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...

A Bit O' the Irish, Jewish Style

Yom rishon, 28 Adar 5773.

Stunt Man played a fifteen minute "Irish Set" for his brother's wedding, staying in character throughout.  He was so effective at bringing joy to his brother and his new sister-in-law and their guests that one attendee quipped, "This is the first time in my life I've regretted not being born Irish."

Well, G-d gathered us in from the four corners of the world into the Jewish family for some reason or other.  Could be to add a few songs, and a little color.

Here's a short sample of brotherly love.



Hat tip to the band Gaelic Storm and to Josh Polak, who taught the lad nearly everything he knows.

Photos and videography by Yehuda Bolsthauser & Co.

"You’re Somebody’s Type"

Yom shlishi, 2 Adar 5773.

The "carry with you everywhere" blood donor's certificate

Donating blood was not part of my upbringing.  I don't know why.  And had the idea come into my brain, it would have been dispelled quickly by my disproportionate fear of needles.

That fear was cured in half an hour, as I awaited my turn with other female US Army recruits for the shot in the arm.  I had time consider as the line shifted forward.  "Don't move," we were warned by the army nurse, "or this gun will make six nice little 'Zorro' tattoos in your lovely young arms."  It was a very scary looking piece of equipment, designed to shoot six shots of pressurized air-propelled serum into the arm, thereby inoculating us efficiently without needles.  The fact that I was a little older than the other girls, having enlisted at 24, stiffened my resolve to not let these babies see my cry -- or even flinch.  Thus ended my fear of vaccinations.

By the time I got out of the army, I appreciated the mitzvah of giving blood, especially since I was from the "universal donor" blood type group.  Naturally, I wanted to do my part -- only to be told that the United States Red Cross didn't want my blood:  I had been stationed in Germany during years that concerned them.  Mad Cow Disease, or something like that.  I was really disappointed.

So imagine my surprise when I came to Israel, and tried again to donate blood.  "Were you ever in England, Ireland or Portugal?" the young Magen David Adom nurse asked me.  No, I hadn't managed to make time to travel that extensively.  No mention of Germany.  I was in!  For the first time in my life.

It is interesting to see who shows up to donate blood at the MDA station on the top floor of the Central Bus Station.  Young mechina guys.   A lot of soldiers, both male and female.  Young mothers.  Middle-aged people like me.

Not everyone wanted his or her picture taken -- but everyone asked me to please write about giving blood, to let people know that it's easy, doesn't take much time, and makes a difference.

As the mother of three IDF soldiers (and one about to be drafted), I want so much to do my part.  They should never need a drop of their mother's blood, please G-d.  But we are all a family here.  That mother's son is my nephew, as is that soldier standing and waiting his turn to donate.   I can't offer to give my new country what they are willing to give.

But if any of them ever needs this kind of help, I want to be there for him.

For those of us in Israel, the process is simple.  If you are in the Central Bus Station in Jerusalem, for instance, and have forty minutes to spare, go to the top floor (the floor above the bus platforms).  I am pretty sure the Maden David Adom workers are there every day.  They guide you through the process, gently and lovingly.  They're good at what they do.  (No Zorro marks; very little discomfort.)  They'll give you juice or water, and pamper you for a half-hour, to be sure you're not too light-headed to go about your business, before they let you go.

This post was "in the works" for some time.  It was finally dusted off and completed today, thanks to a video my friend and fellow writer Varda Epstein sent to me on Facebook.  Take a few moments to listen to a grateful young man whose life was saved by 70 people!



I give you the bracha that you will always be a giver and never need to be a receiver.  But if Hashem has other plans -- I give you the bracha that there will be good people around you, with the willingness to give up a pint of blood to save another human being's life.  Kol areivim zeh lazeh.  We are all responsible for one another.

Shabbat on a Budget

Yom sheni, 1 Adar 5773, Rosh Chodesh.

Some of my favorite Shabbat meals have resulted from the following logical premise:  "We had a helluva great party last month [Ed. note: See a future blog post for wedding details]; so we had better tighten our belts, or we're going to still have month at the end of the money."

