Post Shavuot Report

(Random musings after a long holiday weekend.)

I believe in reincarnation, though I have not put too much thought into who Raphaela might have been in a previous life.  This weekend she was playing with some Playmobil figures, and said, "This family is very poor, because they used up all their life savings to buy their house, and now they don't have a financial safety net."

Seriously.  I am not making this up.  Apparently in her previous life she was very fiscally savvy.

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Among the various Torah topics that came up during Shavuot were the Ten Commandments, and why some of them make sense intrinsically for society - "Don't Kill" "Don't Steal" - and why some are more difficult, like "Honor your father and your mother."  I explained that the Torah does not actually talk about love in this commandment, it is about respect for the person who brought you into the world.  It is about (in all practical terms) "listening to your Mommy."

Then I looked at Raphaela, straight in the eyes, and said, "The Torah talks about a child honoring and respecting her parents.  I will make you a deal:  if you listen to me and treat me with kindness, I will do the same for you.  Because you are my girl.  I will do the commandment of honoring you, your feelings and your needs."

Raphaela was most pleased.

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She has become a shrewd negotiator, this girl.  I wanted to take a nap on Sunday of Shavuot, because I so rarely get that gift during my work week, in fact, never.  Raphaela wanted me to play with her, all day, and resented my taking two hours out of that schedule to sleep.

Then she suggested to me, "Mommy, we always take a nap on Shabbat, and when we wake up, you give me a special Shabbat snack.  If I let you nap on a Sunday, on Shavuot, will you give me a special Shavuot snack when you wake up?"

Deal!  Done and done.

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Yesterday we spent some time at the Gazelle Valley near our house, and had a brunch picnic in the grass.  Remarkably, there was a group of three deer that had left the gated off sanctuary and were wandering around the park; they came within three feet of myself and Raphaela, we could almost pet them.  We were so excited and spend a good hour following this intrepid group around the grass and up the pathways, that I didn't notice that I had dropped my small bag.

When we sat down to eat, I realized that it was missing, and told Raphaela that if we didn't find it, so be it. It was not the worst tragedy in the world.

Then a little French boy walked by, and I noticed that he had my little pouch on his arm.  Raphaela jumped up and caught up to him, and said, "That is my Mommy's bag, can we have it back please?"  The boy agreed immediately and came over, telling us his and his whole family's life story;  they are moving to a bigger apartment, they are getting a dog, their exact address, his feelings on women who wear short-shorts...

I took him back to his parents and told them that he had done me a great kindness by finding my bag in the bushes and returning it to me without hesitation.  Parents should hear that they have done a good job, because we so often do not receive any external validation.

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On Pessach, the first day of school vacation, Raphaela lost her first tooth.  On Shabbat, Raphaela lost her second tooth.

I explained that the Tooth Fairy does not work on Shabbat or Jewish holidays, and that she would have to wait until Monday night to place her Precious under the pillow.  Raphaela carried around that tooth for two days straight, to be sure that it would ready and able the minute the holiday ended.

She also wrote this letter, and folded it next to her tooth:

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.

Vacation

This morning Raphaela and I went to the bakery and then walked around the neighborhood, as she has no school (since Tuesday) and no camp on Fridays.

I challenged her to an impromptu photo competition, she played around with my camera, and here is her final submission:

She has a good eye, and as she practices, I have no doubt she will only improve.

Stories from the Parenting Front

Among the various Jerusalem superstitions about pregnancy and childbirth, I had heard many times that if you do not make some sort of official celebration for a daughter, she will not get married in the future.  Sounds to me like an excuse for a catered party.

Last night Raphaela and I attended the Simchat Bat [Hebrew for The Celebration of a Girl] of a new cousin, Baby Rachel.  Between the family gathering, the loot bag for children and the giant table of candy AKA Raphaela's dinner, my daughter declared it to be "the best day ever."

I asked her if she really meant it, that this day and this party held the number one spot on her Best Day Ever List. I reminded her about our beach vacation, my brother's glamorous wedding, starting First Grade, and other events in our lives that could just as easily top the list.

