Holy Landed Blog

The Post Office

holylanded — Sat, 05 Sep 2009 04:47:55 +0000

The great equalizer in Israel is NOT the compulsory Army service, though that’s what everyone thinks. Nope, it’s the Post Office.

My favorite (and closest) post office is in Bet Shemesh, about 20 minutes’ drive down the mountain from our house. And if you have a few hours to spare (it’s NEVER a quick errand there), it’s the best cultural study in this big, sloppy, exciting, insane melting pot that we call home.

You walk in, take a number (oh, how I wish that meant a pastrami on rye rather than the opportunity to buy stamps), and wait. Your number: 2,783. Now serving: number 6. But as I whip out my notebook to draft up another endless “to do” list (mult-tasker that I am), I invariably put it down after scribbling only one or two items, because this place is such a party. There are the Russian grandmas and grandpas; Ethiopians of all ages – some in traditional dress and shawls and some in jeans with the hottest new cell phones; the “vatikim,” the old time Israelis who have been through it all and seen it all; and in that mix of old and new, the ultra-Orthodox men in black suits and black hats in what must be 100 degree weather, the Moroccans, the Ashkenazim, Kurds, French immigrants, and me. The Tower of Babel is alive and well in a 20×20 room.

Number 7.

I look up at the flat screen digital TVs they’ve installed in every post office and I see ads heralding the launch of the Disney Channel in Israel in early September. Hannah Montana and the Jonas Brothers will now be on Israeli TV! And then I look around this room, these teeming masses (some REALLY need to invest in deodorant, btw) staring at our little numbers. Nowhere is there a better dichotomy between cutting edge and 18th Century than the Israeli Post Office.

Number 8. Number 9, number 10.

1st grade

holylanded — Sat, 05 Sep 2009 04:10:37 +0000

How do you sum up your entire life to date? The first day of 1st grade.

With the simple act of walking kiddo’ number 2 to his class for the first day of first grade, in one fell swoop, my life until now flashes before my eyes. Memories of my own idyllic childhood, the thrills and fears of having a baby, struggling to balance work and life, and all of the efforts involved with shlepping kids from one continent and culture to another and helping them (and us) integrate into a new framework. In an instant, I flash from this tiny corner in Israel to Houston, Texas and memories of walking into “The Little Red Schoolhouse” where I went to 1st grade.

And yet here we are. And as I am ready to explode with emotion on this first day of first grade, anxious that my dear son will fit in, will understand the Hebrew, will remember to work slowly and carefully when cutting, pasting and coloring (not necessarily in that order) instead of hurrying through the work, will sit in a “good” spot in the classroom so that he can focus on the teacher (and not on the 700 other kids in the school walking past in the halls), will learn to really read and write in Hebrew, will strive to be one of the “smart kids,” and that he’ll remember to put his books back in his backpack every day…just as I am ready to implode with all these thoughts and fears and anxieties swirling and churning through my head, he sees friends from his kindergarten and runs skipping down with them in the hallway, hand in hand, ready to start his new adventures. And as we meet up in his classroom, he has found the perfect spot, all on his own, situated between old friends and new ones to discover. At a front table (Yea! I think to myself!) ready to learn and play. And as he looks up happily at me and waves goodbye with that huge smile that lights up his face, I think ”He’s gonna’ be ok. He really will.” So I give him a high five and a kiss on the top of his head and walk down the hall, as I hear this little guy chattering away in Hebrew just a year after he arrived, not knowing a single word of the language.

And the joke’s on me this time. It’s MOM who has the tears on this first day of 1st grade.

The best kind of Mish-Mash

holylanded — Fri, 24 Jul 2009 05:58:58 +0000

We had an amazing Shabbat last weekend. Went to the North to a town called Maalot which is the best example of a truly combined community of Israeli Arab/Jewish Israeli town management.

The town is actually combined from Maalot and the Arab town of Tarshisha. It’s gorgeous, with huge marble art installations on the sidewalks and a view worth its weight in gold. A bunch of people who work in high tech live in the area, so the community has decent resources.

