Three years ago this night, starting at 7:15 pm, I went into labour; after an unintended completely natural birth, Raphaela emerged approximately 12 hours later at Hadassah Hospital in Jerusalem, the morning of Erev Succot.
Happy birthday my darling girl!
Today I read a quote from the artist, Pablo Picasso: "Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up." May G-d grant me the ability to always act in my daughter's best interests, and allow her to fulfill all that she is meant to be.
We went outside tonight, to inspect the full moon and officially inaugurate her birthday, and its light was blocked by rain clouds. Along with Raphaela's birthday, Israel is apparently poised to receive the blessing of rain, just in time for the holiday.
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Countdown to Birthday I
While watching Dora the Explorer last week, Raphaela became over-excited by an episode in which all of the characters stage a surprise birthday party for Swiper the Fox. For at least the past month, every morning Raphaela will take a dress out of her drawers and ask me if this is the day she gets to wear her birthday dress. Recently, I pointed to the moon and explained to her that when the moon is at its fullest this month, she will be three years old. We check the skies every night in anticipation.
For years I shunned my own birth day, after a 'traumatic' event that occurred to me at the age of 11: my mother forgot to make my birthday cake (banana with chocolate icing) because my parents had to deal with some tantrum from my brother. Even now, as an adult, I feel the remnants of anger and think, "How could they have forgotten me? Birthdays? Bah humbug!"
Only through Raphaela's enthusiasm for the birthday ritual - crown, cake, balloons, party, friends - I have re-discovered the joy and celebration of the event.
This year she will surely have one party at Gan, after the holidays of Succot. When we visit the States in November, I have already arranged for a celebration of her third birthday with 50 of her relatives, at Thanksgiving Dinner. The question remains regarding a separate, small, private party with friends and adopted family from Israel. The only time which is both appropriate and feasible falls on Chol Hamoed Succot, but most of those days are 'booked' by her friends' parties, and the school year at Gan is still too fresh to know who she would invite from this new group of children.
For years I shunned my own birth day, after a 'traumatic' event that occurred to me at the age of 11: my mother forgot to make my birthday cake (banana with chocolate icing) because my parents had to deal with some tantrum from my brother. Even now, as an adult, I feel the remnants of anger and think, "How could they have forgotten me? Birthdays? Bah humbug!"
Only through Raphaela's enthusiasm for the birthday ritual - crown, cake, balloons, party, friends - I have re-discovered the joy and celebration of the event.
This year she will surely have one party at Gan, after the holidays of Succot. When we visit the States in November, I have already arranged for a celebration of her third birthday with 50 of her relatives, at Thanksgiving Dinner. The question remains regarding a separate, small, private party with friends and adopted family from Israel. The only time which is both appropriate and feasible falls on Chol Hamoed Succot, but most of those days are 'booked' by her friends' parties, and the school year at Gan is still too fresh to know who she would invite from this new group of children.
Women, Slaves and Farm Animals
As a teenager at the Orthodox Maimonides High School in Boston, I felt barraged and insulted by the dominant language in Talmudic and other halachic texts, when referring to those who had less responsibility in performing "time based" rituals. Women, slaves and farm animals were usually grouped together, and when it came down to an explanation, I was told that we women had more of a "natural spiritual connection" to G-d - because we got our period each month - and that men needed more structure in order to forge that bond. That in the natural and practical order of things, women had less time because we were meant to fulfill our purpose in the home, transmitting the key values of Judaism to the next generation.
OK, so men say a prayer every morning that essentially translates as "Whew, thank the Lord that I am not a woman." Women are considered unreliable witnesses in a Jewish court and don't count for an Orthodox minyan because we are more emotional. But hey, biology has given us the most important job in the Universe, that of ensuring the physical continuation of civilization, and apparently we get very little credit for the artistry of pregnancy and birth.
For years I pursued the Judeo-feminist agenda, until it became too tiring to swim against the stream.
This year, for the first time in my life, I understand the concept. I took care of Raphaela the entire Yom Kippur, and it was physically exhausting. While fasting, I served meals almost constantly to a three year old whose patience for sitting quietly lasts no more than ten minutes. At ten in the morning, I could not keep my eyes open and begged Raphaela to take a nap with me, thus gaining one hour of rest for both of us, but no more than one hour. When the fast was over, I found myself famished, and literally counting down the seconds on the clock until I could put food in my mouth, fuel in my body.
On Tuesday evening, Raphaela and I joined friends and casually strolled down the empty roads of Jerusalem, an exclusively surreal Israeli field trip that gives a totally new perspective on our neighborhood, and on co-existence. Religious and secular, bike riders and tricycle riders and pedestrians, we all enjoyed the crisp air and the silence of the night of Yom Kippur. I even heard crickets and birds, without the noise of traffic.
