tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56635592113165602692024-03-05T08:38:29.770+02:00Spirit and Matterthis amphibious lifeShaynahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282197713834009926noreply@blogger.comBlogger72125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663559211316560269.post-70123544263107405932015-09-17T21:27:00.000+03:002015-09-24T22:40:54.143+03:00A Stranger in a Strange Land<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPL-gecTcKyIcmfa0Brd_ZKVFMf_MlNes-Z4T1WZX8kJfgcARQhdkFQnEDNMwgo2z65NSyR6PVRsMn90Sbk-nFSHxh7bpGKZJwwCsyL5D4eF6wj7s5VY-U9JQUQ7JpXOlyHwT3osel9ig/s1600/Screenshot_2015-09-10-06-33-38.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPL-gecTcKyIcmfa0Brd_ZKVFMf_MlNes-Z4T1WZX8kJfgcARQhdkFQnEDNMwgo2z65NSyR6PVRsMn90Sbk-nFSHxh7bpGKZJwwCsyL5D4eF6wj7s5VY-U9JQUQ7JpXOlyHwT3osel9ig/s400/Screenshot_2015-09-10-06-33-38.png" width="225" /></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white;">What time is it? Where am I? Where is home? When will I be home?</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white;">What time is it? My phone lists a few of them, and the time zone keeps jumping back to Jonesport, ME (I haven't been there since May--what is happening?!). The weather report says 'Dreary' and my head feels as foggy as the skies on the other sides of these windows.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white;">Where am I? I wake up on a train, heading north, heading home. Where is home? I think for a moment. After 26 moves, my home is Tzfat. But it doesn't feel like home...not the way it did a year ago. Did it feel like home then? Well, I swore I'd never move again. I'm just so tired of moving.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white;">I arrived to this mythological place know as 'home' on the Friday before Rosh Hashana, kicking off the marathon of Shabbat and holidays. Dust has settled heavily on my surroundings, giving an eerie feeling. Then I turn my phone on for the first time in two days, and my heart crumbles as I read the news. Couldn't sleep the whole night. Picked up and pen and let the words flow out along with the tears:</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white;">I will never feel at home</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white;">Anywhere on this earth</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white;">Born too soon, or too late</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white;">On the wrong side of the ocean</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white;">I don't belong</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white;">I'm more soul than body</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white;">Don't understand how anybody</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white;">Can take the life of another</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white;">My heart is broken</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white;">Aching for the pain</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white;">Of the family</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white;">That will never hold him again</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white;">May the family of Alexander Levlovich be comforted along with the mourners of Zion.</span></span>Shaynahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282197713834009926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663559211316560269.post-42285668226811130312015-07-14T11:13:00.001+03:002015-07-14T14:35:11.470+03:00My father had blue eyes<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">I met him for the first time two months ago, and on Friday</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"> he passed away.</span><br />
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Ok, I'll back up a bit...about 35 years or so, actually.</div>
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My mother was a street musician in Mexico and met my birth father there, who was from France. They moved to Virginia, where Deborah and I were born, but split up before I made my grand arrival to the world.</div>
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My mom remarried when I was three years-old, and for the most part my past was erased. There was little to no mention of him, and it felt as though we were expected to pretend that that part of life had never happened.</div>
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At the ripe age of 17, I insisted on some answers finally. While searching for anyone with his last name in online French phone directories, I found my grandparents. They put me in touch with him, around the time that I was moving to Israel.</div>
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Ten years of marriage, four kids, and a divorce later, I still hadn't been able to meet him...though we talked on the phone irregularly. We tossed around the idea of meeting in person, but Deborah and I lived on different continents for most of that time, and I never really got to travel anywhere.</div>
