tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6542906154702574132024-02-20T19:59:34.803-08:00Aliyah On PurposeOur adventrues in Israel....MOMZWIFEOFDADZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15601935053533661519noreply@blogger.comBlogger195125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654290615470257413.post-4317723599312747822017-02-19T08:00:00.000-08:002017-02-19T08:07:08.674-08:00Whatever it Takes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I haven't written a blog in a looooooong time, since September. Truthfully, you get used to the wacky life you live here, and how many times can you write about the lunacy of driving in Israel?<br />
<br />
Well, today I had to make the dreaded Phone Call to an Israeli Company And Figure Out Their Phone Menu.<br />
<br />
This is beyond human endurance.<br />
<br />
Here's how it went:<br />
<br />
First, let us say that my husband is in America, so I had to handle this by myself. <br />
<br />
Now, let's continue. A friendly neighbor discovered a drip on the water filter that is attached to the main water pipe bringing water into the house.<br />
<br />
It is Friday afternoon. No one has been at any office in the entire country since Thursday at noon.<br />
<br />
So I wedged a bucket under the drip and looked at the offending piece of machinery. Guess what, it had a phone number on it! That must be for emergencies! <br />
<br />
So I ran upstairs and made a phone call. <br />
<br />
I get a voice message. It tells me to call another number, but the number is said so fast I can't get it.<br />
I call again to listen again. Maybe it's not telling me to do that at all? Maybe it's telling me to do something else?<br />
<br />
So I go on their website, which is entirely in Hebrew. I see the famous צור קשר which I know means their contact info.<br />
<br />
Yay! They have whatsapp! and Email!!!! So I send both a whtsapp and an email. AND they offer a special number - special means emergencies, right? I call that too.<br />
<br />
I get an email - telling me that they got my email.<br />
<br />
I get a whatsapp - telling me that they got my whatsapp.<br />
<br />
I can't even understand what the phone menu tells me to do.<br />
<br />
Time runs out, it's Shabbat so I keep checking the bucket and it it seems to be a very slow drip.<br />
<br />
OK, here it is Sunday. I get a whatsapp asking me questions! In Hebrew! I use Google translate and hopefully say "The water filter is dripping" and not "I have the sniffles in my water closet" - the word for a drip is נזילה and the word for the sniffles is נוזלת - see how hard it is??<br />
<br />
All day Sunday I wait to hear from them. Nuttin. Of course as all olim know, the phrase "we will get back to you" means "we will NEVER get back to you and you will have to bug us incessantly and then we will get mad at you but that's the only way to get service."<br />
<br />
Finally I give up and pull out the contract information. There is yet another phone number and I get a person! <br />
<br />
Uh oh.<br />
<br />
Guess what language he does not speak.<br />
<br />
OK, here goes - I tell him that there is a drip in the appliance (had to look that one up and practice it) that is on the main water pipe (same) coming into the house.<br />
<br />
Then he goes into some conversation with me about things. He mentions numbers, he says things, he has the word "shekel" in there a couple of times.<br />
<br />
Finally he says something about "which day, Wednesday or Thursday"? I think, ooh now we're getting somewhere. I pick Wednesday. After other words he mentions hours. I pick between 9-12.<br />
<br />
I write this down. I say, "OK, then the technician is coming on Wednesday between 9 and 12."<br />
<br />
But, God help me, he keeps talking, and I hear shekel and I hear other words I don't know.<br />
<br />
I figure at some point I have to say yes to something. So I say yes, because I'm so relieved he is coming to fix the drip I don't care. He mentions 55 shekel. That doesn't sound like a lot, does it? Hmm, I think, is that per week.....per month.....? Whatever, remember he is coming to fix the drip.<br />
<br />
Then he asks me how I like the water bar they sold us. I say I love it but we can't use it on Shabbat. He says, "You didn't ask for a Shabbat feature." But this is a re-hash of an earlier argument with them and I am in no mood to get on the wrong side of this guy. I'll give him whatever he wants, just come here.<br />
<br />
He then takes my address, and other information, and asks me for a credit card number.<br />
<br />
Uh oh.<br />
<br />
Why would he need that unless I just bought something?<br />
<br />
I'll find out on Wednesday. Between 9 and 12.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
MOMZWIFEOFDADZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15601935053533661519noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654290615470257413.post-39047773925330891512016-09-16T13:12:00.000-07:002016-09-16T13:12:18.917-07:00Uh Oh<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
OK, so usually when you put your car in reverse, it goes in reverse. <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But sometimes you THINK it's in reverse and it's not.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Uh oh.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
TG I was in a parking lot and no one was walking near me. My car drove forward into a parked car. Dented my car, dented their car, pushed their car into another car, scratched car #3.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sounds like fun, right?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Try it in Hebrew.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I was at the local pool, which is actually a sports complex where people take yoga, exercise, etc. classes. A class was ending and a lady walked out - my luck it was her car that I'd hit (car #2 - mine being car #1). I asked if it was her car, she said it was and I apologized profusely.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She said "What happened?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Uh oh. How do I say this in Hebrew????</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, in my usual sophisticated toddler-level Hebrew I explained that I wanted the car to go in reverse but instead it went forward and plowed into her car. What I probably said was something like this, because she gave me a strange look:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I want go back but go front. I hit your car. I sorry."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She seemed to get it and asked if I was ok. Whew, nice person. Then a couple of guys from the sports center came out. They also asked if I was ok and proceeded to tell <b><i>me</i></b> what I had done - "You see, you THOUGHT you were in reverse but you weren't." There may be a reason that they work in a sports center and not in army intelligence. Well, from that I at least found out the correct words to use.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then (cue ominous music) owner of car #3 came out. Let's call her "Brunhilde." I believe her look could actually kill, and I don't believe she had a neck.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Her car had a tiny scratch. The sport center guys were amused at how angry she was. I was terrified. Lady #2, whose car was really dented, waited patiently while Brunhilde photographed all of my documents, me, the car, my next of kin, and everyone else's next of kin. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sports center guy #1 put his arm around me and advised me to say the bracha of gomel for surviving the accident (I love this country, as you might imagine he was not religious, but that was his advice). Sport center guy #2 became philosophical, "Hey, it's only a car, you are OK, that is all that matters!"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Brunhilde continued to deliver the death glare.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
OK, drama over, now I had to deal with the insurance company. I call my English-speaking agent, who tells me that the women who deals with accidents speaks ONLY HEBREW. Great. We talk, we email, all in Hebrew, mind you, yay me.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The next day she writes to me to tell me that the appraiser will be at the garage "in the morning" and I should meet him there.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
OK, everyone, what is your first question. "What does 'in the morning' mean?" I call her but of course she is already gone for the day (Israelis tend to be gone for the day after 2:00 pm). So I call the garage! Hahahahahahaha!! I ask the guy who answers, "When does the appraiser get in?" He says "In the morning." </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I say, "What does that mean? 7? 8?" He says "Something like that."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Well, now I"m not nervous at all, knowing that I might get there and either have to wait 3 hours or miss him.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Next morning I compromise and get there at 7:30. He is not there. Here is how that goes:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"When does he get in," I ask.</div>
<div>
"Why," asks the woman behind the counter.</div>
<div>
"Because I have to meet with him."</div>
<div>
"Why?"</div>
<div>
"To look at my car."</div>
<div>
"Why?" </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
At this point I'm pretty sure I'm on <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Candid_Camera" target="_blank">Candid Camera</a> and Allen Funt is about to walk out from behind a curtain.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Because your garage is going to fix it."</div>
<div>
"You don't need to be here for that."</div>
<div>
"But the insurance lady said to meet him."</div>
<div>
"No, not you just your car. Here, fill out these forms and you can leave."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So I"m hoping that my car and the appraiser had a nice cup of tea and talked about how to make the repairs. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As for me, I went home, having no idea whether or not my car is actually going to get fixed. I was just so relieved to have it in a garage where it was SUPPOSED to get fixed and not have to figure out how to say things in Hebrew anymore, that I practically wept.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Two days later I was on a plane to America for two weeks. My car is supposed to be fixed and ready for me when I return.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Please pray for my little green Suzuki. It's all alone at the garage and speaks only English. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
MOMZWIFEOFDADZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15601935053533661519noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654290615470257413.post-65354396867357251662016-08-08T11:44:00.000-07:002016-08-08T11:52:14.740-07:00Not Being "Other"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I was just reading Facebook posts about people putting in for leave from their jobs for the upcoming chagim - this year practically all of October is holiday as we all know, which probably requires the most possible vacation days one would need to request for the chagim.<br />
<br />
I vividly recall putting in for vacation around holiday time - "Well, I'll need three Thursdays and Fridays....." or, in more difficult years, "I'll need three Mondays and Tuesdays and one Wednesday.....all within 3-4 weeks...." And after time off for Pesach, etc., practically nothing was left.<br />
