Raphaela is now four and a half, and it has been at least a few years since someone has made a snide or inappropriate comment about my status as a single mother by choice.
I think the Universe wanted to remind me today that I had done a brave thing, and to test my resolve at viewing myself and our non-traditional family as loving and normal, rather than a freak of nature in the Orthodox world.
A patient (with children, though seeming intolerant of the younger set in general) started telling me about the wonderful synagogue right down the road from my house, how this person (who shall remain nameless and genderless) has so many friends who pray there, and how it seems like such a welcoming community.
I then made a comment that in my own experience, the members of that synagogue are for the most part old fashioned and somewhat non-welcoming to those who defy the standard rules of the Orthodox Jewish community.
Patient: Why would you say that?
Me: Because when I have walked in there with my daughter, we have been largely ignored and once or twice verbally accosted.
Patient: Why would they do something like that?
Me: Apparently they have a problem with a Jewish single mother by choice.
Patient: Well why don't you just lie about the circumstances of her conception, so that you will be more acceptable to them, and to the larger Jewish community?
Me: (Chin flat on floor, brain screaming inside, taking a minute to breathe again) Why should I have to make up a story, to make myself more acceptable as a Jew or as a mother of an innocent child? Shouldn't they be the ones who reach out to me, and who open their mind to 21rst Century Judaism and the reality of Israel?
Patient: (Heavy Silence)
And THAT is why I need to eventually move to another neighborhood in Jerusalem, where many of my tolerant and accepting friends with children live. Men and women who are both married and raising their children together; and women who like me, chose to not miss the opportunity to experience pregnancy and bring a beautiful child into the world.
People who understand that a Mom is a Mom is a Mom.
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
Monday, February 10, 2014
Jerusalem Marathon I
After my Great Uncle died, his 86 year old sister Ida wrote to me and told me that I should not take a single day or a single person for granted. And it got me thinking.
Raphaela is now four and a half, and it is time I took my body back. It has been five years since I was running regularly, and two years since I last ran the Jerusalem Marathon. I am quite tired of looking at that little bit of belly fat left over from my pregnancy, when I know as a Chiropractor I could actually do something about it, make it go away with consistent effort and hard work.
So I went online and signed up for the 10K Jerusalem Marathon. I sat down and wrote up a calendar, showing me how many days I had to train properly. I pulled my second-hand Treadmill out of storage and stuck it in the only available space in my house, taking up all the floor space in my bedroom.
When Raphaela saw the Treadmill, she assumed it was a fancy clothing hanger, because it had served that purpose for far too long. Now, my daughter will be proud of me when she sees me run, victorious, healthy and happy.
I have devised both short term and long term goals for my training:
1. Deadline, Purim (16/3/14): I want to be able to show off my legs with pride in my Tardis Purim costume.
2. Deadline, Marathon (21/3/14): I don't care if I finish in professional time, but I am going to run that Marathon without pain or ungainly effort, cross the finish line and get my medal.
3. Deadline, Bro's Wedding (13/7/14): Must look smoking in the family pictures, as they will be on display for time immemorial.
4. Deadline, 46th Birthday (24/7/14): Beach day, one word: Bikini
Truth be told, I am my own worst critic. When I look in the mirror, I think that I look slightly pregnant, when I don't. When I run 4 km after a break of two years, I criticize myself because I could have done more, once upon a time.
So my fifth and most important goal is to realize that the outside world makes women feel like S**t for no apparent reason, and I do not have to be a size zero to love myself, and be considered a sexy and date-able Mom.
I am not taking myself for granted anymore.
Raphaela is now four and a half, and it is time I took my body back. It has been five years since I was running regularly, and two years since I last ran the Jerusalem Marathon. I am quite tired of looking at that little bit of belly fat left over from my pregnancy, when I know as a Chiropractor I could actually do something about it, make it go away with consistent effort and hard work.
So I went online and signed up for the 10K Jerusalem Marathon. I sat down and wrote up a calendar, showing me how many days I had to train properly. I pulled my second-hand Treadmill out of storage and stuck it in the only available space in my house, taking up all the floor space in my bedroom.
