The Jewish Child in Me

Communal Jewish tradition thrives best in an environment of families with kids. 

It has taken me many years to overcome the resentment I felt as a single person (without children), that feeling of being side-lined, left out, and not in on the private joke.  The exception to that experience being Barnard College, where Rabbi Chuck Sheer and the Columbia-Barnard Jewish community embraced students from all levels of Judaism;  and where my daily observance and the holidays were based upon joy (and great parties), rather than fear of the lightning bolt, or fear of being judged by others.

I understand this even more today, when I have a two and a half year old child.  I eagerly await Purim, which arrives next week, because I can picture Raphaela in her costume, singing songs and collecting candy and celebrating with family and her Gan friends.  I have developed a modern Purim tradition of my own, as a parent living in Israel:  the day after Halloween in the United States, I cruise online and buy Raphaela an amazing quality costume for 75% off the regular prices.  This year we will sport matching outfits, Supergirl and SuperMommy.

Pessach, the problematic food holiday at the beginning of April, has taken on much more significance for me, as it now represents an opportunity to sit with friends and extended family, tell the story of our slavery and redemption, and give my daughter the foundations of belonging to a people with a history.  In the past, I never enjoyed the academic competition, and the gloating afterwards of "Our family stayed awake reciting the Hagaddah until 3 am..."  The seder should be geared toward the wonderfully curious children in the group.

Raphaela still plays with the dreidel from Chanukah, and will occasionally sing the songs she has memorized from Gan, and from her Chanukah CD.

Through Raphaela's eyes, I re-experience the gift of wonderment of the world in which we live, and the Israeli-Jewish community which I chose 15 years ago as my home.

(As a child, Thanksgiving was always my favorite holiday of the year, because we all gathered at my grandparents, the entire extended family.  We ate straight through Thursday to Sunday, in between the Macy's Day Parade, the football games, the grandchildren poker games, and the annual argument of "What movie will we see at the mall this year".  It combines the best of thankful-ness in the American tradition, with a Shabbat family weekend.)

Yesterday, in the car, Raphaela had a coughing fit, one of those typical Winter symptoms. 
She said to me, "Mommy, I am sick.  I need an IV."

New Kid on the Block

My parents sent Raphaela a Tickle Me Elmo doll, it has delighted Raphaela no end, and Elmo has become another child in the house.  Elmo gets tucked in, needs a pacifier or wants Cheerios for breakfast; and it took much convincing this morning that Elmo does not have to go Gan with her.

"But he talks, Mommy!"  The logic of the argument almost had me persuaded.

Wishing I Were Wrong

I have mentioned previously in various postings that there is a boy in Raphaela's class, Evan (name changed to protect the innocent)  who has tortured her and other children since the beginning of the year.  He is not a violent child, but rather undisciplined, with no sense of sharing or boundaries.  Very often, when I ask Raphaela with whom she played in Gan, she will give me the list of the 'good' kids, and then tell me that Evan pushed her, or hurt her finger, or took away her food during lunch.

This past Shabbat, Raphaela fell in the house and started crying, blaming Evan for her fall.  I immediately pointed out that there were no other children in the nearest vicinity, and that she could not blame Evan for the fact that she was tired and needed an afternoon nap.  For me, one of the most important adult skills I can teach my daughter is that of taking responsibility for your own choices and actions, and that means not blaming a kid who isn't there, even if he bullies her at school during the week.

Other parents have mentioned similar stories to me about Evan, and one of the mothers said, "I don't understand it, his parents are such sweet people..."  We cannot know what happens in their house, and why this boy behaves this way; I try not to judge and rather believe that every child starts out with goodness, and every parent starts out with good intentions.

 I complained at one point to the Head Nursery Teacher, pointing out that there should not be a "villain" in a group of two year olds, and the teacher said that his behaviour is "normal" for his age and his status as an only child.  I thought to myself, that thank G-d only out of 17 toddlers was acting "normally."  I do know, however, that Raphaela does not hit other children or terrorize them, and she is an only child as well, so the explanation doesn't quite wash.