<br />
And then, when those holidays were over, how relieved I was! The absences were done with, I could get back to my regular work schedule. No more weird questions - what holiday is THIS one? You do WHAT?<br />
<br />
My life of course revolved around some other society's calendar, schedules and holidays. I was always happy for everyone as they looked forward to their respective holidays, and always had a blank stare on my face after Yom Kippur when they asked, "So, how was your holiday??"<br />
<br />
Since I was a teenager, I had a sense of being "other." In someone else's universe, where we danced to someone else's songs and spoke someone else's language. No one really understood Jewish Orthodoxy - I mean I explained things and they listened politely but I always felt very much outside of their world. My focus was on Torah, on keeping mitzvos, and I grew up learning about our people being persecuted time after time after time, with no end. I just could not explain this state of mind, this frame of reference, and so I didn't. They would not have understood anyway, not really.<br />
<br />
Then we moved to Israel. I'm not going to go into the blah blah about how this is our country, our holidays, you have heard all of that from me. But everyone here has pretty much the same frame of reference - coming out of and still enduring persecution for being Jews, our life revolving around the holidays, our streets named for Jewish heroes, Biblical and otherwise. This is mine. This is me, it is who I am, and who my people are. Every person around me totally gets it.<br />
<br />
The longer I am here, the greater my sense of belonging. It is so deep, so visceral, that I don't think I have the words to define it.<br />
<br />
But for those of you shuddering thinking of how many vacation days you're losing during the holidays, maybe just take a second to think about belonging, and what that means.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
MOMZWIFEOFDADZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15601935053533661519noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654290615470257413.post-57784410337183886922016-01-08T03:46:00.003-08:002016-01-08T03:46:54.023-08:00Four Years...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This week we celebrated our fourth year as Israelis.<br />
<br />
These are things that I've gotten used to saying over the past four years:<br />
<br />
<b>This:</b><br />
<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>I do not understand a word of what you just said</li>
<li>Oh, please pull in front of me without signalling, and while you're at it, honk at me. Several times. For no reason.</li>
<li>I love how you parked on the sidewalk, it's so cool.</li>
<li>Hi - the grocery has no eggs. Or potatoes.</li>
<li>Oh, it is going to be yellow outside today.</li>
<li>Keep the trisim down, it is April. We will open them again in November.</li>
<li>It is colder inside this apartment than it is outside.</li>
<li>No, I do not want the bargain you are offering at the checkout.</li>
<li>No, really I don't need after-shave. Even two bottles.</li>
<li>All clothing here is at least twice as expensive as in the US. Whatever.</li>
<li>No, I don't know why more Americans don't move to Israel, yes it is their home too</li>
<li>Yes, I do understand why you cannot make aliyah at this time in your life</li>
<li>I still don't understand a word of what you just said</li>
<li>So I have to take this strep stick, go to the lab, wait in line, give it to them, then wait for the results to show up. Huh. OK. </li>
</ul>
<br />
<br />
<b>But also this:</b><br />
<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>Wherever I go, my entire health portfolio is available on my phone</li>
<li>I can make appointments, change them, see test results and get perscriptions online</li>
<li>This country is strikingly, dramatically, beautiful beyond words.</li>
</ul>
<div>
<b>And this:</b></div>
<br />
<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><span style="font-size: x-large;">I cannot believe we actually live here</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: x-large;">It's so cool to be living here</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: x-large;">We live here!</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: x-large;">We are home!</span></li>
</ul>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
MOMZWIFEOFDADZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15601935053533661519noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654290615470257413.post-41714525419157149292015-10-27T22:51:00.000-07:002015-10-27T23:01:21.092-07:00"If You Go, You'll Never Come Back..."<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
When I was in high school, considering which college to apply to, my first choice was to go to Bar Ilan. The thought of studying in Israel was beyond thrilling to me. I promised my parents I'd only go for one year, then come back to a US college to complete my education.<br />
<br />
"No, if you go, you'll never come back." <br />
<br />
These were my mother's exact words. My father didn't say a word because I think he really wanted me to go but knew it would break my mother's heart. Because he knew, as well, that if I went I would not return to live in America. And I think he would have been okay with that, and incredibly proud.<br />
<br />
So I didn't go. I went to Barnard, then went to graduate school for my library degree, and in the meantime got married, yadda yadda yadda.<br />
<br />
I ended up coming to Israel for the very first time in 1978, just after our fourth anniversary. The country stole my heart from day one. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0RP21SdYYb7HQMN4mOnJKmvOfwPfDQT-72cQKo03FMqmnVjgqIvIqRsXYi81yCWtny8wnz5LE6nl1ix_pDnOhV2b_y_TtxYq0nyJfx-Yi5V2TI_aOQMGCUlRupP9LngCv_pDyAxadIuw/s1600/Mary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0RP21SdYYb7HQMN4mOnJKmvOfwPfDQT-72cQKo03FMqmnVjgqIvIqRsXYi81yCWtny8wnz5LE6nl1ix_pDnOhV2b_y_TtxYq0nyJfx-Yi5V2TI_aOQMGCUlRupP9LngCv_pDyAxadIuw/s200/Mary.jpg" width="200" /></a>Well, a mere 44 years later here I am living in Israel. MUCH better late than never, I say.<br />
<br />
More importantly and more significantly, today is my mother's 25th yahrzeit. She died on 15 <br />
Cheshvan/ November 3 1990. <br />
<br />
How do you explain what it feels like to lose a mother? Someone who is really the essence of your life, your teacher, your moral compass, your soul, your heart? To know you'll never hear that voice or feel that hug, never be able to call and say, "Guess what the kids did today" or "What is a good recipe for..." or "Can you believe what she said???"<br />
<br />
It hurts in a visceral way that can be understood only by those who have experienced it. <br />
<br />
My husband lost his father one year after we married. For 25 years I could not understand his pain, not really. When I lost my own mother, I was in awe at his having been able to function after losing his father at such a young age, just when our life was beginning, and knowing he'd never know our children.<br />
<br />
I have to treasure the "at least's":<br />
<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>At least she saw my three children born</li>
<li>At least she had a relationship with them</li>
<li>At least she saw us be able to buy a nice home close to her (ironically one week before she was diagnosed with leukemia and one year to the date before she died)</li>
<li>At least I remember the "ketzeleh" song, as well as "Little Brown Jug" (totally inappropriate but funny) and sing it to my grandchildren.</li>
<li>At least I remember her most important lessons - "Whatever happens, keep going" and "Make the best of it" - those two have literally gotten me through hellish times</li>
</ul>
So I guess now "if you go, you will never come back" has a sad double meaning in my heart. <br />
<br />
To my mother, Mary Weintraub, z"l, a brilliant, funny, kind, loving woman who touched many lives. I know you'll never come back but you are inside me and I think of you every single day.<br />
<br /></div>
MOMZWIFEOFDADZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15601935053533661519noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654290615470257413.post-56446594337781033482015-08-19T01:38:00.001-07:002015-08-19T01:38:14.611-07:00How Do I Get To....?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
See, now that is a question I am always asking other people, or actually I am always asking Waze.<br />
<br />
Before I go anywhere new, I not only put the location in Waze, but I look at it on Google Maps, just to see the route beforehand, look at the "street view" so I know what to look for when I get there, and consider alternate routes. I mean, I investigate thoroughly. <br />
<br />
That is because I am MORTALLY TERRIFIED of being in the wrong location - um, with good reason.<br />
<br />
Israel is not a country in which you have "fun" being lost. It's not an adventure, it's just plain scary.<br />
<br />
So here I was, driving along minding my own business and there's a young woman who is stopped in the middle of the street in my neighborhood. While everyone else was honking and gesticulating around her for delaying their arrival at their destination for all of 20 seconds, I looked at her and she waved at me desperately.<br />
<br />
So I pulled over and she asked me where a certain street was. In Hebrew. She was Israeli.<br />
<br />
Hahahaha! SHE asked ME! And she expected me to explain! In Hebrew! Hahahaha!<br />
<br />
So I knew exactly where she wanted to go, but when I started explaining, after the [Hebrew] expression, "First, turn around," my words did that same funny trick they always do - they start doing acrobatics as they are about to come out of my mouth.<br />
<br />
I literally could not speak. So I decided, well that's not HER fault, and said, in English, "Follow me." She looked at me in shock, "Yesh lach zman?" [You have time?]. And instead of answering that taking ten minutes to show her is less embarrassing than trying to explain it with my acrobatic Hebrew, I nodded.<br />
<br />
At one point, after about 5 minutes of driving, I gesticulated for her to pull up next to me and I asked her which direction on this road she was looking for. Then I explained IN HEBREW what she should do. She was very grateful and drove on.<br />
<br />
On my way home, I repeated what I'd said to her about 100 times - was it correct? Did I tell her to turn left when I should have told her to turn right?<br />
<br />
What if she ends up in Ramallah??? What did I do???<br />
<br />
I will never know if she found the place.<br />
<br />
My only consolation is that, if you try to enter Ramallah, the army stops you and maybe a soldier will tell her how to get where she was going.<br />
<br />
I should have just told her how to install Waze on her phone.</div>
MOMZWIFEOFDADZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15601935053533661519noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654290615470257413.post-23583514222385343102015-08-05T23:12:00.002-07:002015-08-05T23:12:43.951-07:00I Can't Just Keep Quiet<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So much is going on in Israel these days - so much violence, so many human beings injured in so many ways.<br />
<br />
So much is going on around the world these days, so much that is so bad for the Jewish people.<br />
<br />
I am not a Jewish leader, just a person who, for family reasons, found it a good time to make aliyah. But <b>having made aliyah, I can't just sit back and enjoy my new life </b>- I feel this deep desire to find a way to convince other Jews to do the same. <br />
