Every week on Shabbat I give Raphaela her grape juice in a small ceramic Kiddush cup, and every week I ask myself, "Is this the time that it falls and shatters into a million pieces?" And every week I trust my daughter and the cup survives to live another day.
Today during lunch, Raphaela seemed to paying less attention and the Kiddush cup made its way to the floor, breaking in enough smaller parts so as to be permanently unfixable. At first, Raphaela continued eating, completely ignoring the situation. I showed her the broken cup and she shrugged her shoulders, saying, "It's fine Mommy, you can glue it back together."
I pointed out that contrary to her belief than I can either fix anything or simply go our and buy a replacement, this particular ceramic ("not plastic") vessel has been in my possession for years, and it is unclear if I could even find the artist who made it, in order to find a new version. Even Miracle Mom has her limits.
Raphaela sat there in silence for five minutes, tears welling up in her eyes though she refused to cry. She brought over a water bottle and offered it up as a substitute, pointing out that it would be less likely to break as it was plastic. She also requested that we share my wine glass, and I said "No!"; I did not want to risk something even more breakable than ceramic. She took play dough out of her crafts drawer and attempted to mold a new cup.
Finally, Raphaela stood up from the lunch table, declared that she was NOT crying over this, and tucked herself into bed, where she napped for two hours.
I believe this is the first time she realized that her actions can have irreparable consequences.
Saturday, May 31, 2014
Saturday, May 24, 2014
Deep Mysteries of the Universe
Today during Shabbat lunch, I dared to eat one slice from the plate of cucumbers I had cut for Raphaela, resulting in great sadness and umbrage, which we talked out ("There's nothing wrong with sharing!") and resolved.
Or so I thought.
Many hours later, while tucking in Raphaela for the evening, she asked me, "What does the soul do?" I explained that the soul lives inside our body and gives us ideas, thoughts, hopes and dreams, and defines the truest sense of being Alive. I added that the soul is a divine spiritual spark inside us, so even when our bodies get sick and old, our soul will never die.
Then ensued a discussion about feelings and the normal day-to-day events, and I reminded Raphaela that every day can be filled with good or bad, and that the icky stuff that happens can teach us something and make us stronger.
"Like, for example, " said Raphaela, "when SOMEONE eats my cucumber it makes my soul feel very sad and hurts my feelings..."
"Are you back on this vegetable thing?" I exclaimed, and the two of us burst into laughter.
Or so I thought.
Many hours later, while tucking in Raphaela for the evening, she asked me, "What does the soul do?" I explained that the soul lives inside our body and gives us ideas, thoughts, hopes and dreams, and defines the truest sense of being Alive. I added that the soul is a divine spiritual spark inside us, so even when our bodies get sick and old, our soul will never die.
Then ensued a discussion about feelings and the normal day-to-day events, and I reminded Raphaela that every day can be filled with good or bad, and that the icky stuff that happens can teach us something and make us stronger.
"Like, for example, " said Raphaela, "when SOMEONE eats my cucumber it makes my soul feel very sad and hurts my feelings..."
"Are you back on this vegetable thing?" I exclaimed, and the two of us burst into laughter.
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
I took Raphaela shoe shopping yesterday, in preparation for my brother's wedding in July. I told her that we would not necessarily be buying anything today, but that I did want her feet measured to see how much she had grown, and if certain pairs of shoes were now too small on her.
Raphaela listened and then looked at me with a very practice face and said, "Mommy, no need to measure my feet. They're big."
================================================================
On those occasions that Raphaela goes too far and misbehaves knowingly, I will not necessarily shout, but rather give her The Face, that expression that says that I am not happy with her actions and an apology had better be on the way, asap.
Yesterday Raphaela came up to me, eyes bulging and mouth frowning, a poor impersonation (and recognizable nonetheless) of my Angry Face. My daughter informed me that she was not actually angry at me, but she was "practicing." I suggested that we have a staring contest, and of course Raphaela broke first, giggling and smiling until we were both laughing out loud.
=================================================================
A friend of Raphaela's, a boy in her English lessons who has come over to our house many times to play, has recently started getting aggressive. The other day he scratched her arm, it looked like an animal had attacked her, and Raphaela also reported that he had come over and hit her for no reason in particular.
If this were an old fashioned New England school house, he would be dipping Raphaela's braids in the ink jar.
I have spoken to the teacher about this behavior, and I have asked Raphaela how she handled the situation at the time. She informed me that first she said, "No, stop!" and when the boy didn't listen, she "hit back " and defended herself. Then she told the teacher about the incident.