Yesterday, Raphaela brought one of her favorite books to Gan, despite my objections.  As soon as we arrived, I asked one of her teachers to please put the book aside, in her drawer, as soon as possible, so it would not go missing.  At the end of the day, the book was no where to be found, and when I reluctantly searched the drawers of all the other children, I not surprisingly found it in Evan's drawer; muttering under my breath about "Little Mr. No Impulse Control."  As soon as I saw it, mangled in his cubby, I wished I had been wrong in my assumption.

I would like to give Evan the benefit of the doubt, and conjecture that the book arrived there accidentally. 

Snow Day

Tomorrow, Shabbat February the 18th, will mark the 11th year anniversary of my almost being killed by a Palestinian sniper on the Tunnel Road, on the way home from work.

I am grateful to be alive, and for the life with which I have been blessed, warts and all.  I never quite imagined that the small moments with my child would give me so much satisfaction and joy.  For example, yesterday, I heard Raphaela opening kitchen cabinets and emptying the contents, and then banging together G-d knows what.  From the other room I said, "Raphaela, what is that cacophony?"  She answered sweetly, "That's not noise, it's music!"  I could not help but smile.

To celebrate this day, Raphaela and I will hopefully be able to play in the snow in Jerusalem, though I harbour skepticism regarding the accuracy of the weather reports.

Approximately one month ago, I had a frank and private discussion with the CFO of my daughter's Gan, explaining that I loved the place and the security it gave both me and Raphaela, and that I would be hard pressed to continue on next year, if they increased their prices again.  A Montissouri education is worth the money yes, but there is a limit to what is reasonable given my budget.

He said that he was glad I felt comfortable enough to speak to him, and that he would have a considered answer for me and all the parents in the Gan.

Yesterday I received an email with the monthly news letter -always fun and informative- and at the end of the message, they reminded parents that registration would be taking place, granting current students priority placement.  The price, he continued, would be raised by approximately 150 NIS;  he then added that single parents would not have to pay the new amount, and could continue with this year's tuition fees.

True, a private gan must respond to the competition, which heated up for the Fall with the recent law making Israeli public nurseries even cheaper.  But they are decent and honest people, people who run their Gan with love and care and quality; this gesture on their part for single parents (SMBC, divorced or otherwise) should be rewarded.

The Little and Amazing Things

We adults can perform most basic life skills, on any given day, for example:  driving safely, opening a lock with a key, reading a book or the newspaper, and jumping.  That's right, the act of bending your knees, doing the wind up and hip wiggle to engage intertia, and then jumping;  we don't even think about it.  We forget as functional grown-ups that our brain had to learn how to do all these things we take for granted.

After months of practicing and looking awkward, Raphaela surprised me tonight at her swim lesson, when she executed a perfect feet-first jump into the water.  She touched the bottom of the pool and was so exhilarated that she continued jumping for another 20 minutes, emerging each time with the hugest smile on her face.

CANNON BALL! (Picture giant splash here) 

I knew exactly how she felt; I still remember the first time I performed a perfect dive, head down and body streamline, that sense of time standing still as you glide through the water like a dolphin.  That serenity at being suspended and weightless, as if you were floating in space. That joy is the reason I swim and scuba dive even today.

As a mother, I could not feel any more proud.  As a Chiropractor and a scientist, I am endlessly fascinated watching my daughter's brain evolve right in front of my eyes, observing her learning process as she acquires new skills.

She has recently cemented Hebrew as a first language, when she started a sentence, "EMM [the Israeli equivalent of "Um" or "like" in America], I want some waffles for breakfast please."  The fact that my two and a half  year old is bi-lingual, that her brain flows naturally between two completely distinct languages, blows me away.

(Yep, I am a science geek.)