<br />
No, this is not "aliyah snobbery," a term I find extremely distasteful, and which to me reeks of "I don't want to hear what you have to say because you make me feel guilty."<br />
<br />
This is coming from my deep, abiding love for my fellow Jews, something my parents taught me by example. I now know what this life is like. If you haven't lived here (as opposed to a year or two in seminary/yeshiva), you don't get it. And I WANT you to get it.<br />
<br />
Living here is authentic, and I can't find a better word. For religious and non-religious alike, it is the place we are supposed to be. I can't tell you how many <b>non-religious Jews</b>, upon hearing that we made aliyah, have said, "Of course, you came home! Why don't other Jews do that? What's wrong with them? How can they live as Jews anywhere else?"<br />
<br />
So here is my plea - just think about it. Yes, you will have to give up some things which you've gotten used to. But this is what you get in return - the fullness of heart every time you look at the landscape, the deep satisfaction that you, yes little old you, are actually contributing to the future of our land, and that you have done what God told us to do - live in the land He gave us.<br />
<br />
To parents of adult children who want to make aliyah, I ask you to encourage your children. Yes, it will be hard, and yes it's far away, but how can you deny them the chance to be part of this miracle? I know that many people make their children feel guilty for wanting to make aliyah. But what better sign is there that you've raised your children well than that they want to contribute to the future of the Jewish people in the Jewish land? <br />
<br />
My husband and I recently entered into a long-standing debate about whether or not the State of Israel is the "beginning sign of the Redemption." My husband has one opinion, I have another, and of course it is an ongoing discussion among religious and non-religious thinkers.<br />
<br />
Personally, I have no doubt in my heart of hearts that the establishment of Medinat Yisrael is some kind of milestone for us as a people. This successful, living, growing country may have its problems, but the amount of knowledge that is generated in this tiny land mass, both secular and religious, is staggering. The amount of medical research alone has probably saved thousands if not tens of thousands of lives worldwide.<br />
<br />
As I sit in my modern apartment in my modern city, surrounded by Jews from all over the world who have come home, as I walk in the mall and hear about 15 different languages, as I see the Facebook posts from hundreds of new olim asking for advice, I feel so sure that the act of coming home to our land is deeply, innately rooted in each of us.<br />
<br />
That's why I can't keep quiet. I can't just live my new life and not let you know that it is a life like no other, in a place like no other, and with a people like no other.</div>
MOMZWIFEOFDADZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15601935053533661519noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654290615470257413.post-45546352831909164532015-06-18T05:37:00.001-07:002015-06-18T05:37:21.670-07:00One of Those Life Moments....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
There are many times in our lives when we stop and realize, "OK, this is significant, this is one of those times you'll always remember."<br />
<br />
One of those moments happened in the spring of 2009 when our eldest grandchild, Ariella, sang and danced with about 40 other Israeli kids in a groundbreaking event for their neighborhood shul. Knowing that she was now part of normative Israeli life, and that she and all of the other kids singing and dancing, most pretty badly, were going to be the future of the country, was enough to choke me up big time.<br />
<br />
Another moment, among many we've had since our daughters made aliyah in 2008 and we made <br />
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aliyah in 2012, came this past week when that same little girl graduated from 6th grade.<br />
<br />
The graduation event took place at <a href="http://www.tod.org.il/en/" target="_blank">Migdal David</a> in Jerusalem - a historic and dramatic setting for sure, but the site itself was kind of overshadowed by the meaning of the event itself.<br />
<br />
All of the kids, and there sere several hundred I believe, were involved in the presentation, which took 2 hours (beware, pre-aliyah'ers - every single school event takes at least two hours, even gan graduations). There were dances, songs, poems, and instrument playing.<br />
<br />
At one point each kid had an Israeli flag in his/her hand and marched around the paths of Migdal David - waving and singing.<br />
<br />
Just think about it - each and every child in this graduating class will some day finish high school and go on to the Army to protect our country and our people. Just knowing that gave me shivers - each of them has such an important stake in my own personal future and in the future of the Jews.<br />
<br />
Knowing what is ahead of them, I can't help but believe that these kids have a much different view of their future than their peers in other countries - they know what's coming, they have such a strong, deep sense of purpose - and this is something they grew up with.<br />
<br />
Another end of year event was my grandson Amichai being "interviewed" for first grade - when the principal asked him what he wanted to be, he said, "B'ezrat Hashem, a chayal [soldier], then an engineer."<br />
<br />
B'ezrat Hashem.</div>
MOMZWIFEOFDADZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15601935053533661519noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654290615470257413.post-59882939585791101972015-06-15T05:22:00.003-07:002015-06-15T05:22:48.983-07:00I Have No Idea What You Just Said, Pt. 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So Hebrew continues to be my greatest struggle here, although I have had people tell me my Hebrew is pretty good. I mean, I can navigate important websites like online supermarkets, the bank, and the Kupat Cholim, and it's all good when I work on the shul emails for my shul, which have to be in English and Hebrew.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div>
But it's the conversations that do me in. I. Can. Not. Speak. Hebrew. To. An. Israeli.</div>
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Take, for instance, the past few days:</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
<b>1. Less humiliating:</b></div>
<div>
We went to talk to a car dealer. In Israel, car buying is actually pretty easy because there is no haggling (surprised, aren't you?). Seriously, the price is the price. And the inventory is low (I mean it's a small country where would they store the cars, after all? ), so you get what you can get, and don't worry about this trim package and that trim package, etc. etc. At least that is our experience.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The car salesman did not speak English. His Hebrew was pretty clear, though. But here I am listening to him and wondering how much of what I THINK he said, he actually said. And how much did I get wrong. I usually end up asking this question: What is it that I HAVE TO DO RIGHT NOW?" - that usually gets me a clear answer.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>2. A bit more humiliating:</b></div>
<div>
Went today to get our old car inspected before it is sold. Inspector guy comes to get me and we sit down and he goes over the details of the inspection certificate. I have no idea what he is saying, so I keep asking, "But is it OK to sell right now?" I don't know what he said in response to that. It could have been yes, it could have been no, it could have been maybe. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then the inspector guy keeps talking and he TEARS UP THE INSPECTION CERTIFICATE. I'm totally horrified - oh my gosh, what did I just agree to??? I say, now what should I do, thinking I've just authorized him to make thousands of shekel in repairs without realizing it. I figured he's going to say, "Well, sit yourself down,honey, 'cause we are going to do thousands of shekel in repairs on your car! Hahahaha!!!!Sucka!" </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Instead he says, "Well, what do you WANT to do?" By this time I'm getting a headache. I say, "I want to go." He says, "So go." I still have no idea what happened but I walked out with a new certificate (at least that's what I think it is).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>3. Extremely humiliating:</b></div>
<div>
While I'm waiting for the car to be inspected, I get a call from the mailman. Yes, the mailman himself. He has a package for me, and wants to come between.....and, for the life of me I think he is saying between "1:30 and 1:00." So I'm pretty sure I got that wrong, so I say, "well, I"m not home now." He hesitated, probably thinking, what the heck do I care if she's home now or not?" </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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He said, again, "I'll come between...." and again I'm sure it was between 1:30 and 1:00. I give up and say OK. The worst that can happen is that I won't be home and he'll leave a note.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I get off the phone and all of the other people in the waiting room are kinda looking at me (maybe that was my imagination). And slowly I realize that the time he gave me was between 11 and 1, not 1:30 and 1:00. When he said "achad esrei" I kept thinking "achad v'chetzi."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
BTW, the package was delivered. I think the mailman was snickering when he dropped it off. </div>
</div>
</div>
MOMZWIFEOFDADZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15601935053533661519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654290615470257413.post-87671525135647612082015-04-24T02:08:00.000-07:002015-04-24T02:08:27.915-07:00I Have No Idea What You Just Said<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
These three things happened to me just today.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Phone call #1:</b></div>
<div>
Got a phone call. Someone speaking Hebrew reallyreallyquickly. I answered, "Lo hevanti" [transl: HUH?]</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She spoke a bit slower - something about my husband and challos. Hmm, knowing my husband, who is still recovering from the trauma that was Tax Season 2015, he probably bought challos and left them in the store. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
OK, I answered (in Hebrew that is "OK"), he'll come back for them. Since there was not the usual moment of silence after I speak Hebrew (during which the Israelis realize that I have not understood a word of the conversation), I figured I'd gotten it right.<br /><div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Restaurant:</b></div>
<div>
We have been here for three years. We have learned a lot of Hebrew, ok? Really! So when I walked into the restaurant today and they asked me if I wanted the English menu, I declined the offer. I mean, really, dude.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Waiter comes to take our order. We know what we are doing, do not mess with us. He asks us all of the usual questions, and we answer like pros. We got this.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then he said something else. It was a question. Clearly he wanted me to choose between one thing and another. I caught a word, and repeated it. I glanced at my husband, who looked likewise clueless. The waiter repeated the word followed by a questioning tone. I gave my all-time favorite answer, "B'seder." I was hoping he didn't ask if I'd like a touch of cyanide in my omelet, or if I preferred that he serve me bread from two days ago.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Seriously, I have no idea what he asked me.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
