Today I confirmed our tickets to the States for Pessach, as well as confirming that the bassinet will come along with the bassinet seat on British Airways. On the one hand, I can't wait to see Raphaela interacting with her cousins, she reveled in the company of other children on our first weekend away. On the other hand, I now have a whole new list of concerns regarding traveling with a six-month old infant, as I have never done it before.
In addition, it appears that between the two of us, we only get two pieces of luggage, and I was so hoping to shop at Childrens Place and buy the store out...
Onto my list of premature worries:
1. How will I get myself, a baby and her stroller, and two pieces of luggage out of my house and to Ben Gurion Airport?
2. How will I get myself, a baby and her stroller and two pieces of luggage to the check in area?
3. Will Raphaela melt down while we are waiting to board the plane?
4. Will she melt down at any part of the flight, or during the three hour layover in Heathrow?
5. How will I get my tired self, a tired baby and her stroller and two pieces of luggage out of the airport and through customs in Boston?
6. How much a disruption will occur in Raphaela's sleeping and eating patterns, while we are in America for two weeks, and how long will the effect last once we return to Israel?
7. How will I get my tired self, a baby and her stroller and two much heavier pieces of luggage out of customs once we return to Israel?
8. How will I drag myself and my child home after that long trip?
9. How can I afford to take off two and a half weeks of work, in addition to all the shopping that is bound to take place?
On the up side, as an Israeli I will only be doing one Seder.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Thursday, December 10, 2009
First "Away" Weekend
In the two and a half months that Raphaela has been born, we have attended a few Friday night dinners at friends, and some Shabbat lunches as well. On Friday nights, whether I am at home alone with her or in someone else's house, I rarely get to eat past the first course. Even during the week, a civilized dinner has become a rare luxury.
This weekend, the baby and I are going to Efrat, to stay at the home of one of my oldest college friends; her husband runs a regimented and religious routine with their four children, and I have already let them know that my life is anything but orderly these days.
On the more banal side, I have no idea how to pack for a 36 hour period outside the house, other than the obvious ie diapers. I am also having a hard time dealing with my own anticipated discomfort, when I have to breast feed or if she keeps the family awake at night. I worry about Raphaela's reaction to a strange (non-home) environment, and the change in her routines.
On a more existential level, this weekend brings up the recurring conflict I experience regarding organized religion. This issue comes up for me every time the baby and I spend time with my cousins as well, who are Modern Orthodox but also place 100% emphasis on the Torah and Judaism in their home, in the way they raise their children.
I was raised in the New York Metropolitan area in the Yeshiva University/Rav Soleveitchik model: you can be a Jew with the Torah as your moral and behavioural compass, and also enjoy the benefits of the secular life and contribute on the 'outside.' My father, who got smicha (Rabbinic ordination) from Rav Soleveitchik, took us mixed swimming. I wore jeans, I took art lessons and drew nudes. Of course we watched television. In the past 20 years, most of the Jewish world has moved to the right, whereas I have stayed in essentially the same place, so now I am the less religious sibling, if you don't count my brother the agnostic.
I can pick and choose because I have the Jewish academic background and the personal experience of Orthodox Judaism, and I understand what parts of observance are truly important and what aspects derive from the male-dominated establishment and their need to control the religious population through fear. I find the synagogue atmosphere stifling and quite frankly, boring after a while; though for my daughter, it could become a place where she sees her friends, and therefore it inherits a positive image.
Living in Israel, however, presents a challenge for raising Raphaela. Israel, by the virtue of being The Jewish State, permeates with a cultural atmosphere of Judaism without necessarily keeping the Torah to the letter of the law. Secular Israeli friends of mine drive on Shabbat, and yet keep a kosher home, have Pessach seder and know more about the Torah than many Orthodox Jews in America.
And therein lies the question: do I educate my child in the Orthodox way, even though I find so many aspects random and distasteful? How can I offer her a choice as she gets older, if she does not realize and understand all the options available to her? And how can I explain to my child that there will be many within the Orthodox community who will look down on her, because of the way she came into this world, even when I followed halacha?
