Author Archives: Debbie

Almost another day in Israel

It was 10 am – still in my pj’s because I wasn’t feeling so well –  and trying to get Mo to take a nap. The siren blares. Oh yeah, it would be that siren. The same one that warned us of incoming rockets last fall and not the siren that ushers in Shabbat that I can barely hear most weeks.

My first thought is about the boys at school and wishing I had warned them and told them about Yom HaShoah. I hoped that they weren’t feeling panicked and wondered what their rebbes were telling them. The siren continued to blare loudly from above our patio.

Like most Americans, I usually have a hard time connecting to civil memorial days. I dutifully try to read an article in the paper about Memorial Day to remind me what the day is about. Otherwise I join the rest the country by focusing on barbecues and parades. I like the parades. I enjoy watching the soldiers marching and I can even feel a certain solemnity when I see them.

As the siren continued to blare, I realized this was different. This siren and all the cars stopped on the road right now had something to do with me. I was connected to them because we were all mourning our families. Our bubbes and zeides, great aunts and great uncles, cousins we would never know. This was my family’s story too.

The siren stops and I rock Mo to sleep. I need to get dressed and do more laundry. Life moves on as it must. While nothing dramatic has happened another brush stroke has been added to my connection to this crazy place.

Coda

Today was a different kind of Rova day. When I discovered something had gone wrong with our transition to the government system (Betuach Leumi) paying for our health care I was not feeling a surge of enthusiasm for this country. The woman who had romantic notions of nobly making the ultimate sacrifice yesterday was now completely stressed and put out to have to sacrifice time, effort and pride to unravel the mess. Somehow dealing with forms and miscommunication doesn’t feel so romantic and noble.

So today I salute (and am in awe of) all the olim (immigrants to Israel) I know. These brave souls spend years being the greenhorns battling gaps in language, culture, and influence. They are not running from pogroms and the army like my ancestors did when they came to America. Instead they leave behind comfortable lives where they generally know what is going on to jump into a world where feeling foolish and incompetent is normal.

A Rova morning

Today was sort of the classic Rova morning, so I felt I had to share…

So, in the morning, while the older boys were in school, Mo and I were in our favorite makolet. I was not only shopping there, but was meeting a friend who had rented a car for the week and who had agreed to take my sheitel (wig) with hers to be styled for Passover.  Meanwhile, it’s even more than the usual balagan (chaos) in the makolet, as they’re working to flip it over to Passover products. The two aisles are full of boxes to be shelved which meant that Mo in his happy green stroller was often in the way.

I’m in line waiting to pay, behind a very large order, and a nervous looking man comes up who only needs a loaf of bread. He’s late to work, so we let him in. Then comes a little boy, maybe 5 years old, buying lachmania (the classic rolls that the kids here all eat) and that cheese/yogurt stuff that Israelis have for breakfast (they often drink it, I use a spoon). The cashier is a terse but kind Russian woman who never loses sight of this boy.  While juggling other customers, she makes sure he has his change, and his food, and is okay.

In the middle of all of this, a bar mitzvah passes by the open doorway. They are a regular, and loud (horns and drums), part of Mondays and Thursdays in the Rova. This is a big one, with a mix of more modern-looking types together with some long peyos (side-locks), all wearing cute matching Che-like t-shirts featuring an outline of the bar mitzvah boy. Other than me, no one in the makolet pays the passing procession any mind.

When I go outside, the little boy with the lachmania and cheese is there, looking anxious. I ask him if he needs help. He doesn’t want to talk to me, but eventually shakes his head. He’s too busy watching everyone go by. I am not the only one fascinated by the street scenes of the Rova.

I walk along towards the ATM, appreciating what a classic Rova day this is, and feeling happy to be here. Walking through Churva Square, with all of the disparate groups of Jews, I start thinking about the political situation and where I would fit if I lived here. A group of soldiers pass by, and I think about whether I would be willing to risk my life for this country. I’m startled that, in that moment, I think I would. A tear comes to my eye as I rumble along the stony square, feeling connected to everyone around me in a new way.

At the ATM on this sunny spring day (it was 80 degrees today!) I am still captivated by this feeling. It has been a dark dreary winter of colds and flus and little inspiration. I am so grateful and excited to feel inspired again. Then I realize:  Wait, I’m right here! I can go down to the Kotel right now and channel this feeling into a spiritual experience. I look at my watch – yes! – it isn’t chatzos yet, so I can still daven (pray) shacharis (the morning service). Oh no, but I don’t have a siddur (prayer book). I’ll find one at the Wall – problem solved! I aim Mordechai’s happy green stroller down the road, dodge the bar mitzvah, tourists, and other mommies and look for the shortcut stairs that Dan says all the locals use. I bump the stoller down one flight and suddenly I remember: I bought yogurt. And it is among the first of the warm days. I can’t let Dan’s yogurt spoil just so I can live out some romantic notion. My prayers will also be heard from my house two minutes away, and I will have done something nice for my husband.