Raphaela agreed and said, "I have a lot of best days ever."

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This morning on the way to school, Raphaela asked me, "Which nation does God love best?"

Me:  God loves all his creations and all his people.  Like our friends in Singapore, they are not Jewish and God loves them too.
Raphaela:  And what about the Arabs?
Me:  God created all people, including the Arabs.  God loves them, though sometimes he wishes that they would behave a bit better.
Raphaela:  And what would happen if the Arabs behaved better and everyone was nice to each other?
Me:  Planet Earth would be a great place to live.

Brush with Fame

About a week ago, I got a call from a casting director for Warner Brothers, they were looking for:
A girl aged 6-9
Brown hair, brown eyes
English speaker, specifically with an Israeli accent
No particular acting experience required.

The casting director wanted to know if Raphaela would audition for them at their office in Tel Aviv, as she fit the bill, perfectly.  I answered a tentative yes, but told them that if she was quite determined not to participate, I would cancel our meeting, so as not to waste their time.

Warner Brothers sent me a page of script for Raphaela to memorize, as well as certain requests, including that the child not wear make-up for the audition.  ("Make-up?!" I thought, "At age six?")  They specifically set the audition for the Chanukah holiday, during school vacation.

When I told Raphaela about the opportunity, she couldn't have cared less.  When I told her it was about a brave girl, a heroine who is good at a bow and arrow and protects her family, she was worried because she does not know how to shoot a bow and arrow.  When I did a read-through on the script and it mentioned a bear, Raphaela decided that she did not want to come face-to-face with a bear.  Explaining modern movie-making and CGI technology did not help.

So I let it go.  Over the week I read the script to her/with her and she remained completely ambivalent.  Today, the day of our appointment, a cold and rainy day in Jerusalem, Raphaela made her resistance clear, she was not leaving the house for anything, and I canceled the audition.

I have learned (since she was 20 weeks old in the womb) that Raphaela does what she wants when she wants, and when the answer is "No," it is not worth the fight and the trauma.  Walking, toilet training, ballet lessons, reading, selective vegetarianism,  it all came when it came, when she decided that she could commit fully.

She does not want to be in the movies right now, and fame does not motivate her in the least. And I have no intention of becoming that reality star monster, Kris Kardashian. Even if my daughter is the next Gal Gadot or Natalie Portman.

I would have liked to go, just for the experience of it, but as the mother of this child- this warm, dramatic, stubborn, opinionated and social child -I have to know what is best for her.  I trust the Universe that if this is indeed Raphaela's path, another opportunity will arise, when she is ready.

Life without Cher

My car, Cher, is almost 16 years old, but because I don't have much of a commute to work, she has less than 55,000 km on her speedometer.

Two weeks ago, I took Cher to the garage for her annual routine Winter Check Up, and she passed.  I mentioned to the mechanic that I had a suspicion that there was an electrical issue somewhere, one that only manifested intermittently;  they did a diagnostic and found nothing.

This past Friday, I decided to drive Raphaela to school rather than walk, because I had several errands - a doctor's appointment, the supermarket, the bakery etc.- during the morning, all in different parts of town.  Cher would not start up, dead in the water except for the horrid blinking light that said "SERVICE." I did whatever I could by foot, and the rest, whatever. It was the day before Shabbat and it didn't pay to take care of it, when she could just sit in the parking space anyway over the weekend.

This morning I called a tow truck and at this moment, my baby is on it's way to what Raphaela calls the Car Doctor.  I don't know how much the repair will cost, but it will most certainly take a chunk out of my budget; believe me, if I could afford it, I would buy a new car.

I am ashamed and sad to admit that I have become dependent on Cher, my life and my daughter's even busier life demands wheels.  This morning was so cold outside that I could not imagine having to walk to school, and asked a friend from the class to take Raphaela in their car.