While I most certainly do not condone violence, my Inner Israeli Mother was thrilled that my child has finally learned that she has a right to not get hurt, and that she has a right to fight back. Raphaela now knows that she does not have to be a wimp, a lesson that will serve her well in the long run living in Israel.
Raphaela listened and then looked at me with a very practice face and said, "Mommy, no need to measure my feet. They're big."
================================================================
On those occasions that Raphaela goes too far and misbehaves knowingly, I will not necessarily shout, but rather give her The Face, that expression that says that I am not happy with her actions and an apology had better be on the way, asap.
Yesterday Raphaela came up to me, eyes bulging and mouth frowning, a poor impersonation (and recognizable nonetheless) of my Angry Face. My daughter informed me that she was not actually angry at me, but she was "practicing." I suggested that we have a staring contest, and of course Raphaela broke first, giggling and smiling until we were both laughing out loud.
=================================================================
A friend of Raphaela's, a boy in her English lessons who has come over to our house many times to play, has recently started getting aggressive. The other day he scratched her arm, it looked like an animal had attacked her, and Raphaela also reported that he had come over and hit her for no reason in particular.
If this were an old fashioned New England school house, he would be dipping Raphaela's braids in the ink jar.
I have spoken to the teacher about this behavior, and I have asked Raphaela how she handled the situation at the time. She informed me that first she said, "No, stop!" and when the boy didn't listen, she "hit back " and defended herself. Then she told the teacher about the incident.
While I most certainly do not condone violence, my Inner Israeli Mother was thrilled that my child has finally learned that she has a right to not get hurt, and that she has a right to fight back. Raphaela now knows that she does not have to be a wimp, a lesson that will serve her well in the long run living in Israel.
Thursday, May 15, 2014
To the Bat Phone!
Tonight, while quietly eating our dinner, my cell phone rang, and the Caller ID read, "Gan," so of course I immediately became nervous. After assuring me that there was no reason for concern, the Head Teacher asked if Raphaela would "mind" being a last minute sub tomorrow as the Ima shel Shabbat.* (Apparently, the designated girl will be unable to perform her duties...)
Raphaela of course jumped at the opportunity, she would be the Ima shel Shabbat every week if the rules allowed it! After profusely thanking her teacher, Raphaela hung up the phone, grinning from ear to ear.
Then her face slowly transformed, and Raphaela covered her eyes with her hand; I asked Raphaela if she was alright.
Raphaela: I am trying to cry.
Mommy: Do you NOT want to be Ima shel Shabbat?
Raphaela: I can't wait for tomorrow, I am so happy!
Mommy: So why do you want to cry?
Raphaela: Tears of joy, Mommy, tears of joy.
With less than two months worth of Fridays remaining before the end of the school year, Raphaela feels lucky to be one of the Chosen.
* Ima shel Shabbat, literally translated from the Hebrew as the "Shabbat Mother," the girl who gets to wear the special puffy dress and white head covering, light the candles and hand out snacks to the rest of the class during Shabbat party at the end of each week.
Raphaela of course jumped at the opportunity, she would be the Ima shel Shabbat every week if the rules allowed it! After profusely thanking her teacher, Raphaela hung up the phone, grinning from ear to ear.
Then her face slowly transformed, and Raphaela covered her eyes with her hand; I asked Raphaela if she was alright.
Raphaela: I am trying to cry.
Mommy: Do you NOT want to be Ima shel Shabbat?
Raphaela: I can't wait for tomorrow, I am so happy!
Mommy: So why do you want to cry?
Raphaela: Tears of joy, Mommy, tears of joy.
With less than two months worth of Fridays remaining before the end of the school year, Raphaela feels lucky to be one of the Chosen.
* Ima shel Shabbat, literally translated from the Hebrew as the "Shabbat Mother," the girl who gets to wear the special puffy dress and white head covering, light the candles and hand out snacks to the rest of the class during Shabbat party at the end of each week.
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
Show and Tell
Yesterday when I picked up Raphaela from Gan, she was so excited, anticipating an afternoon play date. Her little friend came over and afterwards, in the bath, Raphaela casually mentioned that she may have forgotten an important note for me, that she may have left the "I have a Secret" box in school, and that she is pretty sure it has to do with the Hebrew letter "M."
And so I learned a new childhood concept in Hebrew, what I called Show and Tell in the United States is called "I have a Secret" in Israel.
