Swirling Thoughts #172 – Do I feel safe here?

As we sat in the food court of the Malcha Mall, Bob asked me this question.
Do you feel safe here?
What did he mean? This is the type of question I get from visitors as I drive them past the security checkpoint to enter Gush Etzion. Or as we enter Efrat from the traffic circle we share with Bet Lehem. Bob and I never have this conversation! Did he see someone suspicious? Did he have a gut feeling about something? I looked around to confirm my initial reaction and then answered him, confidently.
Yes. Absolutely.
Look up.

As you can see the decorative ceiling in the food court of the Malcha Mall is somewhat short of completion. And the piles of metal rods needed to finish the job are available. And waiting. Precariously perched overhead... Maybe the workers are on hafseka (break). Maybe they are on strike. I ate the rest of my salad looking straight down at my plate.

The benchmark for a subtle, unobtrusive fence…
The ‘light rail’ in Jerusalem is nearing completion. There are rails built right into sidewalks all over the city. Apparently the train will appear, doors will open all over the place, people will step on and the train will disappear.
But how will people not get run over by the train? The rails are in the middle of the sidewalk. There is no fence.
They’ll have to put a fence. Nothing big.
Like the landmine fence?
That’s more like a suggestion not to cross than a real fence. Yeah, something like that.
You know the baby really loved the pool last week. What are we going to do when she discovers the fish pond?
I was thinking we should put a little suggestion of a fence around it. Nothing big.
The landmine fence?
That would be perfect.


Just when you think you can’t be surprised at the upside-down-ness of this place…
When I called to schedule the baby’s appointment with a pediatric pulmonologist after a bout of wheezing, I was given an appointment at 8:45. The doctor is in Kikar Shabbat which is a well-known 5-way intersection in the heart of Mea Shearim. An extremely busy place but easy to find parking before 9am. I was happy.
To confirm. Your appointment is Sunday at 8:45pm.
What?
8:45pm.
No! No! I need a something earlier!
Something earlier…I have 6:45.
In the morning?
No. 6:45 in the evening.
Do you have something in the morning?
No, the doctor only has hours from 6-10 at night.

Hebrew Word of the Day (proper nouns count)….
There’s a guy everyone seems to know. He’s everywhere and yet, he’s nowhere to be found. He’s to blame for everything and everyone’s got a story about him. His name is Plony Almony and just the other day I was speaking about him to Barbara. And then the very next day her teacher mentioned him in class. Plony Almony is the Israeli Joe Schmoe.

Swirling Thoughts #171 – Accepting that “First In Line” is a meaningless title will take you a long way here

Hebrew Word of the Day:
Chutzpanit – someone who has over-stepped the boundaries of accepted behavior with no shame.

I should have known better but how could I have known….
That when you visit Hevron during Hol Hamoed Sukkot that more than a thousand other people will also be visiting (okay, no problem), that you will have to park your car in a field somewhere in Kiryat Arba (reasonable) and take one of many available buses in (easy, so far), but that when you want to leave you will suddenly be involved in a struggle with more than a thousand other people to board a scarce bus back to the field somewhere in Kiryat Arba (very orderly, everyone waiting patiently in line, respecting the order and the line, oh, wait a minute, no, THE OPPOSITE of that).

After 3 failed attempts at boarding a bus with my children (each time I was first in line – a relevant fact only in my mind) I decided I had two choices. Become Israeli or wait until the last of those thousand plus people left at nightfall and then pray a final bus would come for me and my family. Was it really even a choice?

I threw 3 of my girls onto the next bus. Literally. Rosie’s feet didn’t touch the steps of the bus. She landed next to the driver.
GO GO GO! I shouted. IN IN IN!
Barbara asked if she should climb in under someone’s legs.
GREAT IDEA! YES! GO!
Rosie, Becky and Barbara disappeared inside. The bus driver got up to tell me and the throngs of people amassed behind me,
Meleh, Meleh (full).
With feigned dismay and pseudo-shock I said:
Aval ha yeladim sheli befnim! But my children are inside!
MELEH!
As I pushed my way onto the bus I looked the driver in the eye.
HA YELADIM SHELI BIFNIM.
As I made my way to the back of the bus, found ample space for me and Rosie, and discovered Bob, Asher and the Baby had all boarded as well, I heard Becky asking Bob:
Aba. What is chutzpanit?
Why do you ask, Becky?
The bus driver said Mommy is chutzpanit!

