tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40442771372308621692024-03-13T09:11:19.266-04:00A Bride in the DesertA Southern Belle making the best out of making aliyah.The Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00684674861079556149noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4044277137230862169.post-9287799505966763412012-08-07T10:07:00.001-04:002012-08-07T10:07:41.367-04:00I'm baaa-aaack!Not really. Still back in the United States, but missing the Holy Land with every fiber. <br />
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Just back to blogging, after a sabbatical to birth and raise the kiddo for a while. I know a lot of you readers were interested in my life in Israel, but I'm blogging about life with The Kid these days if you are interested. If you hate babies or laughing, please do not come visit my other blog. If you don't hate those things, stroll on over...<br />
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<a href="http://www.naptimechronicles.blogspot.com/">www.naptimechronicles.blogspot.com</a></h3>
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We're planning a trip to Israel next Spring..with a 15 month old...on an 11 hour flight. Let me take this moment to apologize and prepare my fellow passengers in advance. My kid seems to have the energy of a hyena on crack, so there's that. It should be an interesting post to say the least.<br />
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<br />The Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00684674861079556149noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4044277137230862169.post-60139786272989644962011-09-14T20:16:00.003-04:002011-09-14T20:41:48.626-04:00The Bride’s Final Top 10: The Best of Israel<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve sat down to write this post three times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first time I opened a blank page, typed the title and closed my computer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The second time I got halfway in, then deleted most of it and closed my computer again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, my third attempt I felt my final post was an appropriate end to the amazing year I have experienced.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe that is a bit of commentary on how much I have fallen in love with this country and how I can never quite be done with her really.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In four days we leave Israel and it is getting harder to say goodbye.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though we know as clear as day we will be back, we also know it won’t ever be the same. Like any great love affair, your first time is always the one you cherish the most.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This year has afforded us the opportunity to completely explore our world, our relationships and ourselves.<em> </em><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><em> </em>We have discovered passions and unearthed strengths we didn't know we had. We have grown to appreciate life and each other at a new level. We have created a new life, a new family within her borders. </span>For that I thank her. </span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">1.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span dir="ltr"></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Her Beauty.</strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where else in the world could you sink your toes in the warm, blue Mediterranean waters, float in the lowest point on earth, climb the greenest hills of the Golan and hike through dry desert sands all in one day?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here in Israel.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">2.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <strong> </strong></span></span></span><span dir="ltr"></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Her Spirituality.</strong> Jerusalem is the center of the universe for the world’s three major religions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is hard not to feel the presence of God here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A walk to the store turns into a history lesson, a daily commute passes through some of the holiest sites in the world, your backdoor opens to the land God touched.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">3.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <strong> </strong></span></span></span><span dir="ltr"></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Her Warmth.</strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As much as I complain about the Israeli attitude, I know it is only a ruse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Israel is one big neighborhood and we’re all just friends and family living nearby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My dry cleaner told me she is sad she won’t be able to meet our baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My cabbie wished me blessings for safe travels and said he hopes we come back home soon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one is a stranger here and friendships are forged for life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">4.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <strong> </strong></span></span></span><span dir="ltr"></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Her Humor.</strong> It’s dark, sometimes morbid, always sarcastic and more often than not, politically incorrect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Israelis are hilarious and only those who have survived living in this crazy country could ever understand.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">5.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <strong> </strong></span></span></span><span dir="ltr"></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Her diversity.</strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bag boy at my grocery store speaks 5 different languages, my neighbor upstairs is an Argentinian woman, my ulpan class of 25 people was comprised of no less than 15 different nationalities, my best friends here are from Canada and New Jersey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m a Christian gal from the South married to a half-Israeli/half-American Jewish guy, but we fit right on in.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">6.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span dir="ltr"></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Her Sense of Community.</strong> Never in my life have I experienced such a deep sense of community.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gilad Shalit is every Israeli’s missing son. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The terror victims are every Israeli’s brother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tragedies and memorial days send the entire country into mourning and we can pull 400,000 people together to rally to improve living conditions for our neighbors in one night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">7.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <strong> </strong></span></span></span><span dir="ltr"></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Her Resiliency.</strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Terrorism, intifadas, unwinnable wars, internal turmoil, entire countries who wish she would disappear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And yet she hasn’t disappeared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, she’s grown stronger, bigger, better through all of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a beautiful thing.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">8.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <strong> </strong></span></span></span><span dir="ltr"></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Her Contradictions.</strong> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The modern and the ancient.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The religious and the secular.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The freedom and the restraint.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The safety and the danger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The happiness and the heartbreak.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can have all of it in Israel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">9.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span dir="ltr"></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Her food.</strong> Hummus, olives, shwarma, lamb kebab, hummus, schnitzel, couscous, fresh fruit, sweet dates, falafel, hummus, any of DH’s family’s Libyan dishes, warm challah, iced café. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did I mention hummus?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">10.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span dir="ltr"></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>My family and friends.</strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was accepted into DH’s beautiful family with open arms immediately.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are wonderfully warm and kind people who profoundly love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are cousins, aunts and uncles who without them we wouldn’t have survived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother-in-law has been our saving grace and my brother-in-law our dearest friend. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll miss having my son grow up around his wonderful family here and I promise him every night we’ll come back often.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the girls, you my darlings, are my heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your love and friendship has meant the world to me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I will end my final post with a request. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you travel, visit Israel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you give, give to Israel. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you pray, pray for Israel. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It isn’t the first time and probably will not be the last, but she is facing enemies who want to destroy the beauty I fell in love with and crush the spirit that is a beacon in a region of darkness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We need Israel and right now she needs us. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Goodbye Israel, you know we’ll always come back to you.</span></div>
The Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00684674861079556149noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4044277137230862169.post-14719615309126289272011-08-31T15:41:00.001-04:002011-08-31T15:41:41.410-04:00One YearOne year ago today we moved to Israel. Are you thinking the same thing I am? Yep, I can't believe we survived either.<br />
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Wow, an enitre 365 days has passed since we stepped off that El Al flight and dove head first into this crazy adventure. Prior to moving here, I had so many mixed emotions about the road that lay ahead. Today, one year later and 2 weeks until we move back, those mixed emotions have come back in floods, with the uncanny ability to drown my heart both in joy and heartbreak within minutes. Well, maybe that has a <em>little</em> to do with the raging pregnancy hormones too.<br />
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It hasn't been always easy or fun to live abroad. It hasn't been all terrible days either. In my final few posts, I thought I'd share with you some of the things I'll miss and things I won't miss about Israel. Let's start with those particular gems I absolutely will not miss about living here:<br />
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<strong>The Bride's Top 10 Reasons I Question My Sanity for Living Here List</strong><br />
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1. <strong>The difficulty.</strong> Little things like paying bills, dealing with bureaucracy, shopping and transportation are compounded by the language barrier and cultural differences. I'll be glad when it doesn't take an extra half hour to argue with the check out lady. Or I don't have to get my husband to translate how I check the Israeli phone's voice mail and understand how to pay my cable bill (or if this is even the cable bill I'm looking at). Or I don't ruin another baking/cooking project because I don't understand the Hebrew written on the package--olive bread for your french toast anyone? Yeah, I did that.<br />
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2. <strong>The missing out.</strong> I feel I've missed out on so many events back home with my friends and family. I missed holidays, births, weddings and milestones of the people who matter most to me in the world. My friend's children and younger cousins have grown an entire year without me. I have missed them more than words can say.<br />
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3. <strong>The expense.</strong> How can such a tiny country cost so much to live in? Moving to Israel was definitely not the most sound financial decision we've ever made. Taxes are nearly double here than in the States, so are the price of cars and apartments. Our 800 square foot, one bedroom apartment is a few hundred dollars more than what we paid for our 1,500 square foot 2 bedroom in the United States. A new Kia compact car here almost $15,000 more than in the States (and that doesn't include the $7/gallon gas prices). Even the price of deodorant here is almost enough to make a gal want to stink for a few days.<br />
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4. <strong>The poor quality of everything.</strong> If the unreasonably tiny fridge and stove, leaky air conditioning units (no central air in the desert is an entire other complaint of mine), scary electrical outlets that may or may not electrocute you and door handles/cabinet doors/light fixures that decide to fall off for no reason in particular haven't driven me insane yet, then the clothes that disintegrate after 3 washes, the parchment paper thin furniture and the mind numbingly slow internet (ironic for a country that practically built the technology) just might.<br />
