Since we have arrived home to Jerusalem, I have been preoccupied with organizing the house, unpacking and doing laundry and getting Raphaela back into her routine, despite our jet lag.
Apparently tonight I was not paying enough attention to her, because I walked into the play room and found every toy and book and puzzle scattered on the floor.
Reasonably upset by the chaos, I asked, "Raphaela, who made this terrible mess?"
She paused for a moment and answered, "Umm, Alona [her friend from Gan]" And then she laughed when I challenged the statement, a small sweet laugh that you might expect from The Little Prince.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Jiggedy Jig
Home again, home again, jiggedy jig!
I first of all complement Swiss Air, on the best leg of the flight either way this trip. Their planes were clean and the seating decent even for a long-legged person like me. The personal entertainment system worked without a hitch, and I managed to watch two movies that had been on my list. It was a night flight, so Raphaela slept most of the way, blessed be. The level of professionalism and courtesy was high, and they arrived exactly on time, according to the itinerary.
The airport in Zurich even had a Gymboree play area.
I wish I could unequivocally praise El Al in the same way, though I must admit that when I saw the large bold Israeli flag on the tail of the plane, I actually started bawling. It felt good to see the symbol of a place that brings me comfort and joy, that feeling of home and family. Dorothy said it best, I think.
As we landed in Tel Aviv, we were greeted by a beautiful sunset outside our window, and as we climbed through the hills of Jerusalem and reached our building, I received the most classic Israeli welcome: one of the crazy old people who lives on the first floor saw me carrying luggage and herding an over-exhausted three year old, and felt that this was the perfect time to discuss with me - as a Chiropractor and as a neighbor - whether my cat Harry was causing her allergies. I looked at her and said, "Really?! I've just returned after a two week vacation, shlepping suitcases and a crying child and you want to accuse my cat of causing you problems because he walks down the stairwell?!"
She stopped her ranting, wished me a hearty "Welcome Home" and hastily closed her door.
I first of all complement Swiss Air, on the best leg of the flight either way this trip. Their planes were clean and the seating decent even for a long-legged person like me. The personal entertainment system worked without a hitch, and I managed to watch two movies that had been on my list. It was a night flight, so Raphaela slept most of the way, blessed be. The level of professionalism and courtesy was high, and they arrived exactly on time, according to the itinerary.
The airport in Zurich even had a Gymboree play area.
I wish I could unequivocally praise El Al in the same way, though I must admit that when I saw the large bold Israeli flag on the tail of the plane, I actually started bawling. It felt good to see the symbol of a place that brings me comfort and joy, that feeling of home and family. Dorothy said it best, I think.
As we landed in Tel Aviv, we were greeted by a beautiful sunset outside our window, and as we climbed through the hills of Jerusalem and reached our building, I received the most classic Israeli welcome: one of the crazy old people who lives on the first floor saw me carrying luggage and herding an over-exhausted three year old, and felt that this was the perfect time to discuss with me - as a Chiropractor and as a neighbor - whether my cat Harry was causing her allergies. I looked at her and said, "Really?! I've just returned after a two week vacation, shlepping suitcases and a crying child and you want to accuse my cat of causing you problems because he walks down the stairwell?!"
She stopped her ranting, wished me a hearty "Welcome Home" and hastily closed her door.
Monday, November 26, 2012
Pre-Travel Stress Disorder
Last year in Gan, with the prolonged bully issue, Raphaela became passive and quiet and fell into the role of the victim, as did many other children in her class. This year as one of the older girls in the class, she has become confident and "cool," a leader for the other children.
Today, when we went to the Children's Museum in downtown Boston, a boy (a stranger) her age tried to prevent her from playing with a particular interactive toy. Raphaela stood her ground physically and emotionally for five minutes against this boy, until he backed down. I couldn't have been more grateful for her new Gan at that moment.
As our trip winds down - our flight to Israel, barring a snowstorm, tomorrow - Raphaela has had to say goodbye to " Hilary's House" and it's beloved tenants, and today my brother Judah "The Macabee" returned to New York. My daughter cried tears of deep grief, saying between the sobs how much she already misses my brothers and their families. All this before we actually get on the plane tomorrow night and she parts from her grandparents.
Over and above the basic physical torture of traveling with luggage and a three year old, I am preparing myself for a difficult farewell.
Today, when we went to the Children's Museum in downtown Boston, a boy (a stranger) her age tried to prevent her from playing with a particular interactive toy. Raphaela stood her ground physically and emotionally for five minutes against this boy, until he backed down. I couldn't have been more grateful for her new Gan at that moment.