The meal was fine, though, and I didn't taste whatever it was I chose to add. Or not add. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Close call.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Phone call #2</b></div>
<div>
Then I got a call from the Hyundai dealership. I mean, I think it was the Hyundai dealership. We don't own a Hyundai but we used to. "Susan?" the nice lady asked. "Ken," I answered. (I got this).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then about forty thousand Hebrew words came out of her mouth. I got none of them. What I ASSUMED was that there was some kind of sale going on and it was incumbent upon me to take advantage of it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I took a risk. I said, IN HEBREW, "I am not interested in a new car right now, but thank you." Apparently I did not say something entirely stupid. In other words, it really was a lady from Hyundai and there really was a sale. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She proceeded to talk more. Many, many words of Hebrew. Finally I had to shut her up, I mean it was such a waste of her time. I said, "Well, thank you and Shabbat Shalom!"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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So all in all, not bad for someone who is totally clueless. I can fake it pretty well after 3 years. And there's always "B'seder" and "Lo Hevanti."</div>
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MOMZWIFEOFDADZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15601935053533661519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654290615470257413.post-28717533703359915962015-04-16T20:17:00.001-07:002015-04-16T20:19:55.771-07:00Exercising and Dyeing <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I am getting older. I have, um, never been very good at things like "taking care of myself." Let's just say no one ever mistook me for Twiggy. Or even John Wayne. Or Cookie Monster. Well, maybe Cookie.<br />
<br />
So I decided two things lately, neither of which I decided independently like a real adult should.<br />
<br />
I decided to begin exercising (after my doctor said "Hey! Your blood sugar is getting high! Stop being an idiot and start exercising!")<br />
<br />
I decided to dye my hair (after my friends said, "Hey! Your hair is all gray! Stop it! You don't have to look old!")<br />
<br />
So I began exercising. First I started walking for 1/2 hour every day, after my daughter came in my door and dragged me outside the first day. And asked me after that, "Did you walk today? Hmmm?"<br />
<br />
The walking went great for about a month, then I started developing foot problems. No really! I did! So I thought well, I need another type of exercise, so I found this great website called www.dontexercisejustlayaroundandeatdonuts.com. No,, no, just kidding. It's called "Liveexercise.com" and it's fantastic.<br />
<br />
Why?<b> Because they let you exercise while you sit down. </b> I am not kidding. Well, that is, for the first month or so.. You do lots of cool exercises from the comfort of your chair. I thought, "Hey, I can do this!"<br />
<br />
Then, one day the next episode came on and they said, "Today we are going to begin standing up from our chair." No, I did not turn the computer off. I stood up, and now I am up to ALL STANDING EXERCISES! I know, I also think I should plan to go to Rio in 2016.<br />
<br />
<b>OK, change #2 </b>- Dyeing - oh, stop with the drama, it's dyeing, not dying. sheesh.<br />
<br />
My hair is really gray. It is an icky color. I mean, I cover it so no one really sees it but me and my immediate family, but whatevs. I need to feel like I look nice when I look in the mirror and talk to myself (yes, I do, so what of it? ).<br />
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<br /></div>
<div>
So I made THE DECISION. I decided to color my hair. Not, I'll admit, a life-altering decision like "I'm going to quit my job and join the circus" or "I'm going to move to Outer Mongolia to find myself" but in my world it's a biggie.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So I go to my Israeli hairdresser - a lovely older woman who does a great haircut. And I tell her the news, I have decided to color my hair.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I then receive a lecture about "color" (Hebrew - צבע) vs "streaks" (Hebrew - גבנים). </div>
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No, no, she says, you don't want color, you want streaks.</div>
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[What do I know?] , I said, I'll leave it to you.</div>
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And she proceeds to apply blond streaks to my gray hair.</div>
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Huh.</div>
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The result is, um, weird. </div>
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Hmm, she says, you'll probably need another round of a reddish color to make it brighter.<br />
<br />
Next day I go back. She says, "You need red!" I was thinking Julianne Moore, she was thinking Crazy Israeli Ladies with Purple Hair.<br />
<br />
My hair became streaked with purple.<br />
<br />
Went back, saying "Add brown." She does, but the purple is still there.<br />
<br />
Next week, after I cried for a couple of days, I went to, let's just say a hairdresser who was not an old Israeli woman, and he did a faaaaabulous job.<br />
<br />
Funny story - I am sitting waiting for the dye to take and I see one of the hairdressers putting on his tallis and tefillin and davening shacharis. Way, way, cool.<br />
<br />
So, now I am exercising and admiring my lovely brown hair with auburn and blonde streaks. I really am!<br />
<br />
I know, no one can really see me do either thing, but trust me, ok? </div>
</div>
MOMZWIFEOFDADZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15601935053533661519noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654290615470257413.post-17860953534151608032015-03-18T04:02:00.000-07:002015-03-18T04:02:19.121-07:00Victory and Defeat<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
If you skipped this blog because you thought I was going to talk about the elections - nah nah nah boo boo. As I have often said, I find politics exceedingly boring. Yes, there is intrigue and yes I watch "House of Cards" but seriously, it's all about money and power, and not at all about what's right or wrong. Cynic? Um yes.<br />
<br />
No, no, I am going to speak about my <b><i>own, personal victory and defeat</i></b>, all of which happened today! <br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">DEFEAT</span></b><br />
<b>Let's start with the defeat</b>, and get it out of the way.<br />
<br />
<b>My trip to the Post Office</b> (anyone living in Israel will now start nodding and then begin shuddering, reliving their own Doar nightmares): <br />
<br />
Got a petek (slip) in my mailbox to pick up a package that was "registered." And addressed to my husband.<br />
<br />
Stood in line for 1/2 hour because of the two women working there, one was busy with an irritated woman who insisted on something that was not possible. Shocker. <br />
<br />
The argument went on and on, then the people waiting in line joined in, yelling at her to move along so that the rest of us could get helped.<br />
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She yelled back that it was not her fault and she wasn't leaving.<br />
<br />
Finally the other worker got the brilliant idea of asking if anyone had a package to pick up (much much faster than other processes that are done at the post office, like paying bills, receiving bypass surgery, buying/selling a car, adopting a cat, etc. etc.).<br />
<br />
I was first in line for packages! Surely this would be a victory!<br />
<br />
She looked at my ID card, which HAS MY HUSBAND'S NAME ON IT AS WELL.<br />
<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>No, she said, I need <b><i>his </i></b>ID card.</li>
<li>But he is away and his name is right here! Look!</li>
<li>Do you have a picture of his ID card?</li>
<li>No.</li>
<li>Well come back with a picture of his ID card.</li>
</ul>
<br />
Now let me just say that the last time I did this, they accepted my ID card just fine. But as we all know the rules here change depending on the mood of the worker. <b>DEFEAT.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><i>Second wave of defeat: </i></b>As I was driving home I was thinking, I have to ask my husband to scan his ID card and email it to me. Then I remembered - I <b><i>have </i></b>a scan of his ID card, I could have printed it out and brought it with me. Sometimes my own stupidity shocks me.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">VICTORY</span></b><br />
<br />
I have lived in Israel for over three years. At no time have I purchased makeup. Not that I wear much, but when you need a refill, you need a refill.<br />
<br />
I have always waited for a trip to America to buy makeup. Why? Because the crazy cosmetic ladies who sit in Super Pharm on their little stools and wait for you to glance their way will pounce on you and ask if you want a makeover and I have always been afraid of them. They are pushy and they scare me. There I've said it.<br />
<br />
But today something came over me, mostly the dire need for more face powder. I walked into the Cosmetics Area! Within a nanosecond <b>bleached blond lady #1</b> asked if she could help me. I looked at her, smiled, and said, no thanks, I am fine. I did it! I really did it! And do you know what? She left me alone!<br />
<br />
<b>Then</b> <b>dyed blacker than black hair lady #1</b> saw me. She wasn't going to let me go. She probably thought bleached blond lady was a loser. She asked what she could do for me. I thought to myself, "Seriously, woman, you apply makeup like your face is a birthday cake, and frankly you look utterly ridiculous and you want me to ask you for beauty advice?" Anyway, I said no to her too! And she left me alone. <br />
<br />
After I made my purchases and walked out, I thought that perhaps they left me alone because they just didn't want to waste their time on me. If they took a look at me, plain old Susan, they probably figured they'd be wasting their time on someone who apparently had no interest in looking younger or more lovely, or like a birthday cake. <br />
<br />
Who cares, I now have new face powder and I have defeated SuperPharm!<br />
<br />
You gotta kinda take your wins where you can.<br />
<br /></div>
MOMZWIFEOFDADZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15601935053533661519noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654290615470257413.post-52570462764787166752015-03-09T19:42:00.000-07:002015-03-09T19:42:24.246-07:00The Guy on the Side of the Road....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It gets me every single time. I'm going to ramble here, so prepare yourselves.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