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5. <strong>The hard as nails Israeli attitude.</strong> Sometimes it is just easier to be nice my darling Israeli friends. Sometimes it is not worth the fight. Sometimes a smile will go further than yelling. Try it once in a while, you may like it.<br />
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6. <strong>The customer service.</strong> The customer is never right in Israel. Even if you are right, you aren't. Even if it would take an extra 2 minutes to fix, it won't get fixed. Even if you miraculously manage to get someone to do something for you, it is with disdain and loud complaining.<br />
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7. <strong>The ridiculous holidays.</strong> There are some times I honestly think Israelis make up holidays so they don't have to work. Word of advice, don't move to Israel a week before Rosh Hashana like we did. You will get nothing accomplished for an entire month. Then be aware of the random Jewish holidays that shut down the country on any given day.<br />
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8. <strong>The bureaucracy.</strong> The day we decided to move back to the States was a glorious day for the simple knowledge I wouldn't have to set another foot in the Misrad Hapnim (Ministry of Interior). If the Israeli government could make you wait in line to sign a piece of paper before you could pee, believe me they would. Israeli bureaucracy is tedious, illogical and unnecessary 95% of the time.<br />
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9. <strong>The cats.</strong> This one is purely for Marilyn's sake. It is a cat eat cat world out there and my dear pooch is just trying to survive.<br />
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10. <strong>The T-rex sized bugs.</strong> This one is purely for DH's sake. I grew up in the South and even I haven't seen bugs the size of these suckers and have the tenacity like they do. I think I actually saw a roach look at me with revenge in his eyes.The Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00684674861079556149noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4044277137230862169.post-54892628799188783132011-08-19T11:49:00.002-04:002011-08-19T13:11:42.642-04:00Life Interrupted: Terrorism in the SouthAs I was busy packing for our move yesterday, a coordinated terrorist attack struck in South Israel near Eilat. <br />
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Life interrupted.<br />
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Most of the victims were returning from or going to Eliat for vacation. Yesterday, they only wanted a short reprieve from their hectic lives. They only wanted to laugh and relax in the beautiful resort town. Today, they are dead.<br />
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Life interrupted.<br />
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Families have been torn apart. Fathers have been taken from their children, wives from their husbands, sons from their mothers. I am angry at the senselessness and that I have to once again help my host country mourn for her citizens. Before moving here, I had hope for the conflict. I had hope the violence and hate would end and peace could come to the region. I couldn't understand the hopelessness that Israelis felt about it.<br />
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Today I understand. It is easy to take a break from the conflict in the States. Every once in a while, I would flip on the news and for 5 minutes feel sad for my husband's homeland. I would turn off the television and go on until next time. My life was uninterrupted.<br />
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When you live it. When it is miles from your front door. When hold your breath hoping you don't know a victim. When you pray this time it won't escalate. When you fear for your husband, your friends, your family during the hours following. When you cry for their dead children as they celebrate your children's death. When you can't get away from it ever, not even on vacation.<br />
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The bitterness, the anger, the hopelessness inevitably seeps in. I pray for this country and her citizens. I pray they can one day live without the senseless hatred their neighbors use as an excuse to interrupt their lives.The Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00684674861079556149noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4044277137230862169.post-5960997281629425732011-08-18T10:55:00.000-04:002011-08-18T10:55:13.626-04:00Moving Again: The Dog's Innermost ThoughtsReally guys? Is that what I think it is? Are those...moving boxes? I hate you.<br />
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Let's go over this one more time. I hate moving. I hate it as much as I hate cats. And you know how much I hate cats, because I try to eat them. Are you trying to make me eat you? I'll do it. Don't think I won't. I've been eyeing that Mom character for years now. You know I'm not completely thrilled about her anyway. She's the other woman and we've always had this love/love relationship. She loves me and I love to drive her insane. <br />
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Okay, I've been your loyal companion for eight years now. In those eight years you've tortured me with this moving crap. I've followed you from our hometown to college to Atlanta back to college then to Washington, D.C. back to Atlanta to Israel and now back to Atlanta. Make up your minds people! If I had thumbs, I'd have hitchhiked my way back home a long time ago.<br />
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Yes, I admit I haven't always been the most willing participant in these moves. I may or may not have destroyed and/or peed on your belongings in an attempt to sabatoge. I may or may not have willfully eaten things to divert your attention. I won't say, but if I have it is totally your fault.<br />
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Whaaat? What do you mean I have to get on that damned plane again?! That's it, no more Mr. Nice Guy...I'm eating you. The Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00684674861079556149noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4044277137230862169.post-63480237197184483862011-08-09T16:12:00.002-04:002011-08-09T16:12:34.333-04:00The Crap Stays: My Packing Method the Second Time AroundI don't know if the huge international move almost exactly a year ago traumatized me for life or I just don't care anymore, but my moving methods and stress level have both been noticably different this time around.<br />
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Between the 200,000+ protests a mile from my front door in Tel Aviv, the crazy riots in London and the scary-sounding-but-not-quite-sure-what-it-means downgrade from S&P in the States, I'm pretty sure the world around me is coming to an end anyways. So therefore as long as I manage to throw some crap in a suitcase and get myself, DH and the dog safely on the plane to live out our final days in Atlanta, I think we'll be okay.<br />
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Or maybe it has something to do with the fact I'll be inching closer to 7 months pregnant at the time of the move and cannot imagine lugging 2 oversized suitcases, a carry-on and pulling the world's most ridiculously large dog crate around an airport. Can't we just stick the dog in a box and FedEx her back please?! I'll cut some air holes in the cardboard, I promise.<br />
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Plus I'm pretty sure it is against the law to make a pregnant lady move abroad. I keep telling DH he should be grateful I'm not reporting him to the police for this indecency. But then again, I think I got a pretty good deal out of it. Back home, we have an entire storage unit of furniture and probably close to a dozen boxes filled just with books that I will only be lifting a finger to direct our hired movers to move. <br />
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Whatever the reason, I don't even have an ounce of stress over this time around. It may come back to haunt me when I realize I really kind of do need those crucial insurance documents and 5 pairs of jeans I left on a random streetcorner in Tel Aviv, but seriously if I leave half my closet behind I really could care less--except my shoes. I will have my shoes on that plane. <br />
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So in less than six weeks this awesomely exhausting, inspiring and insane Israeli adventure will come to an end. I am both content with our decision to leave and heartbroken to see it end. I will never ever be the same person for this wonderful experience.<br />
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<em>As always, check back again 24-48 hours prior to and post move, I may be singing a different stress-induced out of key tune about moving.</em><br />
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The Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00684674861079556149noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4044277137230862169.post-75761825662390668542011-05-13T13:23:00.001-04:002011-05-13T13:34:45.413-04:00Springtime In the Holy Land: Part 1Spring really is a beautiful time in Israel. There is really no need to check the daily weather report in Israel during Spring. But if you did, it would just say “perfect” everyday.<br />
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Spring is also one of two holiday seasons in Israel. Beginning with Purim in March through Passover in April and ending with Holocaust Memorial Day, National Memorial Day and Independence Day in May.<br />
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Purim is a festive holiday to celebrate Queen Esther who helped defeat Haman’s plot to destroy the Jewish people. Much like it’s American cousin, Halloween, children dress up in costumes and grown-ups get drunk. No, seriously, the Talmud states one should drink wine until you cannot tell the difference between "cursed is Haman" and "blessed is Mordechai." Sometimes the Jews really know how to celebrate. Mishloach manot, or delivered gifts, are a traditional custom of Purim as well. DH and I nibbled for weeks on the baked goods and candies we got from the family. Amongst the drunken adults in fairy costumes and the hamentashen covered children in fairy costumes, DH, my brother in law and I spent a very untraditional Purim by waking up at 3 am to climb Masada at dawn. Nonetheless, it was a wonderful holiday.<br />
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Next up was Passover, by far my all time favorite Jewish holiday. I have always enjoyed Passover seder no matter if I spend it with our ultra-Orthodox friends or our ultra-Reform friends, either way I have a grand time. This Passover was certainly one for the books for two reasons. First last year at the end of seder we proudly lifted our glasses and said the traditional “Next year in Jerusalem” knowing that in fact next year we would celebrate Passover in the Holy Land. Second, for nearly 9 years I have heard about the Israeli family’s Passover traditions from DH. <br />
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I finally experienced the traditional family Passover I’ve heard so much about. Well, I use the term “traditional” very lightly. This was actually one of the least traditional Passovers I’ve ever had. DH’s family usually holds a huge barbecue and karaoke night a few days prior to the first night of seder. Word of advice, if you are ever invited to this event I highly suggest arriving late as DH and I did. I was immediately placed at a table and served bbq chicken, lamb, beef, kabob and Israeli salad until I had to beg them to stop filling my plate. At one point, a cousin just placed a giant pan of chicken wings in front of me until I got my fill and only until she was reassured I couldn’t possibly eat anymore did she pass it along to the rest of the family. Then the karaoke began. Oh the karaoke. Thankfully, I also come from a karaoke loving family so I knew what I was in for. For the rest of the night, traditional Hebrew songs lovingly sang several notes off key pierced the night sky.<br />
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A few nights later the family gathered once again for the first night of seder. Although I cannot say this was the most religious or tradition laden seder I’ve ever been to, I can say it was one of the most satisfying. The next day at lunch, DH and my youngest bro-in-law taught the Israeli cousins how to play American football. Needless to say, I don’t think it will catch on amongst the Israelis. <br />
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During the seven days of Passover, one is forbidden to eat leavened breads and grains. In the States, this was always a difficult week for us. But in Israel, the supermarkets cover the aisles of chametz (foods not kosher for Passover) with large plastic tarps and don’t sell anything that isn’t kosher and restaurants only serve kosher for Passover foods. Apparently it is much easier to observe Jewish holidays in the Jewish state. Huh, who’d a thunk it?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RYrawb9OOvc/Tc1oqsBJt5I/AAAAAAAAAKw/adYy7PA_glU/s1600/pesach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" j8="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RYrawb9OOvc/Tc1oqsBJt5I/AAAAAAAAAKw/adYy7PA_glU/s1600/pesach.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: The IsReal World</td></tr>
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Easter was at the end of Passover this year and I observed it by reflecting on the blessings I’ve encountered in God’s land. He has given me so much to be thankful for and I can honestly say I will look back on my life and always say these were some of my best days.The Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00684674861079556149noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4044277137230862169.post-63165801239116965482011-03-23T19:34:00.003-04:002011-03-23T19:39:01.278-04:00Shattered: The Jerusalem Bombing<em></em><br />
<em><blockquote><em>“Most importantly... is to return to your normal lives so that the terrorists don't think they can win.” --Jerusalem Mayor, Nir Barkat</em></blockquote></em><br />
