Back in Brooklyn, my Mexican housekeeper used to come to me every so often with an envelope clutched tight in her hand. She would be certain it contained very important information because her name was typed on the front AND on the inside letter. She never knew what it was but would ask me to read it for her and explain. It was hardly ever anything important but how could she know that?
I have a new way of putting myself to sleep – each night I take one of the kids’ notes from their knapsacks and try to read (and understand) it. Forget notes in English. There are none. Sometimes the notes are typed so they are in block letters. Other times they are handwritten in script. Either way, there are no nekudot - ever. Today I signed some class rules for Becky. I was able to decipher some of the main rules – respect the teacher, respect the other students – but then there were some very specific bolded rules about the first meal and the second meal of the day. I could swear it said send halvi (dairy) or parve for the first meal and basri (meat) or parve for the second meal. But that seems so weird. Am I packing a cheese sandwich next to a salami sandwich? I’m sure that’s NOT what it means and so, I’ll devote some of my energy to creating a strictly parve menu for that second meal.
When I need to wake myself up again, I play a game called Let’s Match the Capitol One Bill Charges to the Appropriate Vendors. The August bill seemed okay. There were a few weird looking charges but, like in the US, we figured out sometimes the front office is in one location and the billing office is elsewhere – no problem. But the September bill came in with some weird charges that were weird beyond that. Big and weird. One of them, of course, is the Mai Eden charge. I’ve heard if you call them yelling and screaming that you wish to cancel your water service, they will try to woo you back with an even better deal. So far they are triple billing me and I can’t find anyone to yell and scream at in English. Which brings me to the mail. Most likely all these billing mysteries would be solved if we could read the mail. Which usually comes typed in block letters (never in English) and with no nekudot – ever. The fact that I have to go to the shopping center to pick up my mail does not facilitate quicker and easier reading of the mail. In fact, quite the opposite. Until my Capital One bill shows up looking weird (or a parent asks me why I missed back to school night), I can pass my days in ignorant bliss with the children’s school flyers and notes home as the only faint reminder of the reality I am unable to decipher.
I keep asking my friends how long it takes. They tell me it takes years. My old housekeeper has lived in the US for more than 20 years. Here’s hoping my klita (absorption) goes better than hers.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Monday, September 7, 2009
Swirling Thoughts #30 - hiding from a big job in a big store
Only in Israel or Only in Givat Shaul?
Long bearded older Chassidic man, riding a Vespa, wearing black pants, white shirt, black kippah. And Crocks.
Reduce, Reuse, Recycle
You can buy an Israeli version of VIVA cloth-like paper towels for a few shekels more (it’s the exact same thing) but they market them as reusable. “Reusable towels!” Did I mention we let the Shabbat hot water pot cool down motzei Shabbat and then use the cooled water to – what else – water our cacti?
found israel's answer to ShopRite - it's called ShupaShuk. 1700 NIS and 3 hours later... my kitchen is filled with grocery bags and i'm not sure there's energy left to unpack them.
I can’t go back to ShupaShuk any time soon. And it’s not because they weren’t nice or it wasn’t amazing. They were SO nice and it was SO amazing. It’s me. I simply hate to shop. And of course when you put me in a gigantic supermarket with great prices I get it in my head to buy EVERYTHING I anticipate I will need for the next 6 months so that I will not have to shop again too soon. This plan fails me systematically as I always end up making a new shopping list on my way home – for all the ‘little things’ I forgot.
So ShupaShuk was like Beitar’s answer to ShopRite in Brooklyn. Except it’s super kosher (that’s a whole other story – as Bob would tell you, someone saying their store is regular “kosher” is like the least kosher guy in Israel. Why on earth would you settle for kosher when there’s mehadrin min mehadrin (most stringent of kosher of the most stringent of kosher – aka super kosher)???) So it’s super kosher and the butcher ground my chop meat in front of my eyes (that was worth the whole trip!).
They don’t call it ShupaShuk for no reason – I found everything I was looking for and many things I didn’t even realize I was looking for. For example, I purchased 3 pairs of new tzitzit for Asher – the kind I used to buy on Coney Island Avenue that were imported from Israel. They had an entire Gold Line – USA section of kitchen appliances including a washing machine. Hi, honey, I’m home. Can you help me unload the groceries? There was a special on washing machines at ShupaShuk today so the packages are a little heavier than usual…
So we’ve established Israelis are sensitive about smoking (did we establish this? I have to post the picture from Ramat Rachel of the Pinat Ashen – smoking corner). They are sensitive about hayaronim (pregnant ladies) – recall my waived admission fee to Kiftzuba and then today the (60+ year old bearded, armed) guard at the supermarket insisted on wheeling my wagon to the car for me – since I am hayaron – after the checkout girl called to a delivery packer to pack my groceries for me (even though I wasn’t taking delivery) – since I am hayaron. Anyway, I’m sure there are other things they are sensitive about…time will certainly tell...but we’ve also established there are certain issues about which Israeli’s lack a certain (American-type) sensitivity. Political correctness/racial profiling is one. Gun control is another. Peanut allergies has got to be a close third. There is an entire aisle in ShupaShuk devoted to “peanuts snacks”. There is Bamba and then there are 300 different Bamba knock-offs in all different (snack, lunch, party) sizes. I could barely breathe just thinking of all that finely ground peanut dust. And I’m not even allergic.