How do you know your ‘klita’ (absorption and acclimation into the Israeli way of life) is progressing? For starters, you start using words like ‘klita’. You wish people a Horef Tov, literally, “happy winter.” And if you’re really making strides like me, when an Israeli bus driver calls you 'Chutzpanit!' you smile and wear that label like a badge of honor.

Swirling Thoughts #170 - enthusiasm for all things Israeli (80's tunes on intercepted airwaves included)

Hebrew Words of the Day:
Kan Kan – pitcher (We’ll take a kan kan of water for the table.)
Koo Koo – pony tail holder (Rosie – put your hair in a koo koo so you don’t get lice!)
Kooshbalaboosh – scribble scrabble (Look at my picture, Mommy. It’s kooshbalaboosh!)

Totally Israeli phenomenon of the Day:
My Israeli neighbor has a gigantic side yard in perfectly manicured…Astroturf. And I’m absolutely 100% certain he’s never even heard of the Brady Bunch.
What is it about Anglos living in the Middle East rocking out to 80’s tunes?
I have a new favorite radio station – Mood 92.
Serving the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan.
And Efrat.
They play a few notes of something from Christopher Cross and then interrupt to announce:
If you like this then you’ll love Mood 92. Best music in The Kingdom.
Everything is about The Kingdom. They advertise the best BMW dealership in The Kingdom. The best hair removal products in The Kingdom. That’s about the only two ads they run. Then they’re back to the best music in The Kingdom. ELO, Mister Mister, Meatloaf, The Steve Miller Band, Kool & the Gang, Bob Marley(!!!). I’m loving Mood 92 but I would have named it something else. "Shameless 80’s for The Kingdom, plus".

New land. New fruits.
The last time I was enjoying Mood 92 I was on my way to the shuk. In search of Passiflora. Until recently I thought Passiflora was only a slushie flavor. Then my friend Melissa showed me the fruit and how to eat it (wait until it looks dried out and brown, cut it in half and scoop out the delicious inside). Of course I’m about a month too late. There is no Passiflora in all the shuk. But what is that intoxicating fruity smell? It’s everywhere?
I ask my fruit guy.
Mah zeh?
Zeh gwee-ah-vah.
Mmm! Guava! Never having eaten one but sold on the fragrant aroma, I buy half a kilo. Then I see Becky’s favorite fruit, parsimon (persimmon). I buy a kilo, forgetting I bought a kilo yesterday in the makolet. Then I see figs. I can’t help myself. A kilo of figs. When my kids get home and see the fruit bowl they look mildly interested and then ask if there are more donuts hiding anywhere. I don’t care. I love our new fruits!

Swirling Thoughts #169 - Mysteries

Disappearing time
My friend pointed out to me last night that I haven’t posted since October 1. What have I been so busy with, I wondered to myself?

Of course it’s those school emails I’ve been running through Google Translator. Every day, sometimes 4, 5 or even 6 in a single day. Since the first day of school I have received 16 emails from the girls school, 19 emails from the boys school and 4 emails from Asher’s teacher directly. 39 emails in 22 days of school.

Email about the uniforms and the long arm of the law:
Modesty shirt meets the long ruling of law school

And then the follow up email where they tell you where to park it:
Parents have not yet completed the purchase of polo shirts are asked to park the palm.

Email about the fangs pygmies online course:
will also Hebrew Online Course -" Fangs pygmies "which taught parents and children Onashir our knowledge in the holy tongue.

The school lunch menu email, (again with ham!):

Sunday Monday Wednesday Thursday

Hmgisit: Schnitzel, spaghetti, pizza and vegetable two triangles Pizzeria in Gush Hmgisit:Chicken, rice, vegetable baguette with ham

All dishes will be added to fruit.

Email about the inconvenience of olive grenade fire:
March rally tomorrow's youth rally with olive grenade fire. You like to stay for the inconvenience, we'd love to see you join us and your child walk.

The volunteering project email:
Youth movements in a week, we are pleased to announce that today the value like a commune in the business counselors - and then turn our daughters school activities and kindness six different stations. We see the appropriate Youth belonging to the spirit house.

And then there were multiple emails regarding the library project, the recycling project, the water project, the bus schedule, changes to the bus schedule, sweatshirts for the uniforms, and the crying-seltzer-on-fire-back-to-school-night:
Please note that the meeting was crying and 4 of the torch Seltzer begins earlier at 19:30.

This year, I attended back to school night for Barbara, Asher and Becky (last year I missed all three). I took notes on whatever I could understand.

Tzedakah yes.

Silly Bandz no.

Need sweatshirtim.

Missing vocabulary
This morning I took Barbara with me for coffee. She ordered a muffin. The lady understood muffin.
Ech omrym muffin b’ivrit? (how do you say muffin in Hebrew)
Mah-feen.
K’mo Anglit? (like in English?)
Ken!
I laughed.
Ein l’chem mah-feen lifney ha Amerikayim ba’im? (there was no 'muffin' before the Americans arrived?)
Nachon! (correct)

Along with muffin, sweatshirtim, and redymiks concrete, Amerikayim seem to have brought a host of new concepts to Israel. For example, fairness.
Zeh lo fair! (it’s not fair)
Zeh ken fair! (it is too fair!)
Lo! Zeh lo fair! (no, it’s not fair!)
Usually this discussion takes place near an elevator (or bus) door and involves people who waited patiently, hoping to get on, and people who pushed through (and actually got on).

The case of the missed boat
With Google Translator in my corner, I was holding my head up high. Knowledge really is power! Then Rosie’s back to school night pounced upon me. And knocked me flat on my back. She came home last Wednesday with an invitation she’d made herself.
Asher – does this say “hayom b’sha’ah 20:30”? (today at 8:30pm)
Uh, yes. And you have to bring a photograph of her.
What kind of gan tells you about back to school night – (I look at my watch) - 4 hours in advance??? I have no babysitter! I cannot possibly go.
Mommy!
Yes rosie?
You HAVE to go.
I thought of the ‘Daf Kesher’ Rosie brings home from Gan every Friday. The ‘Page of Connection’ that doesn’t connect me because I don’t know what it says but of course it must have said something about Rosie’s back to school night. And the photograph. If only they’d emailed the notice! Oh Google Translator, where are you when I really need you???

Disappearing white pasta…
When Bob was in America last week I decided to make some small changes in our family diet. I went to the health food store and returned with wheat berries, amaranth, legumes, agave and whole wheat pasta. I cooked up lentil soup, fava beans, black beans, brown rice, soy protein, tofu and polenta – and insisted everyone try it. They all did, with varying degrees of resistance, and then settled in, each one, for a bowl of Cheerios.

The Case of the Disappearing Donut...
Bob returned from America with processed, hydrogenated and chemically altered (to last indefinitely on a shelf), Entenmann’s Donuts. A box of 12. The mother of all ‘whadjabringus?’ surprises.
12 donuts divided among 4 junk deprived children.
These children dream about donuts.
Their first words to Bob were
Hi Aba!
And their second words were
DIDYOUBRINGDONUTS?????
And to prevent a donut free-for-all which would surely result in crying
We implemented a strict schedule of donut consumption
Which also resulted in crying
Shabbat morning – one donut each
Sunday lunch snack – one donut each
That’s 8 donuts in 4 little bellies.
A report comes in.
Aba let Asher have a second donut on Shabbat.
Confirmed.
Asher is maxed out.
9 donuts in 4 little bellies.
From 12.
Which leaves 3, right?
Right?
Except that there are only 2 in the box.
In unison:
ABA! ABA ATE IT!
Aba says, No. Maybe Asher ate it.
The kids join in.
ASHER! ASHER ATE IT!
Asher says no and then blames Becky.
BECKY! IT WAS BECKY FOR SURE!
Becky says no, blames Asher.
Someone suggests it was Rosie.
Bob points a finger at me.
I look at Barbara.
We are at an impasse.
And so, 2 donuts remain, uneaten, in the box, on the shelf.
Where they will last indefinitely.
Until the donut thief strikes again.

For the last week we’ve had a cat in the window.
My first question was
Who’s been feeding the cat?
They all say no.
Yesterday we noticed a second cat in the window
Somebody must be feeding these cats.

Who is feeding the cats?

Did someone feed the donut to one of the cats?
Did the cat come in and take the donut?
Will the children feed wheat berries and polenta to the cats?
Stay tuned for answers to these mysteries and more…

Swirling Thoughts #168 – serpents, chocolates, songs, and tzaddikim

Just in time for his 15 minutes of fame...

Yes, that is just outside my front door. Maybe I should stop saying I live in Gan Eden?

The finer things... We have them – Belgian Chocolates, yogurt covered energy bars – but they belong in the refrigerator. The eggs can sit on the counter indefinitely but unless you want a big melty blob of gourmet chocolate (or a confusing mix of yogurt melted together with glue from the wrapping of your energy bar), it’s best to rethink your use of refrigerator space.

Casualties of my aliya
Every Israeli knows these same 100 songs. They learn them first. In fact, they are called ‘100 First Songs’. In a year’s time my kids have learned every one of them. Yonatan Ha Katan (Little Yonatan), Yom Huledet Shel Itamar (happy birthday, Itamar!), etc., etc. So last week I told Rosie to sing the ABCs while she soaped her hands to be sure she spent enough time scrubbing. This is what I heard:
A-B-C-D-E…….I….. Silence.
Again, Rosie?
A-B-C-D-E…….I…..
Again silence.
Followed by a lot of squealing, mostly from me.
OMIGOSH! She forgot her ABCs!!!
Barbara and Becky spent the rest of the day reprogramming Rosie in English (at some point they realized she also didn’t know Twinkle Twinkle and Wheels on the Bus) and by bedtime she was ready for a solo performance. Hesitating but without mistake she made it from A to Z. Thatwasacloseone.

A trip to Kever Yosef - Date Night redefined
A late night rendezvous, a bullet-proof bus, a military escort, dancing hassidim and fervent prayers. Only in Israel.

Swirling Thoughts #167 – dreams, forgiveness and a trip into the Twilight Zone

Once upon a time in Brooklyn we decided to build a dream house. And so we designed it. The dream house was to have limestone countertops, southern exposure, and private parking. And then we remembered an old dream…

When I traded my dream house for my dream life, limestone took a demotion from luxury surface to pesky residue (something I struggle to get out of my hot water urn and off my shower doors) and southern exposure became irrelevant (there’s no shortage of sun in the desert). Yes, I have private parking and, while someone who’s lived on East 3rd Street would easily believe I moved all the way to Israel just for the parking, it’s simply not true.

‘My life is like a dream’ doesn’t mean ‘My life is dreamy’. It means sometimes really weird stuff just pops up like how it does when you are dreaming…

Pot stop
Is it surreal to drive through the “West Bank” following a Haagen Dazs delivery truck? We both drive around the car stopped in the middle of the road because a gigantic pot has fallen out of a truck right in front of it. The Haagen Dazs truck continues straight as I turn into the traffic circle I share with Arab taxis and donkeys from Bet Lehem. I pass a lone Arab house flying the flag of Chile. I honk and wave at my good friend in her pink car and approach the northern gate of Efrat. I pass some Arabs sitting outside on plush living room furniture selling auto parts and transmission fluid. I can’t tell anymore. This is just my life. But sometimes it seems like a strange dream.

Flash back
I almost didn’t leave the house today. I was late for my wax in Jerusalem. I decided to go anyway. The northern gate was blocked on the outgoing side. I inched through the incoming side, praying there were no hidden spikes. This was my foreshadowing. But I wasn’t paying attention. I was wondering where the guy selling car parts from his sofa was today.

There was a ton of traffic in Jerusalem and no parking anywhere. The vibe was reminiscent of searching for parking on Kings Highway. And as I inched past a double parked Volvo, I smiled at the driver. I expected him to smile back at me in my matching Volvo. Except that I forgot I live in Israel now and drive a dusty Mitsubishi Grandis. The traffic and parking thing really transported me back. Woah.

Forgiveness is in the air
As I was missing my wax I was marveling at how the Galgalatz DJs were having an intense conversation about Yom Kippur, teshuvah, and forgiveness. At one point they mentioned “Nach-nachim” – and then explained their made-up word with this one, even funnier -“Extremim”. Does anyone in Israel not know who the Nach-nachim are?

When the beauty salon told me I could come back 7 hours later for the next available appointment, my keen awareness that tomorrow is Yom Kippur – how could I not be aware – the DJs were giving the fast times and divrei Torah - saved me from freaking out about having shlepped into town, driving around with my gas light on for 30 minutes and then turning back, mission unaccomplished. I took a breath and recalibrated the mission.