Back up the steps, through the crowd and homeward bound. Of course, I could theoretically still daven shacharis, but now I’m home. The baby is not interested in letting me salvage what’s left of my high, and there’s lots to do.

Snow day Part II

On the home front, it was a a chaotically mellow snow day. I (Debbie) was a bit surprised to wake up and find our back patio decorated in snow since I had been quite skeptical of all the hoopla running up to it. Quickly I shared the news with the kids and we were all a twitter with excitement as if we had never seen snow before.

Shalom’s school had already been canceled the day before. But what about Yitzi? There is no automated number to call for snow day info at his school. And I am certainly not high on the list to receive phone calls. So, since we live one minute from school I bundled him up, packed his snack, and sent him off into the white wilderness to find out.

Shalom was mad to get out into that snow, and put on his boots and jacket faster than I had ever seen before. He showed amazing patience for a four year old as he waited for me to finish breakfast, bundle up Mordechai, and bundle myself up.

Finally we made it out and all the neighbors were out playing in the snow, gawking, and smiling. It was this beautiful white slushy stuff great for packing together and building. Snow forts, snowmen, snowballs…

Yitzi came out to the square for recess and set to work as well. Turns out only half the class showed up that day, but they did have school. One mother came during school and brought popcorn for everybody, and the rebbe made steaming cups of tea to warm the boys up.

Shalom, Mordechai, and I were in and out all morning. Shalom got soaked and cold and would warm up and be back at it again. I just rolled with the day. Really, I had been wanting to get out of the Rova all week but stormy weather and sick kids had kept me in. Today I didn’t grumble about it. That’s the beauty of a snow day.

A Boy’s Life

After almost five months here, we finally have a sense of normal and dare I say routine. Well as much routine as a family of young children in a foreign country can manage. Here is a basic outline of the boys’ day:

7:00am: wake up time (except we rarely manage to be awake at this time)

7:15am: oh, no! get out of bed! get out of bed!

7:20am: Yitzi, get dressed! Shalom, Yitzi can’t play now it’s time for school!

7:30am: Yitzi comes downstairs dressed (mostly) and has breakfast. We still have American style breakfasts of oatmeal/cereal. From what I understand Israelis eat exotic dairy products and salad and such. Shalom is hopefully also dressed and eating. I am happy if at least one of those activities is occurring. Mordechai has yet to have a real routine. Sometimes he is awake at this point, sometimes he sleeps through the excitement.

7:45am: Yitzi heads to school. The official start time is 7:30 but after a month or so I discovered almost nobody is there at that time including the teacher (rebbe). I aim to send him in the middle, not the first boy and not the last. We live about one minute away from his school. Israeli kids are known for being more independent and so Yitzi would be mortified if I walked him to school.

8:00am: Shalom’s school begins. Again I have discovered most boys don’t come on time. For my own sanity I try to get him out of the house by 8:15. His class is a minute and a half from us. Just recently I started letting him walk by himself to school though 4 year olds are a little more prone to wandering about on their way. We’ll see…

SCHOOL: Dan or I will probably post more later about their school. It is a chareidi (ultra orthodox for want of a better word) school run by the Zilberman family. The boys’ rebbes do not really speak any English so all instruction is in Hebrew. Many of the boys in their classes come from English speaking homes which has been good and bad for the boys. It has eased their adjustment but slowed down their language skills.

Shalom goes to school Sunday-Thursday from 8:00 to 1:00 and on Fridays until 12:00pm. Yitzi has school Sunday-Friday from 7:30-1:00 and on Saturdays (Shabbat) from 2:00-3:30pm. Yitzi is actually really happy to be going to school on Shabbat. It is not too long, includes a recess and treats, and is generally fun for him.

1:00pm (on a typical day) The boys come home from school with all their triumphs and grievances and we eat lunch. If we were Israeli we would be having a large meal probably involving schnitzel. We are Americans though and are currently in a melted cheese sandwich rut. Dan comes home from yeshivah for a lunch break around 2:00pm.

2:30 Yitzi’s Hebrew tutor comes. During this time I am often working with Shalom on his reading homework from school. Yitzi also spends some afternoons working in a math book that we brought so he could keep up with his class in Chicago.

