Speaking of Weather...

Please G-d, we will get more rain this week.

There's a fun website called "ירושמיים" (well, it's fun in Hebrew; the English version is prosaic) with weather forecasts for Jerusalem. Even from the site name you can tell it's whimsical: Yerushamayim is a combination of the Hebrew for both "Jerusalem" and "heavens". Ha ha ha.

ANYWAY.

Their forecast for Thursday is as follows:

Which translates as: Sporadic rain (weaker). Cold, as in, "If it's so cold, why isn't it snowing?"

Ha ha ha for real, this time.

And if you're wondering how it can help but snow with temperatures between 4 and 8 degrees, that's because temperatures are given in Celcius. Because all the cool kids measure temperature in Celcius.

Kindergarten Weather Forecast

I got a really cute phone call last week. When the phone rang, I didn't recognize the number, but the area code was for the city where Mooshub lives, so I wasn't totally shocked by the opening gambit.

"Hello, is this Doda Mali?" (Doda is Hebrew for "aunt" and Doda Mali is what my nieces and nephews call me.)
"Yeees. Who is this?"
"This is Mini-Mooshub's kindergarten teacher!" (The reason for the voice's confusing combination of juvenile tone and adult enunciation was now apparent: I must be on speaker with either just mini-Mooshub or her entire class.)
"Hel-looooo!" (I can totally match your smiling explanatory tone clearly necessary for addressing a bunch of 5-year-olds, and raise you some extra enthusiasm points. At least once I know that's what game we're playing, anyway.)
"We've been davening for rain in Eretz Yisroel, and Mini-Mooshub helpfully gave us your phone number. Can you tell us if it's raining in Eretz Yisroel?" (OK, that's straight-up adorable. I know I'm still missing a huge chunk of backstory, but this is still unbelievably cute. I only wish I could say, "Why yes, it is raining!" Unfortunately, it isn't. Luckily, one of the two times it's rained during these 2 months of a dry rainy season was a few days ago.)
"Oh, wow, that's so lovely! It's not raining right now, but it did rain last week. Thank you so much for davening!"

We exchanged goodbyes and hung up. Overwhelmed by the cuteness, I told Husbinator about the call. Being the sort of person who immediately understands what's going on in all social situations, he explained what actually happened in that phone call. It's not that we've had an unusually dry rainy season, so little kids in America have been roped into praying. It's that while Israelis have been praying for rain since the beginning of Cheshvan (late October this year), non-Israelis have just started praying for rain on December 4th. Right, I grew up in non-Israel. I knew that we start praying for rain at different times.

Hence the phone call requesting a weather forecast  about two days after the little kindergartners started discussing rain prayers. Ah. Still right up at the top of the adorable scale, and now understood.

Oddly Specific Accomplishment

A few days ago, I reached a goal I didn't even know I had: I read and understood a (Hebrew) Bazooka Joe comic.

I remember my frustration as a child that I couldn't even read the font of the Bazooka comics, let alone translate the jokes.

Recently, I bought a pack of Bazooka-flavored Must gum. Without thinking, I opened the box and read the back as I popped in my first piece of gum. I finished reading before I remembered that I couldn't understand it... And realized that actually, I could. I didn't even notice how weird the lettering is until I checked to see if it's the same font from when I was a kid. (It is.)

Luckily, it seems that I haven't been missing much.

Still, I've made good progress!

Good Company

Husbinator and I had a very similar version of this conversation a few months ago, but with "writing" instead of "updating". It's nice to know we're not the only ones.

Nothing scary prompted the conversation; I've been meaning to write a will ever since BSM came along. It just seems like the responsible thing to do. We ended at me being responsible for finding a lawyer, but us having to decide on a legal guardian, first. We'll get to it. Really. Like I said, it's nice knowing we're not alone.

Then I read today's comic strip: 

I laughed and laughed and laughed. Unfortunately, BSM happened to be in the room at the time, and he always wants in on the joke, but it was so worth it. (For the record, I told him that I read a funny joke about a will and look over there it's the number 5 let's go touch it. Lo, BSM was properly mollified.)

***

I edited this post the day after I published it, because images weren't showing up properly. Here, for the sake of completeness is the next strip in the series:

Cultural Differences

I've noticed something interesting about being pregnant in America versus being pregnant in Israel.

Many Americans tend to treat pregnant women veeery delicately, lest we faint dead away or burst into tears or suffer some drastic medical emergency or perhaps spontaneously combust. It's mostly silly, but the deferential treatment is also kind of nice.

Israelis, on the other hand, are used to pregnant ladies, so the only deferential treatment handed out is easier access to limited seating. While being treated as a fully competent human is appropriate and also kind of nice, I do somewhat miss the gratuitous over-the-top coddling.

Elections on My Mind

There's an interesting article on FiveThirtyEight (which I need to stop checking compulsively, but I know I won't) about how the Philadelphia transit strike could lower voter turnout.
http://fivethirtyeight.com/features/a-transit-strike-in-philly-could-lower-turnout-among-black-and-poor-voters/?ex_cid=538email

Now I understand why Israel has a national holiday on Election Day: just because polls are open for 12 hours doesn't mean that people can actually vote without missing work.

***

Also, after I posted about how bummed I was when I sealed my ballot, Sister sent me a link
to this letter from the President of Ner Israel Rabbinical College. It doesn't cheer me up a whole lot, but it really makes me feel validated.

Brilliant Idea

Next time there's a clock change scheduled, I vote that we move them by half-an-hour only, and then never change them again.

Mothers of young children unite.

Irrationally Disappointed

Well, EmaII left us to go to Auntie Em tonight and thence back to America tomorrow. So I filled out my absentee ballot for her to mail for me when she gets back (since that will be much faster than mailing it from Israel).

This means that I can no longer hope that a different candidate, for whom I actually want to vote, will magically appear. I am disappointed, as irrational as my now-lost hope may have been.

Ingenious

You know how it's really tricky to make a properly-fitting oak tag crown? It seems like no matter how carefully you measure the wiggly child's head, the crown is either too big (and falls down to the kid's ears) or too small (and perches precariously on the very top of said kid's head, constantly falling off).

Well, Israelis have it figured out. See the crown BSM came home with on Friday? (The class had a mini-Simchat Torah celebration, which I think is super-adorable.)

That's right, ladies and gents. By folding back the ends of the Bristol board (or whatever you want to call that heavier-than-construction-paper stuff they use to make crowns in pre-school) and inserting two rubber bands into the pockets created by the folded ends, BSM's teachers made a paper crown with elastic.

Israeli Boy

Aunty Em gave BSM a miniature soccer ball when we saw her on Shabbos. (It's exactly like a soccer ball, but scaled down for a pre-schooler). He did a lot of kicking it around, and a little bit of boucing it, and now BSM has started bouncing it off of his knee, pro-style. Little Israeli boy.

Show Some Love

Before Sukkos, I was commiserating with a local girl about how her family wasn't planning to do anything exciting on Sukkos since her mother gave birth on Erev Yom Kippur (and her father hates planning trips, or something like that).

Another girl from our neighborhood was sitting with us, so I asked her if they had anything planned. She smiled gently and shook her head in all warmth and innocence, saying simply, "We love our sukkah."

I've heard her father hold forth on the evils of daytrips during Sukkos. He explains with fire and bafflement and passion that Sukkos is the culmination of the High Holiday season, and its joyful holiness is embodied (shockingly enough) in the sukkah that we build. "How does it make any sense," he cries, "to go through the entire month of Elul and then Rosh HaShana and then the Ten Days of Repentance and then Yom Kippur, to finally reach the point where you can build a sukkah in which you can be fully surrounded by G-d's presence, and then abandon that sukkah to go on random daytrips??? It's better to just shorten Sukkot from a week to one day if people are just going to waste it!!!" I can follow his logic, but while his position sounds sensible, it's just not my speed.

His daughter's take on his position, however, absolutely resonates with me. A soft smile. A shy light in her eye. "We love our sukkah."

Yes. I completely understand that. I love my sukkah, too; why wouldn't I make the most of it? So this year I did a lot of just sitting in the sukkah, relaxing, chatting, reading, lying in the hammock, being with BSM without really doing much. It was exactly my speed.

Lost in Translation

Note: Hebrew has no word for it; objects are all either he or she.

Before BSM goes to sleep, he has to hug and kiss Husbinator night-night. Recently, as Husbinator prepared to go upstairs to take a nap, BSM declined to give him a hug and kiss nap-nap. Rolling right along, Husbinator pivoted and gave BSM's chair a hug and kiss nap-nap, instead. BSM burst out laughing, saying (in English), "We don't hug the chair! He is not people!"