There were a lot of quality leftovers after the wedding, two sheva brachot, and a Shabbat here and there.  I have enough Scot in me to abhor waste -- so the food had to be used -- but Shabbat also must be given the honor it is due.

I had been stashing in the freezer leftovers of really nice Shabbat pot roasts, because the leftovers from the Number 8 (chuck) roast slow-cooked in olive oil, wine and spices is not the sort of thing one throws out or even eats during the week.  The same could be said of the leftover homemade shwarma of pargiot (boneless chicken thighs).  Neither of these dishes could be served again in their original forms.  Cooking them again could dry them out, and would surely cause the meat to shred.

So I decided to make a meat pie and a chicken pie for my expanding/contracting/expanding guest list.

The first step was to sauté onions and garlic in olive oil.  While the onions were browning, I cubed potatoes and carrots, and boiled them gently until they were just cooked.  Next, I separated the onions into two pans.  Into one, I added shredded leftover beef roast (which was already flavored with salt, pepper, thyme and baharat) and into the other, shredded chicken (already spiced with curry powder and garam masala).  While these mixtures were heating, I lined a couple of aluminum pans (56mm x 190mm x 260 mm) with prepared pastry dough that comes in rolls, and which I cut to size.  I pierced the bottoms and sides of the pastry shells with a fork.

     I filled the lined pastry shells with the meat mixtures, and then covered them with rectangles of dough, crimping and and sealing the edges, and decorating the tops with fork tracks.  I baked the meat pies at 177 degrees Centigrade (around 350 degrees Fahrenheit), until they were golden brown on top.

So far, I'd spent 25 shekels over what was already in the house (about 7 bucks).

I had a little of the meat mixture left over; so I made a small two-person shepherd's pie for the newlyweds.  I wanted a little bottom crust; so I used a leftover flour tortilla, warmed slightly in a frying pan so that it would be soft enough to shape into the bottom of a round pan.  I added the meat and onion mixture, and put some freshly-made mashed potatoes on top.  A little paprika added color to the top, lightly sprayed with Pam Olive Oil spray.  Again, I baked this dish at 177 degrees until it was heated through.

Chicken broth, strained and ready for the slow-cooker.  In the upper-right corner, you can see dough strips leftover from the meat and chicken pies.  They'll come into play later...

A soup seemed like a nice and filling addition.  Usually, my chicken soup is a big deal, with lots of vegetables and pieces of chicken and turkey necks, for added richness.  But this week was about saving money; so I bought a package of chicken bones (less than 9 shekels, about $2.50).  I used some tired carrots, leeks, and celery (actually better and more flavorful for soup than very fresh vegetables), an onion and some fresh garlic.  Once the soup had boiled sufficiently, I seasoned it with salt, pepper, and a bit of hawaij spice.  This went into the slow-cooker, and cooked slowly, becoming very brown and rich by Shabbat lunch.

There is such a beauty to a good chicken broth!

There were leftover strips of pastry dough.  I decided to make a quick dessert of fried dough.  I melted coconut oil in a frying pan, fried the dough strips on both sides until golden brown, and then sprinkled them with sugar and cinnamon.  Nope, not even a tiny bit healthy.  But tasty, and quite a hit.

And of course, I balanced all of this non-health-food with lots of fresh, green and red and orange and yellow salad.  Also not expensive... and a great way to buy off my conscience for feeding them food they loved, that wasn't particularly healthy.

  There are times to pull out all the stops to put together a real feast, knowing that Hashem will always reimburse us for the money we spend on Shabbat and the chagim (holidays).

And there are other times when He seems to say, "I'm not sending any extra money just now.  Be creative.  Don't worry.  I made you.  I know you've got it in you."

Family Shabbat -- or Not!

Yom shishi, 28 Shevat 5773.

Our Sages teach that our souls are sent to this world to work on our eventually perfect selves, to correct some problem in the fabric of the universe, or both.  My sons are always teaching me, which is why G-d blessed this particular mother with these particular sons.

Over time, I have shared and hope to continue to share some of the lessons they have taught me.  Now we are in the Empty Nest stage; and in order to perfect my midah of spontaneity-with-patience, my boys -- who no longer live at home -- appear at random times, with random guests, for Shabbat.

Back story:  I am a Yekke by nature.  This means that I need to be on time for everything, need to have plans, need to have things follow a pattern.  Living with other human beings, this attitude can have certain drawbacks, as you might imagine.

In order to be the best mom I can be, given my nature, I always asked my kids to give me a few days' notice before a friend came to spend the night, or for Shabbat.  I can see some of my fellow moms' faces, reading this with utter incomprehension.  Just know how special you are, ladies, to have already mastered (or been granted the gift of) spontaneity!  It is not one of my natural strengths, to be able to warmly greet drop-in guests.

But life has changed, and with it, G-d's plan for this year's Ruti improvements.  My boys live away from home -- with their wives, in their barracks in the IDF, at their yeshiva dorms.  Other people or institutions help them to decide where they are spending Shabbat, and how soon they will arrive at my door.  In the case of soldiers, these plans remain mysteries until hours before candle-lighting.  So I can sit around and kvetch that I don't get the warning I prefer.  Or I can leap outside my comfort zone, and learn to "roll with it."

This Shabbat, like so many others, I didn't know until the day before Shabbat who would be home.  Buy a roast?  Big or small?  A big pan of shwarma?  Or a couple of pargiot, with a nice sauce?  Sodas?  Or just seltzer?  Ice cream and cookies and chips for seudat shlishit?  Or lox and crackers, with maybe a boiled egg or two?

Sports Guy:  "Looks like it's an in-Shabbat, Ema.  I will probably just stop by on Thursday night with some laundry, if that's okay, and then see you on Sunday for a few hours.  Okay?"
Ema:  "Sure, Baby.  See you when we see you."

(No pretzels.  Maybe three kilos less beef.)

Stunt Man:  "Ema, I'd like to come and bring a friend, but it depends on whether [Yeshiva Bochur] will be home."  (The brothers are close; and one's plans are often contingent on the other's.)  "And is [Sports Guy] having an in-Shabbat, or will he be home?"
Ema: "Well, I still don't know for sure about Yeshiva Bochur... and Sports Guy says he won't be coming this time."
Stunt Man:  "Oh.  Okay -- I'll get back to you... by Thursday, I promise."

(Sushi.  Seltzer.  Beer.  Shwarma, for sure.  Some of that horrible hazelnut-filled chocolate square cereal stuff.)

Yeshiva Bochur:  "Yesh!  Home for Shabbat!"
Ema:  "YAY!!!  Champagne Girl will be so happy!  Will we see you?"
Yeshiva Bochur:  "Hmmmm.  Maybe for seudat shlishit."
Ema:  "No worries."

(Beer.  Ice cream and junk for the third meal.  Did I say beer?  Garanim.  Scratch the lox.)

Sports Guy:  "It looks like I may be able to be home for Shabbat.  Any brothers home?"
Ema:  "I think we may have a 'full Shabbat,' with all three brothers!"
Sports Guy:  "Cool!"

(Mass quantities of beef.  Pretzels.  Sushi.  Don't forget the sushi.)

Stunt Man:  "Ehhhhh... looks like my friend and I will probably not be there for Shabbat, but I'm not a hundred per cent sure.  Can I tell you tomorrow?"
Ema:  "No problem.  Whatever works for you is fine."

(Cut the beer in half.  Make the same amount of sushi.  Sports Guy won't have to hold back, then.  Buy the awful chocolate cereal squares, and stash in the chukalukim closet until next time.  Never hurts to be ahead.)

Champagne Girl:  "SOOOOOOO exciting!  Everyone will be together for the first Shabbat in a long time!"
Ema:  "Well, I'm not so sure about Stunt Man."
Champagne Girl:  "Oh, don't worry.  Sports Guy and Yeshiva Bochur will be there; so you know that Stunt Man won't miss it."
Ema:  "Wait, Motek.  I'm getting another call..."

(Get some chocolate syrup for the ice cream, and whipped cream...)

Stunt Man:  "Hi Ema --"
Ema:  "Hi, Sweetie.  I hear you're joining us for Shabbat."
Stunt Man:  "Yeah, it's not too late, is it?  Wait -- how did you hear?  We just decided..."
Ema:  "Yeah, I know.  It's going to be great, having a 'full Shabbat.'"
Stunt Man:  "Yeah, it sure is.  See you then, Ema.  Thanks!"

(Buy everything.  What's the worst?  Somebody won't show -- and I'll have some in the cupboard and freezer for next time.)

I have become amazingly adaptable.  Score one for the Big Guy and His Soul Perfection Training Plan.

Thank you to my husband and sons and daughters-in-law for helping me to learn to go with the flow... and for flowing with me.

Wedding photos by Yehuda Botshauser & Co.

Glossary:
Midah: character trait
Yekke: A Jew of German descent.  In this instance, it refers to the character traits of punctuality and precision.  Not always heart-warming to be around -- but we get the job done.  On time, and under budget.
Kvetch: complain
Shwarma: THE best fast-food in Israel.  Closely rivaled by falafel, which is good if you have less money that day.
Pargiot: boneless chicken thighs.  The steak of Israel.
Seudat Shlishit: the third meal of Shabbat, considered to be the holiest meal, the "Yom Kippur" of the Shabbat
Garanim: seeds, specifically sunflower seeds, for liberal spitting all over Ema's freshly washed floor, the patio, the bedrooms, the steps leading to the Cave...
Chukalukim: what IDF soldiers call "junk food for the road"
Motek: Sweetheart

Mothers United to Save a Boy

Yom chamishi, 20 Shevat 5773.


Whoever destroys a soul, it is considered as if he destroyed an entire world. And whoever saves a life, it is considered as if he saved an entire world. ~ Mishnah Sanhedrin 4:5, Babylonian Talmud Tractate Sanhedrin 37a

What follows is a re-posting of my friend Romi Sussman's post on her blog Sussmans b'Aretz.  While this post is out of character for both of our blogs, it's subject matter is something we both care about deeply.  Please read and help.  We only have a few days to make a difference.  And the only thing that matters is word and prayer.  No money and not much time is involved.

One Mom's Plea: We All Matter, A Lot

I've written a few times about how social media helped in our Aliyah process with Nefesh B'Nefesh. I was nervous and stewing over a number of issues, and I sent an email to a contact in Israel to pour out my heart. She, in turn, forwarded the email to a number of email groups in Israel and I was flooded with encouragement, answers and reassurance.

Sometimes social media is just silliness. Sometimes, it can change the course of your life.

And we are going to pray and hope that the later will be true for Noah.

A few days ago while I was checking out Facebook, my friend's post caught my eye. One of her friends was having an incredibly difficult situation and was crying out for help.

As Karen explains on the Facebook page that she built for her son, Noah, "My son Noah is 12 years old. On February 8 he will be 13. A teenager at last. This past weekend he posted on his Instagram account that he was planning to commit suicide on his birthday. He also posted images of his arm where he has been cutting himself for the past two months.

Noah has been dealing with bullying for the past year. He has been feeling alone and left out, ostracized from old friends and a misfit among new kids. Things begin to get better, and then another setback. He was once the life of the party among his friends; big man on campus at his first elementary school. Now his self esteem has disappeared.

Noah has been in therapy. I have been doing my very best. But he is in pain. I can't do this alone.

Noah is getting treatment in a hospital now. But it is still not enough."

And in a beautiful act, she turned to her social media outlets to make a difference for her son. Karen has created a page called "Letters for Noah" where she describes her goal. "He needs people to rally. Which is why I've created this page, Letters for Noah. I thought of it last night in the ER when I couldn't sleep. Noah needs to know that He Matters and that It Does Get Better. So many people have been asking me how they can help. Well, this is how:

Today I opened a P.O. Box. I am asking you and your kids to send Noah letters with a message of hope, telling him not to give up. Help him see that He Matters and that It Does Get Better. Please send your letters to:

Letters for Noah P.O. Box 444 Simpsonville, Maryland 21150"

Karen's plea has started to receive some great attention. This article was just in Parenting magazine and she reports that the first of the letters have started pouring in. A blog was just created as well.