Chugim – So with school getting out so early here, what is a mommy to do? Enter the chugim industry. A plethora of after school clubs/activities (chugim) pop up every fall to entertain, educate, and enrich. I limited the boys to two chugim that they both attend. On Sundays we go to Mommy and Me Music with Ima Debbie (not me, phew!). A very talented mother leads the kids through songs and stories mostly in English. It has been a great release for the boys with comfortable and familiar songs in a welcoming fun environment. On Tuesdays they go to a cooking class run by a sweet teenage girl out of her home. This chug is mainly in Hebrew but the boys love it. I am not totally sure why. They make cookies, challah, blintzes, even a salad. I think the girl just has a good way of making all the boys feel special and helpful. Or maybe it’s just for the cookies.

6:00pm We are heading to dinner if I am lucky.

Wishful thinking bedtimes – Shalom by 7:00 and Yitzi by 8:00. I don’t know if it’s the new baby or being in Israel but my firm grip on bedtimes has disintegrated.

Between Channukah and catching many (though blissfully not all) Israeli viruses we haven’t been getting out of the Old City too much lately. Before then we would go out once or twice a week to do errands or explore. The boys love going on the bus or train. They are not so fond of all the walking our car-less urban life includes. Before winter really set in we would also spend more time playing outside particularly in the square by our house. I assume once the days get longer again we will be drawn back outside again.

 

Shopping

Many folks have been asking me about daily life, and tonight I am inspired to expand upon grocery shopping. This is not a simple feat for a girl used to hopping in the old minivan and  hauling groceries about. First, we have no car.  Secondly, the Old City is truly separated from the rest of Jerusalem. There is one narrow road that snakes around the Armenian and Jewish Quarters for cars, cabs, scooters, small buses and trucks.

Makolets. As mentioned previously there are a handful of makolets (convenience type stores) that have most of the basics: dairy, eggs, bread, snacks, noodles, grains, canned goods. They also have a decent amount of American style foods (e.g. canned cranberry sauce) due to the large number of Americans here. Some of them deliver large orders otherwise you have to shlepp the groceries over the cobblestoned steps and hills of the Old City.

At first, the clerks at the makolets we frequent barely looked at me and certainly did not go out of their way to help me. Sometime in the last month, they have figured out that I am a regular and life has changed. I am “in”. While this has not led to cheaper groceries, it has made shopping more enjoyable. They greet me when I come in, quickly help me when I am stuck, and I trust them to keep an eye on the baby if the stroller doesn’t fit down the aisle I want to go on. One manager is always quick to tell me what is on sale that week and will help me carry my purchases to the cash register.

I have not quite figured out lines in Israel. Rather, the lack of lines. Everyone sort of bunches by the registers. If they are only buying one or two things they will wave it at the cashiers hoping to be bumped up or noticed so that they can just leave the money on the counter and leave. For all the disorder, people are actually pretty patient about waiting; people rarely yell or complain. Then again Israelis have to spend alot of time waiting: at the store, the post office, the bus, the bank…

Meat. Most people I know have their meat delivered to them from one of the main butchers outside the Old City. What could be more awesome than home delivered meat? If only I could figure out the cuts of meat. They are numbered and not quite the same as the U.S.. Also, they add water to a lot of the meat which is definitely to be avoided.

Produce. Israelis are known for loving fresh produce and we try to take advantage of it. Again, not so simple in the Old City. Some folks make a weekly trip to the main shuk/market at Mahane Yehuda. With the baby in tow, this is not the easiest or most pleasurable way for me.

There is a produce store in the Jewish Quarter run by an Arab man. At first he barely spoke to me and I felt like an obnoxiously loud American. Now that he knows I am a regular he will say hello and point out riper fruit or veggies. His quiet demeanor is so beautiful to me. I have never heard him raise his voice above a low mummur, and I often have to ask him to repeat himself. So peaceful compared to the chaos and hubub of the Jewish Quarter. On my walk to the store I am likely to encounter: loud drums and singing from at least on bar mitzvah procession, the call of a tour guide, a motor scooter zipping along the pedestrian walkways, and/or a car honking in the parking lot to alert the guard to raise the gate. Whew!

I have also been dipping my toe into the real “scene” when it comes to produce in the Jewish Quarter. A local family has a home business organizing a weekly produce delivery. Orders are accepted Sunday and Monday. The form is all in Hebrew, so I feel so proud every time I fill it out. But then comes Wednesday night. Starting at 7:30pm, people come to pick up their food and it is a madhouse. The boxes of food line the street and everyone grabs bags and races around in a crowd grabbing their produce. It’s first come first serve and once something runs out, tough luck. I have yet to totally fill my order. I am too slow trying to figure out what I ordered, where it is, and how to get through the crowd. Larger families work together and divide and conquer. Some lucky parents send their older children out to do it for them.

