A Month of Vacation in a Week

5 Tamuz 5779.


Last week was one for the books -- a whole summer vacation in just a few days, Israeli-style.

Yom rishon (Sunday) was lit and colored by the Jerusalem Light Festival.

After an enjoyable meal with friends at a restaurant in Mahane Yehuda called Ishtabach serving fascinating Syrian meat dishes inside delicious pastry, we walked through the holy City to join the "blue route" of the tour. (There are also a green and red route, which may be interesting if we ever attend more than one evening.)

Each year, this well-attended event seems to get better and more creative. This year there were people dressed in mosaics of mirrors, fairy princesses and unicorns laced with lights raised above the crowd on stilts, explosions of light in the sky above, groups of young musicians playing jazz that would make their grandparents proud, and the trademark stories projected on Old City stones.

You say APC, we say Warrior Taxi.

On yom sheni (Monday), the Dearly Beloved and I enjoyed the IDF Tour at First Station in Jerusalem. We didn't expect much. A few tanks, maybe; a little history about the military's contributions to building and protecting Medinat Yisrael.

We were quite surprised by the hour-long interactive program aimed, we were sure, at persuading young people that their future required military service might be more fun than burdensome. There were stations with computer consoles beckoning young competitors to polish off enemy ships, opportunities to virtually see and feel flight and parachuting and undersea combat. The room was filled with budding heroes proving to their parents that time on video games such as Armored Brigade and Warhammer is not entirely wasted.

I was surprised by how deeply moved I was by the short film about the IDF's role in the creation of the State, as well as its many necessary wars and operations to defend our home. Even though I know the history, the video was well-made, eliciting all my emotional support for the job our boys and girls must continue to do.

After the show, we had an excellent meal at Lehem Basar (aka Meet and Eat, illustrating once again that literal translations often miss the mark). We have found that the secret to dining out on our budget is to always choose the business lunch special, and sometimes to take advantage of the only-in-Israel option to split a meal. (I say "only" without knowing if this is allowed in other countries. My experience is that in the US and Germany, we were not allowed this privilege.)





Over yom shlishi and yom revi'i (Tuesday and Wednesday), I had the last-minute pleasure of going to the Galil with gal-pals and staying at a cabin in Yavniel.


What a beautiful and inspiring adventure! We hiked along Nahal Amud -- something my body reminded me for a full five days after the one-day outing it hadn't done in decades! -- and enjoyed the cabin, pool and lovely catered breakfast like wealthy college girls. Every few years, a girl's gotta experience a little luxury...

Enough already, right? Not a bit of it.

We met our dear mehutanim on yom chamishi (Thursday) for lunch at Pat Bamelach Bakery and Restaurant in Efrat to catch up on our summer travels and adventures, and to share stories about and photos of our kids and grandkids. The food was excellent, the company, as always, divine.

We capped the evening and the week with a trip to Tekoa for the annual Beer Festival. Being aware of the need to conserve funds, the Dearly Beloved and I were satisfied to "spend" only the complimentary first beer chits that came with the exorbitant entrance fee (and we split the free beer our hostess/driver chose not to drink). It was a fun evening with music surprisingly not-ear-splitting, due to the layout, and a very Woodstock feel, with huge mats spread on the ground for sitting, and booths pitching homemade crafts and food.

There were families everywhere, many young people and older folk communing together -- exactly what we've come to love about the atmosphere of Tekoa. A special bonus was meeting friends who have been only virtual for a few years. Though I love the access to the world the internet provides, it is always special to meet "old friends" for the first time in real life. As entertaining as the festival was, the best part of the adventure was visiting our hosts in their home, shmoozing over their kitchen counter. A reminder that one needn't go far from home to participate in what matters most.



We had a quiet at-home yom shishi (Friday) and Shabbat to recuperate from our adventures, even though our "at-home" on Shabbat included an excellent English-language shiur across the street and an open-house visit to share the joy of friends in their new home. May they enjoy their time in this new apartment in good health, surrounded by people who love them, for as long as it suits them!

Of course, we spent our entire monthly allowance (and then some!) for entertainment in one week. Let's call it this year's summer vacation. Time to settle down, and get some work done, and shepherd the shkalim.