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Then we found out he had cancer. It was advanced when he discovered it, and another two months passed before his last ex-wife, Carol, delivered the news.</div>
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Through an intensive crowdfunding campaign, we managed to raise enough to fly out and visit him at the nursing home in Maine. I was praying each day that we would make it there in time.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnz4xFUyWcKd8qi7AiDdcPfXeHcLTIq2Z-KNGcWK91zDqgYjxKTFY7IqHpY-qDknRhsi4kFEtlFPKOpbPQg7Jej7B4iyd6SsuJ_35niMcVuxW4w5jmWmfQbDKLH4hY3bmXGdqAMwaBxiM/s1600/20150505_115317.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnz4xFUyWcKd8qi7AiDdcPfXeHcLTIq2Z-KNGcWK91zDqgYjxKTFY7IqHpY-qDknRhsi4kFEtlFPKOpbPQg7Jej7B4iyd6SsuJ_35niMcVuxW4w5jmWmfQbDKLH4hY3bmXGdqAMwaBxiM/s200/20150505_115317.jpg" width="200" /></a>He was in poor conditioned when we arrived, after nearly three days of driving, flying, bus rides, and hitchhiking. While there, he improved some and we even got him out in the car one day to visit his cabin. That was when he gave me one of his guitars, a beautiful black Washburn with ornate wood carvings.</div>
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The week passed way too fast, and the time came to return to my children, who were in the care of my awesome nanny, Juliana. More driving, flying, etc., returning to Israel the day before my brother's wedding.</div>
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The trip was hard to digest. I didn't even know where to start when people asked me 'how was it?' Where do you start?<i> I met my birth father, 30 years later than one should.</i> Intense. Exciting. Disappointing. Fulfilling. Complicated. </div>
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His eyes looked like Purieli's, a clear and mellow blue. His voice was deep and calming, though most of our time there he spoke of how frustrated he was. I came to some very difficult realizations with him. I married a man a lot like him. It scared me. <span style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">Honestly I connected more to my ex-stepmother than to him, and felt like I gained more family with her. Is that too weird?</span></div>
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I enjoyed hearing his take on spirituality. He had a very large and useful mind, though being very wrapped up in himself seems to have prevented him from having many close relationships with family and community. I saw the good, the bad, and everything in between, but only a tiny glimpse really. And now he is gone.</div>
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I don't know how to mourn this complicated relationship. Reached out to two rabbis, who both gave good advice and comfort, but still in shock and unsure of what to do. Because he wasn't Jewish, there is no requirement for the seven days of mourning, with all of their detailed directions. Sometimes there is safety in the details, and the fences can feel like nets to catch you when you don't know how to proceed. Although I 'get to' do any mourning customs, it's not the same. It seemed that G-d/The Universe responded by helping me along, for example: I planned to tear a ribbon and pin it to my shirt, like I did when my grandparents passed away. A grandchild isn't 'obligated' in the seven days, but it's still the loss of a dear family member and this is a meaningful way to express that loss. I forgot, in my haste to get the kids out to camp that morning, but my skirt got caught on a sharp piece of metal and ripped. So I wore a torn garment in the end, and felt connected in that way.</div>
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I also didn't know how to tell people around me what happened. A regular old Facebook post just didn't seem to cut it, and when I told a couple of people in real life there was mostly awkward silence, some much-needed hugs, and then the feeling of people avoiding me so they wouldn't have to act sad around me. So I left it mostly unsaid, and just went along with my days...</div>