This weekend, the baby and I are going to Efrat, to stay at the home of one of my oldest college friends; her husband runs a regimented and religious routine with their four children, and I have already let them know that my life is anything but orderly these days.
On the more banal side, I have no idea how to pack for a 36 hour period outside the house, other than the obvious ie diapers. I am also having a hard time dealing with my own anticipated discomfort, when I have to breast feed or if she keeps the family awake at night. I worry about Raphaela's reaction to a strange (non-home) environment, and the change in her routines.
On a more existential level, this weekend brings up the recurring conflict I experience regarding organized religion. This issue comes up for me every time the baby and I spend time with my cousins as well, who are Modern Orthodox but also place 100% emphasis on the Torah and Judaism in their home, in the way they raise their children.
I was raised in the New York Metropolitan area in the Yeshiva University/Rav Soleveitchik model: you can be a Jew with the Torah as your moral and behavioural compass, and also enjoy the benefits of the secular life and contribute on the 'outside.' My father, who got smicha (Rabbinic ordination) from Rav Soleveitchik, took us mixed swimming. I wore jeans, I took art lessons and drew nudes. Of course we watched television. In the past 20 years, most of the Jewish world has moved to the right, whereas I have stayed in essentially the same place, so now I am the less religious sibling, if you don't count my brother the agnostic.
I can pick and choose because I have the Jewish academic background and the personal experience of Orthodox Judaism, and I understand what parts of observance are truly important and what aspects derive from the male-dominated establishment and their need to control the religious population through fear. I find the synagogue atmosphere stifling and quite frankly, boring after a while; though for my daughter, it could become a place where she sees her friends, and therefore it inherits a positive image.
Living in Israel, however, presents a challenge for raising Raphaela. Israel, by the virtue of being The Jewish State, permeates with a cultural atmosphere of Judaism without necessarily keeping the Torah to the letter of the law. Secular Israeli friends of mine drive on Shabbat, and yet keep a kosher home, have Pessach seder and know more about the Torah than many Orthodox Jews in America.
And therein lies the question: do I educate my child in the Orthodox way, even though I find so many aspects random and distasteful? How can I offer her a choice as she gets older, if she does not realize and understand all the options available to her? And how can I explain to my child that there will be many within the Orthodox community who will look down on her, because of the way she came into this world, even when I followed halacha?
American Consulate: The Seventh Circle of Hell
Savta Shira was supposed to come with us this morning, to be an extra set of hands, but she got the flu. Raphaela waking up at 2:30 this morning did not help matters.
I had lived a full day with her by the time we had to leave for the American Consulate in East Jerusalem, to register her birth and apply for a passport. We took a cab during the height of rush hour, and every time we stopped at a red light, the baby cried; she prefers movement of any kind.
Upon arrival, we did not have to wait too long on line, but I had to check the stroller and car seat, and carry her for the remainder of this form of citizenship torture. ("You want to be an American citizen? How badly do you want it? I dare you.")
Window 5: "You're a single parent? I have to clear this with my supervisor."
Thus ensued a conference of sorts, to decide how they deal with an apparently strange case like mine, which ended up with me having to provide ten pages of proof, and then sit in the corner. At one point I was standing, trying to feed Raphaela a bottle with one hand and locate documentation from my bag at the same time; I must have looked so exhausted and flummoxed that a kind stranger (a young religious woman) came over and offered to finish the feeding. When Raphaela started crying out of impatience and I was trying to calm her, another stranger (a recent convert to Judaism) said to me, "You look like you're about to cry yourself."
Then came the big interview, in which the supervisor tried to trick me into revealing that I am actually a Russian spy, or that I borrowed someone else's baby. (No and no...) I passed her interrogation, even put on a bit of a Bostonian accent, and then had to maneuver myself, two bags and a baby through a small turnstile door. You guessed it, we got stuck in between the metal spokes and the exit. Call in the extraction team and Security.
Outside and around the corner of the street in order to return to the front gate in order to claim my stroller and cell phone.