The Israel Museum

Over Sukkot, we went to the Israel Museum. The main pull for us was the annual Kite Festival, which was cute, but less exciting than I had hoped. There were one or two professional kites, and very many kids and adults running around and occasionally tripping over each other as they tried (and about 50% seemed to manage) to get their kites aloft in the intermittent evening breeze.

My excitement for the day was found, surprisingly enough, in the Shrine of the Book. I wasn't expecting to be bowled over there, because I feel strongly ambivalent about the Dead Sea Scrolls. Sure enough, the Shrine of the Book was every bit as awkward as its name implies, and then some. Yes, I'm interested in two-thousand-year-old documents, regardless of who wrote them. But I'm decidedly uncomfortable with a museum exhibit that feels like a shrine, especially when the object of said shrine seems to have been written (and very possibly respectfully discarded) by what I'd call a group of heretics.

But then I went to the lower level of the Shrine of the Book. And I saw the actual Aleppo Codex. Let me rephrase that to begin to express my excitement: I SAW THE ALEPPO CODEX!!! Sure, this document is about a thousand years younger than the "main attraction" of its exhibit, but unlike the (religiously sketchy) Dead Sea Scrolls, the Aleppo Codex comes with an approbation from the Rambam himself.

Let me try again: I WAS IN THE SAME ROOM AS THE ACTUAL TEXT THAT MAIMONIDES USED TO WRITE HIS SEFER TORAH. I am blown away. Seriously blown away. Rambam copied his Torah scroll from the actual book that I was looking at. I TOUCHED THE GLASS CASE OF THE SAME BOOK THAT RAMBAM USED TO WRITE HIS SEFER TORAH. I'm still totally blown away.

Also, if you happen to find the huge chunk that went missing some time between 1943 and 1958, you should probably let someone know...

Speaking of the Aleppo Codex, when I was trawling the internet for links for this blog post, I came across a three-minute video. Here there be Drama.

Winterizing Vehicles

I don't think we really "winterized" our car in America. Today's synthetic oils work just fine across both winter and summer temperature ranges, and snow was rare enough that we didn't need to put on snow tires/chains or load up the car with kitty litter, sand, and salt.

Since moving to Israel, we've winterized two cars. For the first (no longer in our possession), we figured out how to close the driver's window before the rains started. Currently, we're getting the headlights on the Mazda fixed. The headlights started to be unreliable in the summer, and have only gotten worse, but we do so little night driving that we've been able to avoid dealing with it. Now with the rainy season coming on and sunset getting earlier, it's time to "winterize our car", Israeli-style.

Instructions

My kibbutz-buddy Shoshi sent me these instructions from a pepper grinder on Friday:

"To use: remove the cover, turn over the jar, turn the grinder counter-clockwise. If you don't own a clock -- try both ways."

Rosh HaShana Foods

I'm convinced that Israelis aren't trained properly in wordplay. I can't remember each incident, but on the rare occasion that I pun in Hebrew, Israelis seem to be impressed rather than chagrined. This has happened often enough that I don't think they're just being nice, either.

There was that time we were making clay lamps, and one of the women complained that her project looked more like an elephant (pil) than a lamp. Being a good little member of my punning family, I kindly told her to just add the letter tav, and then she'd have a wick (p'til). Ba-dum, chick! Correct response fro the crowd would have been appreciative (or pained) groans. Instead, I got a resounding "Pssshhhhh!" (Yeshivish noise for being duly impressed.)

Since incidents like these keep happening, I'm less and less sure that people are just being nice, or even that they're actually impressed by my surprising (and erratic) grasp of Hebrew. I honestly think Israelis don't pun.

Take Rosh HaShana simanim (auspicious foods). OK, we eat apples and honey for sweetness, and fish head to be like the head and not like the tail, but many special foods are straight-up puns. Black-eyed peas are rubiya, which is punning distance from "many", so we eat black-eyed peas for many merits. Gourds are kara in Aramaic, which sounds like the Hebrew "tearing", so we eat gourds for evil decrees against us to be torn up. Jewish tradition encourages people to make up their own Rosh HaShana auspicious foods, and my parents aren't the only one who serve "lettuce, half a raisin, celery."

Olives came up as a topic of conversation at our Israeli hosts, and the father asked, "But what would the prayer associated with an olive (zayit) be? It took me a few seconds, but I got there reasonably quickly, "Play with Yiddish, and do something with zees (sweet)." That's when I discovered that he wasn't actually expecting an answer to such a difficult question.

Thus, when someone at the table suggested eating horseradish (chazeret) with bananas (banana), I wasn't surprised that no one even tried to think of a fitting prayer. Granted, it's a ridiculous combination, and I'm not sure how it came up, but you can't keep a good (or bad) punster down. So I scratched my punny bone and said "שנחזור לבנין שלם". Why don't Israelis do this? I am confused.

Orbits are Easy

After blogging about my conversations with BSM about why the moon doesn't fall down, I was inspired to go on ebay and buy a beach-ball globe. A few days after that, I saw a kid's ball printed with a (Hebrew) globe. It was cheap, BSM is currently without a 10-inch bouncy ball, and I was impatient for my little science demonstration, so I bought it.

My plan was to spend a few days explaining about various countries and oceans ("This is Israel; we live here. This is America; Bubby/Savta/Grandma/etc. live here. This is the Ocean, like we saw at the beach.") until BSM began to grasp that the ball is actually a model of the world in which he lives. Then I'd add another ball for the moon and show it going around and around the earth.

BSM found the ball and got very excited. "You bought me a present? This is a ball? It is for me?"
"Bring it over here," I told him, "I want to show you something cool about that."
BSM, being an obedient child (and excited about additional features on his present), complied promptly. As he was walking over to me, he said, "This is like כדור הארץ [Earth/globe]. Show me ישראל [Israel]? That's where we live. The blue is water."
Say whaaaaaaaaaaat???

I knew that his Thursday teacher (Israeli school is 6 days a week, and the workweek if 5 days a week, so preschools have a steady substitute once a week) started a unit on "Nations and Countries" with the kids, but she's only been there 2 or 3 times, and these children are three years old. I'm floored that she already got them to master the globe so quickly.

My curriculum in a shambles, I figured I'd do the briefest little, "See Israel. See America," and hop straight to the moon. BSM was totally cool with a smaller ball representing the moon, and he liked that it went around and around the Earth (and weirdly, that alone seemed to satisfy him about why the moon doesn't fall). However, he did not totally approve of my model: "Also the Earth spins, though! On a... On a... What's it called?"
"Axis?"
"No... Spins on a..."
"On a stick?"
"Yeah. Earth spins on a stick."

So I had to rotate the Earth while the moon orbited. Because BSM knows what's up.

Pre-School is Hard

Okay, so I know I should get BSM's bag ready the night before, but I didn't feeeeel like it. At least I remembered to talk to Husbinator about getting a steady supply of 10-agurot coins (smallest denomination of the currency here, worth 3 cents) for BSM to bring for tzedakah. I've known since parent orientation that I'm supposed to send this in, but I kept forgetting.

Husbinator found a little zipper coin purse that says "tzedakah" on it, I found our collection of coins, and Husbinator reminded me to write BSM's name on the coin purse, so that was done. And oy, was BSM excited when I told him about it this morning: he dropped everything to go examine the coin purse and coin and tell me exactly how he would give it to his Ganenet (Hebrew for pre-school teacher).

Great, so we finally got on top of the tzedakah thing (after a week), and I also wrote him a mitzva-note last night (because this is also something that the children should be sent with every day or every other day, and it's apparently a Big Deal and Very Exciting for the child when the Ganenet reads the note and tells the whole class what a Good Thing the child did). So coin and note are done. Great.

It's doubly great that I took care of the note last night, because BSM woke me up this morning by sitting outside my bedroom door, whining that I should write him a mitzvah note. I considered pointing out the irony of waking up his mother to get a note that he's a Good Little Boy, but (a) I wasn't coherent enough for that conversation and (b) it was 20 minutes after I should have already woken up. So I just hustled into my morning preparations and told him that the note was already in his bag.