As our trip winds down - our flight to Israel, barring a snowstorm, tomorrow - Raphaela has had to say goodbye to " Hilary's House" and it's beloved tenants, and today my brother Judah "The Macabee" returned to New York. My daughter cried tears of deep grief, saying between the sobs how much she already misses my brothers and their families. All this before we actually get on the plane tomorrow night and she parts from her grandparents.
Over and above the basic physical torture of traveling with luggage and a three year old, I am preparing myself for a difficult farewell.
Saturday, November 24, 2012
No Place like Home?
Born in New York, moved to New Jersey, moved to Boston, back to New York for college, Toronto for grad school, Israel in 1997. I've been around, and perhaps the fact that I don't have one space where I can say, "I was born there, I grew up there, I have roots there," that allowed me to move to Israel to start fresh.
The only house that ever stayed the same, an emotional constant for me, was my grandparent's place, but now that they are both gone, the house feels empty and sad. I would rather remember it when it was infused with the sounds of family and the smells of my grandmother's cooking and baking.
On this trip thus far, I have spent a week with my brother, or as Raphaela calls it, "Hilary's House" in Washington DC, and while in New York for Thanksgiving, I visited my aunt and uncle; theirs is a house where I spent many weekends during my college and post college years. Now Raphaela and I spend the last leg of our trip in my parents' house in Boston, where I did not grow up, as they bought it just as I was leaving home to go to Barnard College.
My home lies in Israel, where I have given birth to my daughter and started a business, though I would be fibbing if I said that I will not miss being surrounded by familiar faces and family. I think that Raphaela in particular will have a difficult time returning to our Jerusalem apartment, after spending two weeks in multiple story colonial homes with big back yards and crunchy leaves.
Today in synagogue, the Rabbi gave a speech with the intention of mobilizing his congregation to empathize with and support Israel. While his motives may have been positive, he manipulated facts and portrayed a skewed view of life in Israel, the place I actually live and raise my daughter. I felt angry, and wanted to interrupt him in the middle and say, "Hey everyone, we may have troubles at the moment, surrounded by enemies who have wanted to wipe us off the map for quite a while now, but we live a rich and beautiful and almost normal life. We are not all war refugees or orphans. We appreciate your help, so come support us by visiting, step outside your suburban illusion and experience it first hand."
I think I am ready to go home.
The only house that ever stayed the same, an emotional constant for me, was my grandparent's place, but now that they are both gone, the house feels empty and sad. I would rather remember it when it was infused with the sounds of family and the smells of my grandmother's cooking and baking.
On this trip thus far, I have spent a week with my brother, or as Raphaela calls it, "Hilary's House" in Washington DC, and while in New York for Thanksgiving, I visited my aunt and uncle; theirs is a house where I spent many weekends during my college and post college years. Now Raphaela and I spend the last leg of our trip in my parents' house in Boston, where I did not grow up, as they bought it just as I was leaving home to go to Barnard College.
My home lies in Israel, where I have given birth to my daughter and started a business, though I would be fibbing if I said that I will not miss being surrounded by familiar faces and family. I think that Raphaela in particular will have a difficult time returning to our Jerusalem apartment, after spending two weeks in multiple story colonial homes with big back yards and crunchy leaves.
Today in synagogue, the Rabbi gave a speech with the intention of mobilizing his congregation to empathize with and support Israel. While his motives may have been positive, he manipulated facts and portrayed a skewed view of life in Israel, the place I actually live and raise my daughter. I felt angry, and wanted to interrupt him in the middle and say, "Hey everyone, we may have troubles at the moment, surrounded by enemies who have wanted to wipe us off the map for quite a while now, but we live a rich and beautiful and almost normal life. We are not all war refugees or orphans. We appreciate your help, so come support us by visiting, step outside your suburban illusion and experience it first hand."
I think I am ready to go home.
Friday, November 23, 2012
American Thanksgiving 2012
My grandmother must be smiling right now.
Rebecca Keller, after whom Raphaela is named, was born in British Palestine in 1922 and orphaned at the age of 11, worked all her life as the matriarch of the family to keep all of her children and grandchildren close. Every Thanksgiving and Pessach we crowded into their Rhode Island house - 25 people and one bathroom - and ate and played and ate together. It is her effort all those years that have kept the cousins together.