By the way, the real reason I lost myself in ShupaShuk – Bob left me with another megillah of MAN JOBS to take care of in his absence. And he didn’t even know about the nail in the tire of the Uplander which I diagnosed and had fixed this morning before 9am!!! Bob’s email to me (outlining my jobs) may as well be its own blog post. I get tired just reading it. B’kitzur – there is possibly a used Mitsubishi Grandis in my future. Here’s how it will come to pass:
The Car Guy will call you tomorrow morning re: the car. He is having his guy check it out (not testline but like testline) and will tell us the results. If everything is okay he is going to want you to buy the car asap. Ask him to drop off the report to you. Before we buy the car 2 things need to happen. First you need to go to the bank and make out a bank check. The Car Guy will tell you who to make the check payable to. Order more checks while you're there. We also need insurance. The Car Guy has a guy. Get full coverage, confirm the rate with me and the Car Guy (to see if fair) and then pay. Make sure we are covered on delivery.Get together with the Car Guy and go to the Car Place. The car should be washed. They were to do a wheel alignment and drain something so the ac won't smell. They also are to fix the drivers seat as it shakes back and forth a bit.You are to go to the post office, pay and get something that shows you own the car. After all of this is done and the car is home and you are happy with it, call and ask the Rental Guy to pick up the rental car.
Have fun!
Long bearded older Chassidic man, riding a Vespa, wearing black pants, white shirt, black kippah. And Crocks.
Reduce, Reuse, Recycle
You can buy an Israeli version of VIVA cloth-like paper towels for a few shekels more (it’s the exact same thing) but they market them as reusable. “Reusable towels!” Did I mention we let the Shabbat hot water pot cool down motzei Shabbat and then use the cooled water to – what else – water our cacti?
found israel's answer to ShopRite - it's called ShupaShuk. 1700 NIS and 3 hours later... my kitchen is filled with grocery bags and i'm not sure there's energy left to unpack them.
I can’t go back to ShupaShuk any time soon. And it’s not because they weren’t nice or it wasn’t amazing. They were SO nice and it was SO amazing. It’s me. I simply hate to shop. And of course when you put me in a gigantic supermarket with great prices I get it in my head to buy EVERYTHING I anticipate I will need for the next 6 months so that I will not have to shop again too soon. This plan fails me systematically as I always end up making a new shopping list on my way home – for all the ‘little things’ I forgot.
So ShupaShuk was like Beitar’s answer to ShopRite in Brooklyn. Except it’s super kosher (that’s a whole other story – as Bob would tell you, someone saying their store is regular “kosher” is like the least kosher guy in Israel. Why on earth would you settle for kosher when there’s mehadrin min mehadrin (most stringent of kosher of the most stringent of kosher – aka super kosher)???) So it’s super kosher and the butcher ground my chop meat in front of my eyes (that was worth the whole trip!).
They don’t call it ShupaShuk for no reason – I found everything I was looking for and many things I didn’t even realize I was looking for. For example, I purchased 3 pairs of new tzitzit for Asher – the kind I used to buy on Coney Island Avenue that were imported from Israel. They had an entire Gold Line – USA section of kitchen appliances including a washing machine. Hi, honey, I’m home. Can you help me unload the groceries? There was a special on washing machines at ShupaShuk today so the packages are a little heavier than usual…
So we’ve established Israelis are sensitive about smoking (did we establish this? I have to post the picture from Ramat Rachel of the Pinat Ashen – smoking corner). They are sensitive about hayaronim (pregnant ladies) – recall my waived admission fee to Kiftzuba and then today the (60+ year old bearded, armed) guard at the supermarket insisted on wheeling my wagon to the car for me – since I am hayaron – after the checkout girl called to a delivery packer to pack my groceries for me (even though I wasn’t taking delivery) – since I am hayaron. Anyway, I’m sure there are other things they are sensitive about…time will certainly tell...but we’ve also established there are certain issues about which Israeli’s lack a certain (American-type) sensitivity. Political correctness/racial profiling is one. Gun control is another. Peanut allergies has got to be a close third. There is an entire aisle in ShupaShuk devoted to “peanuts snacks”. There is Bamba and then there are 300 different Bamba knock-offs in all different (snack, lunch, party) sizes. I could barely breathe just thinking of all that finely ground peanut dust. And I’m not even allergic.