Raphaela and I had a repeating conversation throughout the next day:
RR: Where did all the cars go?
Mommy: They are sleeping, it is Yom Kippur.
RR: Can I put on some music?
Mommy: Not today, it is Yom Kippur.
RR: I want to watch Dora and Diego.
Mommy: Dora and Diego are at home, the television doesn't work today. It is Yom Kippur.
RR: Mommy, do you want some of my lunch?
Mommy: I am fasting, that means that I am not eating all day, it is Yom Kippur.
RR: I don't want this Yom Kippur!
Needless to say, I set aside one hour during the day for a Yom Kippur activity, my attempt to pray for the health and success of me and my daughter, while providing entertainment for an easily bored toddler. I opened the pages and chose any passage that could be sung, and together Raphaela and I danced and celebrated the day with song. At certain key phrases of blessing, I instructed Raphaela to say "Amen," (in Hebrew) which she did with gusto and enthusiasm.
At the end of this hour, Raphaela did the most extraordinary thing: in pantomime, she placed an imaginary crown on my head, and fastened a robe of royalty on my chest, because that is what she saw for me.
OK, so men say a prayer every morning that essentially translates as "Whew, thank the Lord that I am not a woman." Women are considered unreliable witnesses in a Jewish court and don't count for an Orthodox minyan because we are more emotional. But hey, biology has given us the most important job in the Universe, that of ensuring the physical continuation of civilization, and apparently we get very little credit for the artistry of pregnancy and birth.
For years I pursued the Judeo-feminist agenda, until it became too tiring to swim against the stream.
This year, for the first time in my life, I understand the concept. I took care of Raphaela the entire Yom Kippur, and it was physically exhausting. While fasting, I served meals almost constantly to a three year old whose patience for sitting quietly lasts no more than ten minutes. At ten in the morning, I could not keep my eyes open and begged Raphaela to take a nap with me, thus gaining one hour of rest for both of us, but no more than one hour. When the fast was over, I found myself famished, and literally counting down the seconds on the clock until I could put food in my mouth, fuel in my body.
On Tuesday evening, Raphaela and I joined friends and casually strolled down the empty roads of Jerusalem, an exclusively surreal Israeli field trip that gives a totally new perspective on our neighborhood, and on co-existence. Religious and secular, bike riders and tricycle riders and pedestrians, we all enjoyed the crisp air and the silence of the night of Yom Kippur. I even heard crickets and birds, without the noise of traffic.
Raphaela and I had a repeating conversation throughout the next day:
RR: Where did all the cars go?
Mommy: They are sleeping, it is Yom Kippur.
RR: Can I put on some music?
Mommy: Not today, it is Yom Kippur.
RR: I want to watch Dora and Diego.
Mommy: Dora and Diego are at home, the television doesn't work today. It is Yom Kippur.
RR: Mommy, do you want some of my lunch?
Mommy: I am fasting, that means that I am not eating all day, it is Yom Kippur.
RR: I don't want this Yom Kippur!
Needless to say, I set aside one hour during the day for a Yom Kippur activity, my attempt to pray for the health and success of me and my daughter, while providing entertainment for an easily bored toddler. I opened the pages and chose any passage that could be sung, and together Raphaela and I danced and celebrated the day with song. At certain key phrases of blessing, I instructed Raphaela to say "Amen," (in Hebrew) which she did with gusto and enthusiasm.
At the end of this hour, Raphaela did the most extraordinary thing: in pantomime, she placed an imaginary crown on my head, and fastened a robe of royalty on my chest, because that is what she saw for me.
Saturday, September 22, 2012
DST
Like every issue in Israel, the annual decision regarding Daylight Savings Time was fraught with dirty religiously-based needless politics. Last night we changed the clocks - "Spring Forward, Fall Back" - and I thought about that lovely extra hour of sleep, especially since the dream of the Shabbat nap has been deemed impossible by my daughter.
Predictably, Raphaela woke me up at four am, one hour earlier than her usual, and ready to go. ("Mommy, you will not close your eyes anymore!") As well, not surprisingly, we were the first to arrive at Gan this morning.
Predictably, Raphaela woke me up at four am, one hour earlier than her usual, and ready to go. ("Mommy, you will not close your eyes anymore!") As well, not surprisingly, we were the first to arrive at Gan this morning.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Anyone? Bueller, anyone?
Last night I needed to talk to someone, I could not fall asleep because an issue that I thought was dead popped into my head and I started obsessing.