As a sample week, here are the thing that will become much more difficult if we must depend on public transportation, not to mention the added danger of bus stops with the Third Intifada in full swing:

Ballet Lesson (tonight)
School in the cold-inside-your-bones weather (today, tomorrow)
Camp (Tuesday, Wednesday)
Day trips for Chanukah (Thursday, next Sunday and Monday)
Supermarket (At some point, we have to eat)
Family Chanukah party (Thursday)
Long weekend of vacation that I am desperate for, that we have both been looking forward to for such a long time (Friday through Sunday)

I did not know how much I counted on Cher until she died.

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.

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.

And So It Came To Be

Monday Night

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

Tuesday, First Day of School

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

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

The Idiot Box Baby Sitter and School Jitters

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I have shifted into major list-making mode.

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

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

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.

Wednesday Encounters

This afternoon Raphaela had her semi-annual preventative dental check-up.  The dentist had nothing but praise for the condition and cleanliness of her teeth, and even showed me one milk tooth that had the slightest bit of wiggle.  Then the dentist looked at me grimly and said, "However...I would start saving up for braces now."

Once we returned home, we bumped into our downstairs neighbors, they have a girl the same age as Raphaela and a boy two years older.  We two moms lamented the fact that tomorrow is the last day of official camp.  When I asked the other mother about her plans for August, she answered, "We will all start to climb the walls, like everyone else in our position."

Jurassic Park, Jerusalem Style

Every once in a while, Raphaela goes into a panic about volcanoes.  Where are they located in the world, does anyone we know live near an active volcano, how could we stop lava flow, etc.

This morning she woke up quite concerned about volcanoes, and we had the following conversation:

RR:  Mommy, are there any volcanoes in Israel? I really don't like lava.
Mommy:  As far as I know, there are none, though the Fertile Crescent sits on a major fault-line.
RR:  What?!
Mommy:  Never mind.
RR:  Mommy, does anyone in our family live near an active volcano?
Mommy:  No, the active volcanoes are in South America, not North America.
RR:  But Mommy, what about my Bat Mitzvah trip?
[We have already decided that for her 12th birthday we will be going on a real safari in Africa. I have already started saving up for this trip. Any leftover money will go toward driving lessons.]
RR:  Don't they have active volcanoes in Africa?
Mommy:  Yes they do, but I promise you I will not take you to any place that is unsafe.  That being said, do not try to pet the lions when we are on safari.
RR:  Perhaps we should have my Bat Mitzvah somewhere safe, like in America.
Mommy:  [looking her straight in the eyes] I will always protect you, because I am your Mommy, wherever we are in the world.
RR:  Even when we go to visit Mars and Jupiter?
Mommy:  Yes, even in outer space, I will protect you and keep you safe.  That is my job.

Later today, we went to the Jerusalem Botanical Gardens, for the last day of the gallery showing of Raphaela's photograph, followed by the Dinosaur Tour. I must admit, these life-size moving and growling dinosaur robots felt so real that even I was a bit frightened.  When we got to the T-Rex, Raphaela hit behind me and said, "Mommy, I know these are just robots, but now is the time you need to protect me. It's your job!""

 

 

As a small present, I bought Raphaela a dinosaur egg that 'hatches' after you soak it in water.  She has now spent several hours sitting and watching this egg, waiting for it to crack and release the toy inside.  I didn't even bother explaining about watched pots never boiling.

Happy July 4th!

This afternoon, Raphaela and I will be attending a Carnival sponsored by the AACI [The Association for Americans and Canadians in Israel], in honor of July 4th.

When I told Raphaela, she asked, "Is that a holiday where everyone speaks English for a whole day?"
"No," I said, "it's like Yom HaAtzmaut, but for Americans."
"Mangal!" exclaimed my daughter, with pure joy.

Because in Israel, almost every holiday somehow leads to a BBQ.

[Mangal = Hebrew for a BBQ, a cookout, a large gathering on a holiday]
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Of the various families sitting on the grass and listening to the American concert at the event, I spotted a very elderly man wearing a veteran's cap, a walking cane casually tossed next to him.  He was sitting on the grass with his Israeli son and his grandchildren, and I thought to myself, "Someday that will be me, the American-born Bubby sitting with her Israeli-American daughter and possibly a whole slew of purely Israeli grandchildren."