By the way, the real reason I lost myself in ShupaShuk – Bob left me with another megillah of MAN JOBS to take care of in his absence. And he didn’t even know about the nail in the tire of the Uplander which I diagnosed and had fixed this morning before 9am!!! Bob’s email to me (outlining my jobs) may as well be its own blog post. I get tired just reading it. B’kitzur – there is possibly a used Mitsubishi Grandis in my future. Here’s how it will come to pass:
The Car Guy will call you tomorrow morning re: the car. He is having his guy check it out (not testline but like testline) and will tell us the results. If everything is okay he is going to want you to buy the car asap. Ask him to drop off the report to you. Before we buy the car 2 things need to happen. First you need to go to the bank and make out a bank check. The Car Guy will tell you who to make the check payable to. Order more checks while you're there. We also need insurance. The Car Guy has a guy. Get full coverage, confirm the rate with me and the Car Guy (to see if fair) and then pay. Make sure we are covered on delivery.Get together with the Car Guy and go to the Car Place. The car should be washed. They were to do a wheel alignment and drain something so the ac won't smell. They also are to fix the drivers seat as it shakes back and forth a bit.You are to go to the post office, pay and get something that shows you own the car. After all of this is done and the car is home and you are happy with it, call and ask the Rental Guy to pick up the rental car.
Have fun!
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Swirling Thoughts #29 - time to be normal
The Bonus – guests.
Anyone who knows us knows we love guests. If you make aliya and don’t love guests, I suggest you move to a small apartment where you can tell everyone how cramped you are because in Israel the guests come in steady streams, B”H!!! So our first official guests are 3 seminary girls and 2 yeshivah boys – most of which are family friends from the States. Bob is out right now giving them the Bob Tour of Efrat. Somehow the house feels more normal with the hustle and excitement of new faces. Does that make sense? Every time we sit down to the table, just the family, my kids ask ‘who’s coming?’ And (up until now) every time I told them ‘nobody’ they couldn’t understand why not. The fact that my dishes were still packed, that my oven was missing its racks, that I didn’t know how to use the oven without burning the food (my girls now know you can peel of the top layer of a burnt boreka and it will still taste good), that there were boxes impeding passage from the living room to the dining room – none of that mattered to my kids. Normal for them is a house full of guests and now, a full two months into our journey, I am able to give them a little taste of normal. They are ecstatic.
What’s special about life here.
There’s the obvious – we’re living in Eretz Hakodesh. Beyond that there are all the little things, which I try to elucidate as they come up. And then, it occurred to me this past week, once my kids started school, there is this major thing that I did not anticipate and which is not so obvious. Zmahn. Time. My kids finish school by 2:45 on their longest day. They are home by 3. They used to be home at 5. That’s two extra hours each day for my kids to unwind, play, do homework, eat dinner, take baths – it allows for some easing up on the pace when there is more time to do the same amount of things. They all walk to school themselves. Except for Rosie. Rosie goes to school across the street (literally). I used to spend three hours a day several days a week driving carpool. There was crankiness, squishiness, and the out-of-breath-race-to-get-dinner-on-the-table-ness that accompanied carpool. Carpool was a fact of life that was impinging on my quality of life. No more. I now have three extra hours each day to unwind, play, help with homework, make dinner, give baths. Okay, now here’s the best part. Friday morning before the seminary/yeshivah kids showed up I mentioned to Bob that once they got here I’d be putting them to work setting up the basement apartment. The shower curtain needed to be hung, the beds needed to be made, towels, soap and a wastebasket needed to be brought down. He looked at me funny and said, “I’m not doing anything now.” Huh? And then, “I’ll set up the basement.” So the best part is not that Bob is doing household chores for me (but it still strikes me as cute that he does). No. It’s that Bob is just here. In Brooklyn I said goodbye to Bob in the morning and saw him again late at night. Like 10-o’clock- late- at-night. Here, I see him all day long. It’s like a honeymoon! A honeymoon with trips to the hardware store, runs into Jerusalem, and lots of home improvement activities. Friday morning at 10:40 we took a BREAK on our back meerpeset (porch) to drink coffee and just catch up on events. In 11 years of marriage I don’t think we’ve sat outside drinking coffee together and chatting at that hour. Maybe it doesn’t seem like a big deal. For me it’s huge. In Brooklyn, Bob’s office was 3 minutes away from the house. And yet, it took a transatlantic move for me to see more of my beloved.
If you cook it they will come.
So Shabbat is over and the guests have left. We had a house full of people (we ballooned to 23 for lunch and I lost count by seudat shelishit). There were halachic discussions, life in Israel discussions, and divrei Torah. There were people coming and going throughout the day. It was a lot of fun and the kids were flying. There are no leftovers. As I was sweeping up the floor I realized how much crumbs, sprinkles and miscellaneous food debris must have been getting lost in my carpeting in my Brooklyn house. (The floors here are definitely work but at least you can properly clean them!). Asher was running around with some new boys (Becky calls them his Ninja Friends), Rosie had little friends over all afternoon, Barbara and her friends were working on singing and dancing shows for each other and Becky was in and out with her friends all day long. By the end of Shabbat Bob was beaming like a proud papa. “You’re back, Baby, you’re back!” he told me. He’s left to Jerusalem to return the students. I have my legs up as I wait for my dishwasher to do its first of many loads. The week starts on Sunday here. My kids leave for school at 7:40 tomorrow morning. My housekeeper shows up at 9.