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I was half-watching the news on the tv behind the receptionist’s head and half-eavesdropping the lady’s conversation next to me when scenes of wailing sirens, blood drenched sidewalk and broken glass flashed across the television screen. The reporter’s urgent and rapid Hebrew was too fast for me to catch. <br />
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“What did she say?" I asked DH, eyes glued to the screen.<br />
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“A bombing...in Jerusalem,” he said, his voice grave and low.<br />
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Moments ago, I was playfully ribbing my husband about his terrible sense of direction and getting us lost once again. Now, my quiet afternoon was ripped apart. My heart sank. I feared for my friends in Jerusalem. I was heartbroken for the victims and their families. <br />
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Today’s bombing tore through a busy bus stop in central Jerusalem, injuring 39 and killing one. While the loss of innocent life and injury is first and foremost devastating, the shattering of the 7-year cessation of bombings in Jerusalem was deafening. Every Israeli’s throat tightened as horrific memories of the intifada resurfaced.<br />
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As I watched the news, the green number on the front of the Egged bus caught my attention. 74. What do they do tomorrow? What do those people who ride bus 74 everyday back home do tomorrow? What do those people who stand at that bus stop everyday do tomorrow? <br />
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They go on. We go on. We continue our lives as normal. Israelis have a determination and resilience that is unrivaled. With blood stains still on the street and heaviness in the nation’s collective heart, the usual evening traffic resumed and I walked into my doctor’s office just as planned.<br />
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Today’s sadness will turn into tomorrow’s resolve. They won’t terrorize us. They won’t win.<br />
<blockquote></blockquote>The Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00684674861079556149noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4044277137230862169.post-2280629445248718762011-03-14T18:46:00.000-04:002011-03-14T18:46:24.815-04:00Drenched in Blessings: A Day at the BeachIsrael is a tiny nation full of extremes. Her weather, it should be of no surprise, is one of many. After an especially long, devastatingly fevered summer, the entire nation of Israel prayed for rain in November to extinguish the relentless flames of the Carmel fires. God answered our prayers and has dropped torrents of rain on us for months ever since. Winters in Israel are bursts of blue skies in between afternoons of drenching rains and biting cold winds. These dreary unpredictable days are punctuated by the occasional thunderstorm loud enough to wake a sleeping dog from lovely dreams of total feline domination and promptly send her beneath the covers to intertwine herself around your legs.<br />
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But more often I am peeling off my grey wool cardigan and enjoying the warmth of the Middle Eastern sun on my bare shoulders. I have learned to enjoy the mild weather and take advantage of these occasional temperate days. In a few weeks the sun’s gentle warmth will turn fierce once again. My daylight deprived and European-lineaged skin will surrender to it more easily than I want. I am not blessed with my darling husband’s Middle Eastern complexion. His slightly olive skin browns nicely beneath the desert sun. Mine broils. <br />
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Yesterday was one of those days I took full advantage of the mild weather. Marilyn, our favorite fur bucket, has never experienced the beach in her whole eight years of life and I thought it was the perfect time and weather to take her on this adventure. If I were a betting woman, besides adoption day, I’d say this was hands down the best day of her life.<br />
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Upon reaching the cliff overlooking the Med’s crashing blue waves, Marilyn’s excitement was already at a fever pitch. I could barely contain the bouncing, barking bundle of fur at the end of the leash. She pulled me down the steep rocks towards the sand where she set forth upon her greatest achievement...digging the deepest hole she has ever dug. After a good dig, she trotted off to inspect the water. Wading in a calm pool between the rocks, she cautiously inspected the salty warm waters of the Med. <br />
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Her ears cocked in curiosity, she watched the waves crash on the shore in the distance. In a second, she was off to catch the wave on the beach. After 40 or so rounds running back and forth trying to catch the wave on the shore before it ebbed back into the sea, she realized she could actually catch it mid-break in the water. She’d back up 5 feet on the shore for a running start and dive into the frothing wave snapping at the water. After another several rounds of wave diving, it was time to go home much to her despair. I dragged her away with promises to return soon. <br />
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In such a simple day, I found immense joy. I have had quite a few days like this of late. God seems to periodically drench me in blessings in my life here in Israel. I have to remind myself to take advantage and be thankful of these blues skies.The Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00684674861079556149noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4044277137230862169.post-84020638903120105862011-02-20T09:00:00.000-05:002011-02-20T09:00:10.617-05:00Queen Esther: A Heart of GoldI first mentioned my work with Save A Child's Heart (SACH) just a few weeks after my initial meeting. Now nearly 4 months later, I wanted to share a video with you of one of our current children in Israel. Esther is a 9-year-old orphan from Tanzania who traveled to Israel for life-saving heart surgery. Fortunately, now Esther is back in the children's home and healing nicely. Her bright smile and gentle hugs warm my heart when I see her in the house. <br />
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I have found a home in SACH and strongly believe in the work of this organization. Whether it is Save A Child's Heart or any other deserving organization, I encourage you to find a charity with whose mission you connect and give a little time and treasure to make this world a bit better than we came into it. I promise you'll get double the blessings than you will give.<br />
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Esther's story: <a href="http://www.jerusalemonline.com/specials12.asp">http://www.jerusalemonline.com/specials12.asp</a>The Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00684674861079556149noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4044277137230862169.post-77542309768551861462011-02-18T10:22:00.004-05:002011-02-19T08:41:34.867-05:00Jaffa/יָפוֹ: A Photo Journey<div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Jaffa or Yafo, an ancient port city just south of Tel-Aviv, is thought to be the oldest ports in the world. DH and I spent the day there, mostly eating and sightseeing, but of course I couldn't pass up the deals in Shuk Hapishpeshim either. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" aria-busy="true" aria-describedby="fbPhotoTheaterCaption" class="spotlight" height="320" src="http://a5.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/181530_939512497535_27405590_48213563_6542088_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hey, I wanted the unabridged version!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" aria-busy="false" aria-describedby="fbPhotoTheaterCaption" class="spotlight" height="320" src="http://a6.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/180777_939505800955_27405590_48213488_4410211_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I couldn't agree more</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" aria-busy="true" aria-describedby="fbPhotoTheaterCaption" class="spotlight" height="320" src="http://a5.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash1/180878_939508360825_27405590_48213535_1739401_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stumbled upon this little find on our excursion.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" aria-busy="true" aria-describedby="fbPhotoTheaterCaption" class="spotlight" height="320" src="http://a7.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/183624_939509179185_27405590_48213543_5986290_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. Peter's Monastery, built in 1654 over a 13th Century citadel.<br />
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</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" aria-busy="true" aria-describedby="fbPhotoTheaterCaption" class="spotlight" height="320" src="http://a4.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/180055_939509533475_27405590_48213545_2506556_n.jpg" width="240" /><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" aria-busy="true" aria-describedby="fbPhotoTheaterCaption" class="spotlight" height="320" src="http://a1.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/180778_939512327875_27405590_48213561_1455574_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lunch!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" aria-busy="true" aria-describedby="fbPhotoTheaterCaption" class="spotlight" height="320" src="http://a2.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/185719_939511883765_27405590_48213559_3373490_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our view from the restaurant, not too shabby, eh?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" aria-busy="true" aria-describedby="fbPhotoTheaterCaption" class="spotlight" height="240" src="http://a4.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/184022_939512816895_27405590_48213566_6061498_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sheshbesh, an Middle Eastern favorite pastime.<br />
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<img alt="" aria-busy="true" aria-describedby="fbPhotoTheaterCaption" class="spotlight" height="320" src="http://a3.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/185787_939506484585_27405590_48213499_3596930_n.jpg" width="240" /><br />
Hookah, another favorite Middle Eastern pastime. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" aria-busy="true" aria-describedby="fbPhotoTheaterCaption" class="spotlight" height="320" src="http://a4.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash1/179811_939514079365_27405590_48213572_8010075_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shopping at Shuk Hapishpeshim, my favorite pastime.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"></div> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" aria-busy="true" aria-describedby="fbPhotoTheaterCaption" class="spotlight" height="320" src="http://a6.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/183218_939508136275_27405590_48213531_179074_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We heared the Friday evening call to prayer as we left marking a beautiful end to our day in Yafo.</td></tr>
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</div>The Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00684674861079556149noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4044277137230862169.post-24432547384123256942010-12-31T17:58:00.002-05:002010-12-31T18:01:10.249-05:00Who Says You Can't Go Home?The Bride was back in the homeland, if only for a short while. Just 10 days in the States and I learned that there is such a thing as "reverse culture shock". I missed the States, I missed my family, I missed my friends, I missed the familiar. It was good to be back.<br />
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<b>Reverse Language Mishaps </b><br />
For the past four months, I have spoken Hebrew on a daily basis. It was odd to switch to exclusively speaking English the moment I landed in the States and my brain had difficulty adjusting. The customs officer at JFK did a double take when I answered him in Hebrew and the elderly lady in the bathroom looked very confused when I said "slicha" (excuse me) after accidentally bumping into her. It took a good 48 hours of interacting in the world to not immediately think to speak in Hebrew. Strange...especially since it is not my first language.<br />
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<b>Driving</b><br />
I haven't been behind the wheel of a car since a week before we moved to Israel. Those who know me, know my penchant for "love bumps". Well, if I'm being honest, I think the only original piece of my BMW was the two side mirrors and the driver's side doors. Most everything else had to be replaced. So needless to say, I wasn't the best driver to begin with. <br />
My parents were brave wnough to allow me to trek around in their shiny cars with my history, but alas I learned you never forget how to drive a car. I found myself giddy with that forgotten power that comes with having a car at your disposal. I was 16 again...windows down, music up, going anywhere fast.<br />
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<strong>Walmart/Target</strong><br />
A choir of angels greeted me as I entered these glorious establishments. Armed with a list a mile long of much needed goods, I mostly wandered around a bit overwhelmed by...everything. Nice to go to one place to buy my Crystal light, taco seasoning, socks, towels, cell phone charger and favorite body wash. We Americans don't always get it right, but these amazing stores are pure genius. I had to go a couple of times since DH called me every other day and reminded me of something else to bring home. <br />
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<strong>Rockstar</strong><br />
It was hard to leave family and friends because I have missed them so very much and realize it will be a long time before I see any of them again. But....I was kind of spoiled from day one upon my arrival. I was the rockstar, the Israeli rockstar in my own home. My darling parents bent over backwards to provide me with every comfort I wanted. And my friends were just happy spending time with me. Don't let me lie to you...I ate it up. Each little morsel and it was delicious.<br />
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Frequently heard quotes in the States: <em>Let's have Mexican again tonight!! No I'll cook you breakfast, you stay right there laying on the couch in your comfy slippers and fuzzy robe all morning. Don't be ridiculous I'll refill your wine glass, you sit right there and relax. Need for me to pick you up and take you somewhere...anywhere? Hey, you are awesome.</em><br />
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Let me preface this by saying, I love my DH with every ounce of me and I missed him to the point that it is actually a little pathetic how much I missed him. That being said...<br />
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I open the door to my apartment after nearly 24 hours of traveling and reality hits me in the face...nope, not a rockstar. Not even close. Just a plain old, much needed, sorely missed wife, cooker, bathroom scrubber, grocery shopper, laundry folder, dog cuddler, dish washer, husband comforter, general family and household care-taker. I swear you could fill buckets with all the relief that was in their eyes. <br />
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My DH and puppy were happy to see me because they missed me of course, but I wonder how much of that happiness was due to the fact that they both know they won't have to sleep on dirty sheets and live off of pizza crusts anymore. Gotta love this family of mine.<br />
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After only four months of living abroad, I come home and suddenly realize home is all relative. I call the United States home...it is where my family and friends live, where my citizenship isn't in limbo, where I understand the conversations of strangers around me, where I can read the billboards without intently concentrating on the words, where grocery shopping, paying bills and getting around the city doesn't take up half my day. I call it home because it is my roots, it is easier to live, it is where my past and memories dwell. She is my first love, secure and familiar.<br />
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But really, home is there in Israel with my darling husband and puppy. Home is where my other friends and family live, where I'm a welcomed stranger, where my everyday has immense purpose and fulfillment, where I am learning that I will never again question my ability to learn and adjust. I call it home because it contains my present, it is an everyday adventure, it is where my new life dwells. She is my mistress, exciting and new.<br />
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It is odd to be torn between two places, two lives. Each of them fits somehow. I can imagine building a life in each place, but I can't imagine living apart from either place. Maybe I won't make Israel my permanent home, but right now she is home. And I missed her. It is good to be back.The Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00684674861079556149noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4044277137230862169.post-83184707131804280722010-12-01T18:44:00.000-05:002010-12-01T18:44:11.385-05:00Where Am I?<strong>Mike’s Place: Iron Bowl Weekend</strong><br />
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I find myself sitting in a Tel Aviv expat bar steps away from the American Embassy and yards away from the Mediterranean. The sea’s slow methodical lapping against the shore contrasts the scene inside. The crowd is a mix of expats and Israelis. The bar is filling and her inhabitants are taking their fill of alcohol.<br />
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The annual Iron Bowl game on the big screen, my boys in Crimson versus our in-state rivals…that cow college across the state. The decibel level has steadily increased and I find myself leaning to debate DH about the Alabama secondary’s poor showing in the second half. The live band is playing a rather pitiable version of <em>Sweet Home Alabama</em>, but the familiar riff and lyrics soothe my soul. The waitress asks for my order in Jersey-accented English. <br />
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Budweisers and billiards. The lonely American Marine desperately trying to get the attention of the scantily-clad blonde woman in the corner. For a brief moment I forget….for a brief moment I’m in a bar in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. In reality, I’m spending my evening at Mike’s Place in Tel Aviv with a lone solider in the IDF who still vaguely resembles the 18-year-old kid I met in college and his perfectly sweet, flawlessly pretty girlfriend.<br />
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Just for a brief moment, I forgot where I was. I almost forgot the tragic history of Mike’s Place. The suicide bombing that ripped through the bar in 2003, cutting short three lives and injuring 50. Israel has a strange way of reminding you where you are. Of her history and tragedy.<br />
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<strong>Tel Aviv Central Bus Station: First Day of Chanukah</strong><br />
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Dreary eyed from my lack of iced café (I’m seriously trying to limit these delicious devils to once a day), I stumble into the empty Tel Aviv bus station earlier than usual this morning. I nearly pass the twinkling lights, Christmas trees and smiling Santas without taking a second glance. Then it hits me…<br />
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I stop mid-step. Jolted by the irony. Half the fourth floor of the bus station is decked out in Christmas décor. Twenty to thirty bare plastic green Christmas trees in heights ranging from cutsie to extravagant stand in the corner waiting for a forever home. Nearby, red and white trimmed Santa costumes (and naughty Santa costumes?) are carefully hung. Hundreds of baskets of colorful rhinestone studded ornaments and ceramic Santas plaster tabletops stretched down the center of the floor. Signs in jolly letters proclaiming <em>Merry Christmas to All!</em> adorn the walls. <br />
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A confounded Bride stands in the middle of this paradox, wide-eyed and awed. Where AM I?<br />
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Theory one: Jolly Ol’ St. Nick had one too many eggnogs, took a wrong turn somewhere over Italy and thought it would be hilarious to decorate the Jewish State’s main bus terminal.<br />
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Theory two: I wandered into the Israeli version of Punked. I’m still waiting for Kabbalah’s favorite boy toy, Ashton Kutcher, to jump out.<br />
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Theory three: Even though we’re a small minority in this country…we Christians sure do love our Christmas! <br />
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I walk back towards to my platform and wait for my bus. The aroma of fresh sufganiyot (Chanukah filled-doughnut) wafts through the terminal. Once on the bus, the nahag (driver) greets me with a toothy grin and hearty <em>Chag Sameach!</em> (Happy Holiday!). Chanukah songs play loudly over the radio and a child next to me is drawing a picture of a menorah in blue crayon. Chanukah begins tonight and the whole country knows it. Israel has a strange way of reminding you where you are.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>From The Bride’s family to yours…Merry Christmas and Happy Chanukah!</strong></span>The Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00684674861079556149noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4044277137230862169.post-3924349747970367922010-11-16T18:41:00.004-05:002010-12-03T11:51:15.838-05:00My Israel: A Photo JournalWhether you have graced her soil or not, Israel has the uncanny ability to become one's very own. She is a homeland to those who have never crossed her borders and a holy place to those who have never experienced her divinity.<br />
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In the 10 weeks we've been here, Israel has wrapped me around her finger. She has bore into my heart and something tells me she will never leave, even if I do. Her tawdry and her beauty. Her complicated contradictions. Her affability and her brashness. Her flaws. Her angst. Her tranquility. They have become my own. <br />
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This is not everyone's Israel. It is impossible to disregard the conflict when you are trying to describe this tiny nation. So I will not ignore it. To do so would not only be naive, but also disrespectful. No matter my political persuasion or personal opinions, I can only say this is not everyone's Israel. My Israel is not my husband's Israel. My Israel is not a soldier's Israel. My Israel is not a Holocaust survivior's Israel. My Israel is not a Haredi Jew's Israel. My Israel is not a Muslim's Israel. <br />
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This is my Israel:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TOL8927y89I/AAAAAAAAAIA/hgfht0TFODI/s1600/DSCN1126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" px="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TOL8927y89I/AAAAAAAAAIA/hgfht0TFODI/s320/DSCN1126.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My typical Israeli parking</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TOMK8w69JwI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/flIsYe8aw10/s1600/DSCN1148.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" px="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TOMK8w69JwI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/flIsYe8aw10/s320/DSCN1148.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Mediterranean</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TOL-aTckGEI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/Pz2-rwhY_9k/s1600/green.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" px="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TOL-aTckGEI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/Pz2-rwhY_9k/s320/green.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My park in Tel Aviv</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TOMWP6tdWUI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/z3ICBzCyVYo/s1600/egged.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" ox="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TOMWP6tdWUI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/z3ICBzCyVYo/s320/egged.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My sweet ride<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo credit: </span><a href="http://www.vosizneias.com/"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">vosizneias.com</span></a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TOMR3U7AvLI/AAAAAAAAAJw/2bzOB2tFHSI/s1600/traffic.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" ox="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TOMR3U7AvLI/AAAAAAAAAJw/2bzOB2tFHSI/s320/traffic.bmp" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My morning, mid-afternoon, evening, middle of the night headache<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo credit: sviva.gov.il</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TOL-BoCL12I/AAAAAAAAAIM/rQ_9vr3YG6o/s1600/DSCN1170.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" px="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TOL-BoCL12I/AAAAAAAAAIM/rQ_9vr3YG6o/s320/DSCN1170.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My neighbor's pride<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TOMCqubGDwI/AAAAAAAAAIY/NeldnoL788M/s1600/DSCN1179.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" ox="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TOMCqubGDwI/AAAAAAAAAIY/NeldnoL788M/s320/DSCN1179.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My neighbor's pain<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TOMYaSmzIPI/AAAAAAAAAKA/IPSp9_6M4cE/s1600/DSCN1071.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" px="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TOMYaSmzIPI/AAAAAAAAAKA/IPSp9_6M4cE/s320/DSCN1071.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My favorite fruit juice stand</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TOMMfWszsWI/AAAAAAAAAJU/tgIeAluN_Jw/s1600/DSCN1200.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" px="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TOMMfWszsWI/AAAAAAAAAJU/tgIeAluN_Jw/s320/DSCN1200.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My outdoor cafes</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TOMP2ehcIKI/AAAAAAAAAJo/qU0AkL9S-zk/s1600/DSCN1224.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" px="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TOMP2ehcIKI/AAAAAAAAAJo/qU0AkL9S-zk/s320/DSCN1224.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My walk to school</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TOMQixMrh3I/AAAAAAAAAJs/--JMFBpKn8A/s1600/cats.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" px="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TOMQixMrh3I/AAAAAAAAAJs/--JMFBpKn8A/s320/cats.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My city's resident feline population</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TOMOJirCMJI/AAAAAAAAAJc/By8lcSMVi3c/s1600/DSCN1176.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" px="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TOMOJirCMJI/AAAAAAAAAJc/By8lcSMVi3c/s320/DSCN1176.JPG" width="240" /></a></div></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My city's open door policy for furry friends<br />
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<tr><td style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TOMTopmmNAI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/CeKhGXOahcE/s1600/DSCN1078.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" px="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TOMTopmmNAI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/CeKhGXOahcE/s320/DSCN1078.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">My heart</td></tr>
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>The Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00684674861079556149noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4044277137230862169.post-52708114257586693862010-10-21T12:43:00.003-04:002010-10-22T19:11:51.650-04:00Home is Where the Heart is: Volunteering at Save A Child's Heart<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Two weeks ago, I began my volunteer work with Save A Child's Heart. SACH is an "Israeli-based international humanitarian project, whose mission is to improve the quality of pediatric cardiac care for children from developing countries and to create centers of competence in these countries."</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc4/hs765.snc4/66516_872815818215_27405590_46852683_5762296_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" nx="true" src="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc4/hs765.snc4/66516_872815818215_27405590_46852683_5762296_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Part of my time is spent in the office helping with PR and marketing efforts while the other half I spend time in the children's home, where children and their caregivers live before and after their surgeries. In just two weeks time I have fallen in love with not only the mission of SACH, but the children at the home as well.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I nearly didn't volunteer for SACH. Before my initial meeting and after researching the hour long and two bus commute, I was certain their offices were just too far to travel. After meeting the wonderfully dedicated and tireless staff and interacting with a few of the children that first day there was no doubt where I would volunteer my time. </div><br />
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These children and their parents travel from all over the globe to come to Israel for life-saving surgery. They spend weeks and months in a foreign country away from normalcy, away from everything they know and love. The parents spend sleepless nights and worrisome days tending to their ill children. The children smile everyday, laughing and playing even though they have recently endured open heart surgery. The staff and volunteers go above and beyond, putting the needs of the children and the organization above their own. I can certainly give a few hours of my day.<br />
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Just today, I went to the children’s home and was happy to see two of my most favorite boys. Abduraim, 13-years-old and Sintayehu, 12-years-old , both from Ethiopia. These darling and wild-eyed boys are the always the first to welcome me back to the house. Of course Sintayehu stole my camera again as soon as I came in. But Abduraim sat quietly on the couch. Another volunteer told me he hadn't been feeling well all day. But he still managed to greet me with his bright smile and a high five. <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TMBsYHmj5sI/AAAAAAAAAH4/Ezv0dN4vgjw/s1600/DSCN1121.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" nx="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TMBsYHmj5sI/AAAAAAAAAH4/Ezv0dN4vgjw/s200/DSCN1121.jpg" width="200" /></a> <img border="0" height="150" nx="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TMBtKDPNiYI/AAAAAAAAAH8/10xJkUJpMYk/s200/DSCN1123.jpg" width="200" /></div><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I have been involved with many nonprofits over the past few years. I have been proud to be a part of them all. Each one holds a special meaning, each one doing amazing work in their own right. But Save A Child’s Heart has stirred something inside me. Everything about SACH inspires me. The children, the staff, the volunteers, the doctors, the donors, the mission. I have found a home in SACH.</div><br />
In a region where hate and conflict are omnipresent, SACH is unaffected by the relentless discord. The organization’s Israeli doctors hold clinics and perform surgeries alongside Palestinian doctors to save the lives of children from Gaza and the West Bank. They provide full outreach training programs and surgical and teaching missions for medical personnel from all over the world.<br />
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SACH crosses the racial and religious dividing line. And all for the sake of children. Save A Child’s Heart heals hearts in more way than one. To learn how you can help Save A Child's Heart, visit <a href="http://www.saveachildsheart.org/">http://www.saveachildsheart.org/</a>.<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><object height="385" style="clear: right; float: right;" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/9T4Z_hEMzhA?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/9T4Z_hEMzhA?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TMBtKDPNiYI/AAAAAAAAAH8/10xJkUJpMYk/s1600/DSCN1123.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TMBtKDPNiYI/AAAAAAAAAH8/10xJkUJpMYk/s1600/DSCN1123.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>The Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00684674861079556149noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4044277137230862169.post-14254081036269022782010-10-01T11:50:00.000-04:002010-10-01T11:50:18.433-04:00One Month in IsraelToday marks one month since we've moved to Israel....<br />
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And I still love this beautiful country.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TKYDLkUJvVI/AAAAAAAAAGs/Jid0XCcUgh8/s1600/62892_859236151975_27405590_46550672_7858658_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" px="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TKYDLkUJvVI/AAAAAAAAAGs/Jid0XCcUgh8/s320/62892_859236151975_27405590_46550672_7858658_n.jpg" width="234" /></a></div>The Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00684674861079556149noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4044277137230862169.post-55872295067326892632010-09-26T18:27:00.003-04:002010-09-26T18:45:53.504-04:00All Roads Lead to JerusalemSince I’ve never been to Israel before the moment we landed nearly a month ago, each trip we take is brand new, exciting and emotional. Even my first trip to IKEA was pretty exhilarating. I mean, it was my first trip to IKEA and my first trip to Netanya. Okay okay, maybe comparing IKEA and Jerusalem is a bit exaggerated…alright maybe even a bit sacrilege, but you get the point. <br />
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I’ve been looking forward to going to Jerusalem since…well, since I was a little girl in Sunday school actually. It has only existed in my Bible and in the news. This city, one I’ve never stepped foot in, means so much to me in ways I could never explain. An odd feeling, but I’m certain I'm not isolated in that sentiment. Only a city so rich in history, so sacred to many, so rife with conflict could engender such emotion.<br />
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DH, his brothers and I got on the road early towards Jerusalem. Not that I minded getting up early though, because I couldn’t sleep anyway. We made a stop at Latrun, a memorial to the Israeli Armed Corps. That’s what I get for sightseeing with three boys. After the boys got their fill of playing with tanks...that’s right ladies, they never grow out of it…we finally get back on the road to Jerusalem.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TJ_F8iMJckI/AAAAAAAAAGY/olhmO4aaEW8/s1600/untitled.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" px="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TJ_F8iMJckI/AAAAAAAAAGY/olhmO4aaEW8/s320/untitled.bmp" width="234" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boys and their toys.</td></tr>
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Jerusalem is nestled in the Judean Hills and the flat coastal land gently climbs higher as we make our way east near the Holy City. We park in the uber luxurious Mamilla Mall. Even the Mamilla Mall, with its Rolex store and 5-star hotel, hides tiny reminders of its place in history. Mamilla was a Jewish/Arab business district that was nearly destroyed and was literally a no-man’s land after the 1948 War of Independence. Blue numbers are etched into the bricks of some buildings. These numbers were carefully marked during reconstruction so that each brick could go back to its rightful place. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Walls of the Old City from Mamilla.</td></tr>
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We entered the walls of the Old City through the Jaffa Gate and walked through the Armenian Quarter and Jewish Quarter towards The Kotel, or the Western Wall. I separated from DH and his brothers and slowly made my way towards the last remnant of the Second Temple. I was almost too overwhelmed to pray. Thoughts fumbled, words failed. But I’m sure He knows my heart anyway. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TJ_IWAmEIbI/AAAAAAAAAGo/PbHPrkb7psU/s1600/fjqw.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" px="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TJ_IWAmEIbI/AAAAAAAAAGo/PbHPrkb7psU/s320/fjqw.bmp" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Western Wall and the Dome of the Rock </td></tr>
</tbody></table>We then toured through the Temple Mount and the excavations of the sites surrounding it. I stood in the presence of where Jesus overturned tables of the moneychangers, overlooked where Abraham bound Isaac and saw the Mount of Olives, where Jesus ascended to Heaven. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TJ_HSsrvJ6I/AAAAAAAAAGg/2p99DJctKdo/s1600/59932_859236156965_27405590_46550674_4047572_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" px="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TJ_HSsrvJ6I/AAAAAAAAAGg/2p99DJctKdo/s320/59932_859236156965_27405590_46550674_4047572_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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My first trip of many to Jerusalem was truly an emotional journey. I was exhausted and eager to get back home to Tel Aviv. DH and I decided to head home early and made our way to the central bus station. As we settled into our seats for the 45 minute trip back to Tel Aviv, we noticed the air conditioning wasn’t on. Surely the bus driver wasn’t going to make us ride in this heat. Yep, he had the full intention of letting us ride in this heat.<br />
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It didn’t take long for the sweltering 95 degree heat to unnerve the natives. After each and every passenger yelled at the bus driver to turn on the air conditioner, he finally caved and grudgingly blasted the icy air on us. Calm once again settled over the bus. As we drove up the steep hills of Jerusalem, I noted how slowly we were going and that half the population of Israel were passing us in their cars. I wasn’t the only one. The natives once again yelled at the bus driver to driver faster. He ignored their requests until again each and every one of the 40 passengers yelled at him to go faster. <br />
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<em>“I can’t go faster,”</em> he said. <em>“The bus is tired.”</em> <br />
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The yelling continued.<br />
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40 angry Israelis, 2 exhausted Americans and 1 tired bus pulled into the Tel Aviv station exactly 2 hours later. Apparently all roads do lead to Jerusalem, but the ride back is a little bumpy.The Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00684674861079556149noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4044277137230862169.post-20588811519911551432010-09-18T19:30:00.002-04:002010-09-18T19:30:23.999-04:00Our First Yom Kippur in IsraelYom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, is one of Judaism’s holiest days. During the 25 hours of Yom Kippur, one is not permitted to work, refrains from any form of entertainment and must abstain from eating and drinking throughout the entire day. <br />
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My husband has opened the doors to his faith to me and shared with me the traditions and personal connections he has to Judaism. As I have shared my connections to my faith with him. We are in this strange dance of faiths that is impossibly in perfect step with another. Although Judaism is not my religion and doesn’t feed my own spiritual needs, I find beauty in her traditions and comfort in her presence. <br />
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As a non-Jew, living in a Jewish household, I have observed Yom Kippur with my husband during the past few years. I attend services, fast and refrain from work out of respect for my Jewish husband and our Jewish household. Well, if we are being completely honest here, half out of respect and half out of avoiding the peril of eating a juicy double hamburger with a side of fries and a large milkshake in front of a famished man who feels guilty about all his past regressions. I mean, come on, I don’t enjoy torturing my loved ones. Unless it is the dog and I’m putting her in ridiculous outfits and then it’s just downright funny.<br />
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I do not, however, enjoy the experience of Yom Kippur. I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to. I mean repenting, in general, isn’t the most fun task one can partake in. And fasting? Oh the fasting. As a rule, fasting must be taxing or else you certainly aren’t doing it right. So fasting and repenting, repenting and fasting all the live long day. <br />
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Oh and lest I forget the services at temple. Where I wish I could turn off the giant neon Non-Jew sign that appears over my head the instant I walk through the synagogue doors. Its incessant blinking only annoys the other congregants. I am like a child playing Simon Says except Simon is giving directions in ancient Hebraic prayers. I watch my husband for the cues when to stand, when to sit, when to do the hokey pokey and turn myself around. <br />
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As an American, it is ingrained in my psyche to always do. Do something at all times. Multitask. Be relevant. Move your ass. Entertainment and work are America’s biggest exports. No wonder we cannot relax. <br />