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When my grandparents died, I was faced with a heavy sense of mortality, and motivated to make the most of every day because you never know when the end will come. Now my dad, only 67 years-old, and the feeling is so much stronger. May my mother live to 120, but after her I'm the last line left standing. The loss of a parent shakes your very core.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQNmk_n_fQOA-t29W-EZYWMYmA5YRTaYwujKiacipNGdBbBUyU8ze9LMLivU-JDnAQk-haKQuU6DYzR-wf44CxeyMlXshV4P95S1IvG9MIXsWDvJYR4J5oPD8R3QxnXOjbzqGhi-4IWQk/s1600/tube1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="128" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQNmk_n_fQOA-t29W-EZYWMYmA5YRTaYwujKiacipNGdBbBUyU8ze9LMLivU-JDnAQk-haKQuU6DYzR-wf44CxeyMlXshV4P95S1IvG9MIXsWDvJYR4J5oPD8R3QxnXOjbzqGhi-4IWQk/s200/tube1.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Still don't know where I'm headed from here. I want to commemorate him in some special way, but haven't got a clue as to how. One uncle recorded a song as part of his goodbye: <a href="https://youtu.be/kP9wJ2J3g9g" target="_blank">view it here</a>. He is a physics teacher, but also very musical. Follow the link and check out his YouTube channel for a song he composed, and is playing on a dulcimer that he crafted. Another uncle made a painting shortly before his brother left this world.</div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">I want to learn from his mistakes, to find more of the good that was in him and preserve it. I want to go to France to meet my aunts, uncles, and bundles of cousins.</span><span style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"> </span>I want to find my older half-brother in the Netherlands. I hope it can all be done. I hope it can help fill this hole that has always been in my heart and only recently started becoming smaller, before widening again this week. I hope...</div>
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Shaynahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282197713834009926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663559211316560269.post-86116993269898383642015-06-04T18:33:00.000+03:002015-09-24T22:38:45.946+03:00Dear Facebook FriendsSome of us known for decades, while others I've never met.<br />
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You are my community.<br />
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You brighten my days with silly memes and meaningful quotes, pictures of your growing little ones or landscapes of countries around the world.<br />
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You never forget my birthday.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3tHSyZZOVLCTL05p-szDy2e9OPHCGo0FA690vXv67YaxdMu3iCAJCa44lAw2c71FSOb7nE_-jHlkb-11RZxZOGOt7xnvqjDLdwZcuYiRn1glDxrh6LBg-Bf0ja6edP1gPXXFcfJVtf6c/s1600/20131229_221713.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3tHSyZZOVLCTL05p-szDy2e9OPHCGo0FA690vXv67YaxdMu3iCAJCa44lAw2c71FSOb7nE_-jHlkb-11RZxZOGOt7xnvqjDLdwZcuYiRn1glDxrh6LBg-Bf0ja6edP1gPXXFcfJVtf6c/s320/20131229_221713.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
I don't substitute my time with you for time with real, live human beings. First of all, you are real, live human beings just as I am. And secondly, I don't hide bedind the computer but get out to meet with you in person. And we have pictures posted on our walls to prove it.<br />
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I've moved around a lot in life and enjoy keeping in touch with all of you.<br />
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I'm glad I wasn't born a decade later or there would be a lot more embarrassing pictures of me floating around. Those poor kids nowadays, can't get away with anything. ;)<br />
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Sending love and hugs to all of you! xoxoShaynahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282197713834009926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663559211316560269.post-82752620040265994412015-03-01T20:25:00.000+02:002015-09-24T20:25:56.613+03:00Because of religionOver and over on prime-time TV, this was my stated reason for not singing until now. How do you sum up in one simple sentence, in front of hundreds of people, the repression that has choked your voice away?<br />
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On this path to healing, I've become better at expressing how religion and freedom are intertwined, and explaining their impact on me. This is my conclusion:<br />
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<div id="fb-root"></div><script>(function(d, s, id) { var js, fjs = d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0]; if (d.getElementById(id)) return; js = d.createElement(s); js.id = id; js.src = "//connect.facebook.net/en_US/sdk.js#xfbml=1&version=v2.3"; fjs.parentNode.insertBefore(js, fjs);}(document, 'script', 'facebook-jssdk'));</script><div class="fb-post" data-href="https://www.facebook.com/shaynamaydel/posts/10152517913202307" data-width="500"><div class="fb-xfbml-parse-ignore"><blockquote cite="https://www.facebook.com/shaynamaydel/posts/10152517913202307"><p>What I seek is freedom of religion, not freedom from religion. When we can separate between those who misuse religion to...</p>Posted by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/shaynamaydel">Shayna Rehberg</a> on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/shaynamaydel/posts/10152517913202307">Saturday, January 10, 2015</a></blockquote></div></div>Shaynahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282197713834009926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663559211316560269.post-64473415980354500952014-10-16T23:16:00.000+03:002015-09-24T21:23:26.734+03:00How to make friendsMy eight year-old recently confided in me his newly-gained insights into the world of friendship, after striking up a conversation with a boy in a neighbor's sukkah.<br />