Anyone who knows us knows we love guests. If you make aliya and don’t love guests, I suggest you move to a small apartment where you can tell everyone how cramped you are because in Israel the guests come in steady streams, B”H!!! So our first official guests are 3 seminary girls and 2 yeshivah boys – most of which are family friends from the States. Bob is out right now giving them the Bob Tour of Efrat. Somehow the house feels more normal with the hustle and excitement of new faces. Does that make sense? Every time we sit down to the table, just the family, my kids ask ‘who’s coming?’ And (up until now) every time I told them ‘nobody’ they couldn’t understand why not. The fact that my dishes were still packed, that my oven was missing its racks, that I didn’t know how to use the oven without burning the food (my girls now know you can peel of the top layer of a burnt boreka and it will still taste good), that there were boxes impeding passage from the living room to the dining room – none of that mattered to my kids. Normal for them is a house full of guests and now, a full two months into our journey, I am able to give them a little taste of normal. They are ecstatic.
What’s special about life here.
There’s the obvious – we’re living in Eretz Hakodesh. Beyond that there are all the little things, which I try to elucidate as they come up. And then, it occurred to me this past week, once my kids started school, there is this major thing that I did not anticipate and which is not so obvious. Zmahn. Time. My kids finish school by 2:45 on their longest day. They are home by 3. They used to be home at 5. That’s two extra hours each day for my kids to unwind, play, do homework, eat dinner, take baths – it allows for some easing up on the pace when there is more time to do the same amount of things. They all walk to school themselves. Except for Rosie. Rosie goes to school across the street (literally). I used to spend three hours a day several days a week driving carpool. There was crankiness, squishiness, and the out-of-breath-race-to-get-dinner-on-the-table-ness that accompanied carpool. Carpool was a fact of life that was impinging on my quality of life. No more. I now have three extra hours each day to unwind, play, help with homework, make dinner, give baths. Okay, now here’s the best part. Friday morning before the seminary/yeshivah kids showed up I mentioned to Bob that once they got here I’d be putting them to work setting up the basement apartment. The shower curtain needed to be hung, the beds needed to be made, towels, soap and a wastebasket needed to be brought down. He looked at me funny and said, “I’m not doing anything now.” Huh? And then, “I’ll set up the basement.” So the best part is not that Bob is doing household chores for me (but it still strikes me as cute that he does). No. It’s that Bob is just here. In Brooklyn I said goodbye to Bob in the morning and saw him again late at night. Like 10-o’clock- late- at-night. Here, I see him all day long. It’s like a honeymoon! A honeymoon with trips to the hardware store, runs into Jerusalem, and lots of home improvement activities. Friday morning at 10:40 we took a BREAK on our back meerpeset (porch) to drink coffee and just catch up on events. In 11 years of marriage I don’t think we’ve sat outside drinking coffee together and chatting at that hour. Maybe it doesn’t seem like a big deal. For me it’s huge. In Brooklyn, Bob’s office was 3 minutes away from the house. And yet, it took a transatlantic move for me to see more of my beloved.
If you cook it they will come.
So Shabbat is over and the guests have left. We had a house full of people (we ballooned to 23 for lunch and I lost count by seudat shelishit). There were halachic discussions, life in Israel discussions, and divrei Torah. There were people coming and going throughout the day. It was a lot of fun and the kids were flying. There are no leftovers. As I was sweeping up the floor I realized how much crumbs, sprinkles and miscellaneous food debris must have been getting lost in my carpeting in my Brooklyn house. (The floors here are definitely work but at least you can properly clean them!). Asher was running around with some new boys (Becky calls them his Ninja Friends), Rosie had little friends over all afternoon, Barbara and her friends were working on singing and dancing shows for each other and Becky was in and out with her friends all day long. By the end of Shabbat Bob was beaming like a proud papa. “You’re back, Baby, you’re back!” he told me. He’s left to Jerusalem to return the students. I have my legs up as I wait for my dishwasher to do its first of many loads. The week starts on Sunday here. My kids leave for school at 7:40 tomorrow morning. My housekeeper shows up at 9.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Swirling Thoughts #28 - will gallon jugs of petal replace 12-oz. cans of coke? stay tuned!
Tepeche Mode
In our family the S-word is Stupid and the F-word is Fat. I was so hyper-vigilant about keeping these words out of my kids’ collective vocabulary, I would catch them as the sss sound was forming in their mouth and scare the rest of the word back down their throat with a big-eyed scary mommy look. They started to police each other and I would get tattle reports, Rosie said the S-word! Barbara said the F-word. So did you ever have a word you said in another language which would sound so offensive in your native tongue but in the different language is somehow less offensive? We (Bob and I) have some words for the real S- word which we always say in Hebrew and Arabic and we never think twice. But you’d never catch us saying the real S-word in our native English. Hypocritical? I never thought about it until now. My kids picked up the word “tepeche” somewhere in my absence. They taught it to Rosie. They are calling it to each other. My ears are oblivious. Until they can take it no longer and burst with the news: “Mommy!!!! Rosie is saying the S-word in Hebrew!!!!”
How close is too close?