I'm reasonably certain that I put all of BSM's clothing on him this morning (make that totally certain: he would have told me if I forgot his tzitzit or his socks or whatever). Since I was lazy last night, I also had to assemble his 10-o'clock-meal (another Israeli thing: it consists of a sandwich and a fruit, and making it usually takes about 5 minutes, so putting it off isn't such a big deal, right?) and realized that not only are we out of gvina levana (I think I mentioned this Israeli yogurt/sour cream/cheese spread thing; it's a good sandwich filler), but I also finished the natural peanut butter on Friday and haven't mixed the new one, yet. Urg. Just a little more hassle, but still doable. And BSM fills up his water bottle while I make the sandwich, so that saves me a minute.

So we have coin, note, food, water. BSM remembered to take his weekend portfolio bag, which gets returned on Sundays, and I remembered to find the folder with the reading sheet and mark that BSM read it twice, very well. (For the record, this reading sheet is a table with 36 cells, each with the letter aleph, bet, or vet. Reading it involves naming each letter.) I also remembered to take out his artwork from the previous week. So coin, note, food, water, portfolio with signed homework and without artwork. Done? Done.

We go to school, BSM nearly explodes with pride as he gives the Ganenet the coin and note, and all is well.

Until I'm driving to work and realize that I forgot to check off the last item on the "Good Stuff to Do" chart that the Ganenet sent home last Sunday and asked us to return today... Le sigh. It'll just have to wait for tomorrow, and if the Ganenet went over the other boys' charts today, I can be sure that BSM will remind me, too. Sigh.

Pre-school is hard.

Science and Religion

A few weeks ago, BSM showed me the moon and then asked, "Why the moon doesn't fall down?" I began to explain orbital mechanics to him, but after about a sentence and a half, I realized that unless I'm willing to explain that we live on a spherical planet, this isn't going to work. And no, I am not willing to explain to a three-year-old that we live on a spherical planet: before he learns about planets, he needs to be less confused by the Atlas that we occasionally read. (I think we started reading the Atlas because BSM wanted to know where the yaks were. He went through a very brief stage where he was completely obsessed with yaks. No idea why.)*

Since BSM still wanted an answer about the moon, though, I told him that Hashem makes it stay there and doesn't let it fall. Which, while true, is a total cop-out, as far as I'm concerned.

I told our neighbor, who is getting a Ph.D. in physics, what BSM wanted to know, and the neighbor asked BSM why we don't fall to the moon. BSM remained confused, and I was even more convinced that explaining orbital mechanics properly would be a mistake.

Since then, BSM has asked me a few more times why the moon doesn't fall, and I even entertained the insane possibility of explaining that technically the moon is falling: it's just that its fall is so long that the moon can't land. (This is actually a fun and accurate way of explaining satellite orbits: you throw ["launch"] the thing and it tries to fall, but the Earth curves away before it can land, so it keeps trying to fall, but the Earth keeps curving...) Thankfully, I immediately realized that not only does that still requires the whole "spherical planet" explanation, but it will probably also freak him out.

I'm actually quite happy with the answer I've settled on, and BSM seems pretty pleased with it, too: "The moon doesn't fall because Hashem keeps it up there, in a stable orbit." This kind of sums up why I'm not bothered by this "Science vs. Religion conundrum" I keep hearing about: I see no contradiction between the two. The world works because G-d makes it work according to the laws of physics. Done.

---
*As I'm writing this, I think that I probably could explain spherical planets to BSM. He kind of understands the Atlas, so there's no reason he'd have any more trouble understanding a Globe. All I have to do is buy a globe, show him Israel and America (and the Himalayas, because yaks) a couple of times, and then add a tennis ball for the moon.

Sweet Rolls

For the past month or so, I've been feeling the need to make my Bubby's sweet rolls. Even though they're delicious, I've only made them a handful of times. Honestly, I have enough trouble finding a block of time to both prepare and bake cake batter (as opposed to mixing up cookie batter, refrigerating it, and baking it later) that making a dessert that needs to rise for an hour is nearly out of the question.

But I love sweet rolls, both the taste and the memories, and as this Rosh HaShana gets closer, the need to make them keeps getting stronger. I bought the raisins weeks ago, and today I finally made them. Yes, it's Erev Shabbos, but that's my day off, and Rosh HaShana is just over a week away at this point, so really, what choice do I have? The need to make sweet rolls has very nearly reached the compulsion stage, and they must be baked before Rosh HaShana. They must.

While I was making the sweet rolls, I tried to figure out why I had to make them now. All I could come up with was that I somehow associated raisins with Rosh HaShana, and sweet noodle kugel with raisins wasn't enough. Then it hit me. Of course. Rosh HaShana is my Bubby's yahrtzeit.

Falling Down on the Job

We had parent orientation for preschool last night. I understood a good 80% of what the teacher said, and I would have understood more had the other mothers been a little bit quieter (hem, hem). Ah, well, that's what happens when you give out art project to do while you're talking: you create an environment that's not conducive to silent listening. (Apparently making an art project for the kids is a standard part of the Israeli parent orientation.) Anyway, we'll be getting a handout of the talking points with the newsletter on Friday, so I'm not too concerned about what I've missed: anything that already waited two weeks before being addressed can wait one more week without a problem. And if it can't I'm sure the teacher will let me know privately that I'm falling down on the job :)

Speaking of falling down on the job, little BSM needs to kick his game up a notch. He let me know a few days into the school year that the teacher said he shouldn't wear Crocs to school; he had to wear shoes. I figured there was a good chance that statement was factually correct, both because it was sensible and because it came two days after he told me he wanted to bring a water bottle, which did indeed turn out to be part of the "what to send to school each day" list. In any event, I have no issue putting him in tie shoes or sandals instead of Crocs, so that's what we've been doing. Sure enough, at the orientation, the teacher requested that we send our children to school in well-fitting shoes that are not Crocs (sandals are fine), due to footgear falling off. So that's another point for BSM.

What he neglected to tell me was that I'm supposed to be sending him to school with an occasional "mitzva note", so the teacher can tell the class what a good thing he did and hang the note on the wall. Tut tut, child. Tut tut. I mean, he also failed to tell me that he's supposed to arrive before 8:30am and I should send in money for supplies and music class, but I don't really expect him to know about that.

Sandra Boynton

I've been slightly obsessed with Sandra Boynton's Works for Young People since college. Luckily, many of her board books (e.g., Moo, Baa, La la la!, Are You a Cow?, Doggies, etc.) are great for even the youngest readers, so I was able to include BSM in my Boynton interests with minimal delay.

BSM has even reached the point where he can "read" Blue Hat, Green Hat all by himself, and in fact read it to his cousins when we spent Shabbos with them a few weeks ago. (Grandparents and other similarly excitable people: before you get too proud of this brilliant boy's amazing ability to recite every single word of an entire book, see sample pages below. Also, in the spirit of full disclosure, BSM does occasionally get one of the colors wrong. He's still totally brilliant, though. Don't worry.)

Sandra Boynton's music albums, however, are a little more advanced. Even leaving aside Grunt (subtitled "Pigorian Chant from Snouto Domoinko de Silo"), which requires familiarity with both Gregorian chants and Pig Latin, her ostensibly-children's albums are full of satire and big words.

(Let's face it: I can't totally leave Grunt aside. Here's more about the book straight from Sandra Boynton herself:

"It’s plainchant and polyphony written in Latin and Pig Latin. I like to think of Grunt as the culmination of a lifetime of joyfully squandering an expensive education on producing works of no apparent usefulness... It became Amazon.com’s best-selling title in its category in 1999, which is true but don’t think about it too closely.")

Still, I maintain that any little boy who enjoys "Here Comes the Sun" (even if he calls it "Sun dootin doo doo"), can listen to Philadelphia Chickens and Blue Moo instead of 100 Songs for Kids Sung Over-Emotionally and Just a Little too High: Guaranteed to Drive Parents Crazy! So BSM has been tolerantly listening to my Sandra Boynton playlist (occasionally interspersed with 100 Insanity-Inducing Songs for Children) for quite a while, now.

Until recently, his favorite song from the collection was "One Shoe Blues" sung by B.B. King. (Unfortunately BSM pronounces it "One Shoe Bleeyoos". I have no idea where he picked up that accent: I could've sworn I don't have one, and that's my story and I'm sticking to it.) BSM generally objects to new songs, preferring to stay with the tried-and-true, which is a little bit sad for me. C'mon kid, just give "Pots and Pans" a try: it's awesome!

However, BSM recently stumbled across Boynton's Frog Trouble, which I'd been hiding from him due to Husbinator's prejudice against Country music. (I gather that it's up there with double-wides as Things To Avoid so as Not to be a Total Hick.) BSM was disappointed with the title track, because he felt it wasn't actually about frogs. (This is what I mean by Boynton's music being a little complex for three-year-olds.) ANYWAY, he struck gold with the next song he tried. It opens, "This next song is about trucks. It's called, 'Trucks.'" BSM didn't need to hear anything else to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he now has a brand-new favorite song, even if it was his first time hearing it. A whole song about trucks. This is his jam, ladies and gents.

Another Milestone

As we do every so often, BSM and I prepared cookie dough this morning before school. (It can actually be faster to him dressed with teeth brushed and make dough than just dressed and teeth brushed. That boy can hustle for a good cause. I've also realized this morning that it saves time to distract him with the mixer while I make him a sandwich and bag up a snack all by myself.)

In the past, BSM's "help" with baking has been a nice way to spend time together, but not actually helpful. Sure, he can hold the measuring cup with me while we pour in ingredients, and he can mix with his spoon while I mix with my spoon (or turn the dial all by himself if we're using the mixer), but baking is still faster and easier when I do it alone.

This morning, though, we were making banana cookies (much yummier than they sound), and I neither felt like mashing the bananas nor trusted the cookie paddles to adequately break up whole bananas. Enter BSM, who cheerfully squished four bananas by hand for me. No extra dishes to wash; no banana goop all over my hands. Actually helpful!

Deliberate Communication

Last week, my employer sponsored an end-of-the-summer ice-cream day: a vendor set up an ice-cream stand outside our building and gave out ice-cream cones/cups. It was nice and it was yummy.

While getting my ice cream, I heard the guy behind me ask the vendor why there weren't signs on the (six) flavors so people would know which was which. "Because," the vendor immediately replied, "It's important to talk to people."

I had actually noticed that when I stepped up to request my cone: something in the vendor's body language told me in no uncertain terms that regardless of the line behind me, I'd better lead with, "Hi, what's up?" rather than, "I'd like chocolate in a cone, please."

Beginning School: Take II

School started for real on Sunday, and all went smoothly.

BSM cried when I left the first day, was a little sad on the second day, and since then drop-off has been fine. BSM told me that he likes school (yay!), but he doesn't like afternoon-care. Since most kids only stay until 1:30, they combine the 2- and 3-year-olds in the afternoon, which means BSM has to adjust to a new classroom and a new teacher. It's a lot of change for a little boy, but hopefully he'll be fully adjusted before the end of next week.

He's already fully competent at packing his backpack. At orientation, I asked his teacher what to pack for him each day, and she said to bring a baggie of breakfast, a sandwich, and a fruit. So far I've remembered to send him with the full complement (baruch Hashem, kaina hora, poo poo poo). Also so far, BSM has been checking my work, which is a little funny, but definitely a Good Thing. I like his commentary as he goes through his backpack in the morning: "Have water bottle. Have sandwich? Have sandwich. Fruit? Have fruit. Um..... What else? Um... Ummmm..... pretzels? Yes. Have pretzels."

My careful readers will have noticed BSM's addition of "water bottle" to the list his teacher recited for me. As we were leaving yesterday, BSM's glance fell on a water bottle and said, "Oh! Forgot water bottle like other children. Ha ha. I take it now." I have no objection to BSM having water available, so I helped him put the bottle in his bag, and off we went. Sure enough, when we got to his class, his aide asked if I could send him with a water bottle in the future. We already did that, thanks to the on-top-of-things boychick!

Following this trend, BSM got downstairs about a minute before I did this morning, and told me that he already checked his bag and everything was in it. "Really?" I challenged him, knowing full well that while I packed the water bottle, apple, and pretzels at 10 pm the night before, I'd left his sandwich in the fridge.
"Yes. Have water bottle and sandwich and fruit and pretzels."
"You have a sandwich???"
"Yes, I took it from fridge and put in backpack. I show you."

Well, I'm glad he's not exhibiting my natural levels of organizational abilities, but I'm kind of concerned how he'll react when he figures out how much better at this he is than I am. Presumably it will be a similar blow as when he realizes how much of a better housekeeper he is...

Beginning School: False Start

In mid-August, we received two envelopes in our mailbox. One contained two balloons and a colorful invitation welcoming BSM to come play with his teachers and classmates on Sunday, September 4; the other had three typewritten sheets outlining the preschool's daily schedule, yearly calendar, what to pack each day, etc., etc. The typed letter also included a clear schedule for the first few days, starting with a private meeting at 8am on Wednesday, August 31.

I was properly impressed by the mailing (separate envelopes for the child and parents!), but slightly off-balance due to the conflicting dates. So I called the school's main office a few times (no one picked up) and even left a message (no one called back). 

Eventually, I gave up on the main office and called the number listed for the preschool classroom in the typewritten letter. Someone picked up and confirmed that the times and dates from the typewritten letter were correct (she seemed confused why I would have any doubts), and all was well. Or Was It?

On the morning Wednesday, August 31, BSM decided for the first time in ages that he needed to eat a bowl of cornflakes and milk at home, rather than breakfast on a baggie of pretzels on the go. So we showed up at Ohr Eliyahu (as his [private] preschool shall henceforth be known) at 8:10, instead of 8. Well, it looked like one person's 10 minutes late was another person's 10 minutes early, because the school grounds were deserted except for a solitary woman giving the classrooms their before-school deep-clean.

I was slightly less than impressed, but there was a small piece of playground equipment (ladder, tunnel, stairs, slide) to amuse BSM, so it wasn't a big deal. Twenty minutes later, after ascertaining that both his classroom and the main office were locked and uninhabited, I gave up and took BSM to his daycare.

Since I had clearly missed something, I showed the letter to his daycare-lady for her Israeli opinion. She confirmed that the letter stated we should have had a private meeting at the school that morning. Since no one was there, she told me, I should call the aide, whose cellphone number was also in the letter. The aide? What? Why? Because, she told me, that's who to call. Really.

Well, I didn't know what was going on, and the daycare lady sounded really confident, so once I got settled in at work, I called the aide's cellphone. She picked up, I told her who I was, and she immediately said, "Oh, we missed you this morning! What happened?" What happened??? "We got to Ohr Eliyahu at 8:10, stayed for almost half an hour, and didn't see anyone!" "Ohr Eliyahu?" the aide responded, "But we're the public preschool!" Oh. My. Gosh. I apologized and explained that I cancelled BSM's public school registration ages ago; the aide said not to worry about it and wished us the best of luck in the new school year. 

All was now clear. Yes, we got two envelopes... from two different schools. And since neither school saw fit to include the name of the school anywhere (no return address, no letterhead, no answering the phone with the name of the school)... Well. Welcome to the Israeli school system.

A Sobering (or Sad or Funny or Resigned...) Realization

Since making aliyah, we've been much better about doing laundry regularly, rather than dealing with mountains of the stuff about XXXXPREVIOUSXLAUNDRYXFREQUENCYXREDACTEDXXXXX.

On the kibbutz, frequent laundry was a given: not only were we limited by the amount of clothing we brought in our suitcases, we also didn't have to ensure we had a load's worth of any type of laundry before carting off our clothing to be washed.

Even after moving to our own place, we never let things pile up as much as we did in America. I assumed this was due to having both a smaller washing machine and an ideally placed laundry room: since it's right next to the bathroom, I have no trouble getting most dirty laundry in the laundry room promptly. This means we can easily see when we have enough for a load, and it takes less than 5 minutes to get a load into the machine.

Over the past few months, we've really been nailing the whole laundry thing, rarely accumulating more than two or three loads at any given time. I figured Husbinator and I finally hit our stride. Got into a groove. Found a part of the housework that we can stay on top of.

Then this morning, when telling someone how BSM insisted on cleaning up his room before going downstairs (this is the second or third time that's happened), the truth hit me. The vast majority of the time that I put laundry in the washer, it's to bribe BSM. "If you get dressed quickly, we'll have time to do laundry!" or "OK, fine: we can do laundry, but you need to finish your dinner first." I even occasionally give him a freebie, agreeing to do laundry with him without any preconditions. Hoo boy. Um, I guess this is a good thing?

Milestone

I made aliyah in February 2014. That's two-and-a-half years ago. (Trust me: I just did the math.)

During that period, I converted from shekels to dollars many times to determine whether or not something was a good price. Yesterday, I was considering buying some things online, and found myself converting from dollars to shekels. Cool.

I don't see myself converting from Fahrenheit to Celsius any time soon, though.

Mildly Amusing Pee Story

Note the title: this story involves a urine test. Please stop reading now if that makes you uncomfortable.

*******

Still here? Okay, the second warning is that this story is very mildly amusing, so consider your expectations sufficiently lowered.

I've gotten my favoring urine test results in this country. The nurse looked at the dipstick, smiled, and said "Everything looks fine." Then she looked at me sternly and added, "But you need to drink more."

International Kashrus Alert

Israeli Honey Nut Cheerios are now certified OU-dairy. (!!!)

Judging from the allergy information, they're probably just dairy-equipment, but still.

Speaking of Cheerios, I've only seen Honey Nut and MultiGrain Cheerios here, not the Original "yellow" variety. I hear they're available, but much less-widely stocked.

Birthday Wishes, Israeli Style

I sent BSM to daycare with a bunch of cupcakes for his Hebrew birthday, and Dikla sent photos and a video of the kids celebrating to our Daycare Whatsapp group. Being nice, decent human beings, many mothers responded with variations of "Happy birthday." But since they're mostly Israeli human beings, the variations were varied indeed. Here's the analysis from me (green) and Husbinator (white). Translation is in blue:

How Words Work

We gave BSM a child-friendly camera for his birthday, and he's been enjoying it mightily. This morning, he asked me how to get to a particular feature, so I showed him how to select it. However, before instructing him to push the final button in the sequence, I paused to teach him something useful about that button.

"Hang on," I said, and pointed to the "OK" button. "What letters are these?"
Hurrying to get to his feature, BSM distractedly said, "Letters."
"Yes, but which letters?" Pointing to the O, I asked, "What's this letter?"

Actually looking this time, BSM said, "O."

"That's right. And what's this one?" (Pointing to the K this time.)

"K."

"Right. So what does that say?"
"Camera."
Good guess. Smart kid. Clearly understands about words being made of letters and forming abstract representations of real-world concepts. 

"Not quite. This letter's an O and this letter's a K. That's an O and a K. O-K. What word is that?"

Eyes lighting up, BSM crows, "OK!"

"Exactly! So once the screen shows what you want, you push "OK". All right? Got it?"
Reaching for the button, BSM responds "Okay," and immediately cracks up without any prompting on my part. Yay, getting jokes and wordplay!

Ordering Coffee

I don't often order coffee when I go out, because I don't believe in paying an exorbitant price for what I can easily make at home. Nevertheless, since making aliyah, I have ordered coffee a handful of times, but until last week, I never did so successfully.

As Husbinator will happily explain, shortly after our marriage I went from never drinking coffee to being a coffee snob. You see, I had occasionally tried instant coffee (memorably described by an acquaintance as "caffeinated horse piss, but at least it's caffeinated") or Starbucks coffee (sour, burnt cigarette butts) and decided that if I ever needed caffeine, I'd rather just drink Pepsi Max. Then I joined a research group that had a Keurig coffee maker in the conference room. A Keurig coffee maker, no less, that was stocked with Green Mountain French Roast coffee. Mmmmmmmmm...

Sorry, I got distracted by remembering that coffee. I like bitter drinks: red wine, dark beer, strong coffee... Yum, yum, yum. Still distracted. What was I saying? Ah, yes, ordering coffee in Israel.

Right, so since making aliyah, I've tried various ways of ordering black coffee. No milk, no sugar, just a cup of good, strong coffee. I received something else every time: espresso (decent, but teeny tiny portions), weak coffee (why? just why???) coffee (if you let the sludge settle, it's palatable, but I don't want a drink that's reminiscent of Mark Twain's description of the Mississippi), and something that could very well have been instant coffee put through a percolator (I know that makes no sense, but neither did that beverage).

Then, last Friday, I ordered a hot breakfast and decided to get a coffee with it. As I glanced at the menu, I realized that I don't know when it happened, but I've known for a while exactly how to order this elusive coffee of mine, elegant in its simplicity.

The type of coffee I like is called, appropriately enough, an "Americano".

Post Office Brilliance

I went to the post office for the first time in ages, and they have a great new feature: when you request a number in line, you can instruct the system to send you a text message a few minutes before your turn:

Thus, instead of being forced to sit in the post office for half-an-hour or so, waiting impatiently, I was free to gallivant about, having a lovely time and spending money with reckless abandon.

Super-convenient service. Great for the economy, too.

July 4th

My (non-American) manager saw me and co-worker eating lunch yesterday and chided us for not eating foods appropriate to the day, viz., macaroni-and-cheese or barbecue. I tried to wriggle out of her accusation by pointing out that I was eating a toasted cheese sandwich, which is pretty much the same thing as grilled cheese. (No canned tomato soup, though.)

Then I realized I totally did something appropriate for Independence Day: I filled out a bunch of forms for absentee ballots. Now I just have to figure out how to buy stamps and send mail...

Update

Remember how we convinced ourselves that the cat left our house? I didn't even mention that as I was finally falling back asleep, I thought I saw a cat sitting on the A/C unit in our bedroom. I sat up and thought I saw it leave, wandered downstairs after it, didn't see it, and assumed that either I had been dreaming as I dozed off, or I saw who-knows-what in the dark without my glasses and jumped to conclusions. So when I heard a crash from downstairs fifteen minutes after that, I resolutely stayed in bed and went back to sleep. Sure, in the morning I saw a metal bowl that had been precariously near the edge of a shelf and was now on the floor, but none of this was worth mentioning a blog post.

Until today.

Bum bum bum.

I bet by now you all can guess what I saw just as BSM was finishing up his dinner yesterday.

Bum bum bum.

The Cat.

Bum bum bum.

Luckily (?), it dashed right back under the stairs as soon as it saw me, so BSM remained unaware of its presence. I called Husbinator home from his office to keep an eye on it (no more not being sure if it's in the house or not!) while I got BSM in bed, and we spent the next two-and-a-half hours clearing out the crawlspace, coaxing, shining lights, waiting patiently, stomping on the stairs, hitting the wall, opening cans of tuna fish, discussing sedatives...

In the end Husbinator did what I refused point-blank to do and climbed into the crawlspace with the pointy wild animal still inside. He worked some magic and eventually the cat came dashing out. There followed a quarter-hour of chasing the cat around the house again (though first we blocked that crawlspace so it couldn't get back in) and wondering why on earth it insisted on clawing up walls and clinging to windows instead of going through the wide-open door that it just dashed right past. Husbinator went outside and opened screens though, and in the end, we saw the cat jump out a window, exiting our abode.

Aannnnd stay oot!

Durned Cats

I woke up a little after midnight last night and heard Husbinator coming up the steps. "Malka," he said gently and quietly, "There's a cat in the house." I sighed, not quite awake. "Well," I finally answered, "I'ma go pee first."

There followed a half-hour silent chase, herding the cat out of the spare bedroom, closing all doors upstairs, standing guard next to the open main level doors so no more cats would come in, watching in desperation as the cat tried and failed to leave, and losing the cat. Yeah, losing it. (It was about then that I recalled the phrase, "like herding cats.")

We have our hopes about how it may have exited without us noticing, but we still searched pretty thoroughly for the cat: Husbinator very firmly and wisely did not want a cat in our house overnight. While I wasn't awake enough to care (it's amazing how well I can cling to drowsiness even as I stalk a cat and have it run past me in a panic), even in my sleep-befuddled state I knew it would be Very Bad if BSM woke up in the morning and saw a cat in the house. He does Not Like Cats at the best of times, and does verily freak out if they come into His House.

Well, we never found the cat last night, and I sure didn't see it this morning, so whatever. Gol-dinged cats, even if they are better to chase out of the house than birds or bats. Poopy British introducing them to control the rodent population. Growl, grumble grumble.

Encouraging Observation

This past Shabbos, we had guests who found us through Shabbat.com. This isn't the first time we've had "internet guests" either through Shabbat.com or AnywhereInIsrael.org, and Husbinator made an interesting observation: we've never had guests from either of those sites whom we wouldn't be happy to have again. Hooray for the world not being completely filled with irritating people! I mean, also hooray for an easy way to find guests, but I already knew that...

Swapping Tall Tales

BSM has a birthday coming up, so we mentioned to him that he'll be turning three soon. BSM told us in no uncertain terms that he has no interest in turning three, and though he was open to being "3 and a fraction", he would still vastly prefer to be two.

I thought I could start to bring him around by explaining what a birthday is. So I told BSM that before he was a boy he was a baby (yes, this is old news), and before he was a baby he was a fetus (OK: he hadn't known that but it sounded fine), and when he was a fetus he lived in my belly. That's when BSM burst out laughing. When he finally caught his breath, he said, "Staaaaaaaam, you kidding me!"