I have to say I like the craziness of it. I never depend on it for all of my produce, or else I would get frustrated. It is a great snapshot of real life here. For all the intensity of the crowd everyone is respectful and often even helpful. Nobody really pushes, and I have yet to see a fight over the last bag of lettuce. And the prices are right!

After collecting your produce you then line up to have your order weighed and added up. This is a whole different process of jockeying and turn taking. Finally after this line comes the line to pay. Again, notice all the lines and waiting involved. I generally think of Americans as more patient than Israelis, but maybe we just funnel our impatience into avoiding lines as much as possible.

Baked goods. This is really Dan’s turf. There are two main bakeries in the Jewish Quarter and Dan goes out every Friday morning to buy challah and treats for Shabbat. They have so many yummy pastries we have a hard time resisting. The boys have not taken to the pastries as quickly as we have. The one sweet they can resist!

Figuring out daily life here is such a work in progress. Someone just shared a link to a distributor that delivers grocery items in bulk (e.g. a case of tomato sauce). It has been hard to adjust to not being able to buy things in bulk (oh, Sam’s Club who knew how I would miss you!). So I am excited to test this out.

 

 

A sweet sign of adjustment

Krembo – a treat with creamy marshmallow perched on a cookie wafer coated in chocolate – is an Israeli childhood rite. Every winter they appear to the glee of young and old. They may also be a sign of my boys’ settling in to Israeli life.

When we were here in December, we tried them at the earnest and delighted urging of our good friends, the Burstyns. The boys were less than excited by the treat – a possible first experience when it comes to candy. But now that we are living here, they are singing a different tune. I caught Yitzi giving Shalom a big brotherly explanation about the importance of the cookie base as he longingly watched his little brother wolf down a Krembo treat from a birthday party at school.

I really tried to post a photo of this delectable treat, but had too many technical difficulties. If you are curious about Krembo check out this wikipedia entry: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Krembo

Living in the Rova

Hey it’s Debbie making my blog debut. We’ve been here two weeks now. This does not qualify me as an expert on life in the Rova, but I can give my first impressions.

Surreal. It is a real community in a small town kind of way, a tourist destination, an ancient city with deep spiritual roots. It took awhile for me to realize that even though everybody was a stranger to me, they all knew each other and I was the stranger. Fortunately, it is a very kind and generous community. Which is good since we live on top of each other. No joke. It is the most densely populated area I have ever lived in. We have a small patio space (a mirpeset) in the back that is completely enclosed by our neighbors. There are no windows that I know of that do not open up onto someone’s mirpeset. Living in a warm climate as we do, the windows are often open and we can always hear the hustle and bustle of our neighbors.

The small town feel also comes from the fact that we are a bit isolated from the rest of Jerusalem. It takes about 10-15 minutes to walk out of the Old City. There is a bus and we can take cabs, but the traffic can make it a long way as well. Most of the Old City is not accessible by car (though a few come in and out sporadically, and there are a fair number of motorcycles/scooters) so getting goods in and out is tricky. Still there are several makolets (better than a convenience store but not quite a full grocery store), produce markets, and other shops. And like any good Orthodox neighborhood, enterprising families run businesses out of their homes from a grocery to a stationery shop. Many people also have meat, groceries, and produce delivered into the Rova.

The Rova is also a major tourist destination. It’s sort of like living in the middle of Disneyland. While I am out picking up some veggies for lunch I have to navigate around tour groups and other itinerant travelers. I am often asked the way to the Kotel (the Western or Wailing Wall) or change my route since the way is blocked by a tour listening to their guide expound upon some historical feature. I love the people watching. Nuns in light blue dresses, muslim women covered from head to toe, groups from Brazil, Italy, the U.S. and everywhere else. Teenagers on an adventure, families vacationing, seekers searching. It is totally fascinating. And wondrous – one small spot that can draw so many people.

And why do they come? That’s the third layer of living here. As an American it is mind blowing how old the city is. Layer upon layer of history. Modern – the courtyard in front of Yitzi’s school has a sign describing the role this neighborhood played in the Israeli War of Independence. Ancient – every day I pass above the Cardo, ruins from Roman times, and farther below are tunnels revealing earlier eras. Dan is getting a tour from an Israeli neighbor and can speak to the historical aspect of the Old City better than I can.

Of course it’s not just the history that draws people. This is a spiritual center for three major religions. There can be so much distraction from the tourists and the hustle and bustle, but very quietly pulses a deep spirituality. Hiding outside the limelight of the everyday tourists are the folks who come to connect to God. I have been so busy getting us set up, ready for school, and tending to an infant, that I haven’t been able to dig to deeply into this aspect of the Rova. But I am sure that will come in due time.