Rosie’s gan is across the street from my house. Exactly across. Yesterday when I was returning from the pharmacy she happened to be in the play yard. Before I even saw her, she noticed me. She started screaming at the top of her lungs. “MOMMY!!! I CAN SEE YOU MOMMY!!! IT’S TIME TO COME PICK ME UP MOMMY!! MOMMY!! WHEN ARE YOU COMING TO GET ME ALREADY!!!” This went on until play time was finished, about 15 straight minutes. I could hear her from inside my house. When I did pick her up she was laughing and laughing. She said “You know why I was calling you, mommy? Because I had to make so I wanted you to come take me to make!”
For the record, I used to shop in a health food store.
Bob’s been begging me to find cans of Coke. Or as Rosie would call it, Cola Cola. For some reason it’s really not so readily available. You can buy one can at a time for 6.50 NIS (more than $1.50) but who wants to buy 12 cokes for $18??? No, we’re drinking lots of Mai Eden water – from the machine and from the bottles I keep getting when I spend a certain amount at the makolet. 300 NIS, remember? I do that a lot so the bottles have started to accumulate. The dairy kitchen nee frying kitchen has become, effectively, a water storage kitchen. Today Bob took notice. The stack of water bottles is taller than him. So the water’s pretty cheap and the fruity drinks started getting expensive. (The Coke never even made it into the equation – poor Bob.) So we started with a very Israeli thing called Petal. It’s a sugary syrup in different flavors. You add it to the water to make a fruity flavored (sugar) water. There’s, of course, Grape Tylenol flavor and then there’s Raspberry flavor and Apple flavor. That’s all we’ve tried so far but when I noticed gallon jugs of Petal in the makolet today, I feel like I was glimpsing my future.
In pursuit of oot.
It’s like last summer all over again. I found the prune juice, the cranberry juice, I substituted plum jelly for prune butter – how different could they be? Apricot jam for apricot butter, lemon juice and apple sauce were no problem. Two hours on the fire and as it was cooling the butcher showed up. Guess who else carries a gun? He unpacked my order with me and gave me his father’s phone number and suggested I call his father in the morning to get a very good recipe to use with the brisket I ordered. I’m sitting here on the couch playing “bus” with Becky and she keeps reminding me I’m supposed to be cooking for Shabbat. She got a little excited when I told her there would be lahamagine. I’ll have to end here.
In our family the S-word is Stupid and the F-word is Fat. I was so hyper-vigilant about keeping these words out of my kids’ collective vocabulary, I would catch them as the sss sound was forming in their mouth and scare the rest of the word back down their throat with a big-eyed scary mommy look. They started to police each other and I would get tattle reports, Rosie said the S-word! Barbara said the F-word. So did you ever have a word you said in another language which would sound so offensive in your native tongue but in the different language is somehow less offensive? We (Bob and I) have some words for the real S- word which we always say in Hebrew and Arabic and we never think twice. But you’d never catch us saying the real S-word in our native English. Hypocritical? I never thought about it until now. My kids picked up the word “tepeche” somewhere in my absence. They taught it to Rosie. They are calling it to each other. My ears are oblivious. Until they can take it no longer and burst with the news: “Mommy!!!! Rosie is saying the S-word in Hebrew!!!!”
How close is too close?
Rosie’s gan is across the street from my house. Exactly across. Yesterday when I was returning from the pharmacy she happened to be in the play yard. Before I even saw her, she noticed me. She started screaming at the top of her lungs. “MOMMY!!! I CAN SEE YOU MOMMY!!! IT’S TIME TO COME PICK ME UP MOMMY!! MOMMY!! WHEN ARE YOU COMING TO GET ME ALREADY!!!” This went on until play time was finished, about 15 straight minutes. I could hear her from inside my house. When I did pick her up she was laughing and laughing. She said “You know why I was calling you, mommy? Because I had to make so I wanted you to come take me to make!”
For the record, I used to shop in a health food store.
Bob’s been begging me to find cans of Coke. Or as Rosie would call it, Cola Cola. For some reason it’s really not so readily available. You can buy one can at a time for 6.50 NIS (more than $1.50) but who wants to buy 12 cokes for $18??? No, we’re drinking lots of Mai Eden water – from the machine and from the bottles I keep getting when I spend a certain amount at the makolet. 300 NIS, remember? I do that a lot so the bottles have started to accumulate. The dairy kitchen nee frying kitchen has become, effectively, a water storage kitchen. Today Bob took notice. The stack of water bottles is taller than him. So the water’s pretty cheap and the fruity drinks started getting expensive. (The Coke never even made it into the equation – poor Bob.) So we started with a very Israeli thing called Petal. It’s a sugary syrup in different flavors. You add it to the water to make a fruity flavored (sugar) water. There’s, of course, Grape Tylenol flavor and then there’s Raspberry flavor and Apple flavor. That’s all we’ve tried so far but when I noticed gallon jugs of Petal in the makolet today, I feel like I was glimpsing my future.
In pursuit of oot.