I cry every time that I look at Karen's Facebook page and every time that she reports on the latest developments. Our children are so fragile, and their lives and emotions can change so quickly.

What a powerful plan Karen has put into place. She can tell her son that he matters until she's blue in the face; or, she can show him hundreds - maybe thousands - of letters from people who say he matters and who show it with their actions and their words.

Let's use social media to shower Noah with letters of encouragement and love. She's hoping to get most of the mail by his birthday, February 8th. And even if you live far away, as I do, and don't think you can mail a letter the old-fashioned way, you can always re-blog this, join her Facebook page, follow Noah's progress and write a note to him from Facebook.

Because we all matter, a lot.

Week of Weather in Pictures

 Yom Shishi, 29 Tevet 5773.

The Dearly Beloved's forest.  He doesn't own it.  He just staked his claim there.

   Growing up in the States, we used to chuckle about how you knew people were getting old when the first topic of conversation was the weather.

I consider it a great kindness on the part of Hashem that as I moved into that chapter of my life, He allowed me to move to Israel, where everybody talks about the weather, regardless of age.  The Kineret having risen 73 centimeters awes young and old alike!  The hope that maybe snow will fall in Jerusalem excites children of all ages.  We bless rain and dew and wind.  In our mountain yishuv of Neve Daniel, fog isn't just low-lying cloud.  It's the Ananei HaKavod, the Clouds of Glory.

No time to write.. still busy with wedding plans, b"H.  But here are some pictures of my day in Jerusalem on Tuesday with the Dearly Beloved, before we hunkered down on our mountain, awaiting snow.

I was practically blown away trying to stand still for this shot.  Couldn't stop laughing.

All down Yafo Street, little trees just fell right over in the wind.

Everywhere, the streets were littered with umbrella corpses.  Great for gentle rains.  No match for high winds.

Note to self: Super-long dresses are fun in the summer, but dumb in the winter.  Wear shorter dress next time.

Wiser, warmer and dryer, we awoke to wild winds and rain on Wednesday.  Good day to stay home and make kale chips, mushroom-barley soup, and to enjoy a visit from the just-arrived-in-country parents of Champagne Girl.  The wedding is beginning to feel real!

We had a pleasant few hours, but then had to send them on their way to Efrat, before the weather got even wilder.  Throughout Neve Daniel, barbecue covers and towels and kipot and other lovely items flew from hill to hill; and citizens posted items lost and found.  The next morning, we woke up to a real snow day.  What follows is an unbelievably fun day in pictures, made of children's smiles, and the smiles of people still in touch with their inner child.

Snowy morning walk up my steps to the street

The incongruity of snow in the Middle East

The famous metal flowers covered in snow

A good day for cars to spend napping

Men at work: the snowman competitions begin

Remember when we could smile sitting in the cold with frozen fingers?

This clever fellow wears a terra cotta top hat.

The Dearly Beloved and his new friend, Harvey Snowman.  No one else could see him.

The Lonely Snowman of Faith stood in the shadow of the shul, arms Heavenward.  At least he kept his kipah on.

In this photo by Yeshiva Bochur, Champagne Girl reminds me of a 1930s actress.

IMHO, the winning snowman: A frozen chayal.  Note his six-pack abs.  Even snow soldiers have to stay in shape.

A mommy getting ready for payback.  "Sleep with one eye open tonight, Kid."  That'll teach him to ambush his ma in a snowball fight.

Ol' Cucumber Eye, giving directions to motorists.

These bushes look like snow muffins.

The view looking out over Efrat, toward Jordan

Snow blossoms

Snow wars, with the clouds over the Mediterranean Sea in the background

Sunlight through snow-covered palms

More teamwork:  The best part of the day was being surrounded by smiles.

Home again, after a fun- and people-filled day

Different dress, shorter hem.  Note to self: It doesn't matter.  Wear what you like.  You're getting soaked anyway.

May your winter be filled with beauty, the laughter of children, the opportunity to play, followed by the opportunity to get warm.  May you find the community that makes you feel cherished.  May you find your way home.