What gets me is seeing someone on the side of the road who's stopped his car and is davening because it's almost past Mincha time. Last week one morning, driving on a local road, I saw someone in tallit and tefillin standing next to his car davening. And I got this stupid goofy grin on my face. This is normal, this is what we do, it's no big deal. I know people do this in other countries, but here, no one driving by is wondering what that person is doing - everyone knows because it's routine, it's the norm. No big deal...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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But it is <b><i>such </i></b>a big deal.</div>
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It's always the little things that do this to me, that still fill my heart with gratitude for having the opportunity to live here, to have come home.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I still gasp when I see the landscapes, and always, always, imagine ancient Jews walking towards Jerusalem over the hills. (Yes, I'll admit it, sometimes the ancient Jews look like Charleton Heston).</div>
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<br /></div>
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I am always thrilled to see the dig sites that pop up everywhere, and especially to see the one right in my neighborhood in Modiin - an ancient shul. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I grew up in America as a stranger. It was not my country in so many ways. The calendar revolved around someone else's holidays, someone else's customs. I had to work around my own holidays, explain explain explain, work overtime on some days to leave early on Friday, miss meetings and events because of Shabbat and Chag, etc. etc. etc.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I appreciate America and American life, but once you live here you realize deep down inside yourself what you've been missing, and it's shocking. That sense of deep connection to every single person on the street, the fact that the entire country revolves around Shabbat, chagim, Jewish historical events....The fact that you are home in a way you never even knew you could be.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Going to our local mall on Fridays fills my heart - religious and non-religious wishing each other Shabbat Shalom - whether they plan to stay home or go to the beach the next day, they mean it. The mall is set up like a shuk on Fridays, with vendors selling food, flowers, and gifts in preparation for Shabbat. Most people don't work on Fridays, so it literally is an entire day to get ready for Shabbat - mentally and physically. By Thursday afternoon, each and every week, the excitement begins to build and the sense of anticipation is palpable. This is what Shabbat is meant to be, this is how it is supposed to feel.</div>
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This week I went into Jerusalem to meet visiting family - imagine me telling my grandparents whose dream it was to even <b><i>see </i></b>this country, that I could walk around Jerusalem any time I wanted to. </div>
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I guess the overwhelming feeling is that everything I mentioned above is "normal" when you live here - it's just what you see every day. But it never feels routine - to me it's always thrilling. I can be doing the most mundane task - picking up the dry cleaning, getting gas - and I think to myself, "I am doing this in Israel - how cool is that?"</div>
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Pretty cool. Pretty cool.</div>
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MOMZWIFEOFDADZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15601935053533661519noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654290615470257413.post-78999848101939221012015-01-15T20:18:00.000-08:002015-01-15T20:18:08.195-08:00Ah, Hebrew<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
As I said in my <a href="http://aliyahonpurpose.blogspot.co.il/2015/01/three-years.html" target="_blank">last blog</a>, learning Hebrew and being comfortable enough to speak to an Israeli are constant challenges for olim.<br />
<br />
I can practice and practice, but the words trip over themselves on the voyage from my brain to my mouth and I always end up sounding like an idiot.<br />
<br />
Yesterday, though, was interesting. We had a fix-it person over who only speaks Hebrew. He is a sweet fellow who has done a lot of work for us. Interestingly, and shockingly, I was able to speak to him pretty well. A lot of the words came out of my mouth correctly, and some were words that I didn't even know I knew! <br />
<br />
But I figured it out. There must be a safe that keeps all of the correctly conjugated words in the deep recesses of my brain - there has to be because I LEARNED ALL OF THIS IN ULPAN and I don't remember most of it. But for some reason, it must have mistakenly been open for a few minutes, and I'm hoping that happens again.<br />
<br />
I have found that reticence to speak to Israelis happens with women more than men. I think that women are more nervous about sounding stupid and men are not (no, I am not man-bashing here, I am man-honoring!). My conversations with Anglo friends here have borne this theory out. We are more reticent to "just try" speaking - maybe that's an age thing, but I kind of think it's a woman thing. <br />
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Also, I realize that no matter what I say and how good my accent is, they always know we are Anglos - you just can't fake being an Israeli. In fact, it must have something to do with physical appearance as well, maybe we Anglos have non-Israeli looks on our faces (less grimaces, more smiles?). Yesterday we walked into a restaurant and before I had said a word they handed us an English menu.<br />
<br />
The nicest experiences are when I apologize for my broken Hebrew and they look at me in shock, saying, "But your Hebrew is great, what are you talking about?" <br />
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However, I am not naive. I know that the government must pay them to say that ("Keep the Anglos here, tell them they speak Hebrew well! Do anything, don't let them leave!" must be the message).<br />
<br />
Either way, I am, as I've said before, getting used to sounding dumb and to trying out my Hebrew on unsuspecting Israelis who visibly cringe when I speak. <br />
<br />
And every once in a while I'm hoping that the Safe of Correct Hebrew opens up by accident and I get a complete and correct sentence out without embarrassing myself and the entire Anglo community.<br />
<br />
I'll keep trying. Shalom, see ya.</div>
MOMZWIFEOFDADZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15601935053533661519noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654290615470257413.post-88448777820543304722015-01-03T23:59:00.000-08:002015-01-03T23:59:06.558-08:00Three Years<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
As of today, we've been here for three years. I will share my accumulated wisdom with you at no charge. <br />
<br />
<b>Preparation for aliyah:</b><br />
<i><b>Bring less</b></i>. It's a small country, the living spaces are small, there is very little storage space. <br />
<br />
<b>Living with Israelis:</b><br />
<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>They have big hearts and big mouths.</li>
<li>They will tell you exactly what they think, every time - at first it is a little shocking, but after you realize how much they care, it's sweet - it's kind of like everyone is family.</li>
</ul>
<br />
<b>Living in Israel vs. living in the US</b><br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>Customer service is a new concept here (well, maybe that isn't such a big difference) - n fact, some businesses publicize their "American-style service" as an extra</li>
<li>You cannot get certain US items here, so learn to live without - begging your friends and family to bring you stuff gets old and probably annoys people</li>
</ul>
<br />
<b>Driving</b><br />
<strike>Assume</strike> KNOW that every single person in every single car is going to do something stupid NOW<br />
<br />
<b>Shopping</b><br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>Do grocery shopping online - yes, they charge for delivery but do anything you can to avoid the actual store and, even worse, the supermarket checkout line where:</li>
<ul>
<li>Every single customer has an issue, an argument, or a question</li>
<li>The cashier is threatened with bodily harm if she does not make you buy one of the "specials" available only at the register</li>
<li>The cashier will tell you that if you buy 10 more of an item, you will save a shekel, and you say you don't want 10 more, and she will start arguing with you</li>
<li>You will have to fight off 5 store employees trying to convince you to get the store's "club" card</li>
</ul>
</ul>
<b>Clothes shopping - meh. </b><br />
You have to find the 1 or 2 stores that you can actually find decent clothes in, or just throw your hands up and start wearing cheaply made, weird looking clothing.<b><br /></b><br />
<br />
<b>Living near Americans </b><br />
In my opinion (this is serious) - you need to live around people who "get" American culture and upbringing. I feel that our "frame of reference" is vastly different from an Israeli's, and it is comforting and helpful to have others around you who you can talk to with complete comfort without having to constantly explain yourself. You also need to vent sometimes - well, a lot of the time.<br />
<br />
<b>Speaking Hebrew</b><br />
You gotta face up to the fact that it may take a very, very long time to feel comfortable speaking to a non-English speaker. If you come here with kids, that is a huge help because they come home speaking Hebrew and you can learn a ton. As someone without school-age kids, it is a litltle harder.<br />
<br />
It is frustrating at times not being able to really say what you want to say, without trying to find a work-around to get your thought out. <br />
<br />
<i><b> Some tricks I've learned:</b></i><br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>When you can't find the right Hebrew word, use an English word - most often Israelis understand - even better if you can use the English word with an Israeli accent, e.g., "Ani mechapeset a peekturr freeemm" (I'm looking for a picture frame)</li>
<li>Dealing with services, stores, etc. - always ask if someone speaks English if you really can't make yourself understood</li>
<li>Practice what you need to say before you go to a doctor, store, etc. - seriously! Look it up, ask someone. Facebook is great for this.</li>
<li>Let other people know you are an oleh/olah and apologize for your Hebrew. Then, immediately, every single time, the person you're speaking to will become the most helpful, kindest, person you've ever met - it's very cool. You might even get a "Bruchim HaBaim" hug.</li>
</ul>
<b>Medical Care</b><br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>There are some things that are super modern - like online appointment sites, results of medical tests online, etc. </li>
<li>There are some things that are super archaic - like taking your strep test stick to the lab yourself.<b></b></li>
<li>There are three million kajillion options for levels of medical care and I've been at many Shabbat lunches where we sit around trading medical care stories and each has a different interpretation of the exact same medical benefit plan. It's a sort of sport here.<b><br /></b></li>
</ul>
<br />
<b>Danger, War, Sirens</b><br />
It's a fact of life - you live in a war zone surrounded by enemies. It's a point of pride, but also very scary. Then again, life is not that much different, danger-wise, in the US. <br />
<br />
