't want you to get fat!"

Right and Privilege

Today I had the honor of voting in an Israeli national election, an exceptional right and privilege to be able to participate in a Parliamentary Democracy; to be a Jew actively engaged in choosing a government in a country that is mine.  No matter what the results, I will never take that for granted.

Then, it being yet another school vacation day, Raphaela and I met our cousins at the Jerusalem Biblical Zoo, where we voted for a second time.  My daughter chose the Turtle Party ("Affordable housing for all") while I opted for the Lion Party ("Security and Leadership"). Perhaps the most realistic of all the Zoo Party options was the Lemur Party, which encouraged people to "get out of the trees" and face the reality of the complicated Middle East.

The leisurely pace of our day, the pleasure of not needing to be anywhere for anything in particular; it is perhaps the closest I have come in the 18 years I have lived here of experiencing the Israeli version of a true American Sunday.

The Thinnest Line

For the past two days, a group of boys in Raphaela's Kindergarten class have apparently become more rowdy and uncontrolled than usual, and Raphaela came home yesterday and today with stories of taunting and throwing toys and general mischief.

I told my daughter, as I have told her in the past, that if someone attacks her or gangs up against her, she has every right to defend herself.  If a boy says, "I will paint your face with glue," you say right back, " I will paint YOUR face with glue.  You are hurting my feelings, so stop!"  And unfortunately as happens in the Israeli school system at too young an age, if there is physical bullying, Raphaela has been encouraged by me to hit back...and then tell the teacher or a responsible adult the whole story.

As has been explained to me often since moving to Israel almost 18 years ago, if you allow yourself to become the target of bullying, you are perceived as weak and the cycle of victim-hood continues.  The same could be said for the political situation in the Middle East, your enemy will most surely take advantage of a show of so-called compromise and weakness.

After explaining all this to Raphaela, and hearing a series of statements against boys and their roughness and the noise they make, my daughter looked at me and said, "But you told me that I am not allowed to hit, and that I shouldn't hurt a person's feelings on purpose."

Her beautiful rigid sense of rules and morality is stopping her from fighting back, and I don't know how to teach her that exceptions can and should be made, without it sounding like I am contradicting my own principles.

Life, Death and Politics

My parents are arriving today for a two and a half week visit, and after recent events, I feel like locking them inside their vacation apartment the entire time.

Because it is now unsafe to stand at a bus stop or a train station, or to even pray in a synagogue.

My brother, who stood less than ten minutes away from the site of the brazen horrific massacre in Har Nof, Jerusalem, kept his children home from school yesterday.

For all who blame Israel for this 3,000 year old situation in the Middle East, think again.  The Palestinians strap bombs to their children and rejoice in their holy sacrifice, PM Abbas proclaims that more Jewish blood must be spilled on the streets of Jerusalem, and Arabs around the world celebrate every time there is a terror attack anywhere in the world that takes the lives of Jews.  Watch the video of them dancing on the streets after 9/11, if you don't believe me.

During the war this past summer in Gaza, Israel sent text messages, emails and flyers to innocent citizens in Gaza, warning them to leave areas that would soon come under attack.  Hamas, an equal partner in the so-called legitimate Palestinian government, shot anyone who tried to leave to safety with their families, put missile launching sites in living rooms and hospitals and schools, and tunneled under Israeli soil with the intent of slaughtering Israelis while they slept.

In his heyday, Yassir Arafat had the opportunity to receive 98% of the demands of his people from the Israeli government, and he refused.  Because 100% would have been Judenrein, a Palestinian State with no Jews in sight.  Anyone remember the Nazis?

Golda Meir said that there will not be peace until the Arabs love their own children as much as they hate ours.

This is not a way to live, or die, for either side.