Time Out

It has been almost three years since we returned from a family visit in the United States, and Raphaela decided that my bed is far cozier than hers; she had gotten used to being in the same room as me when we were overseas.


I have tried many methods and bribes to get her back into her own room, none successful for more than one night.


Last night Raphaela had excess energy to the point of misbehaving, and after giving fair warning, she received a time out and a punishment:  we were going to pass on our bedtime story and I needed her to sleep in her own bed, to quiet her body and her mind, and give me some space.  She cried, talked to herself for a while, but eventually settled into her bed and fell asleep.


Having lasted in her room the entire night, she woke me up this morning and told me how wonderful she felt in her own room and her own bed, how warm it was and how nice it is to have her dolls with her.  "Mommy, maybe not reading to me was a punishment, but sleeping in my own bed is not a punishment at all."


Mission accomplished?

In Loving Memory

Yesterday, I and several other parents in the Gan had a minor discussion with the head teacher, when she implied that the boy's job is to fight bravely in the Israeli Army, and the girl's job is to adore their men and give them flowers.

Today, when the siren sounds in honor and memory of the 23,320 fallen soldiers since the founding of the State of Israel, all the children in my daughter's school will stand in silence and contemplation, together:  the kids of both the secular and the religious kindergartens, and the elementary students from grade one to six of the art school.  As it should be, because we are all Israelis living in this country thanks to the sacrifice of these men and women, including the 116 who died in the last year.

We put all our differences aside today, to bless these brave souls and the families who lost them.

Tonight, when we transition from mourning to joy, we stand united again.
Happy 67th birthday to Israel, and all its inhabitants.

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!"

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.

Carnival!

This week, we have already gone to the Biblical Zoo and flown a kite at the International Kite Festival at the Israel Museum.

Today I took a walk down memory lane, in more ways than one.  Every year during the interim period of Succot IE the 11 day vacation that Raphaela has from school, Jerusalem hosts an international 15K march and parade, featuring groups from all over Israel and Righteous pro-Israel Christians from all over the world, including China, Germany and United States.

The walkathon terminates in Gan Saccher, right near our house, and features a free Carnival, with rides and clowns and bouncy castles and games; as well as the tastes of adventure and fun that brought me back to my childhood, mainly cotton candy and candied apples.  I forced my daughter to inhale the joy that is cotton candy, so that she too may become hyper on sugar and fond memories.

There were also two staging areas with a ten hour flow of entertainment of groups from Israel, including dancers and martial arts and singing.  Many of the dancing groups excited Raphaela, my Prima Ballerina.  However, I can say with certainty that I now have a new favorite Boy Band, KINDERLACH*, a religious choir group made of six boys with great voices and all the moves of Justin Timberlake.  They reek of charisma and sang a full range, moving between hip hop and Israeli rock, rap and classic religious Jewish ritual music.  They captured my heart and I am even going to buy their newest album, the audience (religious and secular) demanded several encores. 

There are people out there who know me well and they are laughing their asses off: I grew up resenting the limitations and misogyny of my Ultra-Orthodox community in New York.  The presentation and tone of this group represents in a certain way everything that I rejected about my upbringing.  And yet, hearing and watching them perform today, it made me warm inside, grinning from ear to ear.

Ironically, the Jerusalem March is based upon the Biblical concept of "Aliyah LaRegel," the trek that ancient Jews made during this set of holidays in the time of the Temple.  Today it translates to Israelis from all parts of Israel walking through their capital, camping out in a park together and embracing all that makes us one nation, accepting of others despite our differences.  Much like the four species that we combine for a blessing on Succot.

Plus the free activities for children who are going stir crazy without the structure of the regular school day.

Now THAT deserves a celebration.

* KINDERLACH, translates into "children" in Yiddish.