Thank goodness for modern technology, because I then texted her teacher and her English instructor, learning that we are to bring at least two items that start with the Hebrew letter "N" and keep it hidden in the special box, which happened to left at her English lessons in another part of Jerusalem.
No worries, Raphaela and I scouted around the house, coming up with four different objects:
a piece of paper ("Niyar" in Hebrew)
a pair of shoes ("Naalayim" in Hebrew)
a large candle ("Ner" in Hebrew)
and a princess doll ("Nesicha" in Hebrew)
I wanted to include a snake ("Nachash") as well, but I could not find the toy in the house. Another possibility, "Nescafe" [that's right, instant coffee] might have amused the teachers but confounded Raphaela's classmates
This morning we first stopped by the house of her English teacher to pick up the brightly decorated Show and Tell tool box, put our secret items inside and then continued on to her Gan. When last I left Raphaela, she was guarding that box as if there were gold bars inside.
On the way home, I began thinking about the reality of an adult who moves to Israel, without the benefit of the experience of concepts and cultural ideas that we take for granted. For example, when I go to the supermarket, I don't know the names of all the vegetables in Hebrew, because I did not grow up with native Hebrew speakers. There are games and slang that Raphaela uses that she has to explain to me, and she will not learn clapping games like "Miss Mary Mack" unless I teach her. They don't tell you when you make aliyah that there will always be this gap in understanding having nothing to do with objective intelligence, but rather an alternative childhood.
And so I learned a new childhood concept in Hebrew, what I called Show and Tell in the United States is called "I have a Secret" in Israel.
Thank goodness for modern technology, because I then texted her teacher and her English instructor, learning that we are to bring at least two items that start with the Hebrew letter "N" and keep it hidden in the special box, which happened to left at her English lessons in another part of Jerusalem.
No worries, Raphaela and I scouted around the house, coming up with four different objects:
a piece of paper ("Niyar" in Hebrew)
a pair of shoes ("Naalayim" in Hebrew)
a large candle ("Ner" in Hebrew)
and a princess doll ("Nesicha" in Hebrew)
I wanted to include a snake ("Nachash") as well, but I could not find the toy in the house. Another possibility, "Nescafe" [that's right, instant coffee] might have amused the teachers but confounded Raphaela's classmates
This morning we first stopped by the house of her English teacher to pick up the brightly decorated Show and Tell tool box, put our secret items inside and then continued on to her Gan. When last I left Raphaela, she was guarding that box as if there were gold bars inside.
On the way home, I began thinking about the reality of an adult who moves to Israel, without the benefit of the experience of concepts and cultural ideas that we take for granted. For example, when I go to the supermarket, I don't know the names of all the vegetables in Hebrew, because I did not grow up with native Hebrew speakers. There are games and slang that Raphaela uses that she has to explain to me, and she will not learn clapping games like "Miss Mary Mack" unless I teach her. They don't tell you when you make aliyah that there will always be this gap in understanding having nothing to do with objective intelligence, but rather an alternative childhood.
Monday, May 12, 2014
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Fight The Power That Be
The school year ends officially in June, July being designated as the "11th Month." Which means that they call it camp instead of Gan and charge 900 NIS for child care and education until two pm, and then charge another 750 NIS for child care and education from two to four pm.
Once you get to August, it's actually Camp instead of Gan, and you pay a fortune for two weeks worth of entertainment which allows parents to work. Leaving the last two weeks of August empty, with absolute freedom/chaos for the children until classes begin again in September.
I had left a message for the woman in charge of this July camp, saying that Raphaela and I would not even be in the country for half the month, and did that entitle us to pay half rather than the full amount?
No.
I asked if I got any sort of consideration as a single mother?
No.
I will appeal this policy to the highest authority in the Jerusalem Municipality, not just for myself, but there must be other families who paradoxically cannot afford to pay for camp, so the adults in the house can attempt to earn a living.
Once you get to August, it's actually Camp instead of Gan, and you pay a fortune for two weeks worth of entertainment which allows parents to work. Leaving the last two weeks of August empty, with absolute freedom/chaos for the children until classes begin again in September.
I had left a message for the woman in charge of this July camp, saying that Raphaela and I would not even be in the country for half the month, and did that entitle us to pay half rather than the full amount?
No.
I asked if I got any sort of consideration as a single mother?
No.
I will appeal this policy to the highest authority in the Jerusalem Municipality, not just for myself, but there must be other families who paradoxically cannot afford to pay for camp, so the adults in the house can attempt to earn a living.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)