In the cab on the way home - it took a while to hail a cab - I looked at the receipt from the Consulate and noticed that they had spelled my last name wrong, which meant that her passport would be incorrect. I consoled myself at the bakery near my house, with my first jelly doughnut of the Israeli Chanukah season, and a serious cup of coffee to stop my hands from shaking.
I had lived a full day with her by the time we had to leave for the American Consulate in East Jerusalem, to register her birth and apply for a passport. We took a cab during the height of rush hour, and every time we stopped at a red light, the baby cried; she prefers movement of any kind.
Upon arrival, we did not have to wait too long on line, but I had to check the stroller and car seat, and carry her for the remainder of this form of citizenship torture. ("You want to be an American citizen? How badly do you want it? I dare you.")
Window 5: "You're a single parent? I have to clear this with my supervisor."
Thus ensued a conference of sorts, to decide how they deal with an apparently strange case like mine, which ended up with me having to provide ten pages of proof, and then sit in the corner. At one point I was standing, trying to feed Raphaela a bottle with one hand and locate documentation from my bag at the same time; I must have looked so exhausted and flummoxed that a kind stranger (a young religious woman) came over and offered to finish the feeding. When Raphaela started crying out of impatience and I was trying to calm her, another stranger (a recent convert to Judaism) said to me, "You look like you're about to cry yourself."
Then came the big interview, in which the supervisor tried to trick me into revealing that I am actually a Russian spy, or that I borrowed someone else's baby. (No and no...) I passed her interrogation, even put on a bit of a Bostonian accent, and then had to maneuver myself, two bags and a baby through a small turnstile door. You guessed it, we got stuck in between the metal spokes and the exit. Call in the extraction team and Security.
Outside and around the corner of the street in order to return to the front gate in order to claim my stroller and cell phone.
In the cab on the way home - it took a while to hail a cab - I looked at the receipt from the Consulate and noticed that they had spelled my last name wrong, which meant that her passport would be incorrect. I consoled myself at the bakery near my house, with my first jelly doughnut of the Israeli Chanukah season, and a serious cup of coffee to stop my hands from shaking.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Latest Obsession: Gilmore Girls
The television series, Gilmore Girls, is now running on Israeli Channel Three, and I have become addicted to the show. Not only because the star is a Barnard graduate, and I am a proud alumna, but because it portrays a woman who has raised a wonderful daughter as a single parent.
And the other characters are quirky and the dialogue is sharp.
I don't delude myself into thinking that television is real life, but it is not often that a single mother situation is portrayed in such a positive light, and that comforts me. It is a hell of a lot better than watching shows like Friends, which remind me of my miserable single days on the Upper West Side in The City.
And the other characters are quirky and the dialogue is sharp.
I don't delude myself into thinking that television is real life, but it is not often that a single mother situation is portrayed in such a positive light, and that comforts me. It is a hell of a lot better than watching shows like Friends, which remind me of my miserable single days on the Upper West Side in The City.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Israeli Logic Will Kill You
Explain this: at the mall, the reserved parking for mothers with babies in carriages is right next to the designated (and densely populated) smoking area. That way, newborns and their breast feeding mothers get to inhale all that healthy second-hand smoke.
Huh? (And this in a country that values family and encourages population growth...)
Huh? (And this in a country that values family and encourages population growth...)
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Parent Protecsia
I learned this week that "Protecsia," an essential concept of living and survival in Israel, works even better when your prop includes a baby in a stroller.
I had always resented that men and women who had family obligations could use their children or spouses as excuses, whereas it was assumed that I, as a single professional, did not have any responsibilities, or for that matter, a life. Why couldn't I work until eight at night, after all, what else could monopolize my time or my interest?
I started to return to work this week, albeit on an extremely limited scale; on the one hand, a few hours apart from my daughter is good and healthy for both of us, but I am not ready to give up time with her, as she learns and changes daily. One patient came 20 minutes late, and for the first time in my Chiropractic career, I was able to say without any hesitation or guilt that she would receive less time, because I had other obligations. I had a child to pick up from her care taker. This pronouncement was accepted immediately, in a child-friendly and family-friendly country like Israel, who could refuse the mother of a newborn.