It’s like last summer all over again. I found the prune juice, the cranberry juice, I substituted plum jelly for prune butter – how different could they be? Apricot jam for apricot butter, lemon juice and apple sauce were no problem. Two hours on the fire and as it was cooling the butcher showed up. Guess who else carries a gun? He unpacked my order with me and gave me his father’s phone number and suggested I call his father in the morning to get a very good recipe to use with the brisket I ordered. I’m sitting here on the couch playing “bus” with Becky and she keeps reminding me I’m supposed to be cooking for Shabbat. She got a little excited when I told her there would be lahamagine. I’ll have to end here.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Swirling Thoughts #27 - The little things.
My gardener looks like Noach. What we imagine Noach would look like, anyway. He’s got a long white beard and he wears a faded khaki Gilligan hat. He wears a white button-down oxford and faded khaki pants. He’s soft spoken and measured. He seems to commune with the garden when he comes. Which is why we hired him. That and a little bit the Noach thing. He works every day on the garden. We expected him to have a crew of foreign labor as his helpers. He does not. He has a Persian yeshivah boy as his sole helper. Bob loves to hang out and talk with them while he drinks his morning coffee and they tend to the garden.
The drive home from OT is magnificent – the kids go to a center in the Kfar Etzion kibbutz, about 4 minutes south of Efrat, between Alon Shvut and Bat Ayin. The Judean Hills provide a powerful contrast to the drive home from Omni on Coney Island Avenue…
A lady was holding her one year old and trying to take out her wallet to pay for her groceries at the same time. The baby started to cry and she quickly pulled a bite sized halva bar out of her purse and gave him a piece. He ate it and stopped crying. Israeli babies cry for halva.
Today the pharmacist saw me looking at a weekly organizer calendar on the counter while he was ringing me up. He asked if I wanted one, free. I said no, a little too quickly and a lot too forcefully. It took him by surprise. I had to explain myself. I have been trying to wrap my brain around the Israeli calendar since the kids started school and signed up for OT, taekwando, English lessons and tutoring. There are the Hebrew days of the week to begin with. Yom Rishon, Yom Sheni, Yom Shelishi, Yom Reviyee, Yom Hamishee, Yom Sheeshee and Yom Shabbat. We all know this. We learn it in yeshivah, in Hebrew School, when we visit Israel as teenagers, whenever. Fine. Did you know the Hebrew days also have numbers? Which in Hebrew are actually letters? Alef is the first day. Yom Rishon. Sounds simple, right. Except that my kids have taekwondo on Bet and Hey. So first I have to translate Bet and Hey to 2 and 5. Then I have to think what the 2nd and 5th days are and what they correspond to in English. All good, right. Then I open the calendar to pencil them in for taekwondo on Mondays and Thursdays (I hope!) and what do you know. Hebrew is written right to left. Why should the Israeli calendar be any different. It took me an hour to get my kids’ schedule into my new (backwards) calendar and I am just waiting to miss an appointment because I thought it was on Tuesday but really it was on Friday.
It’s funny – Bob uses this algorithm whereby he sets the independence date of the modern state of Israel to the independence date of the United States and thus concludes Israel is up to about 1776 plus 61 years – 1837. Conclusion – we’re living in the wild wild west.
Guns, guns everywhere.
Just like political correctness is not a sensitive issue here, neither is gun control. In fact, I doubt there is even a Hebrew word for gun control. Until I was 17 and traveled to Israel I’d never seen a gun. Now I am pressed against them in grocery lines! Just to be clear, Israeli’s carrying guns do so with permits acquired under strict scrutiny. There is no celebratory gunfire at an Israeli wedding.
I love seeing who is carrying a gun. It’s usually someone I’d be scared to see with a gun if I saw them in New York. When we were at the beach in Tel Aviv I saw these guys who looked like real beach bums – no shirts, hairy chests, baggy swim shorts – laying down on a picnic table – one on each bench and one over the top. Then I saw their IDF issued M-16’s and realized those beach bums were soldiers on break and my whole perception of them changed. Then there was the guy from Latrun bending over to help his daughter with something, his undershorts showing because his jeans were so low. And around the belt loop of those low jeans – a holster. With a gun. There’s the lifeguard at the pool in Jerusalem. He walks around, helping ladies who need baby wipes and little girls who lose their bracelets in the pool. And he carries a gun. Some more unexpected armed citizens: our local weather man, my landlord, several of my neighbors including a yeshivah boy from Brooklyn (all grown up), and my painter. Motorcyclists seem to carry guns disproportionately but then, it’s probably just that I can see their waistline while they are driving as opposed to all those Citroen, Peugeot, and Mazda drivers. The kids’ crossing guards are armed (the grown up ones, not the kids wearing safety vests, carrying long sticks with stop signs). In the toy store today I noticed water guns of the variety that would have Wal-Mart executives scrambling to call their in-house counsel – one looked exactly like the gun our security station attendant carries. Another looked pretty much exactly like a rifle. The only giveaway on either – a little orange cap on the tip, presumably where the water comes out.