At least here, every citizen feels like a soldier fighting against a common enemy for the life of the Jewish state. <br />
<br />
<b>On a serious note,</b> anyone out there contemplating aliyah is most welcome to write to me - leibtag at gmail dot com - to ask pre and post aliyah questions.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div>
<br /><div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
MOMZWIFEOFDADZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15601935053533661519noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654290615470257413.post-67823341054001279572014-12-10T10:12:00.002-08:002014-12-10T10:12:49.833-08:00We are So Smart<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Many of you may already know that if you live in Israel you are often told you have to filter your water. So when we moved in, we had a water filter attached to the water pipe that brings all of the water into our apartment. We are so smart.<br />
<br />
And a couple of times a year, for a minimal fee of three million shekel or so (not including tax), a man comes to our apartment, tells me he is going to change the filter, and goes to the lower level where the pipes and stuff are - to do that. I assume he does it. That is, I have never followed him to see him actually do it. <br />
<br />
Last year we gave ourselves a treat and bought a water bar. You are wondering what that is. It is a countertop contraption that is connected to our water supply and has hot and cold water always ready.<br />
<br />
Now, we are not just pampering ourselves, no sirree. Drinking water is extreeeeeeeeemely important here, especially during the 10 month summer. And I do love me some cold water. So this way we always have fresh, cold water to drink. We are so smart.<br />
<br />
Now. Here we go. The other day we get a call. This is the water-filter-changer people. Don't we want a contract on the water bar like we have on the water filter? Why, of course we do! We have many millions of shekel just sitting in piles on our floor waiting to be spent on service contracts. After many phone calls, we finally explain that we do want the contract, we negotiate down the originally-inflated-and-ridiculous-price to the price which-is-still-more-than-they-thought-they'd-get ("Ha! These Americans! Give them one discount and they love you! We are so glad they move here!"), and we are good to go.<br />
<br />
Now comes the test of everyone's brainpower. Setting the appointment. After another few calls, I speak to someone in English who sets the appointment for <b>Thursday, December 11,</b> when the technai will come and change both filters. Excellent! We are so smart.<br />
<br />
This morning (<b>Wednesday, December 10</b>) we receive an SMS - "Hi! The technai is coming today!"<br />
<br />
Huh. OK, so he is coming today instead of tomorrow. I can deal with that.<br />
<br />
At some point he calls and says he's 1/2 hour away. Sure enough, 1/2 hour later he shows up. This is going so well!!!<br />
<br />
He comes to the door with a big smile. This is how the conversation goes:<br />
<br />
Technai: "I'm here to change the filter downstairs." <br />
Me: "And the filter on the water bar too!"<br />
Technai: "What water bar?"<br />
Me: "You were supposed to be changing two things."<br />
Technai: "No, look, here on this sheet, it has only one item. But I'll call them and check."<br />
<br />
After he changes the one filter, he returns to tell me that someone will come to do the water bar tomorrow.<br />
<br />
An hour later I get a call from the company. It goes like this:<br />
<br />
Co.: "I'm calling to set up a time to change the filter on your water bar."<br />
Me: "I thought you were coming tomorrow."<br />
Co: "Tomorrow? Well, maybe in the morning..."<br />
Me: "But I already had an appointment for the afternoon. I won't be here in the morning"<br />
Co.: "But you have to be there because that is when the technai can come."<br />
Me: "But I won't be here."<br />
Co.: "Really?"<br />
Me: "Yes, but how about next week?"<br />
Co.: "NEXT WEEK???? YOU WANT TO WAIT THAT LONG????"<br />
Me: "Yes, it's fine. Please make it for Tuesday."<br />
Co.: "Tuesday? You really want to wait that long?"<br />
Me: "Yes, it'll be fine."<br />
Co.: "OK......"<br />
<br />
So I'll let you know if we come down with dengue fever from drinking water that has been cleaned by a filter that should have been changed today but won't be changed until NEXT TUESDAY.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, I have a headache. I'll take my aspirin with juice.<br />
<br /></div>
MOMZWIFEOFDADZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15601935053533661519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654290615470257413.post-23440784304213569002014-12-03T19:00:00.001-08:002014-12-03T19:00:54.832-08:00Head Totally and Completely in the Sand<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Wow, what a country. The entire government of Israel has fired itself.<br />
<br />
That's it, guys! This is not working out, we can't agree, so let's fire ourselves and try again to keep our own parties in power! In the meantime, we sure are glad that the country is safe and stable because no one is home to fix anything! Wheee!<br />
<br />
Seriously, though, I am the last person you want to ask about Israeli politics. Truthfully - I never understood politics, I find it boring, and I hate reading about it, hearing about it, and talking about it. And thinking about it. <br />
<br />
Why? Because it's basically total fabrications. While we <b>think </b>the conversation goes like this:<br />
<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><b>Politician #1: </b>What can we do to help the citizens?</li>
<li><b>Politician #2: </b>We can try to work together, even though we have different views, and find a solution to help people!</li>
</ul>
<br />
It <b>probably </b>goes more like this:<br />
<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><b>Politician #1</b>: New car? It's cool!</li>
<li><b>Politician #2:</b> Thanks! Let's get coffee! </li>
</ul>
<br />
It's all about backroom deals and money anyway, so nothing you read or hear is ever real. And the media is biased, so that's a double whammy - fake news and biased reporting. Seriously, folks.<br />
<br />
Therefore, I have a policy <b>never to read the paper or watch the news</b>. And when people at the Shabbat table start talking politics, I have perfected the interested face, wise head nod, etc., while thinking, "Hmmm, that cholent sure is good, I wonder what she puts in it?"<br />
<br />
My husband is a news devourer who actually understands Israeli politics and is brilliant and knows Israeli history cold. [Now, I know what you're thinking and you're right - why he married me I'll never know. My favorite mass media is, um, less intellectual - e.g., reruns of "I Love Lucy."]<br />
<br />
Anyway, he was fretting over Israeli politics and spoke to our Rav, an 8th generation Jerusalemite, who responded to him, "It goes in phases, things are actually getting much better, don't worry!" <br />
<br />
I like that so I adopted that as my mantra. And, wonder of wonders, my husband decided to stop reading the paper.<i> [Note to readers - this was something which I advised him to do years ago, but which someone with apparently way more influence - and this does not take much - told him to do two weeks ago.]</i><br />
<br />
So now he is joining me in ignoring the media, but while I maintain this approach steadfastly, I doubt he'll last another week. Guy loves to read and think and discuss. Sheesh.<br />
<br />
So if you want to discuss something meaningful, like which meat is the best in cholent, I'm here for you.<br />
<br />
If you want to discuss politics, go for it. But I promise you that the cholent discussion will have more meaning. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
MOMZWIFEOFDADZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15601935053533661519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654290615470257413.post-29740802119319940152014-11-11T03:21:00.001-08:002014-11-11T03:21:42.195-08:00Still Here<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Hi, I'm still here. Between the chagim and the birth of our <a href="http://aliyahbyaccident.blogspot.co.il/2014/10/introducing-for-very-first-time-on-this.html" target="_blank">new twin granddaughters</a> (kiddush! two kiddushes!), life has been the good kind of busy.<br />
<br />
I have had the chance to polish my baby-care skills, which have gotten a bit rusty, but I still remember which side of the Pamper goes on the bottom, how not to drop a newborn in the bath, and how to jiggle a baby to sleep.<br />
<br />
Yet as much as our hearts are full of thanks and joy for the new babies, we hear each day about another horrific event in this country in which an innocent person is murdered in order for someone to make a point of some kind. An entire family is shattered, and we all wonder, "How would we handle that? How does anyone handle something so random and vicious? How are there people like that?"<br />
<br />
Still, it becomes part of your life. You sigh, your heart breaks, you go to the grocery store to pick up milk. You read the news, you look at the pictures of the funerals, you return a book to the library. Knowing that wherever you walk, wherever you are standing or driving, someone could purposely run you down and end your life - you kind of have to deal with it, yet not focus on it, every day.<br />
<br />
Standing in line at the grocery store, I strike up a conversation with an Israeli who notices my less than perfect Hebrew and asks when I came here. She says, "Well, of course, you had to come, this is home - everyone has to come home eventually." I love her. I mean, so much love I feel like crying.<br />
<br />
Today I went to the post office - where all of Israel transacts most of its business, sort of like the Old West. I had received a letter from the Government offering me money! yay! So I had to go to the PO and do stuff there. The woman behind the counter asked me something, and I gave her my usual "dumber than dirt" look in response. She smiled and said, in her broken English, "I ask eef you work for you-self or somebody else." I apologized for not understanding. She looked at me with the warmest smile and said, "You are here, that's what is important, don't worry about the language, ok?"<br />
<br />
Felt like crying again. <br />
<br />
It's starting to feel like last summer - everything feels shaky and tentative, scary beyond scary. But we are still here - all of us - and more are coming. That's our answer - a warm smile, love for one another, and staying power. It'll be OK.<br />
<br /></div>
MOMZWIFEOFDADZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15601935053533661519noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654290615470257413.post-89999307041596165432014-09-24T02:08:00.002-07:002014-09-24T02:08:24.888-07:00Erev Rosh Hashanah - The Sewer, the Nectarines, and the Drama<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Well, it's been quite a while since I've written anything - my many fans have asked me what happened, and both of you (Hi, Gila! Hi, Leezy!) deserve a response. <br />
<br />
I guess between the war, the heat, and life I just did not feel very amusing for the past few weeks. Amusing-ness is slowly returning, although hearing yesterday that there was a terrorist action planned in Gush Etzion for Rosh Hashana did not do much to lighten my mood.<br />
<br />
But here are some interesting anecdotes for your pre-Rosh Hashanah reading:<br />
<br />
<b>1. The sewer cover</b><br />
A few weeks ago I noticed a clunk-clunk sound outside my window. I figured something had fallen in the street and cars were driving over it. Then I realized that it was a loose sewer cover. For some reason (nerves on edge anyway after this summer) it really bothered me. I mean, I got to figure out what KIND of vehicle was driving over the sewer cover by the length of time between clunk 1 and clunk 2 (long delay - truck, tiny delay - motorcycle). My son in law Donny then asked his Israeli friends which terms to use to complain about this. And guess what? I called the city office and complained - in Hebrew! Yesterday! And guess what? It got fixed! Yesterday! Moshiach is coming!<br />
<br />
<b>2. The treif nectarines</b><br />
Yesterday I took my grandson Yaakov to the toy store. He had some of his own money and wanted to spend it on something for himself. Of course, since Bubby took him Bubby purchased the toy, as well as toys for everyone else, and told Yaakov to keep his shekel for another time. This resulted in a huge smile and big hug and kiss. Totally worth it.<br />
<br />
Anywayyyyy, after the toy store I noticed a grocery store right there, and since I needed the requisite "last few things" before chag. I went in. Lo and behold they had nectarines - I loooooove nectarines but we are at the end of the season here and my local store didn't have many this week. I was so happy and bought a bunch of them. Came home and told Gila, who proceeded to laugh at me. "Ha, ha, that's the TREIF store!" Yes, folks, I managed to buy fruit at the one store in Modiin that is truly treif - meaning their fruits and vegetables do not have trumot and maaserot taken from them, and they actually sell pork. Of course, I had eaten one of the nectarines before I called her. Oops.<br />
<br />
This resulted in my immediately dumping the nectarines into the trash as if they were poison. Funny how these things affect you two days before Rosh Hashana. Then,. many inquiries later, I was told that I did not need to do this (thank you Gila, thank you Kate) and retrieved the fruit from the trash (yes, I washed them) and then performed a lengthy ceremony in which I did the terumot and maaserot taking myself, and let me tell you it was interesting. It involved a cloth, 1/4 of a nectarine, and money. And a trash can. Don't ask.<br />
<br />
<b>3. Building drama</b><br />
OOOH, this one is good. In Modiin there are extremely strict laws about adding to one's home - I mean they actually come around and check to make sure you have not changed anything which might result in the city squeezing 100 more shekel out of you for your property tax.<br />
<br />
Well, it is a lengthy process to get approval to do anything but one of our building-mates came around asking all of us to sign our OK on his plan to cover his mirpeset with a pergola. "Sure," we thought, "why not?" Well, suffice it to say that had we seen a drawing of the monstrosity that he was going to erect, none of us would have agreed. This new structure has caused untold grief and anguish among the other apartment owners. It is amusing to watch Israelis argue. <br />
<br />
<b>4. Shmittah</b><br />
Oh, and shmittah starts tomorrow, so watch for some interesting "Oy! I
forgot to save the peels!" anecdotes as the year progresses. I have read all of the literature and I still have no idea what to do.<br />
<br />
<br />
So with that, I wish all (both) of you a year of health, fulfillment, unending joy, and kosher nectarines. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
MOMZWIFEOFDADZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15601935053533661519noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654290615470257413.post-18642620342567650202014-07-21T02:19:00.000-07:002014-07-21T02:19:12.695-07:00Raw<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>SPOILER ALERT: I'm not saying anything here that you haven't read in a million other blogs and posts. But writing it out helps me deal with it. So this one is really for me. </i><br />
--------------------------------------<br />
<br />
I knew when we made aliyah that we would be living in a country where everything revolves around the army.<br />
<br />
After all, everyone serves (well, almost everyone, but that's a topic for another writer, not me) in some capacity. Every single man and woman I see here in Modiin has served in the army, and every single boy and girl I see will do the same.<br />
<br />
In our everyday life - post office, mall, grocery - we see soldiers with their rifles slung across their backs doing everyday things. They are handsome/beautiful, strong, and my heart melts because they are our Jewish boys and girls. Our children. Babies. Going off to defend our country, to be trained to kill if need be, but also to be full of mercy and caring. Show me a picture of a soldier putting on tefillin and I weep. It is possibly the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.<br />
<br />
And then they get sent off to battle sites. And then they die. <br />
<br />
I see the faces of their parents and siblings and grandparents at the funerals of these young heroes and I can't even find a word for what it makes me feel.<br />
<br />
We in Modiin have only experienced three sirens so far, and I thought I handled them well. We even took a "selfie" in the safe room. We heard the boom overhead, and knew that a rocket had been intercepted by our Iron Dome.<br />
<br />
That was last week when it was just a rocket war. Now it's a ground war. And the battle site is about a 1.5 hour drive from my house. Now I literally jump at strange sounds, and think every whine of a truck coming down the street is a siren. I can't imagine feeling at ease ever again.<br />
<br />
In America, "war" was a foreign idea to me - it was always somewhere else, and being fought by soldiers whom I admired but had no connection with. Only those who enlisted voluntarily would fight, and it was rare that that was someone from my circle of acquaintances and family.<br />
<br />
Here it's all not just people you know and see - it's your family. Every face of a soldier killed in action could be the face of my child or grandchild. You can't help but feel it. It is in the family and it is raw, but raw is OK. Raw is real. It is not a game, it is not over there, it is right here.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
MOMZWIFEOFDADZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15601935053533661519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654290615470257413.post-65856757085117465802014-07-01T21:10:00.001-07:002014-07-02T01:37:57.261-07:00Come Home<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">
The past almost three weeks has been something I never could have imagined. Living here, seeing the pain on the face of every single person you come across in your daily life, the agony grew and grew.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">
And now, they are buried. Three boys gone, three families devastated, an entire country in mourning.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">
All we wanted was for them to come home.</div>
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--------------</div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">
There is apparently a phrase "Aliyah snob." Meaning someone who has made aliyah and then throws it around among non-Olim, acting all superior about how they've "done it" and "you should too."</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">
Well, you can call me what you like but here is my lesson from the past 19 days: Please, please - come home.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">
Yes, I only made aliyah because my kids did. Yes, we came when we, unfortunately, no longer had aging parents to take care of. Yes, yes, yes.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">
But do you know what? </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">
We only realize now that the whole time we were living in Baltimore we could have been living a real life here. Once we became Israelis, once we begain to live here and got our Israeli IDs and became a part of our homeland in the real sense, we realized that THIS was the life we had always been looking for. It was here all along and we found every reason in the world not to come here.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">
So, let me just say this - THIS is the life you are looking for. It is not "full of meaning" - it IS meaning. I'm sure I'm not saying this very well, but our lives are so different now - our souls are so different - that I almost feel that if I don't share this I'm not fulfilling some task that I need to do.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">
So please. Please come home. Come live where you are meant to live, in the way you are meant to live, in the place Hashem gave us to live.</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
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</div>
MOMZWIFEOFDADZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15601935053533661519noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654290615470257413.post-16970496355561848162014-06-20T05:02:00.000-07:002014-06-20T05:02:03.447-07:00Together<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So it's been a week since we first heard about the three boys kidnapped on their way home from yeshiva for Shabbat.<br />
<br />
Three 16 year old children - taken, grabbed, scared, not able to be home for Shabbat with their families.<br />
<br />
Everyone's heart was broken, is broken, until we hear good news.<br />
<br />
As parents, we can't even let our minds roam to what these six parents must be thinking and feeling. It's so unimaginable that our minds don't let us go there.<br />
<br />
But then there comes the reaction - what I've been calling (to myself) the "together."<br />
<br />
A divided Jewish nation, often ranting and raving at each other for whatever reason, suddenly becomes one. These boys are our boys, our children, our babies, and we cry our hearts out with worry and fear. What is happening to them? Are they scared? Hurt? Are they at least together? <br />
<br />
We gather, big black hats next to no hats, long skirts next to shorts and tank tops, to pray, to hold each other, to give each other strength and hope.<br />
<br />
Every picture of a tefila gathering tears at us - why can't we always be like this? Helping, unified, all with one purpose in mind? Why do we keep finding ways to argue and one-up each other? What's that all about?<br />
<br />
Every time (unfortunately there have been a lot of them) something like this happens, our reaction is always to be together, give each other strength, and show those who are suffering that we are with them. We suddenly become blind to what the person next to us is wearing, what is on their head, where they go (or do not go) to pray.<br />
<br />
I'm not naive, I know we're going to go back to the "apart" soon enough. But that hurts, and it hurts deep inside of me. Because I hate what is going on with those adorable young boys but I love that as a people we can put everything aside and embrace each other.<br />
<br />
Our people has suffered so much, so deeply, and unfortunately we have shown the world how to deal with tragedy and keep going. But we were also created to show the world how to love and care with every part of our soul.. <br />
<br />
מי כעמך ישראל<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
MOMZWIFEOFDADZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15601935053533661519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654290615470257413.post-51994438604627980992014-05-31T20:10:00.002-07:002014-05-31T20:10:59.283-07:00My New Ulpan<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