I told him I most certainly was not; he lived in my belly (more giggles) and then when he came out of my belly that-- (BSM collapsed into irrepressible laughter again.)

When BSM subsided back into giggles, I told him that all children used to be babies (yeah, yeah), and that before they were babies they were fetuses (fine) and lived in their Emas bellies (back to hysterical laughter again). This time he responded not only with a huge grin, but with a twinkle in his eye, "Before babies, live in mountains with yaks!" This was followed by more laughter and "Staaaam, I kidding you!"

Well, his acceptance of biology might be squat, but at least he knows to respond to a tall tale with one of his own.

What is a Farm, Anyway?

One of the songs that BSM sings the most often when left to his own devices is "Old McDonald had a Farm." This morning, I heard him at it again:

Old McDonald had farm
EIEIO
Cows everywhere
Cows anywhere
EIEIO
Moo Moo anywhere
Moo Moo anywhere
EIEIO
On the farm had a flamingos
EIEIO
[protracted period of contented humming that actually strongly resembles the musical score of "Old McDonald had a Farm"]

On an Unrelated Note...

There was a forest fire across the street from my office building yesterday, and about two hours after we first saw smoke the company asked us all to go home, even though the fire department wasn't evacuating us. Half an hour earlier, the head of payroll announced that if anyone was upset and couldn't focus, they could take the rest of the day off with pay. My co-workers agreed with my assessment that we weren't upset, but that didn't mean we could fo-- Hey, look, a firefighter plane! Cool!

Speaking of which, firefighting planes release foam, and since the foam has a non-zero horizontal velocity upon release (since it's dropped out of a moving plane) and is not released instantaneously (because the foam is released in useful amounts, not as single mathematical points), the chunk of foam falls as a triangle. Also, it's more of a thick mist than a foam. Also, the foam is white but glows orange as it reflects the flames below. Very cool. Oh, and nothing happens for about half a minute after the foam falls, and then the flames totally die where the foam landed (though there's still significant smoldering). So, so cool.

Also, it makes me sad to watch actual trees burning. And I don't know how all trees in various weather conditions burn, but the ones in the Jerusalem Forest burn for about 5 minutes and then the flames are gone: not because they've been put out, but because the tree has completely burned. It's nuts.

On an unrelated note, since I left work 3 hours early, I had time both to go grocery shopping and make jellyrolls yesterday. Yup, you heard me right: I made jellyrolls for the first time, and they totally came out fine. Boo-ya!

For their significant contributions to the successful jellyroll experiment, I would like to thank Israeli Cooking on a Budget (easier instructions than Spice and Spirit), parchment paper (easier to use than waxed paper), freezer paper (easier to use than a tea towel), and BSM (who had a glorious time helping me mix the batter and spread the jelly, and was very cooperative about scootching over when I needed elbow room to roll up the jellyrolls).

Notes for next time include (a) get a big enough oven to fit my jelly roll pans (a.k.a. half-size baking sheets)... Siiiiiiiiiiiiigh...

More universally applicable notes are (b) immediately spreading the jelly and rolling up works just fine, there really is no need to roll the cake, let it cool, unroll it, spread the jelly, and roll it back up again. (Seriously, Spice and Spirit? That's how much your Bubby patchkied over these?) Additionally, (c) cleverly sprinkling coconut and powdered sugar on the bottom of the pan before pouring in the batter does not result in a perfectly-coated jellyroll. It tastes fine, but the toppings bury themselves just under the surface of the dough and are nearly invisible. Oh, and (d) the batter really is done when it springs back to a light touch, even if it still looks loose.

I am very proud and pleased about these jellyrolls. And they're totally faster to make than cookies, even drop cookies. Again I say, "Boo-ya!"

Topography

After dark on Thursday night, we drove to the kibbutz/resort/motel/what-have-you near the Dead Sea where we'd spend the weekend. When we went on our first daytrip on Friday, I had a moment of complete disorientation: the horizon was low and flat and So. Far. Away. Then I looked to my other side and saw the Jordanian mountains right next to me and felt much better.

NOTE: It seems that if I make a slight change to an old post (e.g., take out a mistaken underline from a post from February 2016), it gets re-posted with the date of the edit (e.g., June 2016). Huh.

Native vs. Learned

I asked an Israeli recently if "playgroup" (משפחתון) is masculine or feminine. "Actually, it's really easy to figure out," she explained, "You just say 'big (masculine) playgroup' and 'big (feminine) playgroup' and see which one sounds right." (משפחתון גדול OR משפחתון גדולה)

So I pointed out that was the reason I was asking in the first place: I have no way to conclusively determine if I should write that Dikla's playgroup is 'warmly recommended (masculine)' or warmly recommended (feminine)'. I have a better grasp of the rules than many Israelis (feminine nouns tend to (a) end in a ה ָ  (b) end in a ת, (c) name a body part that comes in multiples [e.g., eye, finger, hand], (d) be sharp [seriously, like knives and swords], or (e) belong on a list of exceptions of which I am consciously aware), but at the end of the day, I just need to ask.

Emulation

BSM is quick to point out that he is not a baby (or even a little boy), but he is still "shorter. Soon I be bigger like Abba, though."

And speaking of being like Abba: the boy squished a bug in our living room recently. In his own words, "I squooshed it. Just like Abba-loosh." GROSS. But very, very useful.

Sports

BSM got his first hair cut on Lag B'Omer (that was Thursday, May 26), and now he looks like a little boy instead of a large baby. Therefore, I hereby declare that "BSM" no longer stands for "Baby SpiderMan", but "Boy SpiderMan".

I don't think it's a coincidence that on the Shabbat immediately following his haircut, he was invited to join his first soccer game. (The teams were as follows: a 4- and 5-year-old vs. BSM and an 8-year-old. BSM played goalie and successfully kicked the ball away from the goal the one time it got close to him. Nachas!)

Speaking of sports, the following Shabbat, BSM found a large foam floor puzzle that we hadn't put out with his toys yet. He took a foam flag and a white foam disc and used the flad to push the disc around. "Look!" he told me, "Moon soccer!" I tried to teach him the word "hockey", but my heart wasn't in it: "moon soccer" is so much cuter. But why did he pick the two puzzle pieces that most resemble a hockey stick and puck to play?

Look What I Found!

Now there's a real blast from the past...

Symphony No. 9 in E Minor ("From the New World")

Yeah, yeah, I should be writing about Important Things (such as BSM's first haircut) or at least Israeli Things (such as a pharmacist's refusal to sell me more than 10 doses of pseudoephedrine and his complete inability to understand why I'd want some in the house for the next cold). But I'm at work, and Dvorak's Symphony No. 9 just came up on on my playlist again.

Granted, this is coming from an amateur, but Antonín Dvořák totally nailed it: the main theme of his 1893 "From the New World" symphony absolutely sounds like a (very good) Hollywood soundtrack.

Restless

I have laryngitis today, which means that I'm feeling much better. (Refer to the the graph below, but shift the "How bad you sound" peak back to day 3.)

COLDS (xkcd.com)

However, in addition to feeling better I am super restless. (Refer to the following quotation.)

...Then the old man understood. The Adem are called the silent folk, and they speak only rarely.
The old man knew many stories of the Adem. He’d heard that they possessed a secret craft called the Lethani. This let them wear their quiet like an armor that would turn a blade or stop an arrow in the air. This is why they seldom spoke. They saved their words, keeping them inside like coals in the belly of a furnace.
Those hoarded words filled them with so much restless energy that they could never be completely still, which is why they were always twitching and fidgeting about. Then when they fought, they used their secret craft to burn those words like fuel inside themselves. This made them strong as bears and fast as snakes.

-Patrick Rothfuss, The Wise Man's Fear 

Because it's so much easier for me to express myself in writing than in speech, and because I spent so much of my childhood happily playing in my own mind while my older siblings kindly fielded uninteresting questions addressed to me, it's easy for me to forget that I actually like to say stuff. But I do, and now I can't.

I like my privacy, and I need my space, but after a while, I also like to just chat with people. Today, this is manifesting after 2.5 hours of sitting around not being able to say anything. Not that I have anything to say, mind you, but it would be nice to throw around a couple of sentences about the occasional fleeting thoughts flitting through my head, instead of being unable to focus on anything because of all the speech inside of me that can't get out.