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"I used to think it was really hard to make friends with new people, but now I know that it's really easy," Puriel tells me, barely above a whisper.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha-mf3Obwf-NgroZ_4GhRPaWySISIBWKz6Cl8Gihyphenhyphenq9ZGYZbwPzyzTOCQMyZH7tLbiD2iKT2uPF99P7tKCTNc3zfja2fh7U9Xow1zWj1R18n2l4KhYvrn-DZrX2gu_fFClibmARasZTiw/s1600/2014-10-08+14.23.55.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha-mf3Obwf-NgroZ_4GhRPaWySISIBWKz6Cl8Gihyphenhyphenq9ZGYZbwPzyzTOCQMyZH7tLbiD2iKT2uPF99P7tKCTNc3zfja2fh7U9Xow1zWj1R18n2l4KhYvrn-DZrX2gu_fFClibmARasZTiw/s400/2014-10-08+14.23.55.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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And now I shall pass on this wisdom, because he's actually really smart and right about the whole thing:<br />
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1. "First I ask what his name is." <i>Pretty simple so far...</i><br />
2. "Next I ask how old he is, what grade he's in." <i>Leave this part out if you're talking to a woman over 20.</i><br />
3. "Then I ask what things he likes to do, games he likes to play. And then I see if we like any of the same things and then we do them or talk about them together."<br />
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It works. Go on, try it out on someone new today and see if you don't make a friend...Shaynahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282197713834009926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663559211316560269.post-15095225659206145602014-06-20T09:30:00.000+03:002014-06-20T09:31:23.949+03:00Pieces<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhT94HZqehyl_7G9GzhBXhIpnBLnAgPJrihkF8hFeSfQDlr5ZycCovPitEx8chIqIkWMru0uHohjP9kvulUVLvWlh9w-W7y01glHqok2a8CFzLBaPj4LesiFPpF2GhqNHiMpXcFJM80iI/s1600/20140618_143224.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhT94HZqehyl_7G9GzhBXhIpnBLnAgPJrihkF8hFeSfQDlr5ZycCovPitEx8chIqIkWMru0uHohjP9kvulUVLvWlh9w-W7y01glHqok2a8CFzLBaPj4LesiFPpF2GhqNHiMpXcFJM80iI/s1600/20140618_143224.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
Picking up the pieces of myself<br />
Trying to rebuild myself<br />
Some pieces are missing<br />
I think you took those with you<br />
No matter, I'll make new ones<br />
This tower will be taller and stronger<br />
No more looking over my shoulder<br />
Life isn't easy, but it's better nowShaynahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282197713834009926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663559211316560269.post-78101247667096746922014-06-03T00:23:00.000+03:002014-06-03T12:24:05.683+03:00Worth It<div style="text-align: justify;">
I stood in the kitchen this morning and broke into tears.</div>
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Some days I'm really on top of everything, and some days I'm just not. It was 8 o'clock in the morning and, despite being up for 2.5 hours already, you couldn't tell by looking.</div>
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I had someone's spilled milk on my pajama pants, and someone else's snot on my shirt. One kid lost their shoes, and another lost my keys. The lunches were made and two kids were out the door to school. Two down, two to go.</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0XO_DVFGmu7kZKzdPZkSqXlumSG903Mqes2TC0T87izzXTMv4M_FwJgZJGt6mRLK-9UlFoqZOGDaALuGd6DbFpmG7YPB_Zb_xi6VlVcWWxt7cHfAZ1f_DywaSS2dJxSwOCSrA8s1dtTc/s1600/20140601_183231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0XO_DVFGmu7kZKzdPZkSqXlumSG903Mqes2TC0T87izzXTMv4M_FwJgZJGt6mRLK-9UlFoqZOGDaALuGd6DbFpmG7YPB_Zb_xi6VlVcWWxt7cHfAZ1f_DywaSS2dJxSwOCSrA8s1dtTc/s1600/20140601_183231.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting ready for Shavuot<br />
with flower crowns and fruit baskets</td></tr>
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My keys. Where were they? Puriel had taken them to unlock the storage shed and pump up his soccer ball. But his bus came and went. He went. Where are my keys?</div>
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I turned the house upside down and inside out. It was actually already upside down and inside out, but it certainly didn't get turned right side up and out in the process. Twenty frantic minutes passed. The baby was randomly shrieking as she toddled after me through the house and my preschooler still refused to get dressed in his nice clothes for the Shavuot festivities at school.</div>