As y'all know, I struggle with Hebrew, yes, still. Yes, after about 2.5 years here I still<br />
<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>Tremble in fear before speaking to an Israeli</li>
<li>Don a sheepish smile and ask if what I've said is correct</li>
<li>Hope that I haven't asked for a cow wearing a pith helmet when what I really want is lettuce</li>
<li>Avoid buying anything, doing anything, or being anywhere that involves speaking Hebrew</li>
<li>etc. etc. etc.</li>
</ul>
It still bothers me not to be able to easily express myself, with correct grammar and vocabulary befitting an adult, whenever I want to. For example, last week I took the kids for pizza. And realized I did not know the word for "slice" (meshulash). I asked Ariella and she said, "Oh, it's OK, I'll just order for us." Sigh.<br />
<br />
I am tired of driving to an appointment and preparing my dialogue in advance, which usually is as complicated as this:<br />
<br />
<ol style="text-align: left;">
<li>I have an appointment with ______________</li>
<li>Yes, I will wait</li>
<li>Here is my ID card</li>
<li>Which room is it</li>
</ol>
<div>
All in all, as I've said before, I know I will sound like an immigrant forever. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So everyone's solution seems to be:<b> Spend more time with Israelis. </b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I agree, so I have registered for a brand new Ulpan called "<b>Teach Bubby Hebrew</b>." </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The instructional staff includes 5 highly trained individuals who have dedicated their lives to improving my Hebrew skills. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And what I love about this Ulpan is that each instructor has his or her own style.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For instance, the other day <b>Professor Rose the Middle</b>(age 8) explained the nuances for the many ways of saying "stop" and "listen." When I asked about how to use a particular word, he responded with, "Hmm, so I say it this way." I love the real life scenarios.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Professor Rose the Younger</b> ("Ani Ben Arba!") utilizes the immersion technique. He simply speaks only Hebrew to me and so I have no choice but to learn. What is a bit unfortunate is that he himself seems to struggle with correct grammar at times. I am only aware of this because his Mommy told me, otherwise how would I know? He entertains me with long explanations of everything, mostly revolving around which snack he would like and why. In order to keep him happy, I need to figure out what he is saying. It is a win win. Also, he speaks a unique blend of Hebrew and English, so it keeps me on my toes ("Bubby ani rotzeh a treat.")</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Professor Rose the Eldest </b>(age "almost almost almost 11) is a patient instructor, and is becoming more adept at hiding her gales of laughter when I say something incorrectly. When she introduces me to her Israeli friends, she tells me "Say Shalom to her, she doesn't speak English." That's not embarrassing at all.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Professor Klein the Elder (age 7)</b> likes to challenge me. "Bubby," he says, "let's read this Hebrew book and I'll help you with the hard words. And it has nekudot to help you! Come, you really need practice." He is kind, this one.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Professor Klein the Younger (age 5)</b>, in between doing cartwheels and jumping off the couch, is an entertaining instructor. I have no idea if he teaches me anything but he is so funny that who cares.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I would encourage you to join me, but alas this is a single-student educational experience so nah nah nah boo boo you can't.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Oh, and this Ulpan is free (well, except for the snacks for the younger Professor Rose). I signed up for a long-term course.</div>
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
MOMZWIFEOFDADZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15601935053533661519noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654290615470257413.post-27902312190070381092014-05-08T03:11:00.002-07:002014-05-08T03:18:31.392-07:00I Have No Time for You<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw4Lj4tGSlq3OToGxe0sGmINtzjTN_SzQKa2pWR0RiGd-r4x1_frwKd9BxfOJ0VLSO15XAoajqeZbYJMKGhkklzsieHiZIAE7dSd7FM7B2QqHjWedqKqSnC94YGB171Skp88WblZiF3cc/s1600/customer-service21247.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw4Lj4tGSlq3OToGxe0sGmINtzjTN_SzQKa2pWR0RiGd-r4x1_frwKd9BxfOJ0VLSO15XAoajqeZbYJMKGhkklzsieHiZIAE7dSd7FM7B2QqHjWedqKqSnC94YGB171Skp88WblZiF3cc/s1600/customer-service21247.gif" height="200" width="138" /></a></div>
<u><b>The store </b></u><br />
Just came back from the home goods store.<br />
<br />
We were looking for a bathroom rug. This was not rocket science NOR was it brain surgery. It wasn't even a Melissa and Doug puzzle.<br />
<br />
We found the bathroom rug section. There was a man sitting there, feet up, talking on his phone or playing Candy Crush (PERSONAL NOTE: I'm on level 364 by the way, people, so nah nah nah boo boo).<br />
<br />
We looked around and were discussing the options:<br />
<br />
1. This ugly color<br />
2. That ugly color<br />
<br />
Suddenly we hear a voice, "Yachol laazor lachem"? [Can I help you?].<br />
<br />
Now please note. Said person:<br />
1. Had not arisen from his chair<br />
2. Had not even lowered his feet from their resting position<br />
3. Was still looking at his phone.<br />
<br />
We declared ourselves non-needing of help so he seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.<br />
<br />
Then we found a light blue rug that wasn't too gross. Suddenly we hear a voice, "Which room is this for?"<br />
"The bathroom," we say. He nods and goes back to his phone, his daily requirement of customer service at its end.<br />
<br />
Then we decide to get rugs for our room. "Which room are they for?" he asks. "The bedroom." Another nod. Uh oh! He's over his quota of customer service! He probably should just go home now!<br />
<br />
Then I decide to ask a question, "Do you have something to put under the rug so that it doesn't slide around?" And believe me I had no idea how to say that in Hebrew, most of it was said in smoke signals.<br />
<br />
"Yes," he says, "you need something."<br />
I look at him hopefully (read stupidly), figuring he'd now show us where to purchase said something.<br />
<br />
"We don't have it."<br />
<br />
Huh. Guess the conversation is over because he went back to his phone. Impressively, he had not changed position during this exchange, his feet were still propped up on a pile of rugs, which thankfully we were not looking at, because that would have caused a cosmic shift.<br />
<br />
<u><b>The marketing phone call:</b></u><br />
Got a call yesterday, with someone speakingreallyfastHebrew. I caught the word "Hyundai" - whew! Unless it means something else in which case she could have been selling hair salon equipment and I wouldn't have known. <br />
<br />
When she took a breath, I told her we don't have a Hyundai.<br />
<br />
She hung up on me.<br />
<br />
<u><b>The other marketing phone call:</b></u><br />
I don't know which company this was from, I really don't.<br />
The woman was also speakingreallyfastHebrew. I asked her to please tell me again more slowly.<br />
<br />
She hung up on me.<br />
<br />
<u><b>The service call:</b></u><br />
I was calling someone to arrange a service visit. I asked if someone could speak in English, because what I had to explain was very complicated. He said, "Sure, no problem, I'll have someone call you right away." Never heard from them again. <br />
<br />
<u><b>The positive experience!!</b></u><br />
Today I called to make a medical appointment. The woman spoke slowly and clearly (she's probably the cousin of marketing call lady, who warned her about me). I made the appointment and checked the time again with her just to be sure and she was very patient.<br />
<br />
She probably wasn't born here.<br />
<br /></div>
MOMZWIFEOFDADZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15601935053533661519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654290615470257413.post-62010677385010739572014-05-05T16:09:00.002-07:002014-05-05T16:09:57.743-07:00There and Here<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Last week we returned from the US - my husband had been there since the end of February, for work, and I was there since the week before Pesach. It was great seeing our kids in Chicago, and spending part of Pesach in Florida.<br />
<br />
Here are things I noticed when I was in the US:<br />
<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>There is English</li>
<li>There is Target</li>
<li>There is CVS </li>
<li>The traffic lanes are normal size</li>
</ul>
Truth is, I fell back into life in America with no trouble at all. At times I was thinking, "Wow, this is so easy! Everyone speaks English, and I can find the products I want, and I get the culture!" It felt comfy and I didn't have to work so hard at everything.<br />
<br />
But there were things I missed - looking at the Judean Hills every day, knowing Jerusalem was 25 minutes away, there for me any time I wanted to go, and hearing Hebrew, even if I didn't understand it. <br />
<br />
The thing is, I chose to make Israel my home, and then when I got here, I realized that "home" had an entirely new meaning. It's not just the physical environment, it's the belonging. <br />
<br />
I lived in the US for the first 58 years of my life, but I never felt at home. Maybe I'm unlike other people, but I was always keenly aware of not belonging.<br />
<br />
It was never my country, it was their country and I was living in it. I was grateful for the good life and the freedom, but I was a guest. The culture revolved around someone else's religion, someone else's holidays and customs. And the tendrils of anti-semitism would snake around me so often that it was just part of life.<br />
<br />
I'll never forget a co worker whom I trusted and respected saying to me, on more than one occasion, how he "Jewed" someone. And not realizing how insulting and hurtful that was. And that no one else in the office, aside from my African American friends, got that either. <br />
<br />
When I got here, it hit me with tremendous force - this is <i>my </i>country, <i>my </i>people, <i>my </i>holidays, <i>my </i>customs. This is where I was supposed to be all along, why hadn't I known that? Why hadn't I acted on it? <br />
<br />
So last night we attended the festive Maariv for Yom Haatzmaut, at our shul. This was one of the most powerful moments since we made aliyah, and I'll never forget it.<br />
<br />
The special tefilot were said, and the dancing and singing rocked the shul. Everyone was wearing white and blue, everyone was joyful and grateful, and when the shofar blew and we all said "Shema Yisrael" together, it was like we were shouting to the heavens in gratitude.<br />
<br />
I looked at my friend and said, "Look what we did! We came here! Yay us!!!" and we both laughed and cried together.<br />
<br />
So I am happy to be back with the narrow traffic lanes, missing a lot of what people say, asking "Mah?" a lot, and being unable to find Excedrin.<br />
<br />
Home is where my soul is. Thank you, Hashem, for this land and this people and this Torah. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
MOMZWIFEOFDADZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15601935053533661519noreply@blogger.com1