The drive home from OT is magnificent – the kids go to a center in the Kfar Etzion kibbutz, about 4 minutes south of Efrat, between Alon Shvut and Bat Ayin. The Judean Hills provide a powerful contrast to the drive home from Omni on Coney Island Avenue…
A lady was holding her one year old and trying to take out her wallet to pay for her groceries at the same time. The baby started to cry and she quickly pulled a bite sized halva bar out of her purse and gave him a piece. He ate it and stopped crying. Israeli babies cry for halva.
Today the pharmacist saw me looking at a weekly organizer calendar on the counter while he was ringing me up. He asked if I wanted one, free. I said no, a little too quickly and a lot too forcefully. It took him by surprise. I had to explain myself. I have been trying to wrap my brain around the Israeli calendar since the kids started school and signed up for OT, taekwando, English lessons and tutoring. There are the Hebrew days of the week to begin with. Yom Rishon, Yom Sheni, Yom Shelishi, Yom Reviyee, Yom Hamishee, Yom Sheeshee and Yom Shabbat. We all know this. We learn it in yeshivah, in Hebrew School, when we visit Israel as teenagers, whenever. Fine. Did you know the Hebrew days also have numbers? Which in Hebrew are actually letters? Alef is the first day. Yom Rishon. Sounds simple, right. Except that my kids have taekwondo on Bet and Hey. So first I have to translate Bet and Hey to 2 and 5. Then I have to think what the 2nd and 5th days are and what they correspond to in English. All good, right. Then I open the calendar to pencil them in for taekwondo on Mondays and Thursdays (I hope!) and what do you know. Hebrew is written right to left. Why should the Israeli calendar be any different. It took me an hour to get my kids’ schedule into my new (backwards) calendar and I am just waiting to miss an appointment because I thought it was on Tuesday but really it was on Friday.
It’s funny – Bob uses this algorithm whereby he sets the independence date of the modern state of Israel to the independence date of the United States and thus concludes Israel is up to about 1776 plus 61 years – 1837. Conclusion – we’re living in the wild wild west.
Guns, guns everywhere.
Just like political correctness is not a sensitive issue here, neither is gun control. In fact, I doubt there is even a Hebrew word for gun control. Until I was 17 and traveled to Israel I’d never seen a gun. Now I am pressed against them in grocery lines! Just to be clear, Israeli’s carrying guns do so with permits acquired under strict scrutiny. There is no celebratory gunfire at an Israeli wedding.
I love seeing who is carrying a gun. It’s usually someone I’d be scared to see with a gun if I saw them in New York. When we were at the beach in Tel Aviv I saw these guys who looked like real beach bums – no shirts, hairy chests, baggy swim shorts – laying down on a picnic table – one on each bench and one over the top. Then I saw their IDF issued M-16’s and realized those beach bums were soldiers on break and my whole perception of them changed. Then there was the guy from Latrun bending over to help his daughter with something, his undershorts showing because his jeans were so low. And around the belt loop of those low jeans – a holster. With a gun. There’s the lifeguard at the pool in Jerusalem. He walks around, helping ladies who need baby wipes and little girls who lose their bracelets in the pool. And he carries a gun. Some more unexpected armed citizens: our local weather man, my landlord, several of my neighbors including a yeshivah boy from Brooklyn (all grown up), and my painter. Motorcyclists seem to carry guns disproportionately but then, it’s probably just that I can see their waistline while they are driving as opposed to all those Citroen, Peugeot, and Mazda drivers. The kids’ crossing guards are armed (the grown up ones, not the kids wearing safety vests, carrying long sticks with stop signs). In the toy store today I noticed water guns of the variety that would have Wal-Mart executives scrambling to call their in-house counsel – one looked exactly like the gun our security station attendant carries. Another looked pretty much exactly like a rifle. The only giveaway on either – a little orange cap on the tip, presumably where the water comes out.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Swirling Thoughts #26 – lost in the translation or just lost?
Excerpts from a safety message I received in Hebrew via email from my kids’ school – I ran it through Google Translator:
Re: Reach for safe passage to school.
…to strengthen the safety of the arrival of a schoolboy…bay download front of the school is intended solely for buses organized shuttles. Parents who take their car first asked to download the children fled, Rachel immediately after turning right spread, olive oil adjacent to the sidewalk... Parents downloading their children in the garage faces the School are asked to perform the horseshoe curve only traffic circle…
And so the mystery of bad signage has been cracked –Google Translator is to blame!
You must be confusing me with someone else.
Bob returned to the store we love to hate – the Office Depot – to buy toner cartridges for the printer we bought less than 2 months ago. Remember? The one they made him open in the store then forbid him from returning… Anyway, he walked in with the empty toner cartridge and asked for a new one.
We do not sell that particular toner. But we asked if you sell the toner before we bought the printer! Which printer? The Canon Pixma MX320. We don’t sell that printer. BUT WE BOUGHT IT HERE. No you didn’t.
There is a reason they do not permit new olim to get a gun for the first three years they are in the country.
Re: Reach for safe passage to school.
…to strengthen the safety of the arrival of a schoolboy…bay download front of the school is intended solely for buses organized shuttles. Parents who take their car first asked to download the children fled, Rachel immediately after turning right spread, olive oil adjacent to the sidewalk... Parents downloading their children in the garage faces the School are asked to perform the horseshoe curve only traffic circle…
And so the mystery of bad signage has been cracked –Google Translator is to blame!