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I'll be late for work again... Where are my keys?! My hair isn't even brushed yet and I'm still in those nasty pajamas. [Sniff] What's that? Time out from searching for a diaper change.</div>
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Snap the snaps, wash my hands, straighten baby's clothes and she gives me a surprise. Shalva wraps her arms around my neck and says, "Ima. Pretty." She plants a kiss on my cheek.</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimhdeIRE1tvpzrpmxWSpgrt5xU_3O6Ztpq8OiFpuDRiVq4BOV6hN8aSjrI5E4L019R8r4ZMGYs6Yher1Gd176shVChJwsR9Cs9utT6fWZJYMR4nF8uaeEmWZAfCAA_3uj9UuVhFiBussk/s1600/20140226_082311.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimhdeIRE1tvpzrpmxWSpgrt5xU_3O6Ztpq8OiFpuDRiVq4BOV6hN8aSjrI5E4L019R8r4ZMGYs6Yher1Gd176shVChJwsR9Cs9utT6fWZJYMR4nF8uaeEmWZAfCAA_3uj9UuVhFiBussk/s1600/20140226_082311.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Surprise!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Right there, in that moment...in that precious, sweet moment...it's all worth it. There could be an earthquake, or a tornado, or anything(!) happening and I wouldn't notice. At 21 months, she somehow magically knows what it takes to make my day. In that moment I find the strength and fuel to smile, finish dressing everyone, finally find my keys (they were in the boys' room), get everyone out the door, put in my hours at the office, take my elderly neighbor shopping, make dinner, get the kids to and from soccer practice, bathe them all, then tuck them in with a kiss and the bedtime Shema.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
It just takes one little special moment, to see once again that it's all worth it.</div>
Shaynahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282197713834009926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663559211316560269.post-19947068860347769022014-05-04T22:27:00.005+03:002022-01-05T11:32:23.835+02:00How to Heal a Broken HeartLast week we remembered the victims and honored the survivors of the Holocaust. Those who made it through and started over to create a new life for themselves are incredibly inspiring to me. After all, if they can do it then how can I not?! It's a long journey back to being whole, but no one is ever too broken to start again.<br />
<br />
I find myself being "reinvented" as of late. I rather like the new Shayna, though sometimes she catches me off-guard. Trying to stay positive and make it through the legal battles and material struggles, the late nights alone and mountains of housework, the exhaustion, and occasional despair. I've become more aware of how many people experience these same conditions and wanted to share a few things that have helped me...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Q9vBP93Xp5_YZSOBucQfLI-b6bPI-BSYyGWa_wxC3rXtH445ajdCCeCixTYgUzxRi32_bLRKbLvZjnpnxwU4vXvrVBVaws2M-gDmcay5nYpmYJv5ohRPFQmYUkhzUSfcoohPujvDnys/s1600/20131201_130851.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Q9vBP93Xp5_YZSOBucQfLI-b6bPI-BSYyGWa_wxC3rXtH445ajdCCeCixTYgUzxRi32_bLRKbLvZjnpnxwU4vXvrVBVaws2M-gDmcay5nYpmYJv5ohRPFQmYUkhzUSfcoohPujvDnys/s1600/20131201_130851.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Stop and smell the flowers. Not just roses, but all flowers: the jasmine growing over that fence, the geranium climbing up the rocks, the lemon blossoms bursting on your neighbor's tree, the rosemary by the bus stop. Stop for two seconds, close your eyes, and take a deep breath in...now get back to whatever you were doing and notice how big your smile has become.<br />
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Drive with your windows down. Sing at the top of your lungs. Watch out for flies.<br />
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Every once in a while, just give in to the hurt. Curl into a ball in a dark corner, lock yourself in the car and scream as loud as you can, climb to the highest peak, spread your arms to the heavens and bawl "why G-d, why?!" Then dry your tears, get some sleep, and start the next day with a new determination to count your blessings and be truly grateful for the good left in your life. It could always be worse.<br />
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Go to the cistern of the ancient crusader fortress in Tzfat, or sit in a bathtub, or find some other acoustically amazing spot. Sing the saddest heart-break songs you can think of for at least a good two hours, then sing as many love songs as you can remember.<br />
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Meditate for five minutes every day, and if you don't have time for five minutes then meditate for an hour.<br />