Come to think of it, that may be why I got so angry at the Kibbutz toward the end of our stay. I had gone through a stressful, exhausting process of moving halfway around the world, and I really needed a couple of months to retreat into my own mind with no one pestering me to come out. But when John and Shoshi moved off the kibbutz, there was no one left for me to chat with, and my antsiness grew and grew, and my words became a fire inside of me.

At least that's the theory I just came up with as I blogged this blog, desperately trying to release enough words so I can get back to my work. My work which is, after all... writing words.

Memorial Day

I've known for a long time that Yom HaZikaron is very different from American Memorial Day, and my manager recently very elegantly summed up why.

I was wondering why Israeli schools have a half-day for Memorial Day. After all, I posited, if a main focus of Memorial Day is a ceremony commemorating those who died in the struggle for the State of Israel, wouldn't it make sense to have a half-day of classes followed by an in-school (audience-appropriate) assembly? My manager pointed out that a general assembly wouldn't actually make sense, since so many students attend private ceremonies.

Because there are private ceremonies. Because there are too many people here for whom a personal ceremony is the only possible response to Memorial Day.

Totally Calm

I went to a great class yesterday that totally affirmed my attitude toward Pesach cleaning (viz., look for and remove chametz without bothering about dusting the house or folding clothing).

Rabbi Barzilai went through all three Torah-level prohibitions of chametz on Pesach (don't own edible chametz of the size of an olive, don't have edible chametz the size of an olive [that belongs to a Jew] in your house, and don't eat chametz). He explained absolutely everything necessary to do as a result (to wit, verbally relinquish claim to any chametz before Pesach and don't eat chametz on Pesach). Then he explained the Rabbinic requirements regarding chametz on Pesach (thoroughly search your house for edible chametz the night before Pesach) and customs that are ancient enough to be binding (if you regularly stick dough to your walls, scrape off the dough [in ancient times, people used water and flour as glue/spackle] and sweep your floors on the night before Pesach). Rabbi Barzilai also mentioned a nice stringency that's brought down by the Rema: in addition to sweeping your floors for Pesach, wash your floors, as well. THAT'S IT.

Rabbi Barzilai didn't even bother ranting about not cleaning the dust from your dresser drawers; he saved his rant for getting all of the crumbs out of the refrigerator gasket. ("If you want to be stringent, shpritz some cleanser in the gasket so the crumbs aren't edible! If you want to symbolically remove your bad character traits by removing tiny crumbs from your house, that's fine, but don't get so focused on removing tiny crumbs that you lose your temper. Everybody. Just. Relax.")

So that was a nice affirmation that my perfect calm about Pesach "cleaning" is justified, and the (thorough) visual inspection that we've almost completed in the bedrooms/upstairs bathrooms really does suffice. (We were already planning to actually sweep the floors up there closer to Pesach.) I'll finish looking for liquid ethanol in the bathroom (helloooooo liquid hand sanitizer/perfumes) and either I or Husbinator will go through BSM's room looking for hidden pretzels, and then we're done with half of the house, leaving us with two full weeks to clean the kitchen, dining room, and computer room downstairs. There's really nothing to stress out about.

Which is why last night I dreamed that it was 4 am before Pesach and we hadn't even started kashering the kitchen and we hadn't done any grocery shopping for Pesach, either, let alone cooking, and the car's power steering broke and BSM wouldn't fall asleep and---

Hey, That's Cool!

I generally listen to something on my way to and from work: when traffic is normal, I spend over an hour in the car each day, and that gets boring. When traffic is terrible, I need to focus on listening to words instead of tracking such nifty statistics as "time spent pushing the gas pedal vs. time spent with foot on the brake/in park" and "amount of space various drivers allow to develop in front of them before they FINALLY pull up already". I've been listening to Terry Pratchett's Discworld series, but after 25 books or so (averaging about 10 hours each), I needed a change of pace.

So I went to yutorah.org and downloaded some shiurim (Torah classes). My search criteria (language=Hebrew, topic=something related to whatever Jewish Event was coming up) were nice and vague while still narrowing my results to a manageable selection. I quickly settled on a particular rabbi, who happily not only gave classes that fit my search criteria, but whose actual content happened to dovetail beautifully with my interests. I'd never heard of the guy before (and still knew almost nothing about him, other than that he's clearly a native Hebrew speaker), but I love his classes, and that's what counts. (Seriously. It's gotten to the point where I've caught myself hoping for at least some traffic... Enough to listen to an entire class, let's say.)

Then B2 sent me a video of Purim at his Rebbe's house, and I see a guy dancing who looks just like the stock photo next to the classes given by the rabbi I like so much. Yup. Turns out that the made-for-me classes that I stumbled across are given by none other than my brother's Rebbe.

Microsoft Publisher

How have I been missing out on Publisher for all of these years??? I just went to update our mishloach manos labels, and as I opened the PowerPoint file (at least I had the sense not to try using Word), it occurred to me that using Publisher might be a bit easier. Oh. My. Gosh. That was unbelievably fast, and they came out perfectly!

Yikes

A bit of background: I'm writing a white paper for work about the way ads are currently sold in the television advertising industry as opposed to the way they can (should!) be sold using our New Time-Saving, Cost-Cutting, Revenue-Enhancing, Lose-15-lbs-and-get-a-sports-car Best-of-Breed Product. One of my arguments is that using a combination of phone, email, fax, and snail mail is not how business is or should be done in the 21st century industrialized world.

I am getting very worked up about this argument, too. It occurred to me that I might be getting more worked up than, say, someone over 35 would. Which means this is a generational thing. And oh dear, this is the sort of things that Millenials whine about. But while Millenials are close to my age, they are definitely younger. Definitely more immature. I must have missed that crucial cut-off by a good ten years. Right? Wrong.

Holy Smokes. No matter which definition you choose, I'm a Millenial. Save me.

Sad

As I pulled off the highway, I saw a man in pain. He had a shoe on his left foot, but was holding his right shoe in his hand: that foot was in a cast. His face was set in a grimace, and each time he gingerly put down his right toes, I could see him wince and suck in air between his teeth. He needed crutches; he needed a wheelchair; he needed a ride.

I didn't offer him a ride, though; I didn't help that nearly helpless man stranded over a mile from the nearest buildings. You see, Jews don't generally walk around that part of town, so he was probably an Arab, so offering him a ride would be dangerous.

I'm sad that I didn't offer that man a ride, and I'm even sadder that if I saw him there again tomorrow I still wouldn't offer him a ride. What makes me the most sad, though, is how quickly this particular sadness dissipates, being replaced by the pragmatic knowledge that it is what it is; even as I see a particular pain that I have the ability to alleviate, there is nothing I should do to help. Sad.

Way Too Many Emotions

I'll tell this in the order in which I experienced it, with the caveat that we're fine: I just feel like I've been through the wringer, and I want to kvetch and moan, some. For this, my friends, a blog is ideal.