You must be confusing me with someone else.
Bob returned to the store we love to hate – the Office Depot – to buy toner cartridges for the printer we bought less than 2 months ago. Remember? The one they made him open in the store then forbid him from returning… Anyway, he walked in with the empty toner cartridge and asked for a new one.
We do not sell that particular toner. But we asked if you sell the toner before we bought the printer! Which printer? The Canon Pixma MX320. We don’t sell that printer. BUT WE BOUGHT IT HERE. No you didn’t.
There is a reason they do not permit new olim to get a gun for the first three years they are in the country.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Swirling Thoughts #25 - political correctness has it's place - but it's not here.
I am aware that everything I experience here is filtering through my American lense but this was really over the top. I stopped dead in my tracks in front of the cookie display. I was holding in laughter as I took these pictures. The makolet manager saw me photographing the cookies and laughing to myself. Even if I explained it to him he'd never get it. Woah.
The bottom picture (with the big earings) caught my eye. Then I noticed her cookies were dark chocolate. The lighter skinned women represented the caramel cookies and the chocolate vanilla mixed. The character on the package reflects, in essence, the flavor of the cookies inside. Go ahead, look again.
I brought Barbara to school today for an orientation with her new morah. There were no medical forms to fill out though I’ve heard that if I don’t send the kids with proof of vaccination the school nurse will bring them up to date (“The nurse will be giving us shots??? On the first day of school???”). There was nothing about food allergies and what foods you can bring in to the school (hello Bamba!). Though the general dress code is known – modest skirt and shirt – there was nothing given out about a dress code. For the girls OR the mommies.
My big girl took one half of one step into the classroom and then, with tears welling in her eyes, suctioned her entire body to my pregnant belly. Thank Gd her face was smashed into my midsection – she couldn’t see my tears. Between me, the morah, several kind classmates and their compassionate “we’ve all been there” mothers, we got her to join the group. Fast forward to pickup, close to two hours later. She was all smiles. She looked at me with starry eyes and said, in a wistful voice, I have the nicest teacher in the world! I asked about the classmates and got a similar description.
Benatayim (there were close to 2 hours for me to quick go shopping and figure out what I am sending 4 kids for lunch each day SIX DAYS A WEEK – that’s 24 lunches!!!), I went to the makolet. Earlier I had given Asher a data collection exercise – we made a grid chart with each child’s name down the side and across the top we put Asher’s 4 choices of lunches (we’re working with the lowest common denominator here – Asher is my worst eater). So Asher surveyed the girls to see who would be willing to eat (once or twice weekly) noodles, fishsticks, cream cheese sandwiches, and pancakes. The girls were game.
Listening to other mom’s talking and just walking around the makolet I had a few ideas for supplemental items – fruit, cheese sticks with crackers, potato chips, cheeto’s, cereal in a baggy, drinkable yogurts – and all the while I secretly longed for the availability of daily school lunch. At any price.
There are four flavors of Gold’s Duck Sauce available in the makolet. Oriental, Polynesian, Szechuan, and Cantonese. I can’t remember having such a selection in Brooklyn. I always thought Gold’s Duck Sauce came in regular or spicy. How different could they all be, I thought? I’ll just grab one. Then I saw the price. 30 NIS per jar. Holding off on duck sauce until I can figure out which one is which.
My big girl took one half of one step into the classroom and then, with tears welling in her eyes, suctioned her entire body to my pregnant belly. Thank Gd her face was smashed into my midsection – she couldn’t see my tears. Between me, the morah, several kind classmates and their compassionate “we’ve all been there” mothers, we got her to join the group. Fast forward to pickup, close to two hours later. She was all smiles. She looked at me with starry eyes and said, in a wistful voice, I have the nicest teacher in the world! I asked about the classmates and got a similar description.
Benatayim (there were close to 2 hours for me to quick go shopping and figure out what I am sending 4 kids for lunch each day SIX DAYS A WEEK – that’s 24 lunches!!!), I went to the makolet. Earlier I had given Asher a data collection exercise – we made a grid chart with each child’s name down the side and across the top we put Asher’s 4 choices of lunches (we’re working with the lowest common denominator here – Asher is my worst eater). So Asher surveyed the girls to see who would be willing to eat (once or twice weekly) noodles, fishsticks, cream cheese sandwiches, and pancakes. The girls were game.
Listening to other mom’s talking and just walking around the makolet I had a few ideas for supplemental items – fruit, cheese sticks with crackers, potato chips, cheeto’s, cereal in a baggy, drinkable yogurts – and all the while I secretly longed for the availability of daily school lunch. At any price.
There are four flavors of Gold’s Duck Sauce available in the makolet. Oriental, Polynesian, Szechuan, and Cantonese. I can’t remember having such a selection in Brooklyn. I always thought Gold’s Duck Sauce came in regular or spicy. How different could they all be, I thought? I’ll just grab one. Then I saw the price. 30 NIS per jar. Holding off on duck sauce until I can figure out which one is which.
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