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Grow a garden, learn an instrument, try something new...try ten new somethings! Don't stop until you've acquired a new hobby that you wonder how you ever lived without.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBkELm7CZb37Gt1Sx3CVyDQsA2UJhB7gzPVgG9TA02aolg_75lIsOxK8KoRg9FojDgoD3-1CY8Tr7-txTOUGmvuFb-ePj_IpMbk-0wjnmJ9I-w4_NYe8HxpIxZ6gWF71-9dWG6tTlYpCY/s1600/.facebook_1925375317.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBkELm7CZb37Gt1Sx3CVyDQsA2UJhB7gzPVgG9TA02aolg_75lIsOxK8KoRg9FojDgoD3-1CY8Tr7-txTOUGmvuFb-ePj_IpMbk-0wjnmJ9I-w4_NYe8HxpIxZ6gWF71-9dWG6tTlYpCY/s1600/.facebook_1925375317.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Wear mascara. Put on your nicest clothes. Yes, your baby might wipe her nose on them, but that's just a risk you've got to take. Dress for the job you want, not the one you have...and don't we all want to be princesses?<br />
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Gather up all the candles you've ever been gifted and burn them at once.<br />
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Find out where the local tourist attractions are for your area and visit them. Pretend you're from out of town, wear khakis and a funky sun hat, take lots of pictures.<br />
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Go through your Facebook chat list and randomly send nice messages to friends who are online. You just might make someone's day amazing. You could even save someone's life.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyBbfPvRYlpa4SVsMSZkFg6dwYZKm6l02Xlfm58Wbm_KKKi1rcxg2H7SDaeew8ESpgnlvOaKibLlgGSVmW88eIHCyiP99CxEQD3enw3ihSDZ3Yl1C1QmMLL5juuJ_0HR-mSgnQc3JOhB4/s1600/20131031_090331.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyBbfPvRYlpa4SVsMSZkFg6dwYZKm6l02Xlfm58Wbm_KKKi1rcxg2H7SDaeew8ESpgnlvOaKibLlgGSVmW88eIHCyiP99CxEQD3enw3ihSDZ3Yl1C1QmMLL5juuJ_0HR-mSgnQc3JOhB4/s1600/20131031_090331.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Turn off technology for a day. Have real face-to-face conversations. Take your kids or dog, or your neighbor's kids or dog to the park. Run and sweat like there's no tomorrow.<br />
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Get an ice cream cone, sit on a wall, swing your feet and hum while enjoying the sweet, creamy goodness.<br />
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Compliment someone you meet today. Compliment yourself, out loud.<br />
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Run outside barefooted. Watch out for glass. Wiggle your toes in the dirt and pretend that you're a kid again. Where is the best spot for a treehouse? Could you make a good pretend salad with those weeds?<br />
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Stuff yourself silly one day with cake and cappuccinos. Juice the next day.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1NaJVIV7jpWVem0vHRfptmYh_xhNyp4149E5ecI0wxGRP61EHBN7AnHuTY45FTUWrAirgw6eTllpvm1WeaMxPGFvUouCDMHrSWsQTxnkx624UA8-rpXeXII41OeMb9HupMegJniggKC4/s1600/2013-12-10+05.53.39.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1NaJVIV7jpWVem0vHRfptmYh_xhNyp4149E5ecI0wxGRP61EHBN7AnHuTY45FTUWrAirgw6eTllpvm1WeaMxPGFvUouCDMHrSWsQTxnkx624UA8-rpXeXII41OeMb9HupMegJniggKC4/s1600/2013-12-10+05.53.39.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Sit outside at night and get comfy. Now watch the sky until you see a shooting star. It could take a while.<br />
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Purge. Forgive but don't forget; shake out the pain and anger to make room for new love to grow. Hold onto the memories only enough to keep lessons learned the hard way, so that you don't have to learn them all over again. Let go of things that don't fit you anymore, whether feelings or music or clothes.<br />
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Write a poem, paint a picture, sew something new. Whatever your preferred medium is, just create.<br />
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Volunteer. 'Cause the more that you give, the more you've got to give.<br />
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Take a hundred selfies one day in the widest variety of poses, but don't share them with anyone on any platform.<br />
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Lock the doors and make sure your blinds are shut tight, then dance naked in your living room. Laugh plenty.<br />
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<i><b>How do you get through the tough times? Share your best remedies in the comments below:</b></i>Shaynahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282197713834009926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663559211316560269.post-34045464133449075122014-03-12T21:27:00.000+02:002015-09-24T21:39:27.845+03:00Red nail polish"For the first time ever" is something I've been saying a lot lately. Turning over a new leaf in life, I'm encountering and seeking out new experiences, tastes, sights, etc.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi1B0qg7cnoR2THR-L5dKM6g9JMQ4Ar9RDGIqnZYHHut2h11jsOBPCRuj9enxAGoRqIrCqczp36U2dXf0rm1YoSI_TL7NSejoT_xYFVN9NthoPOvRnzwRfA1WGcMNqtevfHNