Together

So it's been a week since we first heard about the three boys kidnapped on their way home from yeshiva for Shabbat.

Three 16 year old children - taken, grabbed, scared, not able to be home for Shabbat with their families.

Everyone's heart was broken, is broken, until we hear good news.

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.

But then there comes the reaction - what I've been calling (to myself) the "together."

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?

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.

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?

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.

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.

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..

מי כעמך ישראל

My New Ulpan

As y'all know, I struggle with Hebrew, yes, still.  Yes, after about 2.5 years here I still

• Tremble in fear before speaking to an Israeli
• Don a sheepish smile and ask if what I've said is correct
• Hope that I haven't asked for a cow wearing a pith helmet when what I really want is lettuce
• Avoid buying anything, doing anything, or being anywhere that involves speaking Hebrew
• etc. etc. etc.

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.

I am tired of driving to an appointment and preparing my dialogue in advance, which usually is as complicated as this:

1. I have an appointment with ______________
2. Yes, I will wait
3. Here is my ID card
4. Which room is it

All in all, as I've said before, I know I will sound like an immigrant forever.  

So everyone's solution seems to be: Spend more time with Israelis. 

I agree, so I have registered for a brand new Ulpan called "Teach Bubby Hebrew."  

The instructional staff includes 5 highly trained individuals who have dedicated their lives to improving my Hebrew skills. 

And what I love about this Ulpan is that each instructor has his or her own style.

For instance, the other day Professor Rose the Middle(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.

Professor Rose the Younger ("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.")

Professor Rose the Eldest (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.

Professor Klein the Elder (age 7) 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.

Professor Klein the Younger (age 5), 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.

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.

Oh, and this Ulpan is free (well, except for the snacks for the younger Professor Rose). I signed up for a long-term course.

I Have No Time for You

The store
Just came back from the home goods store.

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.

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).

We looked around and were discussing the options:

1. This ugly color
2. That ugly color

Suddenly we hear a voice, "Yachol laazor lachem"?  [Can I help you?].

Now please note.  Said person:
1. Had not arisen from his chair
2. Had not even lowered his feet from their resting position
3. Was still looking at his phone.

We declared ourselves non-needing of help so he seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

Then we found a light blue rug that wasn't too gross.  Suddenly we hear a voice, "Which room is this for?"
"The bathroom," we say.  He nods and goes back to his phone, his daily requirement of customer service at its end.

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!

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.

"Yes," he says, "you need something."
I look at him hopefully (read stupidly), figuring he'd now show us where to purchase said something.

"We don't have it."

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.

The marketing phone call:
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.

When she took a breath, I told her we don't have a Hyundai.

She hung up on me.

The other marketing phone call:
I don't know which company this was from, I really don't.
The woman was also speakingreallyfastHebrew.  I asked her to please tell me again more slowly.

She hung up on me.

The service call:
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.

The positive experience!!
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.

She probably wasn't born here.

There and Here

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.

Here are things I noticed when I was in the US:

• There is English
• There is Target
• There is CVS
• The traffic lanes are normal size

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.

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. 

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. 

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.

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.

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. 

When I got here, it hit me with tremendous force - this is my country, my people, my holidays, my customs. This is where I was supposed to be all along, why hadn't I known that?  Why hadn't I acted on it?

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.

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.

I looked at my friend and said, "Look what we did!  We came here! Yay us!!!" and we both laughed and cried together.

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.

Home is where my soul is. Thank you, Hashem, for this land and this people and this Torah.

What I'm Reading

OK, first of all, I am not saying I'm proud of this, but it is a fact.  I love reading women's magazines, like Good Housekeeping, Women's Day, even (ok, especially) People magazine - you know what I'm talking about.  I mean, I read other stuff too (for example, books), but I do love me a good dumb magazine.


I am not allowed to look at them before the weekend.  I have rules.  When I lived in Baltimore, by Friday afternoon, I'd have a pile of magazines and catalogs (yes, I even like looking at catalogs) to keep me busy.

For me, it's total relaxation. I would rather read about the problems of rich movie stars than think about my own, and I love reading stories about people who overcome adversity and push through, whether or not it's true.

But - there is one downside to aliyah.  You can't get those magazines here in Israel. Now you feel sorry for me, right?  I can feel you feeling my pain, so thanks.