When Raphaela saw the Treadmill, she assumed it was a fancy clothing hanger, because it had served that purpose for far too long. Now, my daughter will be proud of me when she sees me run, victorious, healthy and happy.
I have devised both short term and long term goals for my training:
1. Deadline, Purim (16/3/14): I want to be able to show off my legs with pride in my Tardis Purim costume.
2. Deadline, Marathon (21/3/14): I don't care if I finish in professional time, but I am going to run that Marathon without pain or ungainly effort, cross the finish line and get my medal.
3. Deadline, Bro's Wedding (13/7/14): Must look smoking in the family pictures, as they will be on display for time immemorial.
4. Deadline, 46th Birthday (24/7/14): Beach day, one word: Bikini
Truth be told, I am my own worst critic. When I look in the mirror, I think that I look slightly pregnant, when I don't. When I run 4 km after a break of two years, I criticize myself because I could have done more, once upon a time.
So my fifth and most important goal is to realize that the outside world makes women feel like S**t for no apparent reason, and I do not have to be a size zero to love myself, and be considered a sexy and date-able Mom.
I am not taking myself for granted anymore.
Saturday, February 8, 2014
Wedding Day
The wedding day of Yitzchak the Righteous and Rivka the Beautiful and Brilliant has arrived!
At five am, Raphaela woke me up and asked if she could have nail polish and a tattoo for the occasion.
By six am Raphaela was not only fully dressed in her festive outfit, she had put on her coat and backpack. She followed me around the house, asking if I was ready to leave for Gan, and camped out in the bathroom while I took a shower, to make sure I was not wasting time.
On the way to Gan she informed me that her personal intended date/groom for the day was a boy in her class named Yonatan. I think I will have to do a background check on this family, make sure he can take care of my Princess in the manner to which she is accustomed...
At five am, Raphaela woke me up and asked if she could have nail polish and a tattoo for the occasion.
By six am Raphaela was not only fully dressed in her festive outfit, she had put on her coat and backpack. She followed me around the house, asking if I was ready to leave for Gan, and camped out in the bathroom while I took a shower, to make sure I was not wasting time.
On the way to Gan she informed me that her personal intended date/groom for the day was a boy in her class named Yonatan. I think I will have to do a background check on this family, make sure he can take care of my Princess in the manner to which she is accustomed...
Thursday, February 6, 2014
The Little Doctor Who
When we were little and stuck inside the car on endless road trips, ["Mom, he's putting his feet on my side of the seat!" "Mom, she's staring at me and making faces." "Dad, I have to throw up." ] my parents used to tell us that if we blew really hard, we could change the traffic light from red to green.
My brother and I would wait for their signal, and then we would gather out deepest breath, and delight in the fact that we personally had changed the light to green.
Every morning on the way to Gan, Raphaela takes her "Sonic Screwdriver" - a la Doctor Who, but actually a large paint brush - and uses it to change the pedestrian signal from red to green. She waits for my ok, points her Sonic Screwdriver at the intersection and makes a loud beep-like sound. Lo and behold, she assists all those standing and waiting to walk across the street, bringing her joy as well. "Good job, I did it!"
My brother and I would wait for their signal, and then we would gather out deepest breath, and delight in the fact that we personally had changed the light to green.
Every morning on the way to Gan, Raphaela takes her "Sonic Screwdriver" - a la Doctor Who, but actually a large paint brush - and uses it to change the pedestrian signal from red to green. She waits for my ok, points her Sonic Screwdriver at the intersection and makes a loud beep-like sound. Lo and behold, she assists all those standing and waiting to walk across the street, bringing her joy as well. "Good job, I did it!"
The Play Date Genie
Unimpressed with my skills as Raphaela's social secretary, she and her friend L decided to work out the details of a play date all on their own. I arrived at her English class today, and Raphaela informed me that she and L would be spending some time together this afternoon.
Mommy: I know you want to set up a play date, but first we have to talk to L's Mommy.
[As if on cue, L's Mommy walks into the room.]
Mommy: The girls would like to have a play date, what does next week look like for you?
L's Mommy: Oh, didn't they tell you? The girls arranged a play date for today, at our house.
