tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26092155216340652782024-03-12T17:28:05.307-07:00Swirling ThoughtsLisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08487100512855194654noreply@blogger.comBlogger237125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609215521634065278.post-85169426664690125432017-11-16T03:16:00.004-08:002017-11-16T11:11:32.494-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
In college I studied about The Yanomami of the Amazon. Some cultural anthropologist had gone to live with them and written an ethnography about their culture and their ways. It sounds so complicated and exotic. Until I realized I can play cultural anthropologist and report here on the culture and observed ways of The Israeli's of "The Land". And I can do it all before lunch. </div>
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First of all, "The Land". Yes, Israeli's refer to Israel as The Land. Where are you from? I am from here, from The Land. </div>
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You can learn a lot about the inhabitants of The Land by spending a few minutes on line in the local pharmacy. Whole shelves dedicated to lice treatment and dry scalp evoke images of Pharoah having a last laugh as he chases out Hebrews from the Nile Basin to a place where the water is so filled with limestone there isn't one Israeli who is not plagued with doubt as to whether their itchy head is a result of actual lice or of limestoney-water-induced-dry-scalp. </div>
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Israel is a small country. We do a lot with small spaces. Our local pharmacy is a great example. Not more than 12 x 12 (feet, not meters), theoretically, you can come in and wait on line. Theoretically, you can even sit in a chair while you wait. But imagine that 12 x 12 foot space filled with 5 or 6 more bodies and tell me how it's really working out. Anyway, in the pharmacy, there are rules.</div>
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Even though it must be obvious you cannot light up in the adjoining medical clinic (there are no signs about smoking out there at all), it could be that there is a strong urge to smoke while waiting in the small pharmacy area. And so you are warned. Maybe you want to smoke while you talk on the phone. A forbidden combination.</div>
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In fact, no talking at all. I call this the "No Israeli's allowed" sign. They give a lot of explanation with it to really convince why you need to follow these rules.<br />
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In case you didn't notice it the first two times, remember not to smoke and talk on your phone while in the pharmacy.<br />
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In the Torah, The Land is described (by Gd, to Avraham) as being from the West to the East to the North and to the South. So I guess it's in this spirit of inheriting The Land that the signs are placed on all four walls of the pharmacy. Because who knows which blessed direction your eyes may wander as you reach for that trusty smoke...<br />
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Now there are rules of privacy which, as a pseudo cultural anthropologist, I would guess are written because they run counter to the nature of the population they are targeting.<br />
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But maybe the writer of the rules also knows not to expect too much from his audience. The 4 x 3 (foot) space in which you stand is an officially defined orb of "personal space" the pharmacy is trying to impose on you. Anyone who has changed or withdrawn money in this country knows that personal space is not a natural part of the Israeli cultural norm. So even this small demand may be hard for some to follow...<br />
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Israelis really believe in this special honey that wards off colds in the winter. I have a friend in Brooklyn who often asks me to send her some of it. It translates to something like "little bit of strength". We welcome winter with greetings of "A healthy winter to you" and we load up on little bits of strength. But for kids, we (of course) turn that strength into a Jelly Candy vitamin. I had to cut this one out of our lives because, between the strawberry chewable B-12 (they SAY it helps ward off lice) and the white chocolate probiotic chewable, my kids were getting a little TOO excited about vitamins.<br />
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Ever seen an Israeli family hiking? Every member down to the baby is wearing a hat and carrying a water bottle. Even in the winter. And so, even in the winter, we still live in the Middle East with all its inherent UV rays. You won't find Banana Boat here. You will find an abundance of overpriced 50 SPF sun block.<br />
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But don't be a fryer. A fryer is that mom who is called to pick up her kid from a bat mitzvah at 10pm and 6 other kids jump into her car asking for a lift home. Where are their parents? Home, NOT BEING FRYERS. Look carefully at the price and notice the lower, significantly cheaper price. THAT is the price a non-fryer should always pay for sunscreen. Even if it is not marked as the price. Paying 89.90 NIS for sunscreen makes you a fryer. Sorry I'm digressing. Native Israelis are not fryers.<br />
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My daughter keeps bugging me to do the Psych Pineapple Challenge where you toss a pineapple from person to person while giving some free publicity to the new Psych movie. I told her it would be way funnier to toss a can of pineapple since it's definitely bigger (and cheaper) than an Israeli pineapple.<br />
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Apparently she doesn't care about real humor as much as she does about being featured on some Psych movie promo. Go figure.</div>
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I used to call this, "Hint you might be living in a third world country"</div>
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Until today. Something about the contrast between the Italian tile and the laser quality print of the sign made me think a little deeper. Like Freud deep. Like how you are pretty much shaped (or totally messed up) in the first 8 years of life. So if we take that to a national level, anyone who suffered through what passed as plumbing in the early development of the state cannot, in good conscience, NOT GIVE THIS ADVICE. Now I will tell you that you can pinpoint the age of an Israeli and the approximate year their home was built based on what they do with their toilet tissue but we can just leave off here. And you could make a coffee table book with photographs of these signs from all over The Land. West, East, North, South. They are EVERYWHERE.<br />
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This one happens to be hanging in the bathroom in Rami Levy but now that I've pointed it out to you, you'll notice it every single time and think of me.<br />
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When I first moved here, it struck me as odd that men were doing grocery shopping, doctor visits, and school drop-off with some real regularity. I simply don't come from that. For whatever it's worth, those things were generally the domain of the mom. Fast forward 8 years and I don't even give it a thought any more. Except that today I did. Two older men (like 10 years older than me - not THAT old) were catching up in the produce aisle. Something about it let me hear them chatting without tuning in to what they were saying and had me thinking, "Wow, isn't this so cute? And so Israeli - the men swapping menu ideas and shopping for produce..." when suddenly one of them turned to me and I had to quickly adjust my tuner to process his Hebrew. He was pointing to the cucumbers and talking about a teaspoon. It took me half a minute but then I repeated what I thought he said back to him. Confirmed. If you put a teaspoon into your bag of cucumbers, they will last for 3 weeks in the fridge without spoiling. The cuteness just bore fruit.<br />
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I said you could learn a lot about a people and its culture before lunch here in Israel so let me tell you what I did after Rami Levy...<br />
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I picked up 4 random strangers waiting at a bus stop for a bus or a ride - whatever comes first - to Jerusalem. This is the phenomenon of tremping. And there is a whole tremping etiquette which boils down to what was expected of children in the 1950s - trempists are to be seen and not heard. They CAN be smelled (teenage boys either smell like an excessive amount of Axe Spray or like an excessive amount of time without a shower - with NO middle ground), which is probably its own topic but this is why we have windows in the car. So I enjoyed my music with the quiet company of strangers all the way to Jerusalem and then dropped them off here and there along the way. While all kinds of people tremp, today's crew happened to be men in their late 20s-early 30s. Of course tremping etiquette kept me from asking them what they are doing out and about in the middle of the day but again, such things are really quite normal in a country with an "up to 6 day work" week where people get their own random "free day" in the middle of the week. So there's tremping.<br />
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And my destination? The furniture store. Who called me yesterday screaming that my broken chair had not only been fixed, it had been SITTING IN THE STORE SINCE LAST WEEK. And in case it wasn't clear to me, THE STORE IS NOT A WAREHOUSE.<br />
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In front of the furniture store is a parking spot for loading and unloading only. There is a special sign. I pull into the spot, put on my hazards, and walk toward the store just as a delivery truck pulls up behind my car and starts beeping. I give him the Israeli "just a minute" hand gesture<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1KPgJm2KWr7IFJbVCwvpdD9-2Dfgx2EOfbEz-qPZO95k98op2Scz7SOnjgA5d6zv7e0zLv-pvX2WCHRXH6XqfuAgCo0w0tdEzKZGhrYn7Ef1xzir2jlreF3QqBbmY4r3EYAJHfUdJHpA/s1600/hand+gesture+rega.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="357" data-original-width="446" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1KPgJm2KWr7IFJbVCwvpdD9-2Dfgx2EOfbEz-qPZO95k98op2Scz7SOnjgA5d6zv7e0zLv-pvX2WCHRXH6XqfuAgCo0w0tdEzKZGhrYn7Ef1xzir2jlreF3QqBbmY4r3EYAJHfUdJHpA/s200/hand+gesture+rega.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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I once watched an interview with Natalie Portman and they asked her what's her favorite curse in Hebrew. She giggled and then said it and then sort of translated it. I was stunned! It was also my late father in law's favorite curse! What a coincidence! Except that it turns out, there just aren't a lot of choices. I'm not a linguist* but I'd say there are all of about two possible curses available in actual Hebrew. Now the first one is okay. You say it to a man. And you are calling him the son of a biblical inn-keeper. The second one, well, it's about your mamma. So this guy, he responds to my hand gesture with a REALLY LOUD "koos EHHHH mech". I don't think he thought he would see me again. I definitely don't think he thought I would come out of the furniture store one minute later with a chair on my back and walk straight up to his window never relinquishing eye contact and ask him, <b>What was that you wanted to tell me regarding my mother? </b>He mumbled an apology while I extolled the virtues of patience (<b>Savalanooooot, Habibi. Savlanoooot</b>) and made my way back to the car. He backed up his truck to <u>give me space</u> to open my trunk. My new friend, the impatient truck driver, who is just like Natalie Portman and my father in law, of blessed memory. Just to the extent that they are all Israeli.</div>
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*UPDATE: yeah, that curse (like all the others anyone ever uses) is in Arabic as well. I SAID I WASN'T A LINGUIST! Anyway, don't take it from me, take it from Natalie! </div>
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tlEC0bS2UMw">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tlEC0bS2UMw</a></div>
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<br />Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08487100512855194654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609215521634065278.post-12149572922710052552017-02-20T14:10:00.002-08:002017-02-20T14:24:25.392-08:00swirling thoughts #236 - the thoughts are swirling in multiple languagesSo I've been busy. Studying to become an English teacher. Which is good because, compared to my Hebrew, my English is GREAT. The crazy thing is half my teachers are British so I'm also learning a second language as they casually lay these rare linguistic bombs on me as if they are totally normal. Like "streaming cold". Even the dictionary acknowledges it as "British":<br />
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: noto_serif_devanagari, "Open Sans", sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; position: relative;">
<span class="sense-regions" style="color: #27a058; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; margin: 0px 8px 0px 0px; padding: 0px;">British </span><span class="grammatical_note" style="color: #27a058; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">attributive</span> <span class="ind" style="color: #27a058; font-size: 16px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">(of a cold) accompanied by copious running of the nose and eyes.</span></div>
<div class="exg" style="background-color: white; font-family: noto_serif_devanagari, "Open Sans", sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 4px 0px 7px; padding: 0px;">
<div class="ex" style="color: #2a2a2a; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<em style="font-family: Merriweather, sans-serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">‘she's got a streaming cold’</em></div>
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Meanwhile, I'm standing firm with my grammar teacher that a New Yorker never has to use the present perfect tense, ever. Even if we've just seen the Queen we will say, I just saw the Queen. Whereas the Brits really need to keep to proper form and announce, "I've just seen the Queen."<br />
But I digress.<br />
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So in order to become an English teacher in Israel, one has to not only accept the yoke of the Queen's English, one must be able to operate smoothly in Hebrew. After all, there are parents meetings, Ministry of Education-bureaucratic-fun-stuff, and of course, the teachers' lounge! And towards this higher calling, actually a life goal of mine, which I will always and forever refer to from here on in as "operating smoothly in Hebrew", I spent the last week studying like crazy for a Hebrew Proficiency Exam.*<br />
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Somewhere in the middle of all this I had occasion to visit the hardware store. As I looked up and saw SKAY SPRAY it occurred to me that 1. SKAY is not a word in English (irrespective of the gross things Urban Dictionary has to say) 2. The translation of SKAY into the exact same thing in Hebrew made me know the inevitable truth - Israelis think SKAY SPRAY means something in English. I took the SKAY SPRAY to the counter and asked what it is. They read the label and said it is some kind of spray for the inside of the car.<br />
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And there it hit me. I saw those meaningless words in English and never even thought to read the rest of the label in Hebrew. ME! Who strives to operate smoothly in Hebrew! I went back to the shelf and then I started noticing the pictures on the products that didn't have any English at all. But like really noticing the pictures and trying to figure out what the products were based on the pictures alone. Because if there is no English on the product, it's like I'm missing one of my senses and so my ability to hyper-focus on the graphic is intensified. Who even needs to read Hebrew when you can discern graphics with this kind of precision?<br />
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This is something I'm pretty sure is called "3D perfect vision granules for viewing nature"</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6h2NoMNRXqoQh0g9OW29GAJnKWALoBGjDM_oVnze38UiwZp0LmM9IgHY41Hfl6tx3ao-SdNPF_82jMVWUTHz2ZP8ufCQui6YwVvW7pVutqF0blHE9oPmzzhy-lhDRzIzNTiha3YzyecU/s1600/3D+perfect+vision+gruanules+for+properly+viewing+nature.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6h2NoMNRXqoQh0g9OW29GAJnKWALoBGjDM_oVnze38UiwZp0LmM9IgHY41Hfl6tx3ao-SdNPF_82jMVWUTHz2ZP8ufCQui6YwVvW7pVutqF0blHE9oPmzzhy-lhDRzIzNTiha3YzyecU/s1600/3D+perfect+vision+gruanules+for+properly+viewing+nature.JPG" /></a></div>
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This is "Digging to the Earth's Core Gel"</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBwtCWaQPreuEIGUNO0dT8teGTNDvGfd-xrCu1qqiBwdRYHLjkbf8vz1JuBHDfOpOhvcbZX5x6kwpiZTZo323wkits66a6bQeadtbj9t0ObhflxG9qyFhc3yEH8UFHH2bDc2nPwbS5iU4/s1600/digging+to+the+earth%2527s+core+gel.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBwtCWaQPreuEIGUNO0dT8teGTNDvGfd-xrCu1qqiBwdRYHLjkbf8vz1JuBHDfOpOhvcbZX5x6kwpiZTZo323wkits66a6bQeadtbj9t0ObhflxG9qyFhc3yEH8UFHH2bDc2nPwbS5iU4/s1600/digging+to+the+earth%2527s+core+gel.JPG" /></a></div>
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This needed no figuring out because, Duh! It's Dizidor!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGMbAzQ258Ai7pSs7zssXMYqW604RsmsIE9GxjG51xRpmlN8FpVSafVcik7bYLOSHPPNEgm75s_X342wpIYHO7YMXYnFWSCx5zRTToD9qzJ-5-iOqPtO3K8jdIGr_qGNxIzphVHvrAsJU/s1600/dizidor%2521+like+it+says.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGMbAzQ258Ai7pSs7zssXMYqW604RsmsIE9GxjG51xRpmlN8FpVSafVcik7bYLOSHPPNEgm75s_X342wpIYHO7YMXYnFWSCx5zRTToD9qzJ-5-iOqPtO3K8jdIGr_qGNxIzphVHvrAsJU/s1600/dizidor%2521+like+it+says.JPG" /></a></div>
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This is "Fragrant Fireplace Aroma Air Freshener for Stubborn Gym Smells"</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo5EGal9Sp37k0N_KnctRlFRwxSqIlNRmDjeM-DADPlvGu7lB602JgI0ldA-3rqWOhw125X9R5kK17drAZ_9rVCBAjpJUdGAPv7LWFJZSxuVipR-rGakncVes4es2AFUnMaxl5UfY5C7M/s1600/fragrant+fireplace+aroma+air+freshener+for+stubborn+smells.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo5EGal9Sp37k0N_KnctRlFRwxSqIlNRmDjeM-DADPlvGu7lB602JgI0ldA-3rqWOhw125X9R5kK17drAZ_9rVCBAjpJUdGAPv7LWFJZSxuVipR-rGakncVes4es2AFUnMaxl5UfY5C7M/s1600/fragrant+fireplace+aroma+air+freshener+for+stubborn+smells.JPG" /></a></div>
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This, of course, is "Make America Great" Spray</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAqF6dV5JyWfef65GmEsuI42icd2JwP6sOSq-cjLizaEk2BSXVigTHbYtMRCTUXEUeNqlB-pQEOfJdnl89RwMqqBnT_HJF5NDUQ5MI4syZ-49GTQ57N2YSqP2mG_bpEw9cjian2YjkTx4/s1600/make+america+great+spray.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAqF6dV5JyWfef65GmEsuI42icd2JwP6sOSq-cjLizaEk2BSXVigTHbYtMRCTUXEUeNqlB-pQEOfJdnl89RwMqqBnT_HJF5NDUQ5MI4syZ-49GTQ57N2YSqP2mG_bpEw9cjian2YjkTx4/s1600/make+america+great+spray.JPG" /></a></div>
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I love this! It's "No More Lonely Plants!"</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD88Brw_q7DdilTq83LuYQKvvj1jS7xSLGQTB4JQGeRvIJJseqlWNhverK0q3Y0-lP6cx9GrnnNNFCB9fxOjXV3QrEtXd7TeoPcZZTKxAi9CLgIO4wm7YZ8i5L_9VYCt3BhTPxWjs5jik/s1600/no+more+lonely+potted+plants%2521+all+insects+invited.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD88Brw_q7DdilTq83LuYQKvvj1jS7xSLGQTB4JQGeRvIJJseqlWNhverK0q3Y0-lP6cx9GrnnNNFCB9fxOjXV3QrEtXd7TeoPcZZTKxAi9CLgIO4wm7YZ8i5L_9VYCt3BhTPxWjs5jik/s1600/no+more+lonely+potted+plants%2521+all+insects+invited.JPG" /></a></div>
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This is for when the plants have had enough</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhabGr_eMltqmFBgedp6PZuanwLsSa5qFmIEz4qExMB2ZKx9lmdvi-Xf8RizgcdQOEjdNJ2kHRX82TX0M7X4BUHK0uKmJmkYp_22OapeSqHZyQMcHYmVsuN9XSvLdnoRhuIXYVSo4njFKw/s1600/for+whent+the+potted+plants+have+had+enough.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhabGr_eMltqmFBgedp6PZuanwLsSa5qFmIEz4qExMB2ZKx9lmdvi-Xf8RizgcdQOEjdNJ2kHRX82TX0M7X4BUHK0uKmJmkYp_22OapeSqHZyQMcHYmVsuN9XSvLdnoRhuIXYVSo4njFKw/s1600/for+whent+the+potted+plants+have+had+enough.JPG" /></a></div>
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This is "Parrot Spray"</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXceeAIiTJnsFoaDYX23FUQf1ytjohPmyHOallonnerFme2UkaRjEyofBTh4G_6vFWiUgSlyNm7IMUUA8vkmuSG9lRUoC3pkE1Lk2ExLyRTxsoXNxBxWl5-4_s8ygSZhbLgdXOa2lMP9Q/s1600/parrot+spray.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXceeAIiTJnsFoaDYX23FUQf1ytjohPmyHOallonnerFme2UkaRjEyofBTh4G_6vFWiUgSlyNm7IMUUA8vkmuSG9lRUoC3pkE1Lk2ExLyRTxsoXNxBxWl5-4_s8ygSZhbLgdXOa2lMP9Q/s1600/parrot+spray.JPG" /></a></div>
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This is "Rat in a Box"</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1RXs9ljT0S4mAJLwKX0uLcjk0wwJt7poMvxr9SJU1RwDlSwuZIgRTP8s1ilcZM6ko-EBhbK9FmkHs_ZBnlAFb7c5vM1-ahSmjgr6QEAYkZbImWTdGOxT9BsHRW6GHsMV2yyn-7j1L8_M/s1600/rat+in+a+box.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1RXs9ljT0S4mAJLwKX0uLcjk0wwJt7poMvxr9SJU1RwDlSwuZIgRTP8s1ilcZM6ko-EBhbK9FmkHs_ZBnlAFb7c5vM1-ahSmjgr6QEAYkZbImWTdGOxT9BsHRW6GHsMV2yyn-7j1L8_M/s1600/rat+in+a+box.JPG" /></a></div>
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Or as we say in English, "Ratrim Blox"</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2gvcenhhhHt1k5MXBvI5mJfgVctiihSmhQuQWRwk3FY4nXzyDUg4KmScVpnJPAb5TrB13qd3558941bZTGn-DXUXldHuo2TobXcAJuM1kI2U7ybieZiYxv6l6oF8S-BMcOLwtmaqhRWk/s1600/or+as+we+say+in+english%252C+ratrim+box.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2gvcenhhhHt1k5MXBvI5mJfgVctiihSmhQuQWRwk3FY4nXzyDUg4KmScVpnJPAb5TrB13qd3558941bZTGn-DXUXldHuo2TobXcAJuM1kI2U7ybieZiYxv6l6oF8S-BMcOLwtmaqhRWk/s1600/or+as+we+say+in+english%252C+ratrim+box.JPG" /></a></div>
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Google Translate, Dictionary.Com and even Urban Dictionary are not really helping with the relevant meaning in Hebrew or English of SKAY SPRAY</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgST4D98WjP5pm7FIdvkuGy99o9ImoAl2TsyDCThb_WvNPQYgQeerT8xgzBIrbqAxBbmVtR0zR5XGdaYSdDznvqaSG6xgSjGXVhYKlC-oCV0Se-g8Zcev7dApqEo3KgJ8q7jJHD9LqdTRc/s1600/skay+spray+in+hebrew.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgST4D98WjP5pm7FIdvkuGy99o9ImoAl2TsyDCThb_WvNPQYgQeerT8xgzBIrbqAxBbmVtR0zR5XGdaYSdDznvqaSG6xgSjGXVhYKlC-oCV0Se-g8Zcev7dApqEo3KgJ8q7jJHD9LqdTRc/s1600/skay+spray+in+hebrew.JPG" /></a></div>
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And now that I'm thinking about it, I'll bet those guys behind the counter only guessed at it based on the steering wheel in the graphic.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDwRRkB21Ncd83uaPtIaiKS_FJGaSgt4dZ5cLMlZHUtB48EDFTdsSeB68wah1_7BPKTNjgnbi_BIfI73bJcJ0m0SZgV-QPmhnna73Xl1uS49NAsSY40jRaU8r8ETHQFes-lYFus_PDuXc/s1600/skay+spray.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDwRRkB21Ncd83uaPtIaiKS_FJGaSgt4dZ5cLMlZHUtB48EDFTdsSeB68wah1_7BPKTNjgnbi_BIfI73bJcJ0m0SZgV-QPmhnna73Xl1uS49NAsSY40jRaU8r8ETHQFes-lYFus_PDuXc/s1600/skay+spray.JPG" /></a></div>
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This one's my favorite and where has it been all my life?<br />
"Snail Polish"</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy_RiF6rP1BLjP1tZAUJQutf5BhpSGi30dqDnHlvMsykwCIA-3V1zzLA7n8i6isLlP6JEVFrdRQ5go-fyA-ycaORM3SRvBZ34GXNWlRUcroS-4nJa9_rhCJrWdJR1rJVbexcTCEyBond8/s1600/snail+polish.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy_RiF6rP1BLjP1tZAUJQutf5BhpSGi30dqDnHlvMsykwCIA-3V1zzLA7n8i6isLlP6JEVFrdRQ5go-fyA-ycaORM3SRvBZ34GXNWlRUcroS-4nJa9_rhCJrWdJR1rJVbexcTCEyBond8/s1600/snail+polish.JPG" /></a></div>
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And just in time for Purim, "Spray on Muscles"</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrVR5UmIoimIBOVvvsxteDVJezGRpMn2xZ5BQ8_V6srYOZ9POy1sPxJvD_nK6n0pC0-QxvctgdnTahbTH4kz8FImXRRq7ee-x_of1U4FQZsOfibBn8vUmmTspDW4WPB42ufoCWLBMbtxY/s1600/spray+on+muscles+for+purim.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrVR5UmIoimIBOVvvsxteDVJezGRpMn2xZ5BQ8_V6srYOZ9POy1sPxJvD_nK6n0pC0-QxvctgdnTahbTH4kz8FImXRRq7ee-x_of1U4FQZsOfibBn8vUmmTspDW4WPB42ufoCWLBMbtxY/s1600/spray+on+muscles+for+purim.JPG" /></a></div>
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When I took this picture in the pharmacy and explained to the pharmacist about my post, he looked at me like I was speaking Chinese. (note to self, must post about "everything unknown to Jews is referred to as Chinese" another time). Evidently, when one really does master "operating smoothly in Hebrew" these graphics fade to the background and the Hebrew jumps out and explains the use of the product (in this case, it is for back pain and not to combat bad breath). Until I reach that moment of rapture, I will enjoy my ignorant giggles.<br />
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*I took three practice exams, learned about 200 new words, finally learned the difference between "to sacrifice" and "to visit the Caribbean" (it's just one letter off), I studied Curious George in Hebrew like it was a Holy Text - my kids dared not lose my page, I read all the school emails in their original Hebrew form, I read all my Israeli Groupon offers in their original Hebrew form - aside from my fun at the Hardware Store, I embraced the challenge of becoming one who operates smoothly in Hebrew. So I can teach the Queen's English to Israeli students, כמו שצריך<br />
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<br />Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08487100512855194654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609215521634065278.post-91426267094335204192016-04-07T13:29:00.001-07:002016-04-08T04:32:57.197-07:00Rafi Randy Novick, Of Blessed Memory<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial";">One of the nicest things to get used to, living in the Jewish
homeland, is that so many of the people in my daily life – almost all, in fact –
are Jewish. Neighbors, shop owners, gardeners, the guys who came to paint my
house, assemble my IKEA furniture, install my shower doors, the dentist, the contractor, the barber, the exterminator, the roofer,
the electrician.... You get my point. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial";">Many, if not all of these people also live here in my community. Which
means we have kids in school together. We bump into each other in the grocery
store. And at weddings. We pray together. And so, the relationship with most of
them is more than just about the task at hand – we talk and share – over
clogged drains, with Mr. Thirsty in our mouth, with dryer parts disassembled
all over the floor....</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial";">And so this is how Rafi Novick, z"l came into our lives, seven years
ago when we arrived in Israel with American appliances and really, without a
clue. (Israeli’s don’t have hot water pipes connecting to their washers?) He’s
smoothed out life’s bumps for us so many times along the way I’ve lost count.
Rabbi Riskin pointed out that one cannot live a purely spiritual existence. We
are on the ground, holy as it may be. We need to wash our clothes and cook our food in order to be
able to devote our efforts to loftier pursuits. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial";">Rafi understood this more than anyone – he never met a repair
challenge he didn't embrace. Even if embracing it meant sending you to a
different repair man with a specialty. And then following up! The last time he
was in my house, just last week, he was so excited I’d found a clue in the
ongoing mystery of “My oven always shorting out” (clue was ‘steam’) that he
offered to take home the manual and try to figure out the component most likely
to be affected by steam. And all that was only a side conversation - he was here fixing my freezer!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial";">A man so brilliant, he had encyclopedic knowledge about
countless topics from Torah to government to rock ‘n roll to DNA. In Rabbi
Allan Greenspan’s words, "To be with Rafi was to be a student." <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial";">Brilliant yet humble. He would listen to you speak and truly
learn from you. Even if he was just learning how you think or feel about
something. Rav Oren said it perfectly. Rafi wanted to know and understand everything
in a very clear way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial";">I never met a person like Rafi before. Genius. Humble.
Hilarious. Interesting. Interested. A student of life and a keen observer of
human behavior. He once clocked me as a person who is always cold and hadn’t
been opening the windows much. It’s true but how did he know? He pointed out
the delicate vase I had sitting right in front of the kitchen window. He said
he can always tell who’s cold by what they keep in front of their windows!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial";">Rafi was a lover of Eretz Yisrael. He recently shared with me a
treasured memory of laying down to block the road with Nadia Matar and other supporters
of Women In Green in order to pressure the government to open the Tekoa –<st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Yerushalayim Road</st1:address></st1:street>.
He told me how much he respected everyone who fights for Eretz Yisrael. He told
me how much he respected <i>me</i> because I take women to <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Hebron</st1:place></st1:city>. I never got to tell him that my <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Hebron</st1:place></st1:city> ladies prayed so
hard for his refuah last night in Maarat Hamachpela. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial";">Instead I woke up to the inconceivable news that Rafi was taken
from us. As if he were ours. As if anyone or anything is actually ours. It's
all a gift. Every moment, every encounter, every experience. From the hespidim,
we know Rafi lived his life with this awareness. Appreciating every moment with
his beloved family, never squandering an opportunity to help someone and
simultaneously learn something. Or teach something. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial";">Rav Oren invoked the words of Or Zaruah in describing Rafi.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial";">Or zaruah, latzadik, ul’yishrei lev simcha. (Light is sown for
the righteous and joy for the upright at heart.)</span><span style="background: #9bc3d5; color: #4b5d67; font-family: "arial";"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial";">Rafi was both – a Tzaddik and Yeshar – righteous and upright and
he touched the lives of so many people.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial";">"He always helped me, even if I was having a rough time and
couldn't pay right away - he never left me without a working oven for Shabbat,
always just told me to "pay when you can". He was so kind, so
generous. We were so comfortable with him. He could come into my house with the
code. My kids all knew him. They can't believe he's gone." (long time customer from the Geffen)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial";">"We always used him to fix our appliances. Somewhere along
the way he said, 'you know, you can tell when people are your friends. ..you
guys are my friends.' </span><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial";">He was generous with his time and knowledge. He fixed little
things without charging us, because he said 'this isn't a job, it's just
friends helping each other out.'" (long time customer from the Dekel)</span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial";">"He had such a special presence. He was patient, kind,
honest, with wonderful midot, always greeting everyone with a smile. Truly a
fine and true person on all levels. It such a loss to our people. He had such
pride in his wife and son." (long time customer from the Zayit)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial";">“Rafi was an excellent professional technician and trustworthy,
honest, sincere, and reliable. But, so much more than that…we would discuss,
while he was working. He was not just Rafi the technician but he was also an
historian, a political analyst, a psychologist, a philosopher. He had such
interesting opinions and insights and anecdotes to life and everything going on
in the world. It was always a pleasure talking with him. He was informative and
gave me new insights into the different things we discussed and all this while
being so dependable in his line of work. He would be there to help and I cannot
emphasize enough – his honesty, sincerity, good nature, and sense of humor. He
was a wonderful, kind, sweet human being. He will be so missed.” (customer of
many years, also from the Zayit) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial";">His friend Eliyahu Grossman described Rafi:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial";">“Rafi would be embarrassed by all of the attention... Despite not
wanting to be at the center of attention, he was quick to help anyone in need.
Whether it was Erev Shabbat or Erev Chag, something in town was bound to break
and people would panic, and he would always make himself available. He loved
70s music and often would tell me stories of some of the bands, and more than
once he would tell me about Bruce Springsteen. He will be missed.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Rav Reuven Rosenstark, quoting the Mishna on Perkei Avot asked, "Who is a
respected person? One who respects others." Rav Reuven knew Rafi as a
neighbor, as a fellow congregant in Shul, and as an appliances repairman.
In his words, "Rafi gave everyone respect. Even though he knew so much
more than most people he met, he treated everyone as an equal. He always wanted
you to understand." The Rav spoke about Rafi's legendary honesty and
integrity. And his yesharut (literally, uprightness). Rabbi Riskin said Rafi and his wife were such
partners that he took on the characteristic of her name, Yeshara. If he did a job
for someone who had done him a favor he wouldn't take money – as a hakarat
hatov. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial";">Shmuel Bowman said every time with Rafi was like a meeting at
the Rebbe's tisch. Comparing his repair visits to shiurei torah, he
noted "Rafi came to remind us of and connect us to the Geula." Rafi's
deep understanding of "vehahavta lareacha kamocha" let him
synthesize friendships and professional relationships, getting deep inside the
questions asked of him. “Who's gonna remind us of the Geula?” Shmuel asked. “We
will need to remind each other.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Rafi's beloved wife described him as her best friend and soul mate with whom
she shared everything. With his "bizarre sense of humor" (her words!), his job in
his family was to make his two sisters laugh. She described Rafi as a private
person and a loyal friend who strove for shalom with others. She spoke about
his special relationship with Netanel and about his love of life and Eretz Yisrael.
And of course, she mentioned his work ethic. “Rafi cared deeply about his customers and went
above and beyond for them. Often. Usually. Always. He would be honored and
amazed at how many people are here and he would say ‘Wow! All that for me?’”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial";">I can hear him saying it. Can’t you?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p> </o:p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVfp8gijcIHhNzkvzx2lwoNqxdSBdBUlfs7KTxIW2Iu2GDY28e3Bf3H4mFXhgnQY0KBwyBZPbGBkCswYESgEf4mRDi0NR_J-R5XeeCy7CJP-vp9vy9M_YOXPU-E6bSYZXPKP3ZShkH_K0/s1600/1554446_414271395444639_4559862211037747748_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVfp8gijcIHhNzkvzx2lwoNqxdSBdBUlfs7KTxIW2Iu2GDY28e3Bf3H4mFXhgnQY0KBwyBZPbGBkCswYESgEf4mRDi0NR_J-R5XeeCy7CJP-vp9vy9M_YOXPU-E6bSYZXPKP3ZShkH_K0/s200/1554446_414271395444639_4559862211037747748_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08487100512855194654noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609215521634065278.post-18090599457002730412015-11-30T23:23:00.001-08:002015-12-01T00:11:13.077-08:00Sometimes the thoughts swirl faster than others <div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
7:35-ish TZOMET HaGush. Say goodbye to Asher and watch him board the 160 bus toward Hebron.</div>
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Drive back to efrat, pick up the girls, drop them at school.</div>
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<a href="x-apple-data-detectors://0" x-apple-data-detectors-result="0" x-apple-data-detectors-type="calendar-event" x-apple-data-detectors="true">7:58</a> pull over to check my phone. Stabbing at TZOMET HaGush. Hebron side.</div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">How to measure a hairsbreadth?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Some proximity of time and place, I know.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"My son got on the bus minutes before the terrorist approached the bus stop and started stabbing." Or, as reported by a close friend, "I was in the next car after the car that was sprayed with bullets." Or, as reported by another close friend, "The boulder was sitting on my dashboard. When I got out of the car I found I was covered in glass."</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">But also an intense familiarity. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"That place where the terrorist attack occurred - I go there every day, every week, every whatever." "That person who was killed was my teacher, my neighbor, my friend's son, a girl I met in a tremp...."</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Thus leaving nearly every single resident of this place with a distinct feeling of (they or their loved ones) just having escaped with their lives. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="pron spellpron" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline; margin: 25px 20px 45px -10px; padding: 0px 10px 4px;">[<span class="dbox-bold" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline; font-weight: bold;">hairz</span>-bredth, -bretth, -breth] </span><span class="pre-def-data" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-style: italic;"></span></span></div>
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<section class="def-pbk ce-spot" data-collapse-expand="{"target": ".def-set", "type": "def"}" style="box-sizing: border-box; padding: 20px 0px 0px;"><header class="luna-data-header" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span class="dbox-pg" style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); box-sizing: border-box;">noun</span></header><div class="def-set" style="box-sizing: border-box; padding: 15px 0px 10px;">
<span class="def-number" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: block; float: left; padding-right: 5px;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); box-sizing: border-box;">1.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); box-sizing: border-box;"><span class="oneClick-link" style="box-sizing: border-box;">a</span> <span class="oneClick-link" style="box-sizing: border-box;">very</span> <span class="oneClick-link" style="box-sizing: border-box;">small</span> <span class="oneClick-link" style="box-sizing: border-box;">space</span> <span class="oneClick-link" style="box-sizing: border-box;">or</span> <span class="oneClick-link" style="box-sizing: border-box;">distance:</span></span><br />
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<span class="dbox-example" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-style: italic;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); box-sizing: border-box;"><span class="oneClick-link" style="box-sizing: border-box;">We</span> <span class="oneClick-link" style="box-sizing: border-box;">escaped</span> <span class="oneClick-link" style="box-sizing: border-box;">an</span> <span class="oneClick-link" style="box-sizing: border-box;">accident</span> <span class="oneClick-link" style="box-sizing: border-box;">by</span> a hairsbreadth<span class="oneClick-link" style="box-sizing: border-box;">.</span></span></span></div>
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When i dropped asher to TZOMET HaGush this morning I offered up some theories as to why the new elite army unit we have aiming sniper rifles at every car is wearing face masks. His question - why do we need such an elite unit. I made him laugh when I repeated something I'd read yesterday - TZOMET HaGush is the most dangerous place in israel right now. I admitted it also made me giggle because our experience at this spot is a history of boring bus alighting, uneventful grocery shopping and ambivalent gas refueling. It reminded me of growing up outside Washington, D.C. in the 1980s when the nations capital was dubiously renamed the Murder Capital of the World. We giggled then too. Not out of insensitivity. Our experience, there too, was vast and uneventful. People are afraid to come to the place where I go shopping for cool clothes or to visit museums? It felt absurd. Yet I never was so physically close, in those days, to the actual violence that plagued Washington. In fact, the giggle is where the analogy ends. In this stage of my life, it has been very close, very real, very insanely miraculously just a hairsbreadth away - physically. Emotionally, however, there is no escape.<br />
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We were blessed by our cousin's husband at the Brit Milah of his son yesterday. We being all of Am Yisrael.<br />
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<tr><td class="h" style="direction: rtl; font-size: 26px; text-align: right; unicode-bidi: embed; vertical-align: top;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-size: 17px;"><b>כד</b> יְבָרֶכְךָ ה״ וְיִשְׁמְרֶךָ. {ס}</span></td><td style="direction: ltr; font-size: 19px; unicode-bidi: embed; vertical-align: top;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-size: 17px;"><b>24</b> The LORD bless thee, and keep thee; <b>{S}</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="h" style="direction: rtl; font-size: 26px; text-align: right; unicode-bidi: embed; vertical-align: top;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-size: 17px;"><b>כה</b> יָאֵר ה״ פָּנָיו אֵלֶיךָ, וִיחֻנֶּךָּ. {ס}</span></td><td style="direction: ltr; font-size: 19px; unicode-bidi: embed; vertical-align: top;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-size: 17px;"><b>25</b> The LORD make His face to shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee; <b>{S}</b></span></td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="4" cellspacing="4" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); direction: ltr; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; width: 100%px;"><tbody>
<tr><td class="h" style="direction: rtl; font-size: 26px; text-align: right; unicode-bidi: embed; vertical-align: top;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-size: 17px;"><b>כו</b> יִשָּׂא ה״ פָּנָיו אֵלֶיךָ, וְיָשֵׂם לְךָ שָׁלוֹם. {ס}</span></td><td style="direction: ltr; font-size: 19px; unicode-bidi: embed; vertical-align: top;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-size: 17px;"><b>26</b> The LORD lift up His countenance upon thee, and give thee peace. <b>{S}</b></span></td></tr>
<tr></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
<br /></div>
Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08487100512855194654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609215521634065278.post-63462550761254283492015-10-19T09:39:00.003-07:002015-10-19T09:47:52.557-07:00Swirling Thoughts #235 - really just an ordinary day<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Since the great (Target) credit
card breach of 2013, we've been suffering the effects of “once you give someone
in this country your credit card number, you'd better pray there's never a
great credit card scandal leaving you with a new card because then you will
just be screwed.” Yes that is a real effect.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Recall my myriad pleasant
exchanges with Cellcom. OMG just recalling that brings up bile. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Enter Israeli social security
- lovingly known to all Tehudat Zehut (national identity card) carrying Israeli
citizens as Bituach Leumi. Let me start by saying Bituach Leumi (once you find
the branch you need – there are four all within an impossible block in the
center of town – making the chances of finding the one you need on the first
try just 25%), has higher security than the airport. They pat you down. Then
they laser scan you. They ask way tougher questions than any El Al agent has
ever asked me (Come on! Everyone knows their Hebrew name and who packed their
luggage!). But not everyone knows the answers to gruff questions like
"yesh l'chem va'ada?" In the 10 seconds it takes for me to process the
Hebrew (and that's on a good day) the door has already been closed on me while
they pat down the next guy. I'm left mentally translating an answer when they
come back to me and offer an equally gruff "English?" <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In any case, the last time
we gathered up the tall pile of Bituach Leumi notices that have been
relentlessly filling my mailbox since the credit card number was switched, we arrived to an
amazing line of zero people! What luck! We were then told Bituach Leumi is
closed on Wednesdays. And it was told to us in such a way that basically
translated to, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i>“Duh. Aren’t you citizens
with Teudat Zehut cards? Everyone in the country knows Bituach Leumi is closed
on Wednesday.” <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well, that’s how it felt,
anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And so we made a date of
it, had some lunch, and put the pile on hold. For about another year. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I should add that in the interim
we successfully reached them by telephone - a whole other story involving a
lost secret code - and tried to give over our credit card info . <u>Who refuses
credit card info?</u> Hint: if you are missing a secret code, Cellcom & Bituach Leumi.
Make no mistake. In <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Israel</st1:place></st1:country-region>,
the secret code is king. We thought we'd untangled the mess but that Bituach Leumi
pile of mail kept flowing in. And the truth – it felt kind of ominous.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And so today, a Monday,
mind u, we arranged for gan pickups, babysitting and carpools. All through my morning
yoga class, instead of clearing my mind, I debated back and forth: to bring my
gun or to leave my gun. (Did I forget to post about getting a gun? Oops.) As I’ve been toting it around Efrat (recall Nir Barkat,
Mayor of Jerusalem, advising Jerusalemites who have guns to carry guns and the
subsequent advisory from our Minister of Defense…) it would seem like a no-brainer
to bring it into town. Except for pat-down guy whose job it would be to check
my gun, coat-check style. Except what if he asks me questions, fast, in Hebrew,
faster than I can answer him and we’re left with him finding my gun while I’m
fumbling for my license? My yoga class would have been better spent 'staying in
the present' as my question was answered in 2 seconds flat by my fellow yogis at
the end of class: Have gun? Bring gun. Sababa. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b>Mission</b></span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b> Impossible</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So I didn’t clear my mind
but I did clear my calendar. We had all
day. And so we gathered up the oppressive stack of Bituach Leumi notices and
made our way in to the center of town. Me, armed and ready to protect my
beloved. Now - an aside - I kept hearing how town (<st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Jerusalem</st1:place></st1:city>) is empty on account of all the
terror attacks. Couple that with the one- in-a-million parking spot I found ONE
time in the impossible area surrounding Bituach Leumi, and I put my faith in a really
hopeful silver lining and had my beloved turn into the impossible area. About
40 minutes after turning onto <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Shlomtzion
Hamalka Street</st1:address></st1:street> (and moving about 40 meters) Bob
looked at me and said “It’s probably best you carry the gun.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ignoring the obvious
(hungry man suffering from traffic fatigue will want to eat meat), I pointed
out my favorite dairy café as we inched along. An alternate silver lining. Alas we found a spot and made our way to A
(not THE) Bituach Leumi office where we were promptly asked if we had a va'ada. Va’ada?
I repeated, buying myself some time, but not really as the door promptly closed
on us. After a moment it reopened and there was a gruff offer of "English?".
To which we answered by presenting our stack of papers and asking where the
appropriate Bituach Leumi office was located. The way the guard looked at my
stack of papers made me think not too many people let their Bituach Leumi
mailings accumulate over an almost two year period. And so came the answer,
gruff and in Hebrew. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Segur!<br /> </span></i><br />
<blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Closed? On Monday?</span><br />
<blockquote>
<i><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes. Closed Monday. </span></i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This must be terror
related.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Just today?<br /> </span><br />
<blockquote>
<i><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No. Every Monday!</span></i><br />
<blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But I thought Bituach Leumi
was closed on Wednesday! </span><br />
<blockquote>
<i><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes. Also
Wednesday. Open <a href="x-apple-data-detectors://0/" target="_parent">tomorrow
from 8:30-12</a>. </span></i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Of course. I just don’t
understand how they can generate all the mailings they’ve sent me on a 4 day
work week.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There were no real words
at this moment – just hunger and so, being the sport that he is, Bob agreed to
view the menu of said favorite dairy café.
As we approached I saw some obvious security guys moving about. The
curly behind-the-ear wire is a dead
giveaway. Then there was Mister Enthusiasm – literally a guy sitting outside
the café announcing to anyone who passed by, “Nir Barkat, Mayor of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Jerusalem</st1:place></st1:city> is inside the
café! And the American Ambassador just walked by!” He said it to us twice and
then to a friend on the phone as Bob eyed the menu. He was really enthusiastic
about it all. I contemplated popping in to let the mayor know how I’m following
his advice but thought better of it in light of all the security.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the end we walked
further into town, looking for a certain bookstore. Mistaking the Mashbir (<st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Israel</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s
version of Sears) for a mall, I got my big chance to get through security with
my gun. It was quite uneventful but a sort of milestone nonetheless. We had a
traditional his and her’s <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Ben
Yehuda Street</st1:address></st1:street> lunch – me a smoothie, him a falafel
– and we chalked it up to another failed errand turned lunch date (of which we've had countless in 6+ years). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And as sure as the mail
will arrive, I know we will try, yet again. Stay tuned...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08487100512855194654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609215521634065278.post-77069707843741773982015-10-19T09:02:00.000-07:002015-10-19T09:15:35.230-07:00Swirling Thoughts #234 Escape from Cellcom…One woman’s tale of woe and deception<div class="MsoNormal">
Disclaimer: I am fully aware that some of my perceived
conspiracies are an outgrowth of my illiteracy and lack of cultural
understanding. Perhaps most or even all of them. Nevertheless, my perception is
my reality.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It all started one year ago in May of 2014 when our american
credit card company decided, in light of the previous Thanksgiving’s credit
card breach via Target, to cancel and re-issue cards to all its customers.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I promptly called every number on my credit card statement
to let them know to automatically bill the new card in place of the old. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I reached Cellcom I was informed that they would not be
able to automatically bill the new card as it is a non-Israeli card. </div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
But the old card was a non-Israeli card.<br />
<blockquote>
<i>Yes but we can no longer accept non-Israeli cards for
payment.</i><br />
<blockquote>
But if my card number had not been switched we wouldn’t be
having this conversation and you would still be billing my non-Israeli card
without incident.<br />
<blockquote>
<i>Correct.</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so, we cleared up the terms of Cellcom’s secret
grandfather clause. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When a family makes money in America (Bob works in NY,
remember) and spends it in Israel, suffice it to say the most efficient way to
pay bills is to have them all centralized to a credit card in the country where
the money is. That said…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>It’s no problem just give us your Israeli card.</i><br />
<blockquote>
I don’t have one.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Insert long conversation of them not believing I don’t have
an Israeli card and me not believing they won’t take my American card. A game
of Chicken, if you will.</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Then you will have to pay every month.</i><br />
<blockquote>
How will I know to pay?<br />
<blockquote>
<i>We send an email.</i> </blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<div>
Small detail. Bob gets the emails. He doesn't always remember to send them to me.</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Can you send me the email?<br />
<blockquote>
<i>You are not authorized on the account so no.</i><br />
<blockquote>
How will I know to pay???<br />
<blockquote>
<i>We will send you a text. Do not worry.</i> </blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
Wait. A red flag just went up somewhere in the universe.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Are you sure?<br />
<blockquote>
<i>Yes. I am sure.</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And sure enough over the next many months I received the
kinds of texts even an illiterate immigrant cannot ignore. With words like
‘immediately’ and ‘settle your debt’. They sure do talk tough over there at
Cellcom. I tried calling many times to figure out better ways to work the
billing. One time they told me to photograph my bill, my American credit card
and my national ID card and sms it to a cell phone number they provided. Out of
desperation I did this and was answered a week later with a debt collection
text. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so I would go to the post
office, ask to pay my Cellcom bill, identify myself as Robert (really they just
take the ID number) and pay. And pay and pay and pay. Those bills seemed so
high. Hundreds and hundreds of shekels high. And those texts were so
threatening! I went to the post office early a few times hoping to avoid the
nasty text. Each time they told me I didn’t have a balance! How could it be?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I spent a few hours poolside with my Israeli neighbor this past
Pesach. She was horrified to find out I was paying anything more than 80
shekels. </div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
ALL ISRAELIS PAY 80 SHEKELS FOR CELL PHONE SERVICES. </blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She got on the
phone with Cellcom and demanded answers. </div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Why isn’t Lisa paying 80 shekels LIKE ALL OTHER ISRAELIS
PAY?<br />
<blockquote>
<i>She pays late every month.</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Huh?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Turns out that those texts are only sent after the billing
cycle is over and the bill hasn’t been paid. At that point a 100 shekel late
fee is added to the balance! Text does not equal bill. And for some strange
reason the post office cannot identify my not-yet-overdue Cellcom balance without a paper bill. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So for starters we
asked for paper bills to be sent. <st1:city w:st="on">Eureka</st1:city>.
But the monthly average is still so high.</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
It’s still too high!<br />
<blockquote>
<i>Oh but it includes home telephone services!</i><br />
<blockquote>
We don’t use Cellcom for our home telephone services.<br />
<blockquote>
<i>But you should! You are paying for it.</i><br />
<blockquote>
<b>NO NEED! TAKE IT OFF!</b></blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Also it includes Television.</i><br />
<blockquote>
WE DON’T HAVE A TELEVISION!<br />
<blockquote>
<i>But it’s so worthwhile! You are already paying for Cellcom
television!</i><br />
<blockquote>
<b>TAKE IT OFF! TAKE IT OFF!</b></blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We couldn’t take anything off until they spoke to Bob for
his authorization. Because Bob set up the account. He got on the phone and
asked that they authorize me, his wife, to also make important decisions
regarding our account. They required that request in writing with a copy of my
national identity card. OMG.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After Pesach I checked the mailbox for our new paper bill at
least twice a week for a month, effectively doubling the amount of trips to the
mailbox I’ve made since we made aliyah. Guess what? No bill. I checked with
Bob. Not even an email bill. But I got a <st1:place w:st="on">LOT</st1:place>
of phone calls trying to re-sell me Cellcom TV service. Until I realized the
benefit of living in the HOLY land.</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
We don’t have TV!<br />
<blockquote>
<i>Don’t you want TV?</i><br />
<blockquote>
We’re religious Jews! We don’t believe in TV! Please stop
calling! </blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now my Hebrew isn’t great and I rely a lot on pictures to
explain things like, for example, the booklet my kids brought home on how to
deal with possible emergencies such as rockets, shells and</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
earthquakes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2KYXqKUq5Crcme70AGX-elKRle7pz-DnntF0Ihp9a_Z2GrWhIq7Q6glCxAHVgYlKE3KWJ3K_7o1e_Ui4lwXAM71MwPcNY4decNYz6Xo-mlMMgshK6OU511zL0vOIYkPvek2ZcojIo7ho/s1600/IMG_3555.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2KYXqKUq5Crcme70AGX-elKRle7pz-DnntF0Ihp9a_Z2GrWhIq7Q6glCxAHVgYlKE3KWJ3K_7o1e_Ui4lwXAM71MwPcNY4decNYz6Xo-mlMMgshK6OU511zL0vOIYkPvek2ZcojIo7ho/s320/IMG_3555.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(Incidentally, I asked my 5 year old what we are supposed to do if we find ourselves in this particular situation. She answered very matter-of-factly. We pray.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I rely a lot on my kids to translate for me. Which is
exactly what Barbara did last week when she got the ominous debt collection
text from Cellcom. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so I reached my limit. I dispatched Bob to hook us up to
a new cell phone provider just hours before he left for <st1:state w:st="on">New York</st1:state>. Like 2 hours before. He saw I meant
business.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And like that, we were free. For about five minutes. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
first call came in exactly 12 hours later. It was Yossi from Cellcom. I started
laughing right away. </div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>I know I’m a funny guy but I didn’t even say anything yet!</i><br />
<blockquote>
You don’t have to Yossi.<br />
<blockquote>
<i>Our connection isn’t so great. Probably because you are no
longer using Cellcom!</i><br />
<blockquote>
It’s okay, Yossi! I’m not coming back.<br />
<blockquote>
<i>But we have a great deal!</i><br />
<blockquote>
<b>TOO LATE YOSSI! TOO LATE!</b></blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Barbara was in the car with me. I assured her they would be
calling back. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Eventually they will even call back in English, I told her.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today they called her looking for Robert. She gave them my
number. This is how it went.</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Shalom, can we speak to Robert?</i><br />
<blockquote>
This is Robert.<br />
<blockquote>
(Pause…<i>.</i>) <i>Robert is not... a man?</i><br />
<blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
This was my chance.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Oh, no! Robert is short for Roberta. In America, Roberta is a woman's name. When we made aliyah they dropped the a.</blockquote>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">
</div>
<br />
<br />
Somehow this ridiculous lie was deemed reasonable and she continued with her pitch. I cut her off.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I can’t. I won’t. There is nothing you can say that will
bring me back.<br />
<blockquote>
<i>But why? Please. Explain it to me. You can speak in English.</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She really wanted to understand. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I paid hundreds of shekels extra each month in late fees all
because they refused to take my American credit card and that the only way I
would ever come back is if they would repay me those fees and accept my American
credit card. I’m done.<br />
<blockquote>
<i>I understand, Robert.</i><br />
<blockquote>
Thank you! And please please please have them stop calling
me. Because I’m not coming back. </blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Post script. No Cellcom calls or texts were received from
this last conversation in May until today. I guess “NO” means “Ask me again in
five months.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08487100512855194654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609215521634065278.post-66091797643103617072015-04-29T16:19:00.002-07:002015-04-29T16:27:41.335-07:00Swirling Thoughts #233 Who's more Israeli than me? <div class="MsoNormal">
If you asked me yesterday, I would say nothing here
surprises me anymore. Someone did ask me yesterday about my blog. What could I
tell them without sounding stoic. I can’t write a blog about hilarious Israeli
idiosyncrasies that catch the unsuspecting American by surprise because I’ve
seen it all – the multi-racial mascot on the package of chocolate and vanilla
cake, the 9-year olds taking 6- and 3-year olds to the park, the cashier’s limp hand dropping a shopping
bag in my general direction so that I should be better able to quickly bag up
my own groceries, the parking lots with entrances (but no obvious exits) into
dead end mazes – I’m used to it. I stopped recognizing those types of things as
strange.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwdIXuBvi3y2geEtt97AtKfn4s4-LF04JYkbv1W-ljFLw80XvXZBUHzX-WcYj4Jp5qPa16qadRT17eKg9A8QP5x7fJnZtffX21ZAbcO8SvAIbJDmGv9ZCC5cBuZHvhqPQjy-z5j_A68ec/s1600/idiosyncrasy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwdIXuBvi3y2geEtt97AtKfn4s4-LF04JYkbv1W-ljFLw80XvXZBUHzX-WcYj4Jp5qPa16qadRT17eKg9A8QP5x7fJnZtffX21ZAbcO8SvAIbJDmGv9ZCC5cBuZHvhqPQjy-z5j_A68ec/s1600/idiosyncrasy.jpg" height="137" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I like to think I’m less American now, more Israeli. American, in this context, is both literal - seeing things through American lenses - and a euphemism for 'not totally acclimated to life in Israel'. I make fun of Bob – since he travels, I say he’s been here just about half as long
as me. When things strike him as odd I
tease him for being so American still.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But then today happened. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And suddenly it’s like I just fell off the Nefesh b’Nefesh
flight. Like I’m still in the airport in a delirious tailspin wondering if I
made the right choice between the four national health insurance providers. Feeling
So. Very. American.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What happened?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My oldest daughter left the house yesterday morning at
5:30am to get a ride to meet the school bus for her class trip – an overnight
somewhere in the north. Mind you, I start out so very Israeli in the beginning
of the story, not sweating the details, knowing it’s all under control, that my
independent daughter can handle her packing, her transportation, her
trip-related responsibilities. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She called me an hour later from a friend’s phone to let me
know she’d lost her phone, probably in her friend’s dad’s car. I told her not
to worry. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Next I heard from her was 9 o’clock this morning. She called
from a counselor’s phone to let me know she is sick with fever. And that she is
in Katzrin (4 hours north of Efrat). And that she was told the best thing to do
was to take a bus from Katzrin to Tiberias, from Tiberias to <st1:city w:st="on">Jerusalem</st1:city>,
from <st1:place w:st="on">Jerusalem</st1:place>
to Efrat. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: They want you to go alone with fever for 4 hours on an
Egged bus? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She explained how it was 40 degrees Celcius (104F) in
Katzrin and there was no way she could stay in the campground or go on the
tiyul or sit on the school bus. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The air conditioned Egged bus was sounding better already.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She needed to hang up and I used the opportunity to quickly
consult with an Experienced Friend.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: Babs needs to get home from the tiyul in Katzrin. She
has fever. They want to send her on the Egged bus. She doesn’t have a phone. Is
that okay?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Experienced Friend, clearly understanding my hesitation:
Listen - it’s <st1:country-region w:st="on">Israel</st1:country-region>.
She will be okay. She can borrow someone’s phone on the bus if she has to reach
you. Send her on the bus. It will be fine.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
OMG. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I called the number from which she had last called me. The
madricha (counselor) answered. I told her to make sure Barbara left with money
and Tylenol.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Suddenly she called me from a new number to let me know her
friend had loaned her a phone. I wished her a good trip and thought to myself
it’s good she will arrive home before Bob even wakes up in NY because if he
knew this was going on I don’t think he could handle it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As she told me later, she did have a good first leg of the
trip. The bus was filled with older Russian Israeli women all speaking to each
other in Russian. The driver took a most scenic route, down the eastern side of
the Kineret and back up to Tiberias. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When she called me from the Central Bus Station in Tiberias
to tell me she had a 2 hour wait for the <st1:city w:st="on">Jerusalem</st1:city>
bus I cringed. At this point, I know for certain, Bob would have FREAKED OUT.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: Stay near soldiers. And women with babies. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Two hours is a long time for a 15 year old with fever and a
suitcase to be loitering in a bus station. In any country.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As it turns out she found a group of English speaking
tourists. Christians from <st1:place w:st="on">South
Africa</st1:place> doing a Global Challenge where they
spend a year visiting every country in the world carrying just their backpacks
and living as locals. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She helped them figure out the bus schedule and eventually they all boarded the crowded bus to <st1:city w:st="on">Jerusalem (after which they were moving on to Bethlehem).</st1:city><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Three hours later I met her at the Central Bus Station in <st1:place w:st="on">Jerusalem</st1:place>. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On the way I had called back Experienced Friend because I just
had to understand what was happening.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: my daughter is on a tiyul in the north, is SICK WITH FEVER, and
they send her home alone on an Egged bus?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Experienced Friend: Yup.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: No teacher calls me?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
EF: Nope.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: This is normal?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
EF: This is <st1:country-region w:st="on">Israel</st1:country-region>.
Kids are independent. Kid gets sick on a tiyul, they put that kid on a bus
home. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: Wow. Just wow.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so I finally got my independent Israeli teenager back.
She had been ready to take yet another bus back to Efrat and was none the worse
for the wear, excited to tell me about all the old ladies and young tourists
she’d met along the way. Also she was thrilled to have gotten a map from the
(fancier than Egged) bus she took out of Katzrin. She looked a little worn but
she clearly was okay.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I told Bob the story via Face Time I could see his mind
working, thinking how he would have reacted if he’d been here. He looked pretty
freaked out as we spoke!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
About 7 hours later as she lay on the floor and I recognized
the tell-tale signs of dehydration, I was grateful she was home. I was sure to
include the fact that she’d made a four hour bus trip alone from the north with
fever on a 40C day part of the intake at the local medical center when we went
for some IV fluids, and she got the requisite sympathy from the American nurse
and doctor. Except she didn’t need it. Only I did. </div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgio8Jb9AlX3FcwBEm5l5Dw-4kwpI6Zk_DzXOYxDL3Hov0ZysPYnvoQkH-I6QkrhtUxfshQpPQIFxbyFtSEq5V8CdVLGC99CqD3HRw7XQEaKT0B9iAQj3T73LVor1fXX_U2VKyV-bDGSGs/s1600/katzrin+highlighted.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgio8Jb9AlX3FcwBEm5l5Dw-4kwpI6Zk_DzXOYxDL3Hov0ZysPYnvoQkH-I6QkrhtUxfshQpPQIFxbyFtSEq5V8CdVLGC99CqD3HRw7XQEaKT0B9iAQj3T73LVor1fXX_U2VKyV-bDGSGs/s1600/katzrin+highlighted.png" height="350" width="400" /></a></div>
</div>
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Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08487100512855194654noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609215521634065278.post-78969273158930151162014-09-07T12:20:00.002-07:002014-09-07T12:40:15.621-07:00swirling thoughts #230 LESS is MORE (on expectations and happiness) as illustrated by the Toshiba situation<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It started out with a
brief email conversation between me and Bob from </span><st1:country-region style="font-family: Calibri;" w:st="on">Israel</st1:country-region><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
to </span><st1:state style="font-family: Calibri;" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">New York</st1:place></st1:state><span style="font-family: Calibri;">.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i>Toshiba laptop battery not
holding a charge. Pls advise. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A week later we revisited
the Toshiba situation with customer service. A benign phone call from Bob’s home office
would have gone unnoticed if Bob’s office wasn't also the bomb shelter and a
rocket alert hadn't also sounded mid-call. Continuing his call, now with an
audience of 7, Bob quickly realized Toshiba was less than amenable to helping
us fix the laptop in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Israel</st1:place></st1:country-region>
(and as such, the kids got a lot of giggles when Bob told the customer service rep that, although
she had been most pleasant to deal with, he was VERY DISAPPOINTED in Toshiba).
The kids laughed about this for days. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Many animated phone calls and emails later, it turns out a Toshiba laptop CAN be fixed in Israel. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Fast forward to today.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our
big adventure. A Bob and Lisa special day. First we figured out that the Toshiba service
center in Petah Tikva was closer than the one in Netanya. Funny that neither of
us instinctively knew this. Then we phoned ahead. They assured us it would be
no problem to diagnose and fix the computer. Based on that assurance, we
lowered our expectations accordingly. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Bob said he'll be happy if they don't
take the computer for 2 weeks. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I said I'll be happy if they don't break it more.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We both agreed we'll be pleased if we arrive at the address and there really is
a Toshiba repair shop there. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I recently pointed out the
difference between new Israelis and veteran Israelis is all in their level of
expectations of customer service. When you lower your expectations, you will just be happier!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On our drive to Petah Tikva we passed a Coca
Cola tanker. We had passed a tehine tanker on our last "getaway" to
the Carmel Spa (definition of “getaway” has been somewhat broadened). We debated then whether
or not the tanker was filled with tehine (I said yes) or oil with a tehine
advertisement on the truck (Bob’s argument). We never settled that debate. This time,
however, I think I made a strong case that the Coca Cola tanker was indeed
filled with the syrupy beverage when, just after we saw it, we passed a Coca Cola
distribution center. I mean, come on! What are the chances? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Toshiba was exactly where
the GPS said it would be. Parking was as expected - more than one turn into a
promising lot resulting in several minutes of awkward backward maneuvering to exit said (full)
lot. We found a 13 nis/2 hour lot right next to a 15 nis/full day lot but chose
the former as it was slightly less full. The attendant, a woman who could have
easily been one of Bob’s Tel Aviv aunts, asked how long we'll be. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjODM4LD9rGLbd7lQJTYxwtZh1elyiJVZXmpUXyBk_3NVwx4T45yqaMx8uKkhEDsFxxKFfkMalULlnV5KTaNgLR1_OWqb-BtAltl2rXb29y6zixO5UcPfA4x1ssbxJDAdvOTdbs-dN2O84/s1600/bob+parking+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjODM4LD9rGLbd7lQJTYxwtZh1elyiJVZXmpUXyBk_3NVwx4T45yqaMx8uKkhEDsFxxKFfkMalULlnV5KTaNgLR1_OWqb-BtAltl2rXb29y6zixO5UcPfA4x1ssbxJDAdvOTdbs-dN2O84/s1600/bob+parking+pic.jpg" height="320" width="273" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Bob: I just don't know!<br />
Attendant: Well, it has to be less than two hours.<br />
Bob: It could be 20 minutes. Or it could be 2 days!<br />
Attendant, laughing: 2 days? Go home!<br />
Bob, explaining: We have to fix the computer so it could also be that I won't survive the ordeal and then someone else will need to pick up the car.<br />
Attendant, laughing: For a computer it's not worth it. Buy a new one!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br />
And so we went. And they took the computer and sent us to lunch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTGVJB2b8j0URN3rVMSpF88tDqIg5YFwAM8zEYA6HHRCeezOSZkL_iLoJTa_aTd4-OHS74vEGqaODxgJkeVlah0ZgCVWwMK5YU9Z_XBLo8EtoIPZmNYrct288Hd9j1z8CTz-mDM3su-dc/s1600/IMG-20140907-06040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: Calibri; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTGVJB2b8j0URN3rVMSpF88tDqIg5YFwAM8zEYA6HHRCeezOSZkL_iLoJTa_aTd4-OHS74vEGqaODxgJkeVlah0ZgCVWwMK5YU9Z_XBLo8EtoIPZmNYrct288Hd9j1z8CTz-mDM3su-dc/s1600/IMG-20140907-06040.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Toshiba lady: We will fix it now. Go get lunch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Bob: We only have 2 hrs parking!
What does now mean? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Toshiba lady: Don't worry. Now means
now. It will be ready before 2 hours.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And so we had lunch. Breakfast really.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy-UHcu1glz5HqoIOO_cD523U2B8Lfkgen_WwRaRgybIwnI7POfr5ZAKHQ3CkC-sOs4dn13hSTs2ypbzQCVD0osRUOV6kTlw4QT1S5NCYa2w6oeoRIPQ_8Ukd4sqD1a58US8_Q04eGvWs/s1600/IMG-20140907-06043.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: Calibri; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy-UHcu1glz5HqoIOO_cD523U2B8Lfkgen_WwRaRgybIwnI7POfr5ZAKHQ3CkC-sOs4dn13hSTs2ypbzQCVD0osRUOV6kTlw4QT1S5NCYa2w6oeoRIPQ_8Ukd4sqD1a58US8_Q04eGvWs/s1600/IMG-20140907-06043.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Me: Do you think they will have
fixed the computer when we go back?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Bob: No. I think they will be
out on lunch break when we go back. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Alas they DID fix the
computer (note: this was not even on our radar as a remote possibility!). We got
the computer and left Petah Tikvak in exactly 2 hours. And spent the rest of
the day HERE. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYE48fr-mWQ3PO-qPAGbwDzsULJ_hE9M9bMJG07RtolPGf7PioBV3C8b9J2NVEwiDUycp7K79AHVu1V0ZFkV4SbXAEWv8bK0UdbOpTaUE1sdtxomjzSjCvK90fBPcfxwSIF1387TDGB4M/s1600/IMG-20140907-06044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: Calibri; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYE48fr-mWQ3PO-qPAGbwDzsULJ_hE9M9bMJG07RtolPGf7PioBV3C8b9J2NVEwiDUycp7K79AHVu1V0ZFkV4SbXAEWv8bK0UdbOpTaUE1sdtxomjzSjCvK90fBPcfxwSIF1387TDGB4M/s1600/IMG-20140907-06044.jpg" height="238" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thank you, Toshiba!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">While bob did point out that the El Al business class seats are more comfortable than our beach lounges (a
post on the sub-culture of commuters another time), it turned out to be a day
that exceeded a</span>ll expectations. A true getaway!</div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And guess what? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="http://www.answers.com/Q/How_is_coca_cola_transported" target="_parent">http://www.answers.com/Q/How_is_coca_cola_transported</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment -->
<!--EndFragment -->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08487100512855194654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609215521634065278.post-84130854664512926932014-06-23T22:57:00.001-07:002014-06-24T12:51:56.325-07:00swirling thoughts #229 Am Yisrael Chai<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">dear boys,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">like every single Jew i
pray for your immediate and safe return. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">but even when that prayer
is answered (please Gd!), you will have missed out, because of your captivity, on simply
experiencing the world through your senses these last many days. i wish to share
that sensory experience with you so that it’s not as if you missed it all.
because for us, you are here, breathing the same air. why shouldn’t you see,
smell, feel, taste and hear all that’s been going on outside............<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">i see.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">i see glimpses of the
heavenly sparks that reside in the souls of my friends and neighbors – as we
greet each other with a knowing look and take leave of each other, somewhat
strengthened from the shared emotion, eyes filled with prayer and hope.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">i see chayalim. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">chayalim from the tzafon.
chayalim from the darom. chayalim from the merkaz. chayalim with optimistic
smiles and, maybe because of their young age, a tender demeanor that i
recognize from my own children.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">i see degel yisrael. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">i see our roads and our
tachanot decorated with our proud flag. many, many flags. speaking of tachanot,
every local bus stop/trempiada is adorned with hand painted murals proclaiming
“Am Yisrael Chai”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">i see you. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">pictures of you and your
full hebrew names. i see you on facebook. i see you in the newspaper. i see you
at ma’arat hamachpela. i see you at the kotel. i see you outside rami levy and
i see you at the matnas. all over <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">israel</st1:place></st1:country-region> there
are photos, beautiful photos capturing your happiest smiles, and a degel
yisrael with your faces imposed on it has been created to let the world know
there is no separating the jewish people from three of its boys. or maybe it
was created as a welcome home banner. in any case, you’ll see that for
yourself, soon enough, please Gd.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">i smell the smell of bar-b-q.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">last night soldiers camped
out in the local branches of b’nei akiva and ezra, welcomed by everyone. people
just wanting to strengthen this team of brothers that is searching the judean
hills day and night for you, their brothers. and also we get strength from
them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">i feel the warm embrace of
am yisrael and jews abroad.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large; text-align: center;">while physically i feel
real embraces - from my smallest to
biggest child (not wanting to miss an opportunity to hold them close) and from each
friend i see as we busy ourselves with activities we pray will prove meaningful
in bringing about your return. activities including communal prayer. supplying
the pina chama. raising the overall level of chesed in our lives to, please Gd,
effect a change in this harsh decree.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">i taste tears. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">this will probably
continue even after you return but i welcome those tears – tears reminiscing
how we longed for your return. you were torn from your mothers’ arms but we are
all mothers. you are, each of you, a precious pikadon on this earth from haKadosh
Baruch Hu. our purpose is one with your mothers who were initially charged with
guarding and raising you. bringing you
back is the only thing. for each one of us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">and i hear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">of all the senses, hearing
is the one most fraught with the sort of incongruous emotions we are
experiencing all at once. i hear my children playing while i recite tehillim
through tears. i hear soldiers greeting each other and greeting local residents
and it has the feeling of the first day of summer camp – the excitement and the
uncertainty. later i hear sirens. sometimes total silence. we go to sleep and
wake up to the relentless dull hum of drones scouring the hilltops and the
wadis for signs of you. there are noises of life as usual – construction
equipment chipping away at bedrock, ice-cream truck jingles signaling the start
and finish of school, cars beeping, and smachot – graduations, weddings,
britot, bar mitzvahs – each containing tefilot for your immediate and safe
return. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">the smachot feel surreal.
but they continue as a testament, please Gd, to your return to the cycle of
life – graduations, weddings, britot, bar mitzvahs. and to all the sensory experiences they
entail.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">sincerely,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">lisa m.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUhZQ8mTeH4fT_GuMTMHDrTsxl_vVt6-GIPbhlVWN_ZPsYKBU6Iq3o5mpZpTTj-XxsDKS2ipWqjS0r7DBx_QYUQJNBiLGu5xxOdbXk9hYKv1Zp2ZfpKcySq-3po8bjWv6Z-IJnVOogMjY/s1600/teens.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUhZQ8mTeH4fT_GuMTMHDrTsxl_vVt6-GIPbhlVWN_ZPsYKBU6Iq3o5mpZpTTj-XxsDKS2ipWqjS0r7DBx_QYUQJNBiLGu5xxOdbXk9hYKv1Zp2ZfpKcySq-3po8bjWv6Z-IJnVOogMjY/s1600/teens.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">chayalim – soldiers<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">tzafon – north<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">darom – south<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">mercaz – central <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">israel</st1:place></st1:country-region><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">degel yisrael – the
israeli flag<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">tachanot – bus
stops/hitchhiking posts<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">trempiada – hitchhiking
post<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Am Yisrael Chai – the
nation of <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">israel</st1:place></st1:country-region>
lives<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">ma’arat hamachpela – cave
of the patriarchs<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">kotel – western wall<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">rami levy – a supermarket
franchise in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">israel</st1:place></st1:country-region><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">matnass – local community
center<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">b’nei akiva & ezra –
youth group movements<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">pina chama – a volunteer
run cafe for soldiers to stop in for home-baked goodies, coffee or slushie <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">chesed – acts of kindess<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">pikadon – something on
loan<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">haKadosh Baruch Hu -
Hashem<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">tehillim - psalms<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">smachot – happy
celebrations<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">britot – circumcision
celebrations<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">tefilot - prayers</span>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08487100512855194654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609215521634065278.post-14261077208013316432014-03-15T15:18:00.004-07:002014-03-15T15:44:34.634-07:00Swirling Thoughts #227 - an Israeli in London<div class="MsoNormal">
[random weather tidbit:<br />
Every weather change in Israel seems to be preceded by a sandstorm. Even with closed windows, Israeli homes gather dust at an amazing pace.]<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1RHtca8TsfGqH5zbgE_tyIBlFb_zLX-CE6rVN6ySORyf0I7Q0iLB_-Wvf17r0J1WziCsEo8baBUePTQ5UZjjmiWEOGMHFiBq17hnoab_ZtKu53kG_aCQNN7tFWW4tGOy3u5zhEHP6aQk/s1600/IMG-20130630-02910.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1RHtca8TsfGqH5zbgE_tyIBlFb_zLX-CE6rVN6ySORyf0I7Q0iLB_-Wvf17r0J1WziCsEo8baBUePTQ5UZjjmiWEOGMHFiBq17hnoab_ZtKu53kG_aCQNN7tFWW4tGOy3u5zhEHP6aQk/s1600/IMG-20130630-02910.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After spending four years analyzing <st1:country-region w:st="on">Israel</st1:country-region> through American (but really Brooklyn)
eyes, I had the opportunity to visit <st1:city w:st="on">London</st1:city>.
For four brief days I couldn’t help but analyze the capital of her majesty’s
royal kingdom through my now mostly Israeli but still <st1:place w:st="on">Brooklyn</st1:place>
eyes. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Everyone told us the department stores were a sight to
behold - everything so mesudar (orderly) and CLEAN. I didn't really get what
they meant. Weren't our department stores in <st1:state w:st="on">New York</st1:state>
and in <st1:country-region w:st="on">Israel</st1:country-region>
orderly and clean? Were my standards so low so as to not realize? And then we
visited our first <st1:place w:st="on">London</st1:place>
department store, Marks & Spencer and I had my answer: Apparently and
definitively yes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcPCJvuYBGHpyfXEfYU1W57UD_2Lv43bfJnf_QwmSk63Rzw_TNHYwzSEeAF6cyLIJ3UNshr1eyugawBgB_-6YNpnLP-vtrp97Az-U7CmEh7jP7eQWdG1fS3wVWGWFZzOiQDgxb_7N9Igg/s1600/DSC01004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcPCJvuYBGHpyfXEfYU1W57UD_2Lv43bfJnf_QwmSk63Rzw_TNHYwzSEeAF6cyLIJ3UNshr1eyugawBgB_-6YNpnLP-vtrp97Az-U7CmEh7jP7eQWdG1fS3wVWGWFZzOiQDgxb_7N9Igg/s1600/DSC01004.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Next we decided to ride the subway. But it's called the
tube. There are lots of posters and signs in the station. Including this one,
fundraising for bees.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLrCQYh5XrCpefhXFAgw3sLTsowbL-XjEzbHJNqCXlbz6aq7KXq13YVf2PvByLiKsbVMwVqFSM7vu4Rq5gaYqNIcKFjMFIBad94Q3FZKLqaSDDZPx7gYGgDArwGN6JwpIUU3poGKGUvyY/s1600/IMG-20130501-02544.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLrCQYh5XrCpefhXFAgw3sLTsowbL-XjEzbHJNqCXlbz6aq7KXq13YVf2PvByLiKsbVMwVqFSM7vu4Rq5gaYqNIcKFjMFIBad94Q3FZKLqaSDDZPx7gYGgDArwGN6JwpIUU3poGKGUvyY/s1600/IMG-20130501-02544.jpg" height="236" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Instinctively, we looked for rats on the tracks while we
waited for our train. (This seemingly bizarre behavior is a known habit/pastime
of all subway-traveling New Yorkers).
Not only were there none (NOT ONE RAT!), but in fact, you could eat off
those tube tracks. There was not a drop of garbage on the tracks. But there
were also no garbage cans. Which means Londoners CARRY THEIR GARBAGE WITH THEM
UNTIL THEY FIND A CAN. I believe not littering is the modern understanding of
Admiral Nelson’s 1805 signal to the British people: "<st1:place w:st="on">England</st1:place> expects that every man will
do his duty."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6X4OerrAXq9yX895stNyWS-ldI63cpgU5BzCmTU51KYJ98Tv_aeBsNFqtHQ5-NwfrezSI1FqLuYbGs9YC2_ihNYmTOJOBaD1F3zduKhcWdG-sNNCDJ-RP2iDbuv36rJEm9-_8Cm_67m0/s1600/DSC04324.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6X4OerrAXq9yX895stNyWS-ldI63cpgU5BzCmTU51KYJ98Tv_aeBsNFqtHQ5-NwfrezSI1FqLuYbGs9YC2_ihNYmTOJOBaD1F3zduKhcWdG-sNNCDJ-RP2iDbuv36rJEm9-_8Cm_67m0/s1600/DSC04324.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The juxtaposition of proper decorum (the people were
extremely polite!) with pride in a history of sophisticated torture devices and
beheadings left me with the not so subtle message that littering in the tube station carries a serious consequence.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8HH3PmxuXMesSWClAkUWkv1c06gOzxnt4OqRLOmzma_lJDG6EYvRlr3XyeOJZptmds2JCq-406sJD1Hq1lzkCT3ptbqt2GuQ5fOSc0D689IcwVPMGEzXoe7EpkkVHs7ozrX3APgAKKXc/s1600/DSC04325.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8HH3PmxuXMesSWClAkUWkv1c06gOzxnt4OqRLOmzma_lJDG6EYvRlr3XyeOJZptmds2JCq-406sJD1Hq1lzkCT3ptbqt2GuQ5fOSc0D689IcwVPMGEzXoe7EpkkVHs7ozrX3APgAKKXc/s1600/DSC04325.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so I carried my garbage with me. Sort of. Not being a
native Londoner, and perhaps not properly fearing the reprisal of doing such,
at one point I started looking around for a place to set some garbage down. At
that very moment, what I can only describe as a fairy angel in a uniform
swooped down in front of me holding an open garbage bag. I kid you not. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We did all the touristy stuff. Including a bus tour with a
cockney accented guide whose English we barely understood save for the part
about how a certain show was so funny she "nearly wet herself."
Apparently this is something Brits say. The highlight of our trip was Barbara doing
barefoot back-flips across the lawn at <st1:street w:st="on">Hampton Court</st1:street>. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgC8yY3RRNAkzuYiVDtJDjkBYp_rWf1JNWRhilZuGwGMF5hDleVhIL3-Gyl01TWep8ptFy6hptTW5e4A8d3EWUuMDK4WH1KalASymcmIj2r8wB2HzlLfZ989qLaIYirUXUu7gYyL1jXNg/s1600/DSC04484.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgC8yY3RRNAkzuYiVDtJDjkBYp_rWf1JNWRhilZuGwGMF5hDleVhIL3-Gyl01TWep8ptFy6hptTW5e4A8d3EWUuMDK4WH1KalASymcmIj2r8wB2HzlLfZ989qLaIYirUXUu7gYyL1jXNg/s1600/DSC04484.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihWdow6qQ9_4a9eohYLUmxJOIbeznfzeHHr04j-Uvs79ZDtC2zn-p2PO-obWFcisT8qeQ9NYHNs3yWTyYp8cKkBzAinhcZZhLD_G4FXipQ5yv-8wwvJzHSXwTeRxj6deWR0uQpcZB0cYo/s1600/DSC04405.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihWdow6qQ9_4a9eohYLUmxJOIbeznfzeHHr04j-Uvs79ZDtC2zn-p2PO-obWFcisT8qeQ9NYHNs3yWTyYp8cKkBzAinhcZZhLD_G4FXipQ5yv-8wwvJzHSXwTeRxj6deWR0uQpcZB0cYo/s1600/DSC04405.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Grass is a really big deal for Israelis. Myself included:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoKV2S4l5t-vrw0YzWpnCBOpxpw4u-v2nJN1yS6lJcF7UBqdRi6zhTUP8HsWr88fOp7H1-Vn-i6uW0Oo4_FHr-2oEiJYcHE2bVZZo-fGIa691OfIuNreyye5H7zdpmGqll-k7KJ8dl7_8/s1600/DSC01315.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoKV2S4l5t-vrw0YzWpnCBOpxpw4u-v2nJN1yS6lJcF7UBqdRi6zhTUP8HsWr88fOp7H1-Vn-i6uW0Oo4_FHr-2oEiJYcHE2bVZZo-fGIa691OfIuNreyye5H7zdpmGqll-k7KJ8dl7_8/s1600/DSC01315.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our trip concluded with the joyous realization that <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Heathrow</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Airport</st1:placetype></st1:place> is littered with Cadbury vending
machines. It was those very vending machines that welcomed me back to Heathrow
exactly one month later on a connecting flight from <st1:state w:st="on">New York</st1:state>. This time, extremely harried as I
raced from terminal to terminal in order to catch a connection that would bring
me into Tel Aviv just hours before Shabbat, I inadvertently left my laptop in a
grey tub at security. I was on the road to Bet Shemesh before I realized it.<br />
<br />
And so began Operation Get My Computer Back from <st1:city w:st="on">London</st1:city>. With the polite and expeditious TSA
workers in Heathrow, I actually believed filing a claim with the on-line lost
and found system would yield results. Every day I called. Every day I was politely
put on hold while someone "went to check" in the warehouse.
"I'll go check" must be code for "it's tea time."<br />
<br />
After about a week of playing polite Londoner
I reverted to aggressive New Yorker/Israeli, explaining to a Brit named Bob
that I would wait on the phone for as long as it takes while they check the
warehouse. I joked about how my husband
is also named Bob to keep things light as he checked through the inventory.
Finally he found a Sony laptop. "Does it have any identifying
features?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Can you turn it on?" </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"It is out of power." </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Hmmm." I thought for a good minute while British Bob
waited. What could possibly distinguish my black-ish grey-ish Sony laptop from
any other? As I noticed the approaching sandstorm from the living room window I
quickly had my answer. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"The computer is very dusty. The screen, the keys, the
whole thing." </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Yes! Then this is clearly your computer." </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<st1:city w:st="on">Eureka</st1:city>.
I knew no self-respecting Brit would expect for a computer to be so dirty! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
From there we had it set aside for a friend to pick up. My
friend lives in <st1:country-region w:st="on">Israel</st1:country-region> but
travels to <st1:city w:st="on">London</st1:city>
for work. And he is British. When he got back to <st1:country-region w:st="on">Israel</st1:country-region> he called to tell me he had
my computer. But he wasn't quite sure it was actually mine. "Lisa - I have
a computer here but..." he hesitated, sounding embarrassed,
"well...it's just SO. VERY. DIRTY!" </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
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Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08487100512855194654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609215521634065278.post-91199290689429501242014-03-11T15:23:00.002-07:002014-03-11T15:31:16.405-07:00Swirling Thoughts #228 - the mail keeps coming<div class="MsoNormal">
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Every few weeks I collect it.</div>
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This system hasn't improved much over the past five years - even
if I do try to decipher the important looking stuff and even if my
kids actually sit and read the magazines/circulars that arrive in Hebrew. For some reason, I'm just never in a rush to
collect a pile of making-me-feel-stupid.</div>
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As luck would have it, the last mail pickup contained an
ominous looking letter from the government. I've been expecting an ominous
letter from the police for about a year regarding a ticket I think I protested. (I think I protested it because even though I sent it in, and even called to
follow up and was told not to do anything until I am contacted, I'm pretty sure
once they do contact me it will be to put me in jail for failure to pay the
fine or properly protest the ticket). So I naturally assumed the ominous government
letter was my police letter. I decoded words like PAY and CANCELLED and
LICENSE. There were deadlines - dates that had, of course, long passed while said
scary letter sat in the mailbox. Also, the letter was addressed only to me. I showed it to Bob. </div>
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"That looks scary."</div>
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"I know! I think it's from the police. I think they want to put me in jail. Can you read it?"</div>
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"You go to ulpan! What does it say?"</div>
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"I don't know. It doesn't look good."</div>
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"Let's remember to ask one of our Israeli friends."</div>
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"Good idea."</div>
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A few days later Bob was sitting with some of his Israeli
friends drinking Turkish coffee and teasing me about my never ending ulpan
experience. Suddenly I remembered the letter and brought it out for elucidation. The friends took turns
looking it over. </div>
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As they read, they muttered words like licensing bureau,
drivers license, registration, penalty and payment. After about 5 minutes of
intense study - maybe these letters are not so easy for Hebrew speakers to
understand either! Could it be?? - they agreed that the letter was telling me
my inspection and emissions test was overdue (by a good three months) and that I need to take care of it asap. Me. </div>
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"Inspection and emissions test?"</div>
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"Oh...." Bob seemed to go into a deep fog. "There was
something..... I think I saw it in the mail the last time....."</div>
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Needing a quick answer, I started drilling his friends.</div>
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"Is this about me?"</div>
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"No, it's about the car."</div>
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"Is my license expired?"</div>
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"I don't think so."</div>
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"Do i need to go to the licensing bureau?"</div>
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"No - to the post office!"</div>
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"Of course. Am i going to jail?"</div>
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"No!"</div>
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Okay, not so bad. By the end of the week Bob had found the
original notice and taken the car to the garage to see if we could do the test
even though our tail light was broken. He was told we need to replace the tail
light. 1300 <st1:city w:st="on">nis</st1:city>.
This is not the garage ripping us off. This is the price for a Chevy tail light
in <st1:country-region w:st="on">Israel (~$375)</st1:country-region>.
Bob asked the garage if we could just tape it with duct tape. They told him he
could try but that he would most likely fail the inspection. Not definitely. But most likely.</div>
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Later that day I asked him, "What made you think you
could tape a tail light with duct tape and pass the inspection? That's so third
world! Where do you think we live?"</div>
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"I don't know," he answered, "but I feel like I saw it
somewhere."</div>
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Three weeks later (and one $70 tail light smuggled back in a
suitcase from <st1:country-region w:st="on">America</st1:country-region>),
we are the proud bearers of a new inspection sticker, the whole episode nearly
forgotten. And then today I went to the hardware store to buy some duct tape
for Asher's Purim costume. And what do you know. This is the picture on the box
of duct tape:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-c4KQuG0Y86CvjlhIm8vdbXldx08tVaMhyXqtNYEmYMXqhPnQQ4f40p0WNWYwOKFN2vXbeA0kwW5qHviwbYlsRxhKGF52pNOx1XPj2GZHEbUKhmoFO7DT8U7UpTw08fvddQiJC636tO0/s1600/ducttape.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-c4KQuG0Y86CvjlhIm8vdbXldx08tVaMhyXqtNYEmYMXqhPnQQ4f40p0WNWYwOKFN2vXbeA0kwW5qHviwbYlsRxhKGF52pNOx1XPj2GZHEbUKhmoFO7DT8U7UpTw08fvddQiJC636tO0/s1600/ducttape.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Did I say three weeks later? Ugh. Time to get the mail</div>
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.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08487100512855194654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609215521634065278.post-64469817230088848952013-04-23T12:41:00.000-07:002013-04-23T12:41:59.410-07:00Swirling Thoughts #226 - airing my dirty laundry. no, seriously.<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Chapter 36 in “HOW TO BE ISRAELI” – <strong><em>Know Your Sirens</em></strong></div>
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Several months ago when rockets were shooting out of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Gaza</st1:place></st1:city> in every direction, including ours, we experienced, for the first time, a Tzeva Adom Alert. An <u>up and down wailing siren</u> that we instinctively heeded by scurrying into our safe room until we heard the two thuds of two rockets falling. Yes, we are told the rockets are fired in pairs. </div>
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When I say we, I mean me and my kids. I can’t speak for all of Efrat. Though I’m told this is the first time a rocket has made it all the way from <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Gaza</st1:place></st1:city>, I’m not sure there’s never been a Tzeva Adom Alert here before. Surely there have been drills. That siren certainly does sound familiar….</div>
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And so, while we scurried to our safe room, my friend’s 9 year old son, who was out for pizza with his 4 year old brother when the siren sounded (why that is totally normal, in another blog post), did what he remembered doing every other time <em>he</em> heard the siren. He stood very still and looked down at the floor. Until a neighbor spotted him and pulled the brothers to safety.</div>
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Twice in the last 2 weeks, all across <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Israel</st1:place></st1:country-region>, the siren was sounded again. The same siren but this time a <u>steady wail</u> for a long moment of silent contemplation. The entire country came to a halt (motorists stopping and exiting their cars!) to honor the memories of the six million on Yom Hashoah and fallen soldiers/victims of terror on Yom Hazikaron. Except for some of <em>my</em> kids who dropped everything and made a bee-line for the safe room.</div>
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Not to be confused with Chapter 35 in “HOW TO BE ISRAELI” – <strong><em>Know Your Seasons</em></strong></div>
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Don’t even think about ordering Sachlab in the summer. You will be rebuffed with a shocked, “<a href="http://www.wikinut.com/img/1xz0yofvbeufefy2/Sahlab-Drink" target="_blank"><span style="color: purple;">Sahlab</span></a>?!? But it’s SUMMER!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even if it is just a few weeks after Passover and really, technically, only spring. </div>
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As for Pop-Ices – frozen sugar water in a plastic tube – don’t bother looking for them in the winter. You just won’t find them. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
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</span>But for 4 short months in the winter<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(only!) you will find the delicacy known as <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Krembo" target="_blank"><span style="color: purple;">Krembo</span></a>.
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Ask for sandal foot panty hose in the winter and expect the clerk to demand to know why on earth you would need such a thing now. And no matter how good your explanation, she still won’t have them. I’ve said it before. It’s a small country. There’s probably just not room for summer inventory to be stocked through the winter. And vice versa.</div>
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Which follows Chapter 34 in “HOW TO BE ISRAELI” – <strong><em>How Not to Give Away How Israeli You've Become in the First Ten Seconds</em></strong> – a chapter for my children when they visit America</div>
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In <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country-region>, hot dogs are generally made of meat. While the vegetarian hot dog may exist, it is not the norm. So don’t be shocked if you ask for hot dogs and pizza in the same meal and someone reminds you of the laws of kashrut (no meat and milk).</div>
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When you find yourself a boyfriend (or a seat, for that matter), you don’t ‘catch’ him (or it).</div>
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<em>Hey, what about that Cohen boy. Is he available? Nope, he’s caught!</em></div>
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Saving on something in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:country-region w:st="on">America</st1:country-region></st1:place> implies a financial benefit. You can save and guard things but not on them. </div>
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<em>Shmulik! Save on this spot for our picnic!</em></div>
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<em>Rosie, guard on the baby while I run into the store.</em></div>
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You can partner up with someone but ‘togetherness’ implies a loving relationship, not a sharing agreement regarding stickers, candy, or make-up. Or markers.</div>
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<em>Me and Rosie are together in markers.</em></div>
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In America, exercise is not “sport.”. </div>
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Nor is gym class “sport.”</div>
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And exercise clothes are not “sport clothes.”</div>
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<em>What’s your favorite class, Becky? Sport! </em></div>
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<em>Oh I see you are wearing your sport clothes. Did you do sport today?</em></div>
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<o:p>Really, it gives me joy to know that my children are speaking English from translated Hebrew. As opposed to their mother....</o:p></div>
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<strong>Ulpan does not guarantee literacy…</strong></div>
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My friend asked me what I’ll do next year when Sarah goes to gan. I mention going back to ulpan. Bob rolls his eyes and suggests I go work in the makolet where I can get paid to practice speaking Hebrew. It’s true – in four years my Hebrew really has advanced. Maybe I’ve outgrown ulpan? My friend suggests, at a minimum, I start listening to talk radio. <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Eureka</st1:city></st1:place>! Free ulpan in my car!</div>
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Later that day, I try it out. Radio announcers are screaming at a guest. I gather that he is an important part of the Maccabi Tel Aviv Basketball organization – maybe an owner or manager or coach – and also that there is a scandal of some sort. Just then I pick up Barbara’s “sport” teacher who is tremping to parent-teacher night at school (why this is totally normal, in another blog post). I explain to her that this is how I learn Hebrew, motioning to the radio. I accept her “kol ha kavod” as if I’ve been doing this for four years. I ask her if I understand correctly – the screaming is about a money scandal? She listens for a few seconds and confirms it is but goes on to say that these conversations are beyond even her comprehension. And she is an Israeli SPORT teacher! I’ve surely found a high level free ulpan in my car!</div>
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<strong>Incidentally…</strong></div>
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Talk radio topics this week included Defense Secretary Hagel’s visit to <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Israel</st1:place></st1:country-region>, resolution of the El Al strike, and a very animated discussion on what constitutes a salad. The Hagel stuff was easy to understand because they broadcasted him in English. Regarding El Al I’m pretty sure the announcer said he didn’t understand one word of what happened but that the strike is resolved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As for the salad discussion, I was laughing out loud at what I think they were saying. Stuff like – do tomatoes and onions alone make a salad? NO! A salad has to be four ingredients MINIMUM. Can a salad have big chunks of vegetables? NO! A salad has to be chopped very small! Maybe the language of salad is easy. Or maybe my Hebrew is advancing to a whole new level. A level at which I can understand Israeli talk radio announcers and laugh at their jokes! </div>
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<strong>Or maybe the joke is on me</strong></div>
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As I pulled up in front of the makolet I realized both my babies were sleeping in the back seat. For an instant I longed for the curbside delivery service I’d left behind in <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">New York</st1:place></st1:state>. But then my salvation came. A good friend pulled up right in front of me, saw my situation and offered to pick up the three things I was planning to buy. </div>
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<em>Tacos, Tortillas, and Oxygen. </em></div>
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<em>Tacos and Tortillas I know. But what’s Oxygen?</em></div>
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<em>The laundry detergent.</em></div>
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<em>You mean in the turquoise bottle?</em></div>
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<em>Yes! The turquoise!</em></div>
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<em>I don’t think that is detergent.</em></div>
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<em>What do you mean? I’ve been washing our clothes with it for four years.</em></div>
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<em>You read the bottle?</em></div>
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<em>I saw a picture of clean laundry on the bottle.</em></div>
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<em>Do you remember in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country-region> there was a product called Clorox 2 – something you add to your laundry to brighten your clothes?</em></div>
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<em>Um, yes.</em></div>
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<em>Yeah, the Oxygen is like the Clorox 2.</em></div>
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<em>So you are telling me that for four years I have been brightening but not washing my clothes? *</em>sniffing my sleeve*</div>
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<em>It seems that way.</em></div>
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<em>OMG!</em></div>
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<em>Well you certainly look clean. And bright.</em></div>
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<em>Okay, can you please buy me Tacos and Tortillas and PROPER LAUNDRY DETERGENT!</em></div>
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And she did. </div>
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And tomorrow (for the first time in four years!) I will really wash my family’s clothes. And I will buy a newspaper.</div>
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Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08487100512855194654noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609215521634065278.post-55045894380200895132013-03-12T04:09:00.001-07:002013-10-02T11:24:42.713-07:00Swirling Thoughts #225 – happy new month!<h4 class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: Arial;">You know it’s Rosh Hodesh when….<o:p></o:p></span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Your children wake up and run from room to room scrambling to find the white school uniform shirt (which they haven’t looked for since last month).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">You pass the local park and spy 30 loosely supervised nine year olds roasting hot dogs over an open fire at about 9:30am.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Your gan-aged daughter comes home with her lunchbox untouched and reminds you that the Morah gave them <em>lunch “hagigi”</em> (holiday lunch) consisting of pizza and vafflim. It took me about two years before I realized vafflim are not waffles...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Your 7<sup>th</sup> grader explains, with urgency, the need to bring a bag of Doritos and 30 plates to school because, <em>‘You know, Mom, we are doing Master Chef today. Likvod (to honor) Rosh Hodesh!’<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The significance of Rosh Hodesh (literally, the head of the month) as a cultural phenomenon in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Israel</st1:place></st1:country-region> surely stems from its religious importance. So important that if you forget the special prayer that pertains to Rosh Hodesh on that day, you need to repeat a good portion of the entire prayer service. But why is the start of a new month so religiously important? I asked my friend David Zeit who explained it like this:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><em>Rosh Hodesh determines our entire calendar (a lunar calendar) - as such it determines when holidays and other significant events will take place. Additionally, the first misva given to us as a Nation, was the misva of Qiddush HaHodesh (the sanctification of the new month)<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">"This month shall mark for you the beginning of the months" Exodus 12:2<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><em>(referring to the month of Nissan). Because this misva was given to us upon our redemption from <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Egypt</st1:place></st1:country-region>, the misva was performed by the Elders of the Sanhedrin in the spirit of Thanksgiving.<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Thank you David!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">And in case you forget it’s Rosh Hodesh (imagine forgetting Thanksgiving Day in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:country-region w:st="on">America</st1:country-region></st1:place>?), every clerk, tremper, and neighbor you see will wish you a....</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: magenta;">Hodesh Tov!!!!!!!!!!<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></h2>
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Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08487100512855194654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609215521634065278.post-54879680917556102902013-03-03T14:37:00.000-08:002013-03-03T22:11:36.744-08:00Swirling Thoughts #224 - euphoria<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I love to run.</div>
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I love my family.</div>
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I love <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Jerusalem</st1:city></st1:place>.</div>
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And I love a strong cup of coffee.</div>
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My list is in no particular order. </div>
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Obviously.</div>
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And so it occurred to me, just minutes after I started out in the 10K portion of the <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Jerusalem</st1:place></st1:city> marathon this past Friday, as I passed my husband and kids who were cheering me along the hill that is <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Bezalel Street</st1:address></st1:street>, I am running. In <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Jerusalem</st1:place></st1:city>. My family is with me. Does a Friday morning get better than this? Coffee would have been nice but the port-o-potties at the start line were, well, let’s just say I skipped the pre-race coffee.</div>
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Some highlights of running 10k through <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Jerusalem</st1:city></st1:place>:</div>
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* Running with a unit of airforce trainees whose shirts read <em>hashamayim hem hagvul </em>– literally, “the heavens are the boundaries” or in the idiomatic “the sky is the limit”. They were singing Rabbi Nachman’s famous words of emunah (faith) at the top of their lungs, </div>
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="hps"><span lang="AR-SA" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;">כל</span></span><span class="shorttext"><span lang="AR-SA" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;"> </span></span><span class="hps"><span lang="AR-SA" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;">העולם כולו גשר</span></span><span class="shorttext"><span lang="AR-SA" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;"> </span></span><span class="hps"><span lang="AR-SA" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;">צר מאוד</span></span><span class="shorttext"><span lang="AR-SA" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;"> </span></span><span class="hps"><span lang="AR-SA" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;">והעיקר</span></span><span class="shorttext"><span lang="AR-SA" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;"> </span></span><span class="hps"><span lang="AR-SA" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;">לא</span></span><span class="shorttext"><span lang="AR-SA" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;"> </span></span><span class="hps"><span lang="AR-SA" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;">לפחד כלל</span></span></span></strong></div>
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<o:p><em>(all the world is a very narrow bridge and the important thing is not to be afraid at all)</em> </o:p></div>
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* Catching a glimpse of Batman stealthily running atop the walls of the old city (yes i stopped to take this picture and no, i did not do it fast enough to catch the elusive super-hero).</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiidOJoitbmqdwRwLzHk5rbfbUbN2zcoj0lxU5rd5OQuikdUoCbqCBghkDUp8zurouFzBQIv-iA6V83XzmYzeocV6I0kxrU4erR37AQP9efNhwt0d_dlGNXZ56lrFWZwkVoWjPPfFLHOS8/s1600/old+city+jm+marathon.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gsa="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiidOJoitbmqdwRwLzHk5rbfbUbN2zcoj0lxU5rd5OQuikdUoCbqCBghkDUp8zurouFzBQIv-iA6V83XzmYzeocV6I0kxrU4erR37AQP9efNhwt0d_dlGNXZ56lrFWZwkVoWjPPfFLHOS8/s320/old+city+jm+marathon.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRNP3NDf6sbCQJG-5SB0fCk3rQf0Tc8I2pYoQfvH_hNONmmbq7IafbK9nzwB_IVElM2-EYjxDQsPxBnhd4Usx5YshHxcX-mD88BUOjwvh7lu1hOIclWHP4NAB7o-ueut7dk7vP0nH6xxw/s1600/hungarian+runners+jm+marathon.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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* Seeing a lean black runner and mindlessly assuming he was a Kenyan who’d come to participate in the race, then noticing the tzitzit hanging from under his race shirt and realizing, “he’s one of us!”</div>
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* Finishing up the race behind THIS couple - their shirts read <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Faith Church</st1:city> <st1:country-region w:st="on">Hungary </st1:country-region></st1:place>and each carried a small Israeli flag as they ran.</div>
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<o:p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRNP3NDf6sbCQJG-5SB0fCk3rQf0Tc8I2pYoQfvH_hNONmmbq7IafbK9nzwB_IVElM2-EYjxDQsPxBnhd4Usx5YshHxcX-mD88BUOjwvh7lu1hOIclWHP4NAB7o-ueut7dk7vP0nH6xxw/s1600/hungarian+runners+jm+marathon.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gsa="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRNP3NDf6sbCQJG-5SB0fCk3rQf0Tc8I2pYoQfvH_hNONmmbq7IafbK9nzwB_IVElM2-EYjxDQsPxBnhd4Usx5YshHxcX-mD88BUOjwvh7lu1hOIclWHP4NAB7o-ueut7dk7vP0nH6xxw/s320/hungarian+runners+jm+marathon.JPG" width="320" /></a></o:p></div>
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* Receiving my complimentary Turkish coffee, prepared in a most authentic manner, post-race.</div>
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<o:p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxznvh_RWppNiAPlq8ovrw5L88ViXePfr5xjMaze6TVieVKODLncbtO1sOjk2f3XasDGjAK0G8hYTYEeONI4TRkbafdeutK7cjn5fhmfz0YUPjME1iykEA1xk2gv3h-ruX5lYI8UD4wZ4/s1600/turkish+coffee+jm+marathon.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gsa="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxznvh_RWppNiAPlq8ovrw5L88ViXePfr5xjMaze6TVieVKODLncbtO1sOjk2f3XasDGjAK0G8hYTYEeONI4TRkbafdeutK7cjn5fhmfz0YUPjME1iykEA1xk2gv3h-ruX5lYI8UD4wZ4/s320/turkish+coffee+jm+marathon.JPG" width="320" /></a></o:p></div>
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* Comparing notes with Barbara who managed to find a clean bathroom along the route of the 5K race. (That’s my daughter!)</div>
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<o:p>There was much talk about next year's race. (The rest of the kids want in.) </o:p></div>
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<o:p>Becky, "i can run 60 meter!" (and she says meh-ter, not mee-ter)</o:p></div>
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<o:p>Asher, "i can run 200 meter!"</o:p></div>
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<o:p>Rosie, "i want to run, mommy!"</o:p></div>
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<o:p>Peetoosh, "i also want to run!"</o:p></div>
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<o:p>Barbara rolled her eyes.</o:p></div>
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<o:p>I said, "we'll see."</o:p></div>
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<o:p><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Next Year in Jerusalem!</span></strong></o:p><br />
<o:p><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><em>post-script: thanks to our generous supporters, we were able to have all this fun WHILE raising 7500 NIS for SHALVA - an amazing organization that provides activities and support for mentally and physically handicapped children in Israel. kol hakavod! and thank you to SHALVA for making it so easy to run!</em></span></strong></o:p></div>
Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08487100512855194654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609215521634065278.post-34970054518799218352012-11-21T12:11:00.000-08:002012-11-21T12:11:15.506-08:00swirling thoughts #221 - oops (written but never posted...til now. i blame the valium)<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<strong>A sense of humor only takes you so far. And then you need valium.</strong></div>
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How could I even say such a thing? Because I can. I carry valium in my wallet. When Bob had to go for an MRI of his back (Bob is a veteran of back surgery and, as we discovered during a tour of the underground Kotel tunnels, extremely claustrophobic) we requested an open MRI, which, incidentally, you can get in NY as easy as a slice of pizza. In <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Israel</st1:place></st1:country-region>, the wait for open MRI is one year. And so we opted for the closed MRI, for which we got a middle of the night appointment 3 weeks later. The doc gave me two tablets of valium and told me to give Bob only one. </div>
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<em>So why two? </em></div>
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<em>In case things get really bad. </em></div>
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Bob was working hard on ‘mind over matter’ and got through the experience with the one tablet. And so I’ve got mother’s little helper in my wallet, sandwiched between my 2 licenses – the Israeli and the expired NY. In case things get really bad.</div>
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Any mother who’s missed several nights sleep with a baby running fever in the 40+ range knows how hard it can be to maintain a sense of humor while fighting off hallucinations of sleep. Add to that the stress of zig zag-ing between branches of the health clinic to catch the lab guy on the eve of Sukkot (read: streets blocked with sukkah parts, lulav vendors, bajillions of school children not in school) and the only laughter you will hear is that scary nervous laughter of a person on the brink of insanity.</div>
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<strong>When life was really hard…</strong></div>
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There’s a story my husband tells about my father in law when he wants to illustrate the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:country-region w:st="on">Israel</st1:country-region></st1:place> of his father’s youth. It was Yom Kippur in 1947. Not unlike Yom Kippur in 2012, while the grown-ups were inside the shul praying, the kids were outside the shul running around. Except that my father in law, then 11 years old, and his friends stumbled upon a shell of a bomb. Not unusual in southern Tel Aviv in those days when tensions ran high between Jews, Arabs, and British. As the boys were playing with the shell, my father in law realized it was warm. He turned to tell his younger brother to get back, that it was going to blow up. As his brother ran, the shell exploded, killing two of his friends. My father in law, with his back still turned, miraculously, was okay, but his brother was standing just far enough away to be hit by the arc of shrapnel coming out of the bomb. As the story goes, my husband’s uncle, young and full of shrapnel, almost died. He needed life-saving antibiotics but there were none to be had. My father in law went to the black market and got the antibiotics. And saved his brother’s life again.</div>
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<strong>Things are different now. You can get antibiotics. But don’t be picky.</strong></div>
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Not wanting to sound like that mother who thinks she knows better than the doctor but, inevitably, sounding like that mother, I said, <em>“She was on penicillin two weeks ago. Isn’t there something about changing up the antibiotics?”</em> Turns out, Israeli doctors know all about the changing up of the antibiotics. Except, <em>“the antibiotic I want her to have has been unavailable for the last two months.”</em> Unavailable at the local pharmacy? But I knew the answer. Unavailable in the whole aretz. </div>
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Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08487100512855194654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609215521634065278.post-77449245409766181562012-11-21T08:38:00.000-08:002012-11-21T08:38:30.438-08:00swirling thoughts #223 - It’s normal to have a strategy<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<strong>Everyone’s got a strategy – depending on their situation. </strong></div>
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For my kids, it’s how they’ll walk to school so that they are not more than a minute from a bomb shelter (go up the street behind the school because there are more houses - in case they need to run into one). </div>
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For me it’s how we will sleep in the house at night in Bob’s absence (Barbara in my bed; if need be, she will grab the baby, I will grab Peetoosh, we will call to the others simultaneously to wake up and get down to the bomb shelter). </div>
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For my friend, it’s how her son will return to school in Qiryat Arba when there is stoning on the road (Egged bus with bullet proof windows and armed bus driver). </div>
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For a friend returning to Jerusalem from Sderot, after a morning full of missile attacks, it’s how best to exit the car should there be another a tzeva adom (red alert) siren blast while he is driving (seatbelt off until after Beer Sheva). </div>
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<strong>Thank God for family</strong></div>
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I have spoken to our Tel Aviv relatives more in the past week than I have in the past 3 months. </div>
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In just one day:</div>
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Missile in Tel Aviv – yes, they’re okay. </div>
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<em>Baruch Hashem. </em></div>
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Missile in Gush Etzion – yes, we’re okay. </div>
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<em>Baruch Hashem. </em></div>
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Stoning on the road in Gush Etzion – yes, we’re okay. </div>
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<em>Baruch Hashem. </em></div>
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Bus bomb in Tel Aviv – yes, they’re okay. </div>
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<em>Baruch Hashem. </em></div>
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<strong>Actually, we’re all family</strong></div>
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Every phone call from someone’s son or husband is celebrated by everyone within earshot and our collective breath is held indefinitely as we await word from sons and husbands who have not yet called. </div>
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I asked my brother if our mom ever canceled a dentist appointment because she didn’t want to risk having to jump out of the car on the highway in order to shelter us with her body in the event of a missile attack. It was a rhetorical question but it underlined a reality we are living here. The younger (read: more Israeli) children, seem to have a better handle on this nutty reality. One friend, distraught in her bomb shelter, was comforted by her four year old who reminded her, very matter-of-factly, “In the <em>mamad</em> we read books and say <em>tehillim</em> and stay safe, Eema.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not sure I can fully articulate our reality but our Tel Aviv cousin keeps trying. </div>
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To live here is to have a beautiful life in a beautiful land but also – sometimes – <em>balagan </em>(craziness)<em>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></em></blockquote>
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Peetoosh started every other sentence today with <em>“When the bomb comes, I will…”</em>.</div>
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Having a strategy is normal. Even when the situation is not.</div>
Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08487100512855194654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609215521634065278.post-88689519233884413492012-11-18T05:48:00.003-08:002013-04-09T13:50:47.213-07:00Swirling Thoughts #222 - We’re fine, B”H<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span class="usercontent">For four days my FB status read:<br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">
“My country is under attack. You will hear about it soon enough...when we retaliate.” </blockquote>
</span><span style="font-family: Arial;">My country being Israel. Our attackers, Hamas and its supporters in Gaza. And on the fifth day we did retaliate. And so began Operation Pillar of Defense.</span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Everyone sent us their heartfelt support. But we’re out of rocket range, I kept telling them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t feel bad for us. Feel bad for my friends and neighbors whose husbands and sons and sons-in-law are being called to the front.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I wondered if my organic vegetable order would arrive from Ben’s Farm near Bet Shemesh Thursday after a day that included 3 killed in Kiryat Malachi and the first missile to reach Tel Aviv. When it showed up at 8pm my biggest concern was making sure I left time from my Friday Shabbat cooking to check my mustard greens and arugula for bugs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I was consumed with my organic produce almost until candle-lighting. My mother in law called. I reassured her we were fine as I dealt with my leaves. She asked if our gas masks were in our bomb shelter. I joked that I had moved them to make room for some wine. I spoke to our cousins in Tel Aviv who assured me they were fine. I emailed my mom, as time was running out before Shabbat. We’re fine, I told her. Shabbat Shalom! And so we lit candles, me and my five girls. Asher and Bob made their way to shul. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I started cutting tomatoes into an endless bowl of greens. And suddenly we heard a siren. I screamed up to Barbara in the attic. Suddenly everyone was screaming. We tripped over each other scrambling down to the basement. We were in the bomb shelter. Also known as Bob’s office. But something was not right. It took me a minute but I figured it out. We needed to close the metal plates covering the window. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Barbara: <em>Mommy!</em> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Rosie: <em>Close the window!</em> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Peetoosh: <em>I’m scared! <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Becky: <strong><em>Eeeeemmmaaaaa!!!!!!!!! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re gonna DIE!!!!!!!!!!<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">And then they were closed. And then we heard a boom. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Me: <em>Did you hear that?</em> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Barbara:<em> Yes! I heard it!<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Becky: <em><strong>Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!<o:p></o:p></strong></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Rosie (hands over her ears): <em>I have a headache! Make Becky stop screaming!<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Peetoosh: <em>What’s that noise?<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Sarah was the only quiet one. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">When Becky stopped screaming to catch her breath, Rosie whispered to me:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><em>I know a perek of Tehillim by heart, Mommy.<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Which reminded a suddenly quiet Becky that she knows a special blessing for the soldiers by heart. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">And so we started praying and reciting tehillim. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Until Sarah started squealing and Barbara asked:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><em>So how long do we have to stay in here?<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><em>Um… I have no idea.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Slowly we ventured out. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><em>What if they shoot a rocket at us again?<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">My heart ached, thinking of families who endure this on a regular basis.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><em>They probably don’t have so many rockets that can reach this far.<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><em>But what if they do?<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><em>We’ll go back in the shelter.<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><em>What if <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Aba</st1:place></st1:city> and Asher are walking when there’s a siren? <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><em>They will go into a neighbor’s shelter.<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><em>What if I am walking in an open field and there is a siren?<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><em>Lay down, face to the ground, and cover the back of your head with your hands. Um, when are you going to an open field?<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">And, like this, we slowly we got back to normal. Sort of. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">We talked about what to do if you are wheeling a patient in a hospital bed when the siren sounds. (Duck under the gurney but first place a pillow over the head of the patient!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Asher and Bob came home and told us how half the shul stayed inside and half went outside to see if they could see the rocket. I cringed until Bob assured me he and Asher were part of the inside half. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Dinner was delicious and quiet, save for some outbursts of hysteria over how long we actually have once the siren sounds (“75 seconds?!…What if I’m in the shower!?”) </span><span style="font-family: Arial;">The salad was totally worth all the effort. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Throughout Shabbat we heard about this one and that one called up for reserve duty. Bob couldn’t get over how normal the abnormal is here. I think it shook him to see his Israeli friends in uniform leaving their homes on a Friday night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">And after Shabbat one Tel Aviv cousin called to see if <em>we</em> were okay. And the reality became clear. We are now in rocket range.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the same breath he told me about the 10 buses he saw picking up reservists but that I don’t have to worry because Hamas doesn’t have so many rockets that can reach this far. This seems to be the standard line of comfort. Who knows if it's true. He said they’ve never aimed at <st1:city w:st="on">Jerusalem</st1:city> before but that this is how it is to live in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Israel</st1:place></st1:country-region>. The abnormal is normal. And that it will all be okay.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">My kids went to school like normal today. One texted me a message about a new teacher getting her name wrong. My next text came from my good friend. Whose son just called her from the front to let her know he is turning off his cell phone now and will not be able to call again.
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Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08487100512855194654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609215521634065278.post-68756659414853825892012-09-05T03:08:00.000-07:002014-01-26T08:50:12.635-08:00Swirling Thoughts #220 – The tip of the iceberg<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
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I taught Becky the “30 Days Has September” song in response to this “math” question: “How many days are in the English months?”</div>
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For those of you who don’t still sing this song to determine whether the date is August 31 or September 1 (for the record, I totally do):</div>
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30 days has September, April, June, and November</div>
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All the rest have 31</div>
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Except for, quite contrary, February, which has 28…most of the time</div>
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But in LEAP YEAR, 29!</div>
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So far so good. Except for the dazed look on Becky’s face.</div>
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Me: You just need to know about the exceptions and all the rest are 31.</div>
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Becky: But what are the rest, Mommy?</div>
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Me: Um. Well. There’s October. December. January. Skip February, remember? March. May. July. August….Becky do you know the English months?</div>
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Becky: Um. Which month is Yanuar?</div>
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Me: Becky, tell me the months in order.</div>
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Becky: September. April. June. November. Adar.</div>
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Me: Ok. Stop.</div>
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<strong>Two days earlier…</strong></div>
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Rosie, now in the first grade, excitedly showing me her “1<sup>st</sup> Grade Reader” (Mikrei Aleph): Mommy, we have to laktoff it. </div>
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Me: Laktoff?</div>
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Rosie: Yeah, you know with shekufit!</div>
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Me: Shekufit?</div>
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Rosie: Yes! You know – something shekuf!</div>
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Becky to the rescue: Mom, she needs you to cover her book with that clear stuff.</div>
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Me (clutching my head): She needs to learn English.</div>
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<strong>Not 24 hours later…</strong></div>
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The sound of Asher strumming his electric guitar reminds me of Jimi Hendrix. And my Jimi Hendrix cassette tape. I run upstairs and pop it into the boom box (the boom box I cleverly bought so as to still enjoy those cassettes that made aliyah with me). Before I hit play I explain to a curious Asher, “This is Jimi Hendrix, electric guitar legend, playing The Star Spangled Banner.” </div>
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Blank stare.</div>
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Me: The national anthem of the <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">United States of America</st1:place></st1:country>?</div>
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Blank stare.</div>
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Me: Before every ball game?</div>
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And now…the awkward part where I sing (a cappella) the national anthem to my son, “and-the-rockets’-red-glare” high notes and all, so that he can fully appreciate the genius of the Jimi Hendrix version, although, at this point, it is clear I have ruined Jimi Hendrix for my son forever.</div>
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Jimi fades as my thoughts swirl at tornado speed. How will Becky write a check? Fill out a form with her birthday? Know when her credit card expires? Apply for a credit card? How will Rosie communicate with her cousins in <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country>? Will Asher be the only one not singing along at the opening of a Yankee game? What are the other gaps in his cultural knowledge? Will I catch them in time? Where should I start? Calendar. Patriotic songs. Shakespeare. US capitals---</div>
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My swirling thoughts are interrupted by Rosie asking Barbara why she wore her grey shirt to school today.</div>
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Barbara: It wasn’t a shirt. It was a sweatshirt.</div>
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Rose: What’s a sweatshirt?</div>
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Barbara: Um. It’s a <em>svetter</em>.</div>
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Rose: Oh.</div>
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Me, laughing, to Barbara. Did that really just happen?</div>
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Barbara, cracking up: Yep. It really did.</div>
Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08487100512855194654noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609215521634065278.post-21177877390719704852012-07-22T01:23:00.001-07:002012-07-29T12:58:53.997-07:00Swirling Thoughts #219 - you really don't have to speak hebrew. but then u need to understand the signs better.<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
There is a pizza store in the Jewish Quarter in the <place w:st="on"><placename w:st="on">Old</placename> <placetype w:st="on">City</placetype></place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Generally, they get two types of customers. <place w:st="on"><placename w:st="on">Old</placename> <placetype w:st="on">City</placetype></place> residents and tourists. <place w:st="on"><placename w:st="on">Old</placename> <placetype w:st="on">City</placetype></place> residents get a discount. Tourists get spoken to in English. I took my kids with some of their friends for pizza recently. We were a large group so (in my very best Hebrew) I asked the guy behind the counter if he could slice each piece in half. I half-wondered if he would, upon hearing my perfectly accented Hebrew, offer me the Old City resident discount. He did not. Instead, he offered to speak to me in English. I insisted he should rather correct my Hebrew. He paused.</div>
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<em>You asked me to chop the pizza.</em></div>
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I am not giving up. I will continue to butcher the Hebrew language until I have made it my own. That said, of course I will still automatically opt to read signs in English. Or better yet, try to figure them out based on the graphic:</div>
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NO HI-FIVING</div>
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NO 1990s</div>
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NO HAIRCUTTING SCISSORS</div>