Since moving to Israel almost 16 years ago, I have never had a full and proper Thanksgiving. All that changed yesterday, when my brother and his family and my family piled into the car, got lost looking for gasoline, and arrived at my cousin in Long Island at one am. The holiday must be inaugurated with stress, right?
Each bedroom was full last night, with cousins and in-laws, and this day promises to bring my mother's extended side of the family for the festive traditional meal; all but three of my first cousins arrived, from as far as North Carolina and Philadelphia. There were enough men to make a minyan (Jewish quorum) for my uncle, who lost his mother last month and had to say the Mourner's Kaddish.
But first, this morning, we watched the Macy's Day Parade in our pajamas, and I felt like a little kid again. My brother and cousin left the house for a local and semi-competitive football game. The nieces and nephews borrowed my iPad and played Angry Birds during the commercials.
My cousin, whose wife cooked and organized the meal for 24 adults and 17 children, had started preparing the enormous amount of food over a month ago, and told the following story: they had lost power during Hurricane Sandy, and of all their priorities, she strung a cable from her house to her neighbor, for the sole purpose of keep that one refrigerator and its contents safe.
There was enough food for all of us, with second helpings, and probably 50 more.
There was a family football game with all the kids in the backyard. There was of course the Thanksgiving football game on television in the background.
The meal concluded with a surprise birthday cake for Raphaela, so she could remember that she not only met her nearest and dearest, but that they honored her with a celebration as well.
And my grandmother smiled.
Rebecca Keller, after whom Raphaela is named, was born in British Palestine in 1922 and orphaned at the age of 11, worked all her life as the matriarch of the family to keep all of her children and grandchildren close. Every Thanksgiving and Pessach we crowded into their Rhode Island house - 25 people and one bathroom - and ate and played and ate together. It is her effort all those years that have kept the cousins together.
Since moving to Israel almost 16 years ago, I have never had a full and proper Thanksgiving. All that changed yesterday, when my brother and his family and my family piled into the car, got lost looking for gasoline, and arrived at my cousin in Long Island at one am. The holiday must be inaugurated with stress, right?
Each bedroom was full last night, with cousins and in-laws, and this day promises to bring my mother's extended side of the family for the festive traditional meal; all but three of my first cousins arrived, from as far as North Carolina and Philadelphia. There were enough men to make a minyan (Jewish quorum) for my uncle, who lost his mother last month and had to say the Mourner's Kaddish.
But first, this morning, we watched the Macy's Day Parade in our pajamas, and I felt like a little kid again. My brother and cousin left the house for a local and semi-competitive football game. The nieces and nephews borrowed my iPad and played Angry Birds during the commercials.
My cousin, whose wife cooked and organized the meal for 24 adults and 17 children, had started preparing the enormous amount of food over a month ago, and told the following story: they had lost power during Hurricane Sandy, and of all their priorities, she strung a cable from her house to her neighbor, for the sole purpose of keep that one refrigerator and its contents safe.
There was enough food for all of us, with second helpings, and probably 50 more.
There was a family football game with all the kids in the backyard. There was of course the Thanksgiving football game on television in the background.
The meal concluded with a surprise birthday cake for Raphaela, so she could remember that she not only met her nearest and dearest, but that they honored her with a celebration as well.
And my grandmother smiled.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Last Day DC
This last day in the DC area at my brother and sister-in-law's house was most ordinary by vacation standards, and yet I feel so happy and relaxed right now, that it is sad to leave to New York for Thanksgiving.
In the morning, we went to my nephew's nursery school for their Thanksgiving Show, entitled "Grandparents and Special Friends" Day. We were obviously the special friends but also acquired celebrity status as family visiting from war-torn Israel. Each of the children classes put on their own show, followed by refreshments and a personal visit to Lev's classroom. My great grandmother attended as well, so it was truly a multi-generational affair.
Turns out half the staff there has family living in Israel as well.
At first, Raphaela experienced a complete panic attack and meltdown as we entered his Gan, and had to be forcibly removed from the show area to cool down in the Principal's office. In front of All. The. Other. Parents...
(Head of Nursery: Can I get her [Raphaela] anything?
Mommy: No, thank you for asking.
Head of Nursery: Can I get you anything?
Mommy: Valium please.
Head of Nursery (laughing): Oh, we keep that in the locked closet.)
I believe it was a visceral reaction to someone else's Gan, and missing her own space and her own teachers. Once she calmed down, we were able to watch my nephew sing Hebrew songs in his Native American costume, and then hung out in his classroom for about an hour, where Raphaela immediately befriended a little girl named Ayelet and didn't want to leave.