Mommy: Really?
L's Mommy: Yeah, I thought you knew. Anyway, we will take Raphaela home, and don't come too soon, they want to spend a lot of time together.
All of a sudden, gobsmacked by the concept that my four and a half year old and her friend arranged the whole thing by themselves, I found myself with a free two hours, and no real need to cook dinner for Raphaela, as she will eat there.
A part me is doing a major dance inside my head and a part of me has no idea how to fill free time.
Mommy: I know you want to set up a play date, but first we have to talk to L's Mommy.
[As if on cue, L's Mommy walks into the room.]
Mommy: The girls would like to have a play date, what does next week look like for you?
L's Mommy: Oh, didn't they tell you? The girls arranged a play date for today, at our house.
Mommy: Really?
L's Mommy: Yeah, I thought you knew. Anyway, we will take Raphaela home, and don't come too soon, they want to spend a lot of time together.
All of a sudden, gobsmacked by the concept that my four and a half year old and her friend arranged the whole thing by themselves, I found myself with a free two hours, and no real need to cook dinner for Raphaela, as she will eat there.
A part me is doing a major dance inside my head and a part of me has no idea how to fill free time.
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
Old Mother Hubbard
Between the wonderful visit of my brother and his family, and the unfortunate and sudden interruption of routine from the funeral yesterday, our cupboards are bare and I need to go to the supermarket, badly.
Because I work when Raphaela plays/learns at Gan, I have not had the chance to make this essential trip, and so I told Raphaela this morning that we would have a Great Adventure at the super this afternoon, after school and English class.
Raphaela: Do I have to go with you? I wanted to have a play date with my friend E or L.
[My daughter has a busier social calendar than I, if she had her way, every day would include a play date.]
Mommy: I have not spoken with their mothers and arranged it yet for this week, and we do need to stock our refrigerator with food.
Raphaela: You can't go while I am in Gan?
Mommy: Not really, I am busy being a doctor during the day.
Raphaela: (Pause to think) OK! I will be a terrific helper at the supermarket.
Postscript: As a warning to all parents, do not take a four and a half year old to the supermarket, no matter how well behaved. It will take much longer than usual, and you just might lose a little piece of your sanity along the way.
Because I work when Raphaela plays/learns at Gan, I have not had the chance to make this essential trip, and so I told Raphaela this morning that we would have a Great Adventure at the super this afternoon, after school and English class.
Raphaela: Do I have to go with you? I wanted to have a play date with my friend E or L.
[My daughter has a busier social calendar than I, if she had her way, every day would include a play date.]
Mommy: I have not spoken with their mothers and arranged it yet for this week, and we do need to stock our refrigerator with food.
Raphaela: You can't go while I am in Gan?
Mommy: Not really, I am busy being a doctor during the day.
Raphaela: (Pause to think) OK! I will be a terrific helper at the supermarket.
Postscript: As a warning to all parents, do not take a four and a half year old to the supermarket, no matter how well behaved. It will take much longer than usual, and you just might lose a little piece of your sanity along the way.
Sunday, February 2, 2014
Life of Bitzi
Over this past Shabbat, I would remember my uncle and get sad, once or twice bursting into tears. Raphaela at first found the phenomenon confusing or funny, and so I explained to her that people cry when they are happy or sad, and that it is perfectly OK to express emotion that way. I explained to her that I am very sad that my uncle is "very sick," and that's why I am crying.
Raphaela listened, and then sat on the kitchen floor for ten minutes, trying to evoke the emotion of grief and making similar crying sounds that I had made, but it was play acting. When I asked her why she was crying, she replied logically, "Because Uncle Bitzi is very sick."
When that experience didn't quite satisfy her need to empathize with me, she instead threw me a big birthday party, using all the toys in the house, "so that you will be happy, Mommy."
Which brought me to the larger questions of life and death, mainly, how do you explain death to a four and a half year old? Especially living in Israel, where the daily news consists of reports about terror and fatalities, I assume that at some point Raphaela will get the idea, and it will become part of her understood lexicon. As her mother, I feel a need (perhaps misplaced) to protect her from the fear and the ugliness of facing death.