Twilight Zone
I got to the gas station and it was really the weirdest thing. Every single car in the station had driven in backwards. The station was full and all the cars were facing the wrong way. Lucky for them there are no spikes in the gas station! I, of course, drove in correctly and noticed a little sign on the gas pump while I waited hopefully for sherut meleh (full service). The sign was a picture of a wheelchair and a picture of a horn with ‘x3’ next to it. For a brief moment I wondered if being illiterate and also totally unable to maneuver sherut atzmi (self service) were enough for me to honk three times. Then I wondered if the honking three times was reserved for handicap people everywhere or only in the gas station. Is it a well known thing in Israel?
One honk means move.
Two honks means I already honked and what do you think you’re doing still sitting there?
Three honks means I could actually use some assistance.
Probably it’s limited to the context of the gas station. But I’ll start paying better attention.

So the attendant finally came over to me and I asked him, breathless and full of hope,
Zeh sherut meleh? (it’s full service?)
Zeh balagan! (it’s craziness)
I know! The cars are all going the wrong way!
It’s you! You made balagan with your car!
Me? You mean…
He nodded.
I am backwards? I could not understand. My gas tank was facing the pump and I’d driven in the right way… or so I’d thought.
Slicha! (Forgive me). Should I sivuv? (turn around)
No, it’s beseder. He was very forgiving.
I’m lucky there were no spikes! I'm lucky it's Erev Kippur! A year of filling gas and you’d think I could properly follow the arrows into any station. Probably the other drivers thought I should have done better – what with my dusty Mitsubishi I really look like someone who knows better – but the mood was easy and no one honked, not even one time.

There were dream-like (not dreamy!) characters at the gas station – a tattooed heavy set middle aged man wearing short white shorts, another heavier set middle aged man with a black toupée that sat on his head like a helmet. They helped me navigate out of my backward spot and as I drove off I offered a sincere plea.
Yesh kavod beshviel ha seder shel ha macomb! (I have respect for the ‘order’ here). Ma’mash slicha! (I’m really sorry).

After a day filled with dreams, forgiveness, driving around, and turning around I drifted off to sleep on my sofa. I woke to the sound of my dishwasher jerking to life after a 30 second power outage, a sound as familiar as donkeys braying at dawn. The power is back and the dream sequence continues…

Gmar hatima tova!

Swirling Thoughts #166 – What’s in a name?

As we drove down from the north last month we tried to see which beach along the Kineret was most beautiful, most inviting, most popular. Bob and I were cross referencing road signs with our handy map.
Dugit – do you see Dugit?
Yes! Here’s Dugit!
Golan – do you see Golan Beach?
I think, wait a minute, yes! Golan Beach!
My head is down looking for the next beach on the map…
Hey! This beach looks amazing! Look at all those people in the water! What’s this beach called?
Scanning for roadside signage…
It’s the SWIMMING PROHIBITED beach!!!

A qualified confession (everybody’s doing it)
Bob has an Israeli cousin Nava who has been Navoosh as long as I have known her.

Today I was in a neighboring yishuv, the predominantly Haredi Beitar Illit. A woman was calling to her son, Levy. Except that she called him in a way that only Israeli’s (religious and secular alike) call their children.
Ley-voosh. Ley-voosh tzaddik!

My baby was born on a Tuesday. We didn’t name her until Saturday morning in shul. We didn’t decide on her name until Saturday morning, a few minutes before Bob left for shul. I have 4 other children. For four full days they were living with a nameless baby. Well, maybe it was four full minutes. As soon as they saw us hesitate with the name, they awarded her a ‘temporary name’.
We’ll call her Pizza.
And they did.
And the neighbor’s children came to see the baby Pizza.
And the neighbors themselves came to see the baby Pizza.
And Shabbat morning came and went. Pizza became Rachel Merav. On paper, anyway.
Pizza stuck.
And then, needing a nickname, Pizza became Pete.
Any of this really could have happened in New York. But the Israeli thing is what happened next.
Pizza, Pete for short, became Peetoosh. And she’s been Peetoosh ever since.
She is 10 months old this week and she responds to Peetoosh. She also responds to Raheloosh, Meravoosh and Stinky Pants but not as consistently.
One day she will surely reclaim the glorious names we bestowed upon her that Shabbat morning – probably when she starts dating – but in the meantime she is and will continue to be our most delicious Israeli baby.
Peetoosh.