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Yom Kippur defies every instinct to constantly be on the move. I don’t know how to not do. I don’t know how to take pleasure in the nothing. It has always been difficult for me to not focus on when Yom Kippur is ending and rather take this each minute of the day for what it ought to be. Reflecting on my life. The year ahead, the year past, my blessings, my faults. God’s infinite love.<br />
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This has been my experience with Yom Kippur.<br />
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Our first Yom Kippur in Israel, I expected no different. But here, in a country where Yom Kippur is everyone’s holy day, where every store is closed, every television station is off, every street empty of cars, the guilt of not doing faded away. Almost intrinsically, I forgot about my grumbling tummy and what I could be doing and instead focused on enjoying the silence. I took pleasure in time to myself and to reflect on God’s presence in my everyday. <br />
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Late on the eve of Yom Kippur, DH and I decided to take a stroll around the neighborhood. We expected a quiet walk on an empty street, instead we were met with peals of laughter from neighborhood children and the screeching of their bicycle tires. <br />
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As we turned the corner to the main street, we witnessed hundreds of kids playing in the middle of the street, old couples walking hand in hand, young parents with their new shiny babies in their new shiny strollers. It was an experience to behold. The entire neighborhood, the entire country it seemed had come out to take time to enjoy the life and family God has blessed them with. Not an experience one would witness in the States.<br />
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Halfway through our walk, DH asked me if I was happy. “Happy?, Yes, I am very happy,” I told him. But I do hope this happiness turns to contentment. I feel happiness is fleeting. One cannot be happy all the time. Maybe a good percent of the time, but not all the time. Other feelings, sadness, anger, loneliness can come in and steal your happiness away. Take its place, set up residence and live there for as long as it likes. You can sink into contentment, make a home, make a life. Other emotions may stop in for a visit, but you live there in contentment. <br />
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Our first Yom Kippur in Israel was as it should be. It reminded me that I am happy and grateful for this experience and God’s blessings.The Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00684674861079556149noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4044277137230862169.post-18113646110262494622010-09-15T20:09:00.001-04:002010-09-15T20:14:34.684-04:00Hebrew: The Bane of My ExistenceIf I were to take a leisurely stroll along the exquisite Mediterranean and happen upon a magic lamp, my first wish would not be two large shipping vessels full of size 6 Manolo Blahniks nor would it be for Paris Hilton to have never been born (although they would be my second and third wishes respectively). No, my dears, my very first wish would be to immediately speak, read and write perfect Hebrew. <br />
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<em>“You’ll pick it up so quickly,” they say. “In six months, you’ll be able to converse with ease,” they say.</em> I know! I know! Be patient. Rome was not built in a day and I certainly cannot learn a entire language, as good as Rosetta Stone may be, in one day. So in light of this fact, you will have to continue to be entertained by my language mishaps.<br />
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<strong>Mishap 1: Learning the hard way...</strong><br />
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I bravely head to Shufersal , our neighborhood supermarket, by myself to pick up some bottles of water. Easy task, no? DH and I have been in Israel for 2 weeks and cannot find anything to drink in this desert of a country. We don’t drink a lot of colas and have subsisted on the only drinks we find familiar, Sprite and Coke. We’ve tried the Israeli juices…way too sweet for our taste. Crystal Light, our drink of choice, doesn’t exist. And water from the tap tastes like you stuck a metal rod in your mouth. Bottled water is our saving grace. <br />
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The trek to the store is a brief 2 or 3 block walk, but in the heat it feels more like 2 miles uphill both ways backwards on your knees. I walk into the store, see an aisle of bottled water, look for the largest bottles I could manage to lug back and look for the word ma’im written in Hebrew. Yep, there it is...a whole shelf of ma'im…water! I pull out my shekels and pay for my ma’im and walk out the door head held high. Success!! I have confronted the scary grocery store by myself and was handsomely rewarded with two deliciously cold bottles of water.<br />
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After the 2 mile hike uphill both ways backwards and on my knees I finally reach home. I deserve a tall icy glass of water. I break out our brand new glasses, throw in some ice…clink clink…and pour. The satisfying swig of water in my mouth is suddenly disrupted by a strange taste swirling around my tastebuds. Wait…what is that? My mouth curls in disgust. I spit out the water and take another gulp. Ugh! What is that? It tastes like cough syrup flavored watered…like grape cough syrup flavored water. Yep, folks, apparently I didn’t know the word for grape in Hebrew. Now I do. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img src="http://www.netonews.co.il/var/2211/287614-נביעות+%20-%20נטוניוז.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Also available in lemon, apricot, grapfruit and Robatussin Cough flavors. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<strong>Mishap 2: Marilyn and the Menace</strong><br />
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For those of you who don’t know or haven’t picked up already…Marilyn, our precious pup, has quite a few quirks. One of these quirks is that she is a rule follower. I’m telling you…this dog is the tattle tale in grade school, the annoying HR manager who refuses to bend the rules, the police officer who pulls you over going 57 in a 55. She hates hates hates dogs without their leashes on. She stands on the balcony and barks at dogs without their leashes. She picks up her leash and walks herself if we let it drag behind her. And although I completely agree with her on this one, Israelis do not. Israeli dog owners are infamously non-leashers. <br />
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This morning, I had a relaxing walk with Marilyn around the neighborhood. I am getting comfortable in my bubble, straying a bit further each day, exploring my tiny piece of the Holy Land. We are entering our building and walking up the second flight of stairs when I hear a dog barking wildly above me. Usually, I am not nervous around dogs at all. But this bark was menacing<br />
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I wrap Marilyn’s leash a bit tighter around my hand and take another step. Again the barking, but louder and getting closer. All of a sudden I see a huge dog barreling down the staircase towards us, without a leash and barking. Marilyn goes wild. A frenzy of snarling ensues. I see a tornado of teeth and fur in my future. I’m yelling Stop! Stay! No! Go Away! to this strange dog, while holding Marilyn back and balancing myself on the narrow stairs. I realize this dog doesn’t know commands in English and I don’t know any commands in Hebrew!! <br />
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The owner of this devil dog strolls down the stairs slowly and rapid fires Hebrew to me. I yell at him back in English to control his dog. He says something again in Hebrew and motions me to go back down the stairs. He finally grabs his dog by the neck and moves him past us. DH shows up at the door 3 seconds later, half-asleep and freaking out. Great timing. I now know the word for sit, stop and stay in Hebrew. And a few more curse words.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=30297002&id=27405590" id="myphotolink" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img id="myphoto" src="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-ash1/v14/170/7/27405590/n27405590_30013702_1215.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marilyn's best impression of the Devil Dog.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00684674861079556149noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4044277137230862169.post-47979077356506531282010-09-13T11:23:00.001-04:002010-09-13T11:27:57.088-04:00Rosh Hashanah in the Holy Land! Happy New Year!Rosh Hashana is finally over! Thank God! I can’t eat any more. Seriously I think I may have stored enough food to last me through the sweltering Israeli summer. Have I mentioned it is freaking hot here? It is. The kind of hot that makes you want to jump off a high rise just so you can feel the breeze on the way down. We’re currently in the dry and hot season..up next rainy and hot season…oh joy.<br />
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The holiday season in Israel is in full swing. Our holiday season begins on the eve of Rosh Hashanah Sept. 8-10, through Yom Kippur Sept. 17-18 and ends with Sukkot Sept. 22-29. There are a couple of other holidays thrown in between too, but I have no idea what there are. I even forgot about Labor Day back in the States (does that make me a real Israeli yet?).<br />
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We spent Rosh Hashana with DH’s family. All of them. Have I mentioned DH has a huge family? He does. They are very warm and inviting and funny…even in Hebrew. I have spent many a Rosh Hashanah in the States, but had no idea there was more to this Jewish New Year other than eating apples and honey. Apparently there are tons of symbolic foods to stuff yourself silly. Since the entire seder was in Hebrew I didn’t catch all the symbolism, but here’s just a few of the traditions:<br />
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<div></div><ul><li>Wine (blessing for the fruit of the vine)</li>
<li>Figs </li>
<li>Green beans</li>
<li>Squash </li>
<li>Pomegranate (for as many blessings as the seeds of the pomegranate) </li>
<li>Apples and honey (for a sweet new year)</li>
<li>Challah</li>
<li>Fish head (yes, you read that right-so that we’re always the head and not the tail)</li>
<li>Spinach</li>
<li>Leeks</li>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TI4-PUSduPI/AAAAAAAAAGM/HDLecCgc7sE/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TI4-PUSduPI/AAAAAAAAAGM/HDLecCgc7sE/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who knew? Not this shiksa.</td></tr>
</tbody></table></ul>Then there’s dinner. And breakfast. And lunch. And dinner again. And another lunch. These aren’t small meals either (think all out holiday feasts for each meal for two and a half days). It was a gastrointestinal adventure and I thoroughly enjoyed it all. Now if I could only find a gym.<br />
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<div></div>We’ve also taken quite a few trips around this tiny nation and spent some time bonding with DH’s cousins. We took a day trip to Caesarea, an ancient Roman port city, and lunched with a fellow expat amongst the Roman ruins.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TI5ANB-nseI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/0VnKl28AwnE/s1600/1047913-View_on_the_old_fortress_July_31st-Caesarea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="229" ox="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TI5ANB-nseI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/0VnKl28AwnE/s320/1047913-View_on_the_old_fortress_July_31st-Caesarea.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">DH and I are definitely heading back there to go snorkeling for 45 shekels (about $12!).</td></tr>
</tbody></table> We also went to Dimona in the Negev desert to see my brother-in-law graduate from commander’s course. And boy was it a desert…complete with camels and nomadic Arabs on horseback. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TI5A7aFPv_I/AAAAAAAAAGU/qXgk5GrEpZc/s1600/1_1243347581_camel-crossing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TI5A7aFPv_I/AAAAAAAAAGU/qXgk5GrEpZc/s320/1_1243347581_camel-crossing.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That wasn't a speed hump you just drove over.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We had a late night in the company of a few pints at a pub named The Hobbit in Zikhron Ya’acov. Apparently they only had 5 songs in English and kept playing them over and over again. We even took a quick dip in the warm waters of the Mediterranean Sea at Herzliya beach. I saw more naked children and half-naked adults than I ever wanted to see in 2 hours.<br />
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<div>And of course, last but not least, we finally moved into our own apartment this week. Life is beginning to take form. We live right in between DH’s school and my ulpan and a short walk to the supermarket, the dog park and the best mall in Israel (uh oh). Life is really different, but exciting. We’ve become a walking family, we’ve learned which stores have the best prices, learned how to haggle prices at the shuk, learned how to pay our bills, learned the train system. </div><br />
<div>We still have a long way to go. Our apartment is just a shadow of what we want it to be, we have to figure out how to transition to life without a car, we still have tons of trips to the government offices in the next month, ulpan and school begins in a few weeks and we’re still settling in our new world. I am even getting a little more comfortable doing a few things on my own. I’m trying to give myself time, but when life is coming at you full speed and in a different language it is hard to get on fast enough.</div><br />
Oh and the dog is back to normal (i.e. charging at cats and other small animals, getting into the trash and thinking everyone in the world is in love with her). She can’t handle the heat very well yet and takes a long nap after just a 30 minute walk. She even has a new vet near our apartment building.The Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00684674861079556149noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4044277137230862169.post-63461623887664909272010-09-07T05:27:00.000-04:002010-09-07T05:27:13.803-04:00Making Israel HomeSo our first full day in the Holy Land didn’t go quite as expected, but in the days following we have gotten much more accomplished. We have DH’s teudat oleh and teudat zeut, we opened a bank account and we have an apartment sof sof (<em>finally</em>)! Israel is feeling a little more like home every day. <br />