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NO STAIRCASE LONG-JUMP </div>
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NO CLIP ON SHADES</div>
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NO LEVITATING </div>
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NO TIMBERLANDS</div>
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NOW WAIT A MINUTE. THAT'S JUST NOT NICE...</div>
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NO FAT GUYS</div>
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NO RABBIs</div>
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NO AMERICAN FAST FOOD</div>
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NO STICK-UPS </div>
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Did u guess it yet?</div>
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</div>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08487100512855194654noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609215521634065278.post-25572005686829391072012-07-22T00:42:00.000-07:002014-01-26T08:50:12.602-08:00swirling thoughts #218...welcome back<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Rosie had a Rosh Hodesh birthday party in school a while back. The kind where every kid with a birthday that month celebrates together in a joint party effort. The kind where each parent brings a different item to the party. And the kind where the parents of the birthday children show up to the party. </div>
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In case you lost track, Rosie turned 6.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>There were many calls back and forth. In Hebrew. With lots of repeating. </div>
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<em>Ima shel Rosie? You will bring drinks and plates.</em></div>
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<em>I will bring drinks and plates?</em></div>
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<em>Yes, you will bring drinks and plates.</em></div>
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<em>Let me make sure I understand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Drinks and plates?</em></div>
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<em>Yes.</em></div>
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<em>We will bring the activity for the kids because it needs to be a game in Hebrew and that will be too hard for you.</em></div>
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<em>Um, yes.</em></div>
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<em>And we will all show up at the party at 10.</em></div>
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<em>Ten?</em></div>
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<em>Ten.</em></div>
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<em>Okay!</em></div>
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Fast forward past a lot of intermediate phone calls changing the time from 10 to 11 to 9 to this one:</div>
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<em>Ima shel Rosie? The parents will not attend the party.</em></div>
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<em>I should not go?</em></div>
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<em>No.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You should not go.</em></div>
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<em>Are you sure I should not go?</em></div>
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<em>Yes, I am sure. You should not go.</em></div>
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<em>Ok. I will not go.</em></div>
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And so I sent in the drinks, the plates, and my birthday girl.</div>
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And she came home from school and asked me why I did not come to the party.</div>
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<em>But no parents came.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right?</em></div>
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<em>No, mommy. The parents of the kids whose birthday it was DID come. Except for you.</em></div>
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Ouch. I am back in ulpan.</div>
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<br /></div>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08487100512855194654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609215521634065278.post-66665840412439969242012-04-30T12:43:00.000-07:002014-01-26T08:50:12.632-08:00Swirling Thoughts #217 – a peek into the psyche of EL AL Customer Service (Guest Post by Bob)Me. You switched me to a middle seat and I had a window seat. What happened? <br />
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Them. We did not switch your seat. We switched planes and now your seat is a middle and not a window, but it’s the name number. <br />
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Me. Yes, but now I am in the middle and before I had a window. <br />
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Them. There is nothing we can do and it’s not our fault. <br />
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Me. Well it’s not my fault either and it’s not fair. <br />
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Them. There is nothing we can do and it’s not our fault. We did not switch you. We switched planes. <br />
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Me. Okay. The extra seat added. Why don't you switch that guy to the middle and move me to the window as originally done. <br />
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Them. We can't do it. This is his seat. <br />
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Me. No, it’s my seat because you switched planes. <br />
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Them. No it is not. There is nothing we can do. What do you want us to do? <br />
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Me. Switch me to an aisle seat. <br />
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Them. (after checking...) There is nothing available. We are overbooked. There is nothing we can do. <br />
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Me. Okay. All I want is for you to say that you are sorry and what was done to me was not fair. <br />
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Them. I can't do that. It is fair. We did not change your seat we .... <br />
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Me. Yes I know you just switched planes. You told me that. Do you really think what happened was fair? I am not blaming you. I just want you to acknowledge it is not fair and an apology. That's all. And I want you to know I am not happy. <br />
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Them. No. (then silence). You are right. It’s not fair. I thought I apologized. <br />
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Me. You did not. <br />
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Them. Are you sure I did not apologize? <br />
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Me. Yes. <br />
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Them. I am sorry. <br />
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Me. Okay. Please switch me. <br />
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<em><strong>Switched to an exit row, aisle seat!</strong></em>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08487100512855194654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609215521634065278.post-16411041993837193952012-03-14T13:53:00.010-07:002014-01-26T08:50:12.594-08:00Swirling Thoughts #216 - i still can't get ice in a restaurant in israel...<strong>Email from me to Bob late last night:</strong><br />Let’s do something tomorrow. Something fun.<br /><br /><strong>Bob's Reply:</strong><br />Wanna get breakfast at the mall?<br /><br /><strong>My Reply:</strong><br />Um, well, there’s this Jerusalem Ice Festival. Maybe we can hit that first....<br /><br /><strong>Bob's Reply:</strong><br />Sounds great.<br /><br />We arrive at the ice festival which is actually called Ir Hakerach, City of Ice. We park and notice but don’t really notice mothers bundling up their kids (on this 50°F day) with mittens, hats, and scarves. Israelis really don't like the cold.<br /><br />Bob: <em>So what is this? Mini ice sculptures?</em><br />Me: <em>No, I think it’s life-sized stuff. Something about Jaffa Gate made out of ice.</em><br />Bob: <em>This is Israel. There is no way they wasted enough water to make a life-sized Jaffa Gate.</em><br /><br />We arrive at the paying kiosk. 2 adults. Maybe she didn’t notice the stroller. Except that would mean she was blind because when I asked if she spoke English and she motioned me to another kiosk window I specifically said,<br /><em>Bob, you speak with her so we don’t have to move the stroller.</em><br />And I gestured to Bob. Who was standing 2 feet away with the stroller.<br />So maybe she noticed the stroller but she didn’t notice the baby inside….<br />We pay.<br /><br />Now we move through the entrance line. It’s all set up for a crowd of a bajillion but there’s only me and Bob and a handful of people in front of us.<br /><br />Suddenly everyone is upon us. In Hebrew and in English.<br /><em>Assur l'agala! (It is forbidden to take the stroller.)</em><br /><br />I was prepared for this. I brought the wrappy carrying thing.<br /><br /><em>Gasp!<br />Gasp!<br />Gasp!<br />Gasp!</em><br />There was a LOT of gasping when people saw me taking the baby out of the stroller and putting her in the wrappy thing.<br /><br /><em>Assur le’tinok! (It is forbidden for the baby!)</em><br /><em>Assur? (Forbidden?)</em><br /><br />As it turns out, it is not forbidden by the police, like the stroller is. But it is VERY NOT GOOD, according to everyone at the entrance, to bring in the baby.<br /><br />Ice City Employee: <em>It’s -10°C in there!</em><br /><br />Bob (to me): <em>What’s minus 10, anyway?</em><br />Me: <em>I don’t know but I thought the write-up said something about 17. or maybe 27.</em><br />Bob: <em>We don’t even know what 27 is anymore. Is that cold or hot? </em><br /><br />Passerby: <em>it’s MINSK in there.</em><br /><br />Bob: <em>MINSK? We’re from New York. How cold could it really be? These Israelis are such wimps.</em><br /><br />We press pass the naysayers, baby wrapped, covered with a blanket. They are offering jackets to people as they enter. Bob takes a jacket. I think, <em>“LICE! Don’t take it!”</em> but then a blast of Siberian air whips across my face and I grab one and put it on backwards to cover the baby.<br /><br />Amid a sea of disapproving stares we open the door to the actual exhibit.<br /><br />One winter break we returned from Florida to something like -7°F in New York. My in-laws came to the airport loaded up with wool blankets. We threw the blankets over the kids in their strollers and I’ll never forget how cold it was when we pushed those strollers out the airport door. You couldn’t breathe.<br /><br />Ir Hakerach is not as cold. But it’s definitely close. We agree to move through the exhibit quickly, which we do, stopping only to snap some photos of the (life-sized!) Jaffa Gate and the James Bond-style ice bar serving up Absolut Vodka. There are grown-ups flying down ice slides and kids running through ice tunnels. It is 4 minutes of ice magic.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJLOXO5uJIFbZUgzlqJEThebZJFyUdgtPVBGKd8Y10TN7EuKcr_EcAcJurVezVtcemX9DfD3CLq9olfGdewEg3iMryNzzvMT6AF3EOzloA0pvec15oadznb4Bx7m7kycGgcc5Cwsx4yIM/s1600/ice+city.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719861134015735554" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJLOXO5uJIFbZUgzlqJEThebZJFyUdgtPVBGKd8Y10TN7EuKcr_EcAcJurVezVtcemX9DfD3CLq9olfGdewEg3iMryNzzvMT6AF3EOzloA0pvec15oadznb4Bx7m7kycGgcc5Cwsx4yIM/s400/ice+city.JPG" /></a><br /><br />We make our way out.<br /><br />Bob: <em>Wow it’s really warm outside.</em><br />Me: <em>Balmy.</em><br /><br />Passerby in the parking lot (in Hebrew): <em>You really should pay more attention to your baby’s health.</em><br /><br />Bob: <em>What do you want to do now?</em><br />Me: <em>Wanna get breakfast at the mall?</em><br />Bob: <em>Sounds great.</em></p><br /><br /><p>Video on how they built it<br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LlrJse05dD8"> here</a></p><br /><br /><p></p>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08487100512855194654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609215521634065278.post-61603846345644297932012-03-01T13:03:00.005-08:002014-01-26T08:50:12.627-08:00Swirling Thoughts #215 – cleaning up the Blackberry for Passover<div>Pesach is on the horizon (less than 6 weeks!) A perfect time to clean up my sprawling Blackberry Task List. Which is really just a dumping ground for any random thought I hope to one day follow up on. Today is that day.<br /><br /><strong>* Ani memaheret</strong><br />When I moved to Israel I like to think I left that rapid-fire New York pace behind. But just in case, I’ve got ‘<em>I’m in a hurry</em>’ stored in my phone.<br /><br /><strong>* Ubiquitous Axel F<br /></strong>I couldn’t figure out why 8 year olds were doing gymnastics to the Beverly Hills Cop theme song. And also 10 year olds doing Tae Kwon Do. And also 9 year olds doing dance. Now I get it. As it turns out, it’s Crazy Frog – Axel F (not to be confused with the original Axel Foley song from Beverly Hills Cop even though I totally confused them because it is the same exact song, just with some ‘crazy frog’ sound effects) – this crazy frog song ranks right up there with HaTikva in terms of songs you are guaranteed to hear if your child is in any school or after-school performance of any type.<br /><br /><strong>* Twisty ties, the REAL Johnson’s baby lotion, my electric pencil sharpener<br /></strong>I can only describe this entry as ‘Things I love that come from America – reduced to 3 essentials.’<br /><br /><strong>* Bobsvog<br /></strong>Means, literally, Bob Sponge.<br /><br /><strong>* Oreo Car<br /></strong>There were rumors about an Oreo Car. I dismissed them as the talk of people delirious from Oreo deprivation. And then, suddenly, out of nowhere, my own eyes beheld the whimsical Oreo Car. A seemingly ordinary car with…a gigantic Oreo on the roof! Um, world, there is an Oreo Car lost in the West Bank.<br /><br /><strong>* Teenager on cell phone driving erratically. On donkey.<br /></strong>What can I add to this?<br /><br /><strong>* The sky is not even one pitch of blue<br /></strong>This is something Rosie said to me in a typical example of English speakers translating from Hebrew to speak English. Or of just not knowing how to speak English properly. Which, by the way, is now the ultimate insult among my kids.<br /><em>You don’t even know how to speak English!<br />I lived in America ‘til I was 6!<br />Well I lived in America ‘til I was 9!<br /></em><br /><strong>* Conspiracy Theory<br /></strong>First we were supposed to boycott Tnuva. Because the cottage cheese was too expensive. (Who do I talk to about organizing a boycott of new cars?) Now we’re supposed to boycott Elite & Strauss. (Somehow our socialist economy has produced an all-powerful chocolate monopoly.) I’m not sure what to make of it all. And this only complicates my understanding; I mean, is cottage cheese inherently expensive or are we actually subsidizing Newark Liberty International Airport? I ask you.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBkCiBURZsCoBGEqTi54qV49Fx3AYnmOJo0MN8DACIA9dDVvXkj0j-K1ff4gHRXCvCz53s6FZ9FK-s8klc4iPVUf61Sz_nPNleArlf9on4glWsbD9_HMb9r6JWuJBc7F4V1-HLTxAnm-E/s1600/newark+logo.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715040182876963170" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 111px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 117px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBkCiBURZsCoBGEqTi54qV49Fx3AYnmOJo0MN8DACIA9dDVvXkj0j-K1ff4gHRXCvCz53s6FZ9FK-s8klc4iPVUf61Sz_nPNleArlf9on4glWsbD9_HMb9r6JWuJBc7F4V1-HLTxAnm-E/s400/newark+logo.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizDdsDDaEHxjsVjNLfYeHthUloPCdN9obyu4oV9R-UomUE77tramElxmOdsiYWW-utbtWKjF1xIMfY20DCIJcs6QS360F5VBRZfdiNo1JIEHOt_naDRVrK0fDIca_iP5jGt2UJ_NwBCbI/s1600/tnuva+logo.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715040181507219106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 96px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 123px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizDdsDDaEHxjsVjNLfYeHthUloPCdN9obyu4oV9R-UomUE77tramElxmOdsiYWW-utbtWKjF1xIMfY20DCIJcs6QS360F5VBRZfdiNo1JIEHOt_naDRVrK0fDIca_iP5jGt2UJ_NwBCbI/s400/tnuva+logo.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Coincidence?</div>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08487100512855194654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609215521634065278.post-14773194276493797952012-01-05T14:17:00.000-08:002014-01-26T08:50:12.592-08:00Swirling Thoughts #214 - it's all still good in the aretz...I’m just SO. VERY. TIRED.<br /><br />And so there are stories to tell but I lack the energy to relay them in their full hilarity.<br /><br />For starters, the story of procuring a US passport for Sarah. Which involved 100 failed attempts at photographing a 2 month old without parental appendages, shadows, and unnatural expressions.<br /><br />There was the dramatic Hollywood moment where I ran toward the US Embassy in Tel Aviv, arms flailing, shouting, “I’m an American Citizen! Open the gaaaaaaate!” Because I just couldn't resist.<br /><br />And there’s more stuff which I really should write about – the orange pay phones inside the embassy which only take special cards but nobody has a special card (no cell phones permitted inside the embassy). My friend once asked a shopkeeper for the special card and he asked her for her cell phone number so he could sms (text) her the special card pin. Um. Yeah. <br /><br />The juxtaposition of the southern Virginia drawl of the American consulate workers with the y’alla pace of the Israelis working for the embassy is funny but not as funny as the spreadsheet we got on how it is possible for American grandparents to commute citizenship to grandchildren born in Israel. Post mortem. <br /><br />Then there’s the story of how America looks through the eyes of an American who’s been living in Israel for 2 ½ years. You guys have re-usable Tropicana jugs now! <br /><br />As I suspected, America is still the land of 24 ounce coffees in REALLY THICK PAPER CUPS, blueberries as far as my eye could see, and ridiculously nice store clerks.<br /><br />My Target list read like a camp scavenger hunt. My best surprise find was the twisty ties my sister in law had in her junk drawer. She had maybe 300 of them. I took them all. <br /><br />There’s the story of the jet lag upon returning to Israel. Which is mostly a story about Peetoosh making ridiculous demands in the middle of the night.<br />“I want to go OUTSIDE!”<br />“Um, Peetoosh, it’s 3 in the morning.”<br />“OUTSIDE!”<br /><br />And finally there’s the story about Cellcom. Cellcom who calls me weekly but only wants to speak with Bob. About free gifts which I try to reject but they cannot accept my rejection since I am not Bob. For the record, Bob is usually right next to me, waving his hands in an “I am NOT here” gesture. Anyway, today as Bob slept off more of our collective jetlag, a Cellcom rep called me and asked where our house was. I woke up Bob.<br />“Um, did you ask Cellcom to send a rep here?”<br />“Mm hm”<br />“He’s outside.”<br /><br />Ten minutes later I looked outside and they were talking.<br />One minute after that, he was gone.<br /><br />“Why was the Cellcom guy here?”<br />“I wanted them to do something about our klita” (reception)<br />“But he left.”<br />“Yes, he left.”<br />“Did he do something?”<br />“No.”<br />“Why didn’t he do something?”<br />“Well, for the neighbor, they did something to give them klita all over the house."<br />"That sounds great!"<br />"Yes it does. But for us they wanted to do something to give us klita in just one room.”<br />“Just one room?”<br />“Just one room.”<br />“Mm hm.”<br />“So I sent him away.”<br />"Wow."<br /><br />And so we are back. A fine visit with family and friends, and just enough smiling customer service, blueberries, and twisty ties to hold us over until next time. <br /><br />And in case you were wondering, it is good to be back.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08487100512855194654noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2609215521634065278.post-87842027211401100072011-11-25T06:03:00.000-08:002014-01-26T08:50:12.664-08:00Swirling Thoughts #213 - I am thankful every day.But in the spirit of American Thanksgiving, I’ll direct my thankful thoughts to the bounty of produce in Israel. Available to Americans preparing a Thanksgiving meal across the Atlantic (yes, we do that).<br />
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Not having stepped foot inside a supermarket in months, thanks to my husband taking over the grocery runs when he’s here (and thanks to <a href="http://www.mymakolet.com/">www.mymakolet.com</a> when he’s not), I somehow still feel qualified to comment on the seasonality of produce in the aretz. I’ve put in my fair share of time combing produce aisles (and the shuk) in search of a mango in March (no chance), figs in July (rare), and cumquats in September (close but not quite).<br />
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For the most part, everything has its season. And with hardly an imported fruit save for apples, there is only the season. Negating completely my mother-in-law’s favorite maxim, ‘everything in moderation’. More like everything in extremes. Mountains of strawberries in the winter, not a one to be found, come summer. By the time grapes and mangos arrive in the late spring it is not unusual to see shoppers euphorically kicking up their heels in the produce aisle (well, this shopper, anyway). Before cherries arrive on the scene in June (and not a one in May or July – cherries are strictly a June fruit), one could almost forget we get cherries in this country.<br />
<em>Mom, what’s a cherry again?</em><br />
*A real question last April.*<br />
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With few exceptions, Israeli produce aisles boast gorgeous arrays of fruits and vegetables strictly according to the season. But I want to focus on the exceptions. For some reason celery is available all year round. Long after its “season”, long after it is even recognizable as celery. That it still grows is, I suppose, the reason that it remains available. That and the obvious fact that when Israeli consumers (me included) want celery, they’ll take whatever they can get. No matter that the wimpy scrawny ‘stalks’ look more like scraggly sprigs of parsley.<br />
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If you are a lover of sweet potatoes, that staple of all Thanksgiving tables, rest assured: your love is to be found in the produce aisle all year round. But stop at the bank on your way to the grocery. Evidently the Israeli demand curve for sweet potatoes is totally inelastic – like a junkie’s need for smack – Israelis will pay ANY PRICE for sweet potatoes. And so will the unwitting husband who is simply trying to please his wife by doing the grocery shopping according to her list.<br />
<em>Honey, you saw I got you your sweet potatoes? The ones you asked me to buy for you.<br />Yes, thank you so much, dear.</em><br />
<em>Ok. (silence) Just so you saw that I got them for you.</em>(The unspoken conversations in a marriage are sometimes the best!)<br />
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If I should feel sad about the nonexistence of fresh cranberries (for some things, there is no season at all), I focus on the mountains of strawberries on the horizon. For which I happen to be, in terms of produce, most thankful.<br />
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Happy holiday.<br />
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Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08487100512855194654noreply@blogger.com0