1. Lose my phone some time between parking and exiting the elevator. Spend the rest of my day stopping to look for it and feeling a little lonely: at least when I remember (see next point).
2. Unusually busy day at work. Stress of meeting with everyone I'm supposed to meet, learning everything I'm supposed to learn. Fun, though. Interesting. Even a little exciting. Some time in the middle of all this, find phone. (It had not fallen under the seat of the car; it was on top of the dashboard.) Relief. 
3. Leave work 20 minutes later than usual (see above).
4. Be amazed and awed and relived and hopeful about how little traffic there is. Perhaps this is due to leaving later. Perhaps I can always leave 20 minutes late and only arrive home 5 minutes later. This could be very useful and wonderful and less traffic-ful.
5. Mind wanders on ride home (while I continue to pay careful attention to the driving, IT'S FINE). Happy, relaxed. Good day at work, awesome commute home. Wow and smiles.
6. Hit the first slowdown in traffic when I'm 80% done with my commute. This is frustrating, but I'm still totally going to come out ahead in the commuting game. Right? I stay calm. Mostly.
7. Sit 4 cars away from the last traffic circle in Jerusalem (that's generally slow but moving, for crying out loud) for  a solid 5 minutes without moving an inch. Remain (almost) calm, because as soon as I get to that traffic circle, I am hanging a right and looping around and not re-joining the traffic on the main road until it's mostly over. 
8. Debate whether or not to climb the curb with my two right wheels so I can get around the truck (which is now the only thing between me and the traffic circle). Remain patient.
9. FINALLY turn right, drive at a normal speed... and miss the left turn I have to take. See that traffic the other way on this side-street is already backed up and I will have to sit without moving AGAIN after I make my U-turn. Ascertain that I have no alternative but to make a U-y and wait to turn. Do. Not. Scream.
10. Make my U-y. Sit it traffic. I crack, and do some yelling.
11. Finally turn. Sit in traffic again, but I knew it was coming. Yell at Waze for telling me to turn around and go back to the main road at the point where I left it for this little short-cut (which, even with missing my left, is still shorter than sitting on the main road). Fume. Cry a little. Scream some more.
12. Do a little cognitive stuff, realize that the worst-case scenario is sitting here all night, which won't happen. Two hours is entirely possible, though. I probably shouldn't idle the car for that long. Begin to calm down, really.
13. Turn off the car. Realize that's what the guy in front of me has done, which is why he let a whole car-length develop in front of him rather than inching forward a few minutes ago when traffic pretended to move.
14. Turn the car on just enough to roll down the windows. It's a beautiful night.
15. Try to call my local government council (which usually sends texts when traffic in this area gets this bad) to ask what's going on and how long it will continue. I have no reception. Of course I don't. Sigh, but I'm done being angry and cry-y for now. 
16. Realize that I can sit here in the cool early spring and read the book on my phone that I'm in the middle of. (Thanks, B2, by the way.) Relax further, smile, reach for my phone.
17. Get a text from my local government council that the entrance/exit to Jerusalem (which is my immediate goal, and about a five-minute walk from where I am now parked) has been closed due to a "security incident" in Jerusalem, and that there is no estimate of when it will re-open.
18. Consider actually parking the car and walking up the hill to the mall.
19. Enjoy the spring breeze while I very actively don't care what I do next.
20. Disappointedly see that cars are moving a little... in fact, they're moving enough that I'll have to move, too. Turn on the car.
21. Hear at least three other cars in the line of traffic turn on. Laugh.
22. Inch forward, creep forward, turn onto the main road, and leave Jerusalem. Huh. That was fast.
23. FINALLY get home. All-in-all, the commute only took about 40 minutes longer than I thought it would, honestly. Holy everything. 
24. Go inside. Hear Husbinator bathing BSM, bless him.
25. Rinse BSM's hair, read to him, PJ him, get most of the way through Shema.
26. BSM (who is potty trained as of two or three weeks ago, by-the-by) informs me he has to poop. I wonder if this is a stall tactic, but what am I going to tell him? "No"?
27. BSM sits on the toilet. We have a bit of a debate about whether or not he really has to poop, whether or not I am going to stay with him in the bathroom right now, whether or not he needs to put up or shut up already.
28. BSM poops (I raise my eyebrows at that one: at the end there, I was really sure he was just stalling).
29. As soon as BSM climbs down from the toilet, I tell him not to take his PJ's all the way off.
30. BSM takes his PJ's all the way off. Of course he does. 
31. We close the door, re-PJ, turn off the lights, finish Shema, get him in bed. I leave.
32. I check the Internet and learn that the "security incident" was one of many today. Not good news. I have no right to be irritated with traffic. Things are worse than traffic for too many people.
33. Life goes on. I discuss a shopping list with Husbinator.
34. We hear happy noises, so check on BSM via the spy-cam we have in his room. 
35. BSM is naked, and happily kicking at his bed railing.
36. BSM continues to be naked and happy for the next hour.
37. BSM ceases to be happy. It's been an hour-and-a-half since bedtime was "finalized". Leaving him to soothe himself back to sleep is clearly not an option. Deal with that.
38. Just holy moly, folks. That's all. Thanks for letting me complain at you. Now I'm going to stop complaining and actually relax. Maybe read that book, after all.

What Crime?

I took our car in for an oil change this morning, and since there were so many cars in front of the garage, I parked 30 seconds away in different parking lot. When I walked with the mechanic to collect the car, he asked me if it has a code. (This is much more common in Israel than I recall it being in the US: most, if not all, cars built after sometime in the '90s require both a physical key and a four-digit PIN to start.) I told him the car has no PIN, and as he reached toward the door handle with the key to get in and drive the car to his garage, I told him it was also unlocked. (Whoops.)

"You know how it is," I said, scrambling, "No code, unlocked... No one's going to steal my car."

"That's right: no one steals cars in Israel," the mechanic answered, "...They just borrow them for a little while!"

What's Obvious to Israelis...

My insurance recently emailed me my quarterly statement. They helpfully provided both a link (which worked) and an attachment (which was password-protected). I emailed them back asking what the password was. I mean, who sends someone a password-protected document without even a hint of what the password is? (I tried both my username and password for the insurance's website, but neither one worked on the attachment.)

My insurance company emailed me back promptly, suggesting that I call customer service with any questions. Look, buddy, I care, but I don't care that much. The link works, your attachment is stupid, I'm not wasting any more time on this.

When I laughingly told this story to my 9th-grade-neighbor (who started computer classes in school this year, and now knows how to click on stuff), she asked if I had tried my Teudat Zehut number (analogous to an American SSID). Well... Um... No, actually.

So I tried to open the attachment again when I got back to a computer. Yup. She was right.

Tree Roots

We're spending the weekend with Aunty Em and clan on a kibbutz-resort near the Dead Sea. As we were walking to our rooms, BSM had a great time pointing out tiny potholes and putting the dead leaves where they belong. Then he saw... something on the ground. Something that he doesn't remember ever seeing before and probably shouldn't be there.
"Tree roots," I told him, and pointed out the tree's trunk, branches, and leaves, all  with which he is eminently familiar. But this is the first time he's seen roots in two years: none of the many trees near us are old enough to have roots protruding from the ground.

Follow-Up

When I posted about Prune Yogurt a few weeks ago, Aunt Chef asked if I tasted it. Frankly, until she suggested it, that thought had not even crossed my unadventurous little mind. Today, they had Prune Yogurt again, and I took the plunge:

I won't pretend that I wasn't nervous, because oh boy, I was. But I tasted it, and it's fine. Boring, actually. I mean, it's good, but nothing exciting: imagine vanilla yogurt (but with only a hint of vanilla, nothing strong) with some slightly sweet squishy bits mixed in. That's Prune Yogurt. 

For the record, the third ingredient is "שזיף שחור מבושל (10%)1" which is either cooked black plums or cooked black prunes. They feel like plump raisins, so I'm voting prune. Either way, it's a good, boring yogurt with an excitingly frightening label.

My House

Rabbi Barzilai gives a weekly class on raising children at the Kornbluth's every week. This week, they were out of town, so the class was at my house. Other than the material in the class (pertinent as always), I learned that I feel much more comfortable with the members of my community than I did when we first moved in.

I remember the first time we had Israelis over for Shabbat lunch (after our lift came), and how stressed I was about cleaning the house and serving the right food, blah blah blah. Now I can host a bunch of people for a class with tea and cake, and it just means cleaning up for Shabbos a little early. Moste Excellente.

Pre-School!

I registered BSM for pre-school this morning: Hurrah!

The pre-school we chose is a Charedi [Ultra-Orthodox] school on the Yishuv and offers afternoon care. The kids there seem confident, happy, and independent, and they generally have 8-10 kids in the three-year-old class. From the few minutes that I visited on Friday morning, the teacher and assistant seem nice, but once I saw the kids, I knew it was fine.

The big difference between standard and Charedi preschools is when kids learn to read: standard track has them learning their letters in kindergarten and reading in first grade, the Charedi track (for boys, I didn't ask about girls) teaches letters in 4-year-old nursery and reading in kindergarten.

I verified that the 4- and 5-year-olds still spend much more time playing than sitting at desks, so I don't really care when BSM learns to read. Since we'll probably send him to a Charedi first grade, however, BSM should probably learn to read on the Charedi schedule. Hence, a Charedi 4-year-old nursery, and since we don't want the kid to switch schools more than necessary, a Charedi 3-year-old nursery, as well.

Sound like I'm trying to justify what's going on, here? I guess I am: I know I'm Orthodox, but I'm not sure that I'm Ultra-Orthodox, and sending BSM to an all-boys 3-year-old nursery seems a bit extreme to me. But sensible, and not a big deal. Right?

John and Shoshi and Co.!

Our neighbors from the Kibbutz came to visit us for Shabbos, and it was awesome.

BSM and Nosie-Boy didn't remember each other at all (no surprise there), but they had a blast. We also got to meet their latest addition, Simcha, who's about the same age Nosie-Boy was when we met him. It's fun to see how similar and how different they are/were.

Really, though, there's nothing like swapping stories with people who are going through almost the exact same things (aliya within the same few months, kid the exact same age) we're going through. We need to do this more often, even if we do live two hours away from each other.