RivkA Redux

"Have Faith."
"Believe in Miracles."
"Choose Life."

RivkA Zuckerman Matitya, my brave and jubilant friend who died last year after a long battle with breast cancer, appeared larger than life on the screen, at the Memorial Gathering in her honor in Jerusalem tonight.  I recognized many people in the packed room, and marveled at the diversity of the gathered group:  young and old, religious and secular, Israeli and Anglo-Saxon, from all walks of life.  All the people that I knew, scattered among the crowd, unified by RivkA; they would not have been in the same room together otherwise.

A leader in the La Leche movement, a swim instructor, a special-needs educator, inspirational speaker, blogger, and a loving mother and wife.  I am overwhelmed how RivkA's embrace of life continues to influence those around her, one year after her passing.  I am sad for her three children and husband, her siblings and her parents, who must feel the loss every day.  I wonder how much more she could have accomplished had she defeated the disease.

I returned home tonight feeling ashamed of myself for not contributing more to my community and for the world at large, disappointed because I want to leave the world a better place than it was when I first entered this plane of existence.

 My mind started to recall the person I was in college, when I first met RivkA.  If there was a political cause, I joined with a vengance.  If I observed injustice in society, I pursued a solution with passion.  I can vividly recall a conversation in the Barnard-Columbia Kosher kitchen, in which it was decided that I would (naturally) be Prime Minister of Israel, the next woman PM after Golda;  and then I hand-picked my cabinet from my assembled close friends, based upon their individual strengths and our committment to Israel and the Jewish people.

I was going to be regularly featured on the front page of the New York Times.  I was going to change the world.

Yet here I am today, 43 years old, quietly helping my Chiropractic clients improve their health and lead better lives for themselves and their families. I volunteer with the Jerusalem Street Cat Society.   I don't feel like that is enough.  Here I am, 43 years old, raising my amazing daughter to G-d willing be the most fulfilled person, to be able to express the best parts of her.  Is that enough?  I can say for sure that if Raphaela is my legacy as a human being and as a mother, that will be enough for me, I take joy from that knowledge every day.  If my taking the step to become a single mother by choice helps another woman fulfill her dream, I am thankful to serve as an inspiration or a role model on some small level.

And yet, I want to do something bigger, something more substantial.  I need to rediscover my Inner Idealist, the woman who seems to have gotten lost in the shuffle of paying bills and managing schedules and simply surviving.

When my grandmother died, so many people came to the shiva, many of whom we did not know.  We listened to their stories, how they came to fall into my Bubby's sphere of influence.  One woman told us that my grandmother had been cooking her and delivering to her Shabbat meals,every week for the last twenty years.  One man told us that my grandmother had been volunteering at the hospital with him, in her "spare time."  Several married couples told us that if it had not been for my grandmother, their relationship would not have lasted intact all these years.  And on and on...

We always knew my grandmother didn't sleep much, but we had no idea how much she gave of herself, often at the cost to herself.

When I have lived a long life, when I move on, what will be said about me?  Will I have made a real difference?

Pre-Thanksgiving Thoughts

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

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

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

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

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

The Four Sons

Yes, I know it's a little early to be thinking about Pessach, but I had an idea about child development, based upon the concept of the Four Sons.  The way in which they approach the holiday, their observance and acceptance of the Jewish heritage, symbolizes as well the route of the development of the mind, and the human.

At first, a baby can only focus on the essentials, ie food, sleep, attention and filling diapers, and that phase lasts into the beginnings of early language.  They "don't know how to ask" because it doesn't interest them, the rest of the world is outside their sphere of influence, they are the center of their parents' universe.

Then a toddler starts asking "What's that?"  The question certainly isn't sophisticated, and you can't expect to have a philsophical discussion about existentialism with a two year old;  but the child starts to realize that an entire spectrum of experience thrives outside their bubble of family and friends and Gan.

Raphaela has arrived at the Simple Son stage.  Through pointing and three word sentences, I hear a lot of "What's that?"  and "No, I don't want..."  She spends hours in imaginary play, baking birthday cakes (her favorite cooking activity) and lecturing her dolls and Harry about how the world works.  This morning she woke me up at five am, presented me with the clothing she had chosen from her drawers and declared that she was ready to get dressed and start her day.

The independence building that starts now with "I don't want..." transitions straight into the Rebellious Son.  At some point, having understood the rules and the proper protocols of civilized society, we all want to see what will happen when we color outside the lines.  Our parents embarass us, and it's no fun to have homework, or a curfew.  I personally believe that rebellion represents the most important phase of our development as individuals, to become grown-ups who respect their tradition and can be their own person, forge new paths and takes risks without being tied into the rigid expectations of family and religion.

If I had to repeat any time in my life, it would be college.  I made life-long friends, found the joy and the artist within myself, and stopped being so damned serious all the time.

I didn't break out of the Good Girl mode until my 20's, too late as far as I am concerned;  I didn't make the most important choice of my life, the one that brought about the birth of my amazing daughter, until I was 39 years old.  Call me a late bloomer, I suppose.

The last step in our emotional and intellectual development is the Wise Son, the adult who understands that there is a place for rules, and a place for breaking the rules;  a person who understands the full value of experience, continuity and community.

I will make my way there, eventually, with all the human mistakes that go along with it.

The Final Frontier

I very often say to Raphaela, "I love you as big as SPACE."  She agrees and smiles, and sometimes gives me a kiss in return.