Today, Raphaela and I woke up earlier than usual, in order to get to downtown Jerusalem and apply for an infant passport. Though I have a car and drive to most places, I dislike the parking situation in the Jaffa Road area, messy to begin with and worse with the never-ending light rail construction. So we took a cab (Raphaela's first cab ride!) and when we arrived at the offices of the Ministry of the Interior, the guard immediately pushed me and my stroller to the head of the line. Because I was the only person on line with a two month old baby, I bypassed the normal procedure, was the first to be processed and spent a total of 15 minutes in their offices, a personal record.
In fact, I was then able to go to two other government offices in the same general area, walk home with the stroller from the center of town to my neighborhood, and still have a late breakfast at ten am. This morning far surpassed my expectations, with Raphaela quietly sleeping in the stroller and allowing us access and privilege I have never experienced before.
I can't wait to be one of those mothers who gets to board a plane before all the other sardines in Coach.
I had always resented that men and women who had family obligations could use their children or spouses as excuses, whereas it was assumed that I, as a single professional, did not have any responsibilities, or for that matter, a life. Why couldn't I work until eight at night, after all, what else could monopolize my time or my interest?
I started to return to work this week, albeit on an extremely limited scale; on the one hand, a few hours apart from my daughter is good and healthy for both of us, but I am not ready to give up time with her, as she learns and changes daily. One patient came 20 minutes late, and for the first time in my Chiropractic career, I was able to say without any hesitation or guilt that she would receive less time, because I had other obligations. I had a child to pick up from her care taker. This pronouncement was accepted immediately, in a child-friendly and family-friendly country like Israel, who could refuse the mother of a newborn.
Today, Raphaela and I woke up earlier than usual, in order to get to downtown Jerusalem and apply for an infant passport. Though I have a car and drive to most places, I dislike the parking situation in the Jaffa Road area, messy to begin with and worse with the never-ending light rail construction. So we took a cab (Raphaela's first cab ride!) and when we arrived at the offices of the Ministry of the Interior, the guard immediately pushed me and my stroller to the head of the line. Because I was the only person on line with a two month old baby, I bypassed the normal procedure, was the first to be processed and spent a total of 15 minutes in their offices, a personal record.
In fact, I was then able to go to two other government offices in the same general area, walk home with the stroller from the center of town to my neighborhood, and still have a late breakfast at ten am. This morning far surpassed my expectations, with Raphaela quietly sleeping in the stroller and allowing us access and privilege I have never experienced before.
I can't wait to be one of those mothers who gets to board a plane before all the other sardines in Coach.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Separation Anxiety
Yesterday marks the first day of the Separation Experiment, I dropped Raphaela off at the house of the baby sitter of choice for four hours, while I stayed home and saw a few patients, did some laundry and managed to fit in a decent un-interrupted lunch.
Yes, I cried a little when I left her, but I quite liked getting back into the grown-up world, if only for a few hours. When I picked Raphaela up, she was clean and content and playing with the baby sitter's Brain Gym; I got a big smile and from there we went about our day together. I know she is only two months, and yet now is the time to get her used to strangers who will be taking care of her for the small hours during the week when I go back to the Chiropractic work full time.
I felt like it was the first day of school, I laid out her clothing and her supplies, and we arrived early, as even childbirth will not erase my "Yekke" nature. This morning, Day Two, we slept in a little, I suppose to make up for the great change of yesterday.
We are OK, both of us.
Yes, I cried a little when I left her, but I quite liked getting back into the grown-up world, if only for a few hours. When I picked Raphaela up, she was clean and content and playing with the baby sitter's Brain Gym; I got a big smile and from there we went about our day together. I know she is only two months, and yet now is the time to get her used to strangers who will be taking care of her for the small hours during the week when I go back to the Chiropractic work full time.
I felt like it was the first day of school, I laid out her clothing and her supplies, and we arrived early, as even childbirth will not erase my "Yekke" nature. This morning, Day Two, we slept in a little, I suppose to make up for the great change of yesterday.
We are OK, both of us.
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