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I won’t sugarcoat it though, it’s been hard. I miss my family and friends like crazy. It’s hard not knowing what is going on around you a good 75% of the time and everything in Israel is just a bit harder than it was in the United States. In the States, I lived so very well with many comforts I didn’t even realize I had. The lack of water here makes one think about leaving that faucet on while you brush your teeth or take that extra minute for the shower to heat up. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TIYFIzc7TEI/AAAAAAAAAGI/nqzekQJeI28/s1600/image2.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TIYFIzc7TEI/AAAAAAAAAGI/nqzekQJeI28/s1600/image2.gif" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dud Shmesh...funny name for an important piece of the Israeli home. Solar powered water heater on every roof in Israel.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Your safety is always somewhere lurking in the back of your mind. Security is tight, but relatively quick and easy. Most everywhere you go during a normal day—the mall, the grocery store, the train station—means you’ll go through a metal detector and get your bags checked (Israelis, fortunately and unfortunately, have become experts at keeping maximum security with minimum disturbance to one’s life) . And it will be a while before I don’t do a double take at seeing a soldier’s assault rifle slung around his body while I stand behind him in line at McDonald’s. <br />
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The language barrier is the most daunting. But small victories like asking where is the bathroom and actually understanding the response or buying an iced coffee by myself does wonders for my confidence. I’m not a math whiz or computer genius, but luckily language is my forte. Everyone told me before I arrived in Israel that it would become natural to pick up the language once immersed in it. I couldn’t imagine what they meant until I actually got here. I am compelled to speak Hebrew and am amazed by how quickly it comes to me.<br />
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Both DH and I have had some hilarious language missteps in the past week though. A security guard was very confused why my husband was asking him the location of the world (<em>olam</em>) instead of meeting hall (<em>ulam</em>). His sarcastic Israeli response? <em>Yoo are here. Zis is ze world. Welcome</em>.<br />
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DH’s family had a good laugh when he said he said he went fishing all the time in my dad’s pot (<em>sir</em>) instead of his boat (<em>sira</em>).<br />
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The couple walking by us on the street in Tel Aviv probably wondered why I told DH I wanted to live near the monkey (<em>kof</em>) instead of the beach (<em>chof</em>).<br />
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Apartment hunting in Israel was a…umm…new event to undertake. To get the overall experience of the apartment search in Tel Aviv, please follow these directions:<br />
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Open the front door to your standard 2 bedroom American apartment. Walk inside. Look around for the bedroom door. Open the bedroom door and walk inside. Look for the closet door and walk inside. Shut the closet door. Throw your clothes around the closet. You are now in your Israeli apartment. Rent is due: take out your wallet and set it on fire. Oven, refrigerator and closet space not included.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TIYCet9iI6I/AAAAAAAAAGA/KZRWdjKfYIw/s1600/B000066RWJ_01_LZZZZZZZ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" ox="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TIYCet9iI6I/AAAAAAAAAGA/KZRWdjKfYIw/s320/B000066RWJ_01_LZZZZZZZ.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Israeli apartment building: Shown in actual size.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
We looked at 6 apartments in different areas of the city before deciding on our lovely 2 bedroom near Tel Aviv University. During our search, we made several phone calls throughout the day to see a particular apartment we were very interested in. The owner, Shiri, posted the apartment on Craigslist and asked that interested parties call Moses, the current renter to schedule an appointment. Moses was working all day, so we hung around the local mall waiting for a few hours. Finally he said we could come see it at 8:30 that night.<br />
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Moses invited us in and sheepishly told us he wasn’t planning on moving out. He was totally shocked and confused why we wanted to look at his apartment. His lease was ending in a couple of days and although he told Shiri he planned to stay another year, she hadn’t made time to meet him to renew the contract. Instead of driving all the way to see him, Shiri posted the apartment he is still living in on Craigslist to be rented without his knowledge. <br />
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We apologized profusely and felt terrible to imposing on him. Instead of shooing us out the door so he could get back to dinner and his own life, Moses showed two complete strangers around his apartment to compare to others we’ve seen, gave us advice on how to negotiate the rent and how much we should pay in property taxes, provided a guided tour of the area and gave us a ride to the train. Only in Israel.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TIYChVweN4I/AAAAAAAAAGE/g8AhZyHub7I/s1600/File1442917.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" ox="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TIYChVweN4I/AAAAAAAAAGE/g8AhZyHub7I/s320/File1442917.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our living room of our new apartment. Beautiful, huh?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
There are things that I have encountered in Israel that drive me three types of crazy and other events that warm my heart and let me know I really have made the right decision. I have learned from bright olim (immigrants to Israel) who have come before me to take it one day at a time, give myself a little leeway and make the best of the journey that lies ahead. I think I’ll take that sage advice.The Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00684674861079556149noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4044277137230862169.post-81997793958226522572010-09-04T10:07:00.000-04:002010-09-04T10:07:33.430-04:00The Incomplete Complete Day: First Day in IsraelLesson one: jetlag is a good form of torture. I am almost certain you could get me to spill state secrets for just one night of normal sleep. But since I am not privy to state secrets, you’ll have to settle for my old email password which doesn’t work anymore since I forgot it once and had to replace it with a simpler password. If you know any easier way to get over jetlag, you can be the proud owner of an invalid password.<br />
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<div> </div>After falling asleep at 6 this morning and waking up at the ass crack of noon, DH and I remembered we actually are in Israel. It was like a little extra gift left over from Christmas morning. Re-energized, we quickly made a list of the most important things to get accomplished on our first day in Israel.<br />
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<div> </div><ol><li>Open a bank account. Money doesn’t grow on trees here in Israel, only citrus and sarcasm.</li>
<li>Get our Israeli cell phones. Or pelephones—fun Hebrish word of the day. </li>
<li>Go look at a few apartments, so I can feel like less of a homeless drifter.</li>
<li>Buy dog food.</li>
</ol><br />
<div> </div>This list is painless enough to accomplish in one day. We decide to make our first day as uncomplicated as possible as not to overwhelm ourselves. Lesson two: uncomplicated doesn't translate well in Hebrew.<br />
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<div> </div>First we call Bank HaPoalim. They aren’t open. What?! It’s 1pm on a Thursday. Why isn’t the bank open at 1pm? Lesson two: Israelis have the equivalent of a siesta time from 1pm until 3pm. Man, I’m loving Israel already. So, we wait around the house until 3 and head to the bank.<br />
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We’re told to put DH’s teudat zeut number (Israeli social security number) into this an ATM type machine and in return it gives us a number. When our number pops up on the screen, someone at a window will help us. DH and I patiently wait for 2 to flash across the screen and when it does, we excitedly jump from our seats. We then realize the screen doesn’t say which of the 20 windows to go to and every window is already full. We ask a woman behind the counter and she sends us to Mr. Cohen, the director of the bank. We wait for Mr. Cohen for 15 minutes and Mr. Cohen tells us to go to Hanna in the 3rd window. Hanna asks us to sit at her desk while she finishes up the last bit of paperwork from her previous customer. When Hanna comes back after another 15 minutes, she kicks us out of her office and tells us to go see Ayala. <br />
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Ayala takes our passports, marriage certificate and DH’s aliyah documents to make copies. She tells us it will only take about half an hour to finish the paperwork and get our bank account open. Half an hour later, Ayala comes back with the copies and asks for DH’s teudat zeut. DH writes down his number and hands it to her. No, no, no!! Ayala needs his actual teudat zeut card. Which we, of course, don’t have. Ayala informs us she cannot help us without a teudat zeut card. DH, of course, doesn't want to be a typical American <em>frier</em> (pushover) and tries to talk his way out of it. No luck this time.<br />
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<div> </div>We have to go to Ministry of Immigration to get his teudat oleh then go to the Ministry of Interior to get his teudat zeut in Tel Aviv. And the Ministry is closed on Friday and Saturday. We can’t get cell phones without money, we can’t rent an apartment without a bank account. Our first day is over exactly where we started. Oh, we did manage to buy dog food thanks to my amazing fellow expat friend, Blondini, who emailed me the address of the closest pet store in Hadera. Thank you Blondini! So we did get one thing accomplished!<br />
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<div> </div>The first and maybe most important phrase I learned today is y<em>i’yeh beseder</em>. If you were a fan of Disney’s The Lion King, it is sort of the Israeli version of hakuna matata and it is a salve for any affliction. This is not the first or last time we will run into roadblocks. This is not the last of the frustrating bureaucracy.<br />
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We head to DH’s Aunt and Uncle S's house for café and oogah (coffee and cake). It is quite something to watch DH relive his childhood. He says everything in Israel smells the exact same as he remembered, a mixture of onions and spices and lemons. But everything is much smaller than he remembered. Probably because he is much bigger than he was 15 years ago. The cliff in the front yard is really only a few steps high. The giant stone wall in the kitchen is only a few feet across. <br />
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<div> </div>After Shimon’s house, we then head to his Safta’s (grandmother’s) house. Her house is perfectly cared for and white. Everything is white. The walls, the furniture, the floors. The backyard is filled with exceptionally tended to plants and trees of every kind. My mother in law cuts off a piece of aloe vera from the yard to put on the massive mosquito bite on my arm (apparently Israeli mosquitoes only have a taste for blonde American blood because no one else was bitten).<br />
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<div> </div>Safta kisses me on both cheeks (the customary greeting in Israel) and is embarrassed she doesn’t have any gifts for us. She is upset with my mother in law for surprising her. She would have had a feast prepared if she knew we were coming. In any case, she brings out 3 heaping plates of nuts and fruit with 3 different types of juice to choose from. Everything tastes a bit different here. The fruit and nuts are more flavorful. The juice is sweeter. Eighty seven years have carved Safta’s face. I marvel over this small woman and am a little intimidated by the matriarch of this huge Israeli family I have been thrust into. She welcomes me with open arms and says “<em>No English, motek </em>(sweetie).” I can’t figure out if she doesn’t want me to speak English or she is apologizing for her inability to speak English. Either way, she’s accepted me and that is one less hurdle to cross.<br />
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<div> </div>I’m introduced to another aunt and uncle and one of 30 more cousins I have to meet. I hope there isn’t a family tree quiz after this. Most of the family doesn’t speak English well enough to feel comfortable talking with me, but I am amazed by how much Hebrew I picked up already and DH and my mother in law are wonderful translators.<br />
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We didn’t achieve much on the official to-do list, but I got so much more out of spending hours with DH’s family. <br />
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I can’t explain the culture shock, the moments of absolute fear and joy I feel during small moments like these. The weird and wonderful feeling when I once again remember that this is now home. It will take time to get used to, but in the end...<em>yi’yeh beseder</em>.The Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00684674861079556149noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4044277137230862169.post-23252935792206314402010-09-02T18:42:00.002-04:002010-09-02T18:50:32.313-04:00Beginning the Adventure: NYC to Tel AvivSince our flight from JFK Airport to Tel Aviv didn’t leave until 7pm, we spent the next morning eating pancakes in bed, snuggling with the puppy and watching American tv. This day also happened to be our second wedding anniversary. I can’t wait to see how DH tops this anniversary gift. <br />