Sometimes friends/family bring magazines here for us from America and it is like the whole neighborhood celebrates - it's reason for a kiddush, I tell you. "The Leibtags have five issues of Good Housekeeping!  Get the herring!"

When one walks into the home of a friend, and sees one of these magazines in said friend's home, one's eyes focus laser-like on the magazine until said friend agrees to share.

Because, like I said, you can't get those magazines here. Well, that's not completely true.  You can get some magazines, depending on which day/hour/minute you visit the bookstores.

Today I found the following:

• A February issue of People for about $7
• A January issue of Style Watch for about $10
• A February issue of "O" for about $12

Yes, those prices are real.

And, um, I MAY have purchased one.  Or two. Or all of them.

I once purchased an InStyle that cost me almost $20.  But it was for Chag!  Special!


Gotta go.  My neighbors saw me walk in the with the magazines and I have to hide them for a few days.

Hebrew Update / Coping Mechanisms

So Ulpan is long in the past, and I think my Hebrew skills are a little stagnant.  I mean, I work in English, and I don't have that much to do with Israelis who only know Hebrew.  Also, I don't watch Israeli TV (we gave up cable - too expensive).

So, now I rely on my grandchildren, ages 10, 7, 6, 4, and 3.  Bless their little heads, they have taught me more Hebrew than I care to admit and are very patient with me.  Also, when they roll their eyes I don't mind as much, it's kind of cute.  Then again, everything they do is kind of cute.

When I am spending time with Tani, age 6, first grade, we read Hebrew books.

This is how it goes:

• Tani:   Bubby, do you want to read this book to me or do you want me to read it to you?
• Me:    No, no, I can read it!
• Tani:   Are you sure?  You had a hard time last time we did this.
• Me:    Tani, I have to get better, so I'll read and you'll help me.
• Tani (subtly rolling his eyes): OK, Bubby, let's go.

Then I sit there and am good for a few words until I start struggling.  The words are so nicely on the page but trip over each other on their way out of my mouth.  Also, thank goodness for nekudot.

Tani just surpassed my pathetic abilities - he started reading chapter books.  That's it, I'm done.

Then there's Ariella, age 10.  She will lapse into Hebrew in mid-sentence and I lose her.  Her Hebrew is fast and beautiful and I'm just smiling away, completely lost.

Then there's Nadav, age 3.  Nadav has a unique language all his own, a blend of Hebrew and English, such as, "Ima!  The mechonit went tachat ha-couch!" [Trans: Mommy, the car went under the couch]. Nevertheless, there are many times he is in all-Hebrew mode and there I am, only a bit older than he is, lost.

However, I have to say that hearing my own grandkids speak Hebrew like natives is a beautiful thing - it thrills me every time.

I have developed coping mechanisms for my lack of Hebrew expertise:

1. I prepare before I go somewhere - e.g., if I'm going to a store I figure out what I may have to ask for and how I will say it and repeat it to myself over and over in the car on the way there. Then - the words play this little game of musical chairs and they come out of my mouth in the wrong order - see #6 and #7 below.
2. I speak in English with an Israeli accent.  I'm VERY good at this.  If I don't know a word, I say it in Israeli -sounding English and they almost always understand me.  You just gotta roll those R's and lighten up on those L's and you're good to go.
3. I avoid speaking Hebrew.  This is my best option!  Buy meat from the frozen meat section, packaged cheese - anything you can do to avoid speaking to someone behind a counter.
4. I realized that I enjoy hearing Hebrew.  It's a beautiful, lyrical language and I enjoy trying to figure out what people are saying - well, some of the time, when they are not speaking directly to me.
5. I smile!  I take cues from the people who are talking to me!  When they smile, I smile!  When they laugh, I laugh!
6. I got used to making mistakes.  Enough said.
7. I got used to being embarrassed - like when someone is speaking to me really fast and I have NO IDEA what they are saying, and I'm employing mechanism #5 above and then I realize they are waiting because they just asked me something.  And I have to say my favorite word, "Mah?"
8. I embrace my immigrant status.  I just think, well,  I'm an immigrant, and proud of it.  Also, you can always play the "I'm an Olah Chadasha" card but you kinda get tired of that after two years....and a little embarrassed.
9. I keep trying.  No matter what, I have to keep trying.  I say Hebrew sentences to myself, I try to read the newspaper, I speak in Hebrew even when the other person says I can speak in English. 
10. I comfort myself - when I'm by myself in the car, my Hebrew is great!  I mean I am fluent, I find esoteric vocabulary words in the back of my brain and bring them out, my accent is perfect!  Someday that will also happen with real people.  