Not that I personally believe that death is ugly: when Ronald Reagan was President, a television movie called "The Day After" aired, and we sat as a family to watch it together. It was the first time that any program had specifically dealt with the Russian-American hostilities, and it showed in graphic detail the gruesome deaths of humans across the globe, pre and post-nuclear winter. I could not fall asleep that night, seeing in my head myself and everyone I loved dying because someone on the planet pushed the red button. The television show burned itself into my brain.
My father sat with me and explained: "The path of your life has already been determined by G-d. You could die from choking on a hot dog, you could drown in the bath tub, or you could get fried by nuclear war. The trick is to live every life to its fullest, make every day count, because you never really know if it will be your last."
That message has accompanied me and given me comfort all my life, and when I was almost killed by a Palestinian sniper in 2001, and survived, it only renewed my sense of purpose, I embraced my second chance at life. Since I also believe in reincarnation, I know that death represents the end on this physical plane, but there is so much more, and that comforts me as well.
Raphaela on the other hand, has no real understanding of the finality of death. When she saw a cat flattened (and clearly dead) on the road, she said to me, "Mommy, that cat is very broken. You are a doctor, you can fix it." So telling her that her uncle is dead, that she will never see him again, it didn't seem to penetrate.
Unless I can get a useful solution from someone like Mister Rogers or Dr. Phil, I will continue to shield Raphaela from the absolute grief and sadness. I know in my heart that her first real encounter with death will probably be vis a vis our cat Harry, who is going on 12 years now. Israeli cats who go outside expose themselves to danger and do not live to be 18 or 20, and at some point her best friend in the house and feline companion will leave this Earthly plane, and then we will deal with it together.
Raphaela listened, and then sat on the kitchen floor for ten minutes, trying to evoke the emotion of grief and making similar crying sounds that I had made, but it was play acting. When I asked her why she was crying, she replied logically, "Because Uncle Bitzi is very sick."
When that experience didn't quite satisfy her need to empathize with me, she instead threw me a big birthday party, using all the toys in the house, "so that you will be happy, Mommy."
Which brought me to the larger questions of life and death, mainly, how do you explain death to a four and a half year old? Especially living in Israel, where the daily news consists of reports about terror and fatalities, I assume that at some point Raphaela will get the idea, and it will become part of her understood lexicon. As her mother, I feel a need (perhaps misplaced) to protect her from the fear and the ugliness of facing death.
Not that I personally believe that death is ugly: when Ronald Reagan was President, a television movie called "The Day After" aired, and we sat as a family to watch it together. It was the first time that any program had specifically dealt with the Russian-American hostilities, and it showed in graphic detail the gruesome deaths of humans across the globe, pre and post-nuclear winter. I could not fall asleep that night, seeing in my head myself and everyone I loved dying because someone on the planet pushed the red button. The television show burned itself into my brain.
My father sat with me and explained: "The path of your life has already been determined by G-d. You could die from choking on a hot dog, you could drown in the bath tub, or you could get fried by nuclear war. The trick is to live every life to its fullest, make every day count, because you never really know if it will be your last."
That message has accompanied me and given me comfort all my life, and when I was almost killed by a Palestinian sniper in 2001, and survived, it only renewed my sense of purpose, I embraced my second chance at life. Since I also believe in reincarnation, I know that death represents the end on this physical plane, but there is so much more, and that comforts me as well.
Raphaela on the other hand, has no real understanding of the finality of death. When she saw a cat flattened (and clearly dead) on the road, she said to me, "Mommy, that cat is very broken. You are a doctor, you can fix it." So telling her that her uncle is dead, that she will never see him again, it didn't seem to penetrate.
Unless I can get a useful solution from someone like Mister Rogers or Dr. Phil, I will continue to shield Raphaela from the absolute grief and sadness. I know in my heart that her first real encounter with death will probably be vis a vis our cat Harry, who is going on 12 years now. Israeli cats who go outside expose themselves to danger and do not live to be 18 or 20, and at some point her best friend in the house and feline companion will leave this Earthly plane, and then we will deal with it together.
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