Father of the bar-mitzvah boy is from a Yemeni family (read – he has 8 (!!!) sisters and a brother. I think they have something like 70 1st cousins just on that side of the family. Bar Mitzvah boy’s Mom is Ashkenazi/American. Add to the mix a cousin of their’s who is Haredi (Ultra-Orthodox) , some modern Orthodox, some completely non-religious (Hiloni in Hebrew) and you’ve got the makings of an awesome weekend. And a fantastic study of Israeli culture which I can only typically get at the post office in nearby Bet Shemesh – but that’s an altogether different post.

I think my favorite part was Sat. morning – after Shabbat services. After services, all the Yemeni cousins went downstairs – - outside – - and set up all these picnic tables and then they started carrying round containers covered with cloth to keep them warm from where they perched all night cooking over the hot water heater. Could it be?? Did they actually bring Jachnun (a rolled dough reminisent of phyllo rolled up and cooked until perfectly light brown) with them to the bar mitzvah?? YES!!!!!! But there was this interesting division – there were no “others” there. Only the Yemeni cousins. But NO ONE loves Jachnun and Yemeni food the way we do. So, into the mix we jump. With glee. Can I have a “halleluyah?” YUMMY!

At first, the cousins seemed surprised to see us (total Ashkenazis, and therefore completely different looking) joining in, but after the shortest of moments, delighted in piling our plates with homemade Jachnun, tomato puree, homemade schug (a puree of hot peppers sure to put hair on your chest), and delight of all delights, a type of bread/cake that I’ve never had before called Cubana. YUM!!!! Color me happy!

I loved looking at the crowd assembled together in the dining hall for all the meals – a microcosm of Israel and coexistence between one same, but very, very different people. Thank you Gilad, Dalia and Shaul for bringing us all together.

holylanded — Wed, 15 Jul 2009 11:24:23 +0000

Our beloved wadi burned. The thing I have always loved about Tzur Hadassah is the green. We’re surrounded by protected JNF forests and in the middle of our community, there’s a huge wadi, or dry river bed. It’s glorious. Or at least it was. Two days ago, a fire ravaged our wadi. It’s unclear how it started, but I have never seen anything like it. It was only by accident that I got home early and saw serious smoke starting to make the way across the wadi. As I drove onto our street, I looked into the wadi and saw a line of fire that was growing by the moment, from right to left across the wadi – and towards the school – where the kids are in camp and after-camp activities. It gives a whole new meaning to the terms ‘wildfire’ and ‘fear’ only then did I realize the severity of what was happening. I ran into the school and very calmly told the camp director about the fire and its proximity to the school and that I was taking kids out with me and suggested that she get the last kids out of camp asap. Luckily, there weren’t many kids left in after-camp at the time. The smoke was so yellow and grey and so thick that it burned my eyes and my throat. You couldn’t see very far. Close friends of ours live at the edge of the wadi. They came here with their kids and dog and basically said goodbye to their house. They were sure that it was going to burn. Turns out that it took 7 fire trucks the entire day and into the evening to put out the fire. Thankfully, although the fire fighters were slow to mobilize and exceedingly slow to arrive, no one was hurt and no houses burned. But the fire went up onto the school property on several sides of the school and stopped just short of crossing the street to my friend’s house. Two days later, you can still smell the smoke. I didn’t take pictures – was too focused on the kids and my friends – and the urgent press statement that I had to write for a client at that very moment (the reason I came home early). But here are another blogger’s photos of the fire. I think only through those pics can you get a sense of what it was like. (hat tip to lizrael for the pics) http://lizraelupdate.com/2009/07/13/being-a-tzur-hadassah-housewife/ Counting my blessings: 1, 2, 3, and hubby. And chinchillot.

Hello world!

holylanded — Wed, 15 Jul 2009 09:31:42 +0000

So. Here it is. After my periodic email tomes about life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness here in Israel, enough people urged me to blog that I finally took them seriously. Here goes nothing. In just a few weeks, we’ll mark one year since we’ve been back in our tiny paradise of Tzur Hadassah. For you Washingtonians, it’s like Rock Creek Park – but in the mountains. All I can say is that there are 3 very happy kids here who have adjusted beautifully and easily to a new language and new friends – while always cherishing their friends back in DC. My hat’s off to my gang – I couldn’t have done it with as much grace and courage as they have!