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On our way to the airport, the butterflies started up again. I am a worrier by nature so I did what worriers do best. I worried about the dog in the airport, I worried about dragging our luggage around the airport, I worried about missing our flight, I worried about the dog on the plane, I worried about us on the plane. DH parked me, our mountain of luggage and the dog near the El Al counter and did what he does best…get things done. While he ran around like a madman telling every El Al captain, co-captain, flight attendant, ticket agent and even a few random people he passed that the dog was going to be on the flight, Marilyn did what she does best…be the belle of the ball.<br />
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As the only dog in the airport, she caused quite the to-do and as I mentioned before, this was no ordinary Marilyn, but her alter ego, Super Marilyn, the most obedient dog on the planet. She sat patiently at my feet letting everyone pet her or ignore her as they saw fit. She never once barked or jumped or pulled on her leash. She simply sat quietly the entire time and never once bothered another soul. One lady, who passed by our docking station several times in the course of a few hours, exclaimed, “<em>That is the most well-behaved dog I have ever seen!”</em>. What? Where? I searched the airport for the amazing dog she was talking about. No other dog was to be found. Wow, someone actually used Marilyn and well behaved in the same sentence. The devil is surely freezing his ass off in his humble abode at this very moment.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TIAoCNSIj0I/AAAAAAAAAF8/4y-BMhx52KY/s1600/4952108007_c24f354169.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TIAoCNSIj0I/AAAAAAAAAF8/4y-BMhx52KY/s320/4952108007_c24f354169.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Missing Dog: A hyperactive husky too big for her britches. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Because of the dog, we were able to skip all 400 passengers in line to check our bags (let me tell you that made us a lot of friends on the plane and was a really fun walk from all the way from the back of the line). We then tried to get someone, anyone to tell us where we should drop off the dog. No one had a clue what we were talking about. No one could tell us where to go or who to see. Everyone had different suggestions. My uneasiness grew from a flicker of worry to a blaze of anxiety.<br />
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After nearly 2 hours of yelling, we finally found out where to drop her off leaving us only 30 minutes to go through security and catch our flight at the last gate on the furthest terminal. We again were ushered ahead of the 400 other people waiting in the security line. We again made tons of friends on the way.<br />
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We rush through security, sprint to the gate and are nearly the last to board the plane.<br />
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Finally we are seated in the very middle two seats in the very middle of the plane--perfect. DH once again reminds the flight attendant that a dog is on the plane. He knew exactly who we were and called us by first and last name. I guess we made enough of an uproar for the airline. That was precisely the plan. <br />
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The 10 hour plane flight is nothing short of miserable. Like any 10 hour flight, sleep was intermittent, food was unrecognizable and every screaming baby ever born seemed to be sitting right behind my ear. And only the Messiah himself (during either the first or second coming—whichever you prefer) could get me to watch “Remember the Titans” again. I used to love that movie, but when it is the only thing playing in English for the fourth time…you decide it is the worst movie ever made. But the second before landing in Israel is worth every bite of airline chicken (at least I think it was chicken), every flight attendant waking you up with a cheery <em>“Ma’im?”</em> (Water? No thank you. Lukewarm water is not worth being woken up for) and every crick in my neck and knees.<br />
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The next two hours were spent picking up lugguage, anxiously waiting on Marilyn and packing up our 12 passenger van my mother-in-law rented to pick us up from the airport. During the 40 minute drive to my mother-in-law’s house, I was off in my own world. DH, his mother and Herzl, our driver, were babbling in Hebrew while I stared out the window in awe. We are actually here. After a four hour nap and four course meal, DH and I spent the next 6 hours unsuccessfully trying to go to sleep.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TIAljrX6d2I/AAAAAAAAAF4/jsnOwz-eGZ8/s1600/41044_851083435085_27405590_46353135_808107_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" ox="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TIAljrX6d2I/AAAAAAAAAF4/jsnOwz-eGZ8/s320/41044_851083435085_27405590_46353135_808107_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Checking where to pick up the dog at Ben Gurion Aiport. We're here!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Tomorrow is our first full day in Israel.The Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00684674861079556149noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4044277137230862169.post-74379469750047369942010-09-02T08:24:00.001-04:002010-09-02T16:07:22.181-04:00Beginning the Adventure: Atlanta to NYCYes, we all know time flies when you’re having fun…but who knew it would travel at break neck speeds when you are moving abroad. Eight months ago I posted my first blog. Eight months ago, the idea of moving to Israel was just that…an idea.<br />
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And so it began. As we leave Atlanta on Monday morning, we pass through the city one last time to say our goodbyes. Our bags are packed and puppy is stowed safely in our rented mini-van or “the green monster” as DH has so lovingly named it. Don’t let him fool you though, he was in love at first drive. My darling self-professed badass, cooed over the smooth drive and great handling. I got the impression he was this close to turning that van around on I-85, quitting his job, adopting a small brood of youngin’s and declaring he wanted to be a stay-at-home dad simply for the perk of this great wonder he's discovered.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TH-XLlKTyJI/AAAAAAAAAFs/fhqLlydGzGI/s1600/41044_851083445065_27405590_46353137_5638194_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" ox="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TH-XLlKTyJI/AAAAAAAAAFs/fhqLlydGzGI/s320/41044_851083445065_27405590_46353137_5638194_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our entire world fits into 5 suitcases, 2 carry-on's and a dog crate.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
We drop off Marilyn at Continental PetSafe Cargo , but not without a few tears shed. Poor pup clearly has no idea what is coming and I feel like a terrible puppy mom. The flight to New York is a typical flight to New York, including but not limited to a take-off, the normal amount of time spent in the air, and a landing. We realize we are actually moving to Israel about halfway through the 2 hour flight. And almost at the same exact moment. We give each other a sideways glance and laugh only the way two people who have gone through so much and waited so long to get to where they are now can laugh. We don't stop laughing until wheels touched down. No turning back now. <br />
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Somewhere in the air over these great United States between Georgia and New York, probably somewhere near Delaware, a great and monumental change occurred. Why Delaware? I don’t know. Delaware just sounds like a place where great and monumental changes occur. I mean, it was the very first state, so it just makes sense, right?<br />
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This epic conversion, though we’re still unsure of its permanence, materialized in a dog named Marilyn. Since picking her up in LaGuardia, Marilyn has been miraculously transformed into a well-behaved dog. Either she’s too exhausted to cause her normal ruckus or someone switched out our precious precocious pup with a normal dog. Only time will tell. <br />
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By the way, top 3 things that confuse Marilyn in New York City: maneuvering through revolving doors (hands down funniest event I’ve ever witnessed), where to pee when there is no grass (she insisted on holding it as long as possible instead), orthodox Jewish men with black wool hats and long bushy beards (first time in her life Marilyn has ever refused a belly rub. This one may be an issue in the Holy Land).<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TH-WZm3QboI/AAAAAAAAAFk/tpHD8pqCsac/s1600/46061_851109567715_27405590_46353365_5609765_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" ox="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TH-WZm3QboI/AAAAAAAAAFk/tpHD8pqCsac/s320/46061_851109567715_27405590_46353365_5609765_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Checking in to the hotel in NYC</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Finally settled in to our posh NYC hotel and after much cajoling of Marilyn to actually pee outside, eat a little food and convince her that no, we weren't putting her in the giant bird again today...DH and I realize we have a long day ahead of us, order room service, watch Craig Ferguson and promptly go to sleep.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TH-Ws8DKgMI/AAAAAAAAAFo/InIihcX4G9E/s1600/45807_851109577695_27405590_46353367_8073038_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_gXQrztwN1O4/TH-Ws8DKgMI/AAAAAAAAAFo/InIihcX4G9E/s320/45807_851109577695_27405590_46353367_8073038_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marilyn's face says it all...we're so tired!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>When people asked me if I was excited about moving to Israel my usual response was that it was hard to be excited. With all the work ahead of us to get there, I couldn’t imagine sitting on the plane when everything was said and done. As I sat on the plane and everything is said and done. I could catch my breath. I’m no longer thinking about the next chapter, but living the story.<br />
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Surreal doesn’t accurately describe it. <br />
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I’m sure the next year will fly by too. I have 52 weeks to take it all in, to live with no regrets, to experience all Israel has to offer. I promised myself I would put no expectations on the year ahead. I will not assume I will love it or hate it. I will not assume it will be difficult or easy. Wrong or right. Whatever the year in Israel brings me, I will try my best to see it as a memory in the making. Etching each individual moment in my mind and keeping them close to my heart so that so that someday in the near or not-so-near future I can dig them out and take pleasure in the time I had. <br />
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<em>Only God knows His plans for me and I trust in Him completely.</em><br />
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I take comfort in knowing no matter how much I miss my family and friends, no matter how misplaced I feel, I have taken a leap of faith and am making the best of it. And I can be proud of that.<br />
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Next stop Israel.The Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00684674861079556149noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4044277137230862169.post-52027209556952754022010-08-27T02:34:00.001-04:002010-08-27T11:53:34.703-04:00Missing in ActionI have to apologize for my severe neglect of this blog lately. But as you can imagine, my hands were full with projects which we shall file under “Miscellaneous”. Besides, I am quite sure you would not be the least bit entertained by the events that occurred in recent weeks. I’ll give you the abridged version:<br />
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Pack a box, wait in line to get paperwork signed, cry, goodbye party, pack a box, wait in line to get paperwork signed, cry, goodbye dinner, pack a box…<br />
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There were some funny moments, some sad ones and some brilliant realizations tucked in between. <br />
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My emotions have been all over the place these past two weeks. I promised my husband between the anxiety attacks, spells of utter elation and crying jags that I’d find his sane wife and return her promptly. To date she has not yet been located. If you see her, please notify the authorities immediately.<br />
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If I get nothing more out of this move, I have learned so much about myself in the process. I have learned that I can. I can run into a brick wall, wipe away my tears, brush myself off and keep on going. I can fit all 20 pairs of shoes into my suitcase. I can live without sleep. I can be uncompromising. I can laugh at my mistakes. I can feel scared. I can be uncertain and completely sure all at the same time. I can get things done when no one else can.<br />
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I have also learned DH is the most patient man in the world. <br />
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With only 5 days left, the stress level has been strangely reduced to a trickle and replaced by waves of anticipation for the impending adventure. But check back with me while I am sprinting through LaGuardia to JFK with 6 extra-large and overpacked suitcases, a pissed off puppy and a frazzled husband…<br />
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Bring on the life boats.The Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00684674861079556149noreply@blogger.com3