 So, thanks for listening.  I have to go practice now before I go to the home appliance store.  

The Bathroom, The Oil, and The Air Conditioner

Sounds like a really cool fantasy novel, right?  You are expecting a magical can of oil and an a/c unit with a Disney-type face on it, talking to each other, becoming friends, and sharing a strand of spaghetti.

Well, you go on and keep thinking like that, and in the meantime I shall tell you my tale of woe.

The builder of our development comes by each year (I think for 7 years from the date we moved in) to see what needs to be fixed.  I have covered this in an earlier blog, regaling you with my attempt to write down exactly what the worker told me to write (he is an Arab who I believe can speak but not write Hebrew well, so I was happy to help) and signing it. (I really should find the old blog and link to it here, but I'm too lazy and you really don't care, do you? Just take my word for it).

So one of the things to fix involved a possible leak in one of our bathrooms - there were water stains on the ceiling over the shower and we wanted him to take a look.

He looks and tells us that (you have probable already guessed this), "It is not our problem. You have to get the a/c people here right away."  He also declares that if there is a water leak, somehow the pipe which goes down the wall and under the bathroom is probably clogged up.  He opens up the access hole and pulls out gunk.  

OK, well at least the gunk is out, although I have no idea what that has to do with the leak, and I don't think anyone else really does either.

He has also, by the way, cut open a square of drywall over the shower to access the problem area.  This area will have to be repaired by him, when the a/c guy finishes his work.

By this time I am alternately crying and laughing, hoping that we understood the Hebrew and not at all certain as to what was happening other than we now had a big hole in our shower ceiling.  See, the whole time I'm just saying my favorite phrase, "B'seder!" and hoping for the best.

So he calls the a/c people for us and "enhances" the situation to make it sound desperate and telling them they should come right away.  We giggle, hearing his little white lie and he looks at us like we are nuts - this is just the way people do business, it's not funny.  We stop laughing.

So the a/c guy comes over, spends a lot of time looking, going onto the roof, etc., and declares that it is not water, it's oil.  Huh.  Oil is for some reason dripping out of a pipe over our shower. Huh.  He declares that he will return in one week.  

I am now wondering if his return will mean that he is fixing the leak.  My husband declares that he [a/c guy] knows where the leak is.  I maintain that he said he does not.  I do not know why he is coming back in a week unless he needs equipment, but we decide to wait and see. There was a lot of fast Hebrew talk in there and we might have missed an important sentence or ten.

Today he came back, right on time!  I think he says, "OK, today I am going to replace the access panel [not the ceiling hole] in your bathroom." 

"OK, I say, but....um.....what about the oil leak?

"I told you, I don't know where that is coming from.  When you turn on the a/c again when it gets warm, maybe it will leak again and then we will see." [Note to self - hahaha I was right!]

I say it over again to him in Hebrew to make sure I got it right.  He replies something that sounds like, "שףגלכחש פם'קןרשףךדגלכשףדךגכלשפ'קםןרשףךגלדכשףדךגכח ךדגלכשףךד"  and I nod and say "b'seder."

Then, when he's done, he "Slicha, G'veret"s me and I go see what he has done.  I look up at where the access panel should be covered.  It is not.  Then he shows me that he has created a HUGE hole and new access panel over the shower, so that he can get to the problem easier next time.

The old access panel is still uncovered.  I ask him to please cover it.  He does, but he is not happy about it.  Seriously, do you mean he didn't see the access panel cover sitting there the whole time???

So yay - now we have two access panels in our bathroom ceiling.  

"Yoo hoo, Architectural Digest?  Could you maybe come back another time?"

But we do have a lovely new access panel now in our bathroom.  Really, it's gorgeous you should come and take a look.  It's white and plastic and everything.  

I'll bet plumbers and HVAC guys everywhere will come to gawk.

So, I give up.  The oil can drip.  Just please don't make me talk to these people anymore.

Please.