Having no other adult in the house, I picked up my handy iphone and started perusing my contacts list. I literally called or messaged close to 20 friends and family, both here in Israel and abroad, before one of my friends answered. She, in the middle of her workday, could not spend all that much time on the phone with me, and had not much to add in any case other than, "Stop obsessing!"
This time of the year, from Rosh HaShanah to Yom Kippur, we are supposed to connect to our Inner Voice, converse with G-d and put in our list of requests. Perhaps not a single person was available to force me to have that discussion with a Higher Power, or perhaps it simply made me feel lonely.
Having no other adult in the house, I picked up my handy iphone and started perusing my contacts list. I literally called or messaged close to 20 friends and family, both here in Israel and abroad, before one of my friends answered. She, in the middle of her workday, could not spend all that much time on the phone with me, and had not much to add in any case other than, "Stop obsessing!"
This time of the year, from Rosh HaShanah to Yom Kippur, we are supposed to connect to our Inner Voice, converse with G-d and put in our list of requests. Perhaps not a single person was available to force me to have that discussion with a Higher Power, or perhaps it simply made me feel lonely.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Holiday Post Script
My most intropsective moment during the last five days took place not in the synagogue, or at the Jerusalem Botanical Gardens throwing away my sin, but while reading a book to Raphaela.
As planned bribery, I had bought several items to be interspersed throughout the very long weekend, one of which was a children's book - apparently a New York Times best seller in English - that had recently been translated into Hebrew, called "Pete the Cat: I love my White Shoes." (Eric Litwin) When I had seen the book in the store, I thought, "Cats...teaches colors...what could be bad?"
In actual fact, above and beyond its feline or educational value, the moral of this story is this, that no matter what s**t you step in, continue moving forward and "singing your song, because Life is beautiful." This expression of hope and optimism represents Rosh HaShanah, the idea that you look back on your decisions for the last year and renew your commitment to pay more attention for the upcoming year, with the hope that G-d, The Universe and Everything will cooperate and show you positive results accordingly.
Believe me, this holiday was not easy for me, as I was on call for five days straight, without the assistance of Gan and with minimal distraction from Jewish ritual, playdates and meals with friends; if you are a parent with small children I am quite sure you understand. Hang in there, school starts again tomorrow! (Until the next set of holidays breaks into our regular routine...)
As planned bribery, I had bought several items to be interspersed throughout the very long weekend, one of which was a children's book - apparently a New York Times best seller in English - that had recently been translated into Hebrew, called "Pete the Cat: I love my White Shoes." (Eric Litwin) When I had seen the book in the store, I thought, "Cats...teaches colors...what could be bad?"
In actual fact, above and beyond its feline or educational value, the moral of this story is this, that no matter what s**t you step in, continue moving forward and "singing your song, because Life is beautiful." This expression of hope and optimism represents Rosh HaShanah, the idea that you look back on your decisions for the last year and renew your commitment to pay more attention for the upcoming year, with the hope that G-d, The Universe and Everything will cooperate and show you positive results accordingly.
Believe me, this holiday was not easy for me, as I was on call for five days straight, without the assistance of Gan and with minimal distraction from Jewish ritual, playdates and meals with friends; if you are a parent with small children I am quite sure you understand. Hang in there, school starts again tomorrow! (Until the next set of holidays breaks into our regular routine...)
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Baby Wolf
The first day that Raphaela walked into her new Gan for this year, she noticed a pile of stuffed animals, and most notably, a baby wolf. Given her fascination with the children's opera Peter and the Wolf, she immediately rejoiced because they had apparently started her new Gan with her.
For the past two weeks, she has been saying good-bye and "See you tomorrow" to this doll, and this morning, one of the first things Raphaela did upon arrival was seek out Baby Wolf. Her teachers told me that they no longer put this toy with the rest for the group, they set it aside at the end of every day for my daughter, that they consider it her personal item for the rest of the school year.
I appreciate their consideration, and Raphaela's persistence.
Meanwhile, all of us here in Israel are mobbing the supermarkets and the bakeries and shopping malls, and as we pass each other on the street we sing out "Happy Holidays!" and "Have a good and sweet New Year!" It feels like Christmas has arrived early in Jerusalem.
For the past two weeks, she has been saying good-bye and "See you tomorrow" to this doll, and this morning, one of the first things Raphaela did upon arrival was seek out Baby Wolf. Her teachers told me that they no longer put this toy with the rest for the group, they set it aside at the end of every day for my daughter, that they consider it her personal item for the rest of the school year.
I appreciate their consideration, and Raphaela's persistence.
Meanwhile, all of us here in Israel are mobbing the supermarkets and the bakeries and shopping malls, and as we pass each other on the street we sing out "Happy Holidays!" and "Have a good and sweet New Year!" It feels like Christmas has arrived early in Jerusalem.
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