Besides -- I enjoyed the Yavniel adventure so much that the Dearly Beloved was prompted to say, "Feel like going to the cabin for your birthday?"

Well -- YESH.

Glossary:
Medinat Yisrael - the State of Israel / Lehem Basar - literally "bread meat" / Nahal - stream / mehutanim - the other set of parents of our married children / shiur - Torah lecture or class / shkalim - shekels / YESH - Israeli slang for the American slang expression, "heck, YEAH!"

Understanding Israelis

Yom shlishi, 14 Elul 5773.

This post hopefully will serve three purposes: it will illustrate one of the subtleties of transitioning to a new country; it will allow me to express hakarat hatov (gratitude) to an anonymous soldier for a kindness; it will give readers the opportunity to share (please!) stories of kindnesses done to them, by soldiers, or by any Israelis.  Thank you for playing along!

One of the facts of immigrating to a new country, language and culture is that you take a while to understand the nuances.  An example is the frustrating juxtaposition of IDF soldiers and civilian buses.  A couple of years ago, I wrote about this from a humorous standpoint in a post with the (if I do say so myself) intriguing title IDF storms bus; civilians victorious.

As time goes by, you can learn the reasons behind certain behaviors, if you are willing to begin from the premise that people are not rude, just differently-cultured.  When I was in the US army, we had troop transport buses that were never used by non-affiliated civilians.  While a service member could certainly use public transportation, civilian buses were not used, at least during peace time, for mass transportation of military personnel.  But Israel spends its military budget differently; and I am certainly not in a position to determine if the money is spent wisely.

Not having their own transportation system puts IDF soldiers into a difficult position.  Most soldiers try to stay at home until the last possible bus -- because they want as much time as possible with family, their own beds, and normal food.  Some of them are just exhausted.

Sports Guy trying to sneak in a few more z's before the morning bus.

As my newly-married soldier son, Yeshiva Bochur, explained to me:  "Ema, most of the guys I serve with were raised with good midot.  But we are told by our commanders that if we don't make it to the base on time, we will be punished by losing Shabbat.  They don't care if there is traffic, if we miss the bus, if the bus breaks down.  Somehow, that's all the soldier's fault.  And we really want to see our wives or girl friends and families.  We will get on that bus, no matter what."

I know that he's right.  I've heard the negotiations on the phone with the mem-mem (acronym for "platoon commander").  To be fair, there are married commanders who understand, or those who are simply sensitive and fair.  But there are also a few commanders who like to throw their weight around and enjoy the power of punishment.  Stunt Man tells a story about a bus that was supposed to get the soldier to his base an hour ahead of schedule. The bus got stuck in traffic in a tunnel, behind a bus that had caught on fire.  The soldier had a copy of the bus schedule, as well as cell phone photos of the bus on fire... but his mem-mem blamed him for the three-hour delay.  "Not fair" doesn't begin to cover it -- but most soldiers just want to get through their service without making additional waves, so they don't do much more about such commanders than grumble.

And crowd the next bus to get in ahead of anyone who might cause them delay.

Once everyone gets on the bus, a soldier will very often give up his seat for an older person or couple, or for a pregnant woman or a mother with children.  (In fact, Sports Guy had a commander who told his soldiers: "If I ever get on a bus and see one of you sitting while a citizen is standing, you will be punished." Sports Guy had great respect for that commander.)

This background is all leading up to a thank you to an anonymous soldier.

Dear Chayal,

I know you were tired.  It showed.  By the ring on your finger, I could see that you had probably just said goodbye to your wife, and perhaps kissed your still-sleeping children's heads.  Making sure that you got on the bus was very important to you, as I have learned from my own soldiers.

Nonetheless, as it looked like seating might be limited, you surrounded the doorway (in a stretching and swelling maneuver of the body at which Israelis and even olim vatikim begin to excel), keeping anyone from entering until I and two other older ladies were aboard.

I am grateful you got a seat, and I hope that you will never, ever be subjected to a foolish punishment that keeps you from your dear family.

If I would meet your ema, I would be happy to tell her what a good job she did raising her son.

I look forward to learning more about the reasons behind the behaviors that now infuriate, confuse or amuse me.  I must remember that being dan l'chaf zechut is an important part of being a Jew, and a great way to develop love for one's new country and its people.

Glossary:
Midot - character traits
Chayal - soldier
Olim vatikim - immigrants who have been in Israel for a few years
Ema - mama
Dan l'chaf zechut - the Torah requirement to give the benefit of the doubt, to assume the best in people rather than the worst

I LOVE THIS COUNTRY!

Yom shlishi, 2 Av 5773.

Idit and Ella: Golani sheli!

You know how when you're at home, you can get away with acting a little goofy, and people tolerate it?  Because they know you, and they love you, in spite of (or because of) your goofiness.  You can't get away with that stuff away from home.

So I'm walking around Jerusalem one day last week, and I see that it must be "Golani Soldier Day," because there are Golani soldiers everywhere.

Because Soldier Boy -- my eldest of four soldier sons -- was Golani, I can't help feeling a certain affection for all Golani soldiers.  They're all "my boys."  And as every Golani parent can affirm, whenever I see them, I want to sing a bar or two of their anthem to them.  "Golani sheli, Golani she-leeeeeee!"  There are rules in Judaism about men hearing the intoxicating sound of my amazing voice -- down, boys! -- so I can't do that.  Instead, I just think the song to myself, and send them a proud mother smile.

On this day, however, I had a special treat: two female Golani soldiers walked into a pet store.  Hah!  No rules of kol isha!  Overwhelmed by the goofiness instinct, I followed them in, and said, "Ah, at last, I can do something I always want to do... 'Golani, sheli...'" I sang to them.  And they joined in, and quietly we serenaded each other, followed appropriately by giggles.

We interviewed each other.  They wanted to know where I was from, now and before aliyah.  We spoke about my soldier sons.  I asked them why they chose to serve in Golani.  "Because it is how we felt we could best serve our country," said Ella, and Idit agreed.  Such a logical statement.  But they might have said, "Because we have to." or "Because we were drafted."  I don't meet too many young people in Israel with a negative attitude about their service.  Maybe about their base, or their commander...  but rarely about serving their country.  (They also informed me that Golani is superior to all other branches of the IDF.  First time I've ever heard that from a Golani soldier.  Not.)

@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%

"The Brothers," as they and everyone else call my sons, have always worked at being close friends (when they weren't beating the pasta out of each other, of course.  We raise men here, not saints).

As Soldier Boy and his bride Executive Girl are temporarily detained in the States for an unspecified duration, the Brothers -- Yeshiva Bochur, Stunt Man and Sports Guy -- can sometimes be seen huddling over the computer, chatting with their big brother on Google's Hangout.

I love that being in this country has strengthened their love for one another, and their friendship.  I don't know if the IDF helped with that, or gave them more to argue about.  ("Golani guys go through walls instead of over them."  "Yeah, well that's because Tzanchanim are too chicken to face the wall head on, so they fly over it."  "At least Shirion guys go through the wall in tanks instead of with their heads."  "Hah!  The only people crazier than Golani guys are bus drivers!"  "Oh, yeah?  Well -- your mother wears army boots!  [pause]  Oh, yeah... she did...")

@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%

Got a call from Sports Guy after Shabbat.

"It was a good Shabbat, Ema," he said.  No special excitement.  It wasn't an amazing Shabbat.  It's just Sports Guy's way to be pretty accepting of his situation.  "I had guard duty at Ma'ariv [the evening prayer service]..."

"How was the food?  Any good?" I interrupted.

"Yeah, well, no, actually it was pretty bad.  [He laughed a little here.]  Except at Ma'ariv... but of course, I was on guard duty.

"So I was thinking 'Well, I'll just daven here by myself, then.  That'll be okay... and suddenly I see all these people walking toward me.  I thought 'Okay.  No big deal.'  But as they're coming toward me, I see it's all the dati (religious) guys, and even some chiloni (secular) guys, but they're wearing kipot... and the rabbi is with them...

"And the rabbi says to me, 'If you can't come to the minyan... the minyan will come to you!'

"And all those guys came to the guard shack, and we davened Ma'ariv right there."

"Wow!" I said, truly overwhelmed with love for these soldiers, and this rabbi.  "So it was pretty good after all -- except for missing out on the good food," I said with a wink he couldn't see.

"Oh, no, Ema.  I didn't miss out.  Somebody brought me food, too..."

I've said it before, and I'll say it again:  I LOVE THIS COUNTRY!!!

Holy Soles, Sushi, Soldiers and Smiles

Yom rishon, 3 Sivan 5773.

My "little baby," Sports Guy, completes basic training.

It was a great week for the folks at Chez Mizrachi.

It started with a small miracle, followed by food and friends, promotion and pride, and ended with a successful surprise birthday party for a lovely young family friend.

First, let's set the stage for the miracle.

I have the great privilege of having a professionally-licensed personal trainer as a daughter-in-law.  There are wonderful benefits.  Basically, Champagne Girl has me on a treadmill, and on an exercise regimen.  She is not taking "lazy" or "busy" as excuses; so every day, I am doing something toward my health, blast her.  (Uh, I mean, "baruch Hashem.")

I needed new tennis shoes, as my old pair was built sometime during the Carter presidency.

This by itself was a pretty amazing adventure.  When you haven't purchased new sport shoes in a couple of decades, new shoes feel like something designed in space: super-light, flexible and -- let's face it -- unbelievably cute.

Menashe Sport, 81 Yafo Street, Jerusalem

   At Menashe's shoe store on Yafo, where we have purchased shoes and had leather goods repaired for the past five years, we had the next leg (you should pardon the pun) of our adventure in minor miracles.

As mentioned earlier, I don't buy shoes yearly.  I buy really, really good shoes that last for ages.  I choose my shoes less for fashion than for the requirement that they transport me many kilometers without hurting my feet.  So before leaving the house, I put on my trusty (ancient) Naturalizer Mary Janes, which have more than earned their keep over much of the land of Israel.  As I began to put my walking shoes back on after boxing up the cute little treadmill trekkers to take home, I suddenly felt a bit unstable.  Sitting back down, I removed my shoes... to find that the sole of one shoe had completely crumbled, from old age and dry rot.  (Can you say "perfect timing"?)

Needless to say, I walked to the bus station in the new tennies.

Menashe means "pride in workmanship."  I'm sure of it.

I told Menashe how sad I was to throw out the old friends.  After all, they'd seen me from Rosh Hanikra in the north down to Sderot near Gaza, and from the coast of the Mediterranean to the border with Syria.  The uppers were still in excellent shape; and to get shoes of this quality, I'd have to fork over in excess of 600 shekels -- not in my budget these days.

Menashe, always ready with his expert leather stitchery, offered a solution.  Come back in a week, he said, and for 150 shek, he'd rebuild my shoes.  And he did!  They look and feel like they could go at least another decade.

"Mash'hu, mash'hu! You won't believe it!" said Menashe's wife proudly.  He even polished them, as Menashe never does anything by halves.

 If you need leather repair of any kind at reasonable prices (as well as shoes in a surprising variety of sizes, also affordable), contact Menashe at 050-760-9902, or 02-622-2912.

A taste of everyone's offerings.  There wasn't a bad bite on the plate.

Sandwiched in between the broken shoes and their repair was an enjoyable and educational Rosh Chodesh evening here in Neve Daniel.  Women from our community got together and showed off their favorite chalavi (aka milchig, aka dairy) delicacies.  Of course, I forced myself to try everyone's culinary offerings, not wanting to offend the neighbors.  (What lengths I will go to for peace!)  Little did I know that I am surrounded by world-class cooking talent, right here in my small town!  Fortunately, there will be a cookbook forthcoming -- as soon as all of you turn in your recipes to Haya.  (No pressure.  Well, a little pressure...  I really want to prepare these delights for my family!)

I have been making sushi for years.  But the tricks I learned during Corinne's sushi class helped me get over one hurdle: the rice-on-the-outside roll.  Yesh!  And I had a great time with friends.

Proud Cornhusker and newly-married blogger buddy Chaviva shows off our group talent.

There were mitpachot (head scarves) and handmade jewelry for sale, as well as gifts of kedusha available.  Each of us was given our own personal pasuk of Tehillim, with an explanation of what it might mean for us personally, by another lovely and learned neighbor.

My assigned verse: "Your laws were music to me in my dwelling place."

Another son, Sports Guy, was officially inducted into the IDF, at his tekes hashba'ah (swearing-in ceremony), at which he received the Jewish state's weapons of war: an M16 and a Tanach.  (There is something very perspective-enhancing about receiving a Jewish Bible from one's military commander.)

Sports Guy's Coach on the Judean Rebels is also his proud papa.

The week ended with yet another of the stunningly complex surprise parties that my personal young people have been throwing for other young people.  (Yeshiva Bochur:  "I've put a ban on all surprise parties among the brothers for the next year.  Seriously.  These are wearing us out.")  Somehow, the young person being surprised always "falls for it," much to everyone's joy.  Once in a while, we old people get to play a part.  I got to show off my inside-out sushi for our young friend, who prefers fish and rice to anything al ha aish (Israeli-speak for barbecued), and the Dearly Beloved and I put together a watermelon "cake" for her, since she doesn't eat cinnamon rolls.

What to make for your favorite health-conscious, vegetarian birthday girl? Watermelon, cut in the shape of a cake, with fruit decorations attached by toothpicks. Nutritious, delicious, and cute!

That surprised smile from our young friend Molly McMolly and the "job well done" smile from Stunt Man were more than worth the effort.

Next up:  The Kraft Family IFL (Israel [American] Football League) Awards Banquet, followed by Shavuot, meaning cheesecake and all-night-learning (for the guys.  To paraphrase Dirty Harry: "A woman's gotta know her limitations."  And this woman holds by early to bed, early to rise).  Then the Strung-Out Quartet performs at the Judean Rebels' year-end barbecue.  Should be a fun and joyful week, bs"d!

May we share many more joyful stories than sad ones.  Chodesh tov, and shavua tov!

And Baby Goes to Battle

Yom chamishi, 3 Nisan 5773.

Saying a temporary goodbye to an old friend?

I have a remarkable ability to live outside moments that are particularly HUGE until I'm in them.  This means that I don't suffer from anxiety for weeks and weeks before an event.  It also means I crack my husband up in the days or hours before an event, as I go into hyper-accelerated meltdown.

My youngest baby -- all 183 centimeters of him -- is being inducted into the Israeli Defense Forces on Sunday.

And my face isn't exactly melting.  But my heart is beating more rapidly than it usually does.

You might ask why this has my attention, when all of that brutal activity on the gridiron just has my awe and pride, rather than my fear.  (See the short video at the end of this post, and watch for Number 20.  How does he do that????)  Many mothers have pointed out to me, in the most loving possible terms, that there is something wrong with a mother who doesn't freak out about her kid playing American football.  But it's just who Sports Guy has always been.  Taking the essence of my children away from them in order to keep them safe has never been my style.  So I just don't think about the danger.  Except for those isolated moments, late at night, when the prayer and the bargaining with G-d sneak in...

All of Sports Guy's brothers are or have been soldiers.  I spend a lot of time not thinking about this, focusing instead on my gratitude and pride in them for their service to our country, and on the fascination of watching their adult selves emerging from the boys I'd raised with their excellent father.

Suddenly, the baby of the brothers is changing uniforms.  From the orange and green of the Judean Rebels to the olive drab of the army.  He's not more special to me than his brothers.  I have been blessed to have such extraordinarily different sons that Soldier Boy is my favorite.  And Yeshiva Bochur is my favorite.  And Stunt Man is my favorite.  And Sports Guy is my favorite.  And SamJam is my favorite.  It's just the end of an era... and it's always hardest to say farewell to the last guy out the door.

While the Dearly Beloved and I have already discovered that we like the empty nest (as long as the chicks fly home every once in a while), today through Sunday and a while after will feel a little odd.  And then will be the day he comes back home in uniform...

We'll just keep cheering you on, Brothers.

Thank you for this wonderful video, Pavel Archavsky.  I'll probably be watching it a lot over the next few months...