If you are puzzled by the reference, Space is infinite and always expanding, and can also be used as a metaphor for G-d, or your higher power of choice.  As a concept, space represents ALOT of love.

This morning, I dropped Raphaela at Gan, and as usual, we were the first to arrive.  She immediately got down to business, and walked over to the trays of toys and activities, which for the moment, she had all to herself.  As a parent, I am pleased with her eagerness to play independently, and her comfort level at the nursery school;  it allows me to relax during the day, knowing that Raphaela is in a happy and secure place.

But I could not help myself, I wanted to give her a cuddle and a kiss before I left. (She's just that yummy...)   I went over to her and said, "I love you Raphaela,"  and got 'the face'; that expression that one would normally expect from teenagers who are embarrased by their parents.  The face that said, "OMG, C'mon Mommy, don't do that to me in public!"

I laughed, and ignored her protests, and I know that deep down she enjoyed the affection.

Vicious Cycles

My Chiropractic clinic, like life in general, experiences highs and lows.  I have busier days and weeks, and less busy periods.  I like when I hop from patient to patient, it keeps my energy up in the stratosphere, I feel like I provide a constructive service to society, and bonus, I make money for me and my child.

Over the Jewish holidays, de facto I took off for two weeks, because Raphaela did not have Gan and it was virtually impossible to find a baby sitter from my extensive list.  As a result, two weeks after the fact my office visit numbers have slowed down dramatically, because no doctor who runs their own business can expect a consequence-free two week vacation.

I do not get financial assistance from my family, and during a "normal" month, that is not an issue.  In a month where I must spend lots of unexpected money on my car, among other surprises, it makes a huge difference to finances, and my sanity.  I get depressed and worried when I look at my Palm Pilot and see that there are days with huge gaps.  There is that higher voice, the one that communicates well with the Universe that knows that it will pick up again, and the uncertainty of this period of time will pass.  I also know that if I broadcast my concerns - both to the Universe and to my daughter - I will get back what I send out, and G-d knows I don't want it to get worse.

It doesn't stop me from having a hard time falling asleep at night, and I have certainly been praying more than usual.

Today a woman came to me for an emergency appointment, a friend of my cousins and a person who usually sees another Chiropractor, who was not available to her.  After she received a thorough and extra-long treatment, she then explained to me that her regular DC charges her a minimal amount, out of 'charity'; but since she felt so much better, she was willing to pay me 1/4 of my fee.  I am not sure what feels more lousy, working less overall or not being valued  and respected for the time and devotion I give to my clients.

Meanwhile, there is still food to buy and bills to pay.

G-d's Mysterious Ways

Last night and this morning, Jerusalem received its first real rainfall.  This is good news for Israel.

Less good news for me:  I got into the car this morning to take Raphaela to Gan, and noticed a small lake on the floor of the seat beside the driver.  That most distinctly is not meant to happen, and I don't need to be a car mechanic to understand this fact.

I drove Raphaela to Gan, and then immediately took the car to the Renault garage.  They told me that it sounded like a "quick fix," and that I would have the car before Shabbat.

They called  several hours later, to inform me that it was a "good thing" that the flooding forced me to take the car for examination, because they tested for its Winter driving capabilities;  they found that the tires were too worn down and that the break pads needed replacing as well.

A quick fix just became a shitload of money.  But if the drainage system had not malfunctioned, Raphaela and I might have been in involved a [G-d Forbid] terrible accident instead.

So I am thankful to go into Shabbat healthy and whole, both of us.

(My bank account will feel less thankful on Sunday morning, when I pick up the car.)

Report Card

Several years ago, my parents cleaned out the paperwork in the house in Boston and presented each of their children with various records collected and saved over the years.  In looking at my nursery report card, I was amused to see the following comment from my teacher, Mrs. H. Cohen:
"She tends to stay by herself.  She does not mix with the other boys and girls.  She prefers to be with me."

By the end of the year, apparently I performed better in terms of mixing with the other children my own age, and was "Promoted to first grade."  Horray for mini-Me!

As well, I received a "Satisfactory Plus" in being neat and clean in appearance, in listening to and following directions, and in completing projects.  A star in early mathematics, reading and writing,  I fell short in showing an interest in singing.

My teachers in the elementary school years would use descriptors such as "Concientious,"  "Extremely Responsible," and "too outspoken." (You don't fit in well in within the Ultra-Orthodox community if you speak your mind and color outside the lines.)

Flash forward, two months ago:  I gave Raphaela's head nursery teacher a form required by the HMO, in order for Raphaela to receive a consultation through their Early Childhood Development Center.  The form was returned to me only yesterday, and I feared reading it, hearing the "truth" about my daughter.

Ultimately, other than the issue of her late walking, my child seems to have friends, play well with others, listen to her teachers, show compassion and warmth, and posseses both fine motor and gross motor skills.  The head nursery teacher commented that Raphaela is [THANK G-D] a happy, smiling  and independent child, clean and "well-cared for by her mother."  She likes singing and music.

Whew!

While Raphaela does not have a consistant father figure in her life due to the circumstances of her conception, I did not have a reliable father figure in my childhood due to a messy divorce and a general lack of strong male role models.  Perhaps therein lies the difference;  I will continue to provide stability and infinite affection to Raphaela, so that she can continue to play well with others and experience fulfilling personal relationships for the rest of her life.