Then we girls got our pre-Thanksgiving manicures by a sweet woman named Chu, where she befriended a little three year old Asian girl named Michaela, who also got her nails done. After a quick stop to the candy store, because good nutrition has gone out the window this trip, we returned home to prepare for the long road trip this evening, the most terrible commuter day of the entire American calendar.
We could not have benefited from better weather this past week, and I find myself not only enjoying the time spent with my daughter in the new environment, but I have also rediscovered that part of myself that is open and friendly and relaxed. I have befriended the people we have met in the area, I am staying in my pajamas into the better part of the early morning, and I am happy.
For now, anyway. Until we return to Israel, where hopefully there will be some resolution within the next week, so Raphaela does not have to learn how to dash to the bomb shelter in her Gan.
In the morning, we went to my nephew's nursery school for their Thanksgiving Show, entitled "Grandparents and Special Friends" Day. We were obviously the special friends but also acquired celebrity status as family visiting from war-torn Israel. Each of the children classes put on their own show, followed by refreshments and a personal visit to Lev's classroom. My great grandmother attended as well, so it was truly a multi-generational affair.
Turns out half the staff there has family living in Israel as well.
At first, Raphaela experienced a complete panic attack and meltdown as we entered his Gan, and had to be forcibly removed from the show area to cool down in the Principal's office. In front of All. The. Other. Parents...
(Head of Nursery: Can I get her [Raphaela] anything?
Mommy: No, thank you for asking.
Head of Nursery: Can I get you anything?
Mommy: Valium please.
Head of Nursery (laughing): Oh, we keep that in the locked closet.)
I believe it was a visceral reaction to someone else's Gan, and missing her own space and her own teachers. Once she calmed down, we were able to watch my nephew sing Hebrew songs in his Native American costume, and then hung out in his classroom for about an hour, where Raphaela immediately befriended a little girl named Ayelet and didn't want to leave.
Then we girls got our pre-Thanksgiving manicures by a sweet woman named Chu, where she befriended a little three year old Asian girl named Michaela, who also got her nails done. After a quick stop to the candy store, because good nutrition has gone out the window this trip, we returned home to prepare for the long road trip this evening, the most terrible commuter day of the entire American calendar.
We could not have benefited from better weather this past week, and I find myself not only enjoying the time spent with my daughter in the new environment, but I have also rediscovered that part of myself that is open and friendly and relaxed. I have befriended the people we have met in the area, I am staying in my pajamas into the better part of the early morning, and I am happy.
For now, anyway. Until we return to Israel, where hopefully there will be some resolution within the next week, so Raphaela does not have to learn how to dash to the bomb shelter in her Gan.
The Ever Expanding Menagerie
Before we left Israel for this trip, I encountered serious resistance from Raphaela when I explained to her that she had to choose only one doll that would accompany us to America. We settled on Baby Wolf, and all was good.
At home, she sleeps with an entire menagerie, and the rest of the dolls can be found in toy boxes throughout the house.
Less than a week in Washington at my brother's, and she went to sleep last night with no less than eight stuffed animals, most of which inexplicably are hers: two small bunnies (her sleeping attachment objects), Baby Wolf, Mommy Wolf and Dora the Explorer (belongs to my brother), Rudolf whom we call in Hebrew Tzvi (snagged at CVS yesterday, against my wishes) and the newest member Elise, her gift from her great grandmother.
I am not quite sure how this happened, though I can happily report that as the effects of jet lag wind down, Raphaela woke up this morning at five am; as opposed to the 2:30 am of the previous days, I almost rejoiced when I looked at the clock.
At this rate, by the time she settles into a sleep schedule we will return home.
At home, she sleeps with an entire menagerie, and the rest of the dolls can be found in toy boxes throughout the house.
Less than a week in Washington at my brother's, and she went to sleep last night with no less than eight stuffed animals, most of which inexplicably are hers: two small bunnies (her sleeping attachment objects), Baby Wolf, Mommy Wolf and Dora the Explorer (belongs to my brother), Rudolf whom we call in Hebrew Tzvi (snagged at CVS yesterday, against my wishes) and the newest member Elise, her gift from her great grandmother.
I am not quite sure how this happened, though I can happily report that as the effects of jet lag wind down, Raphaela woke up this morning at five am; as opposed to the 2:30 am of the previous days, I almost rejoiced when I looked at the clock.
At this rate, by the time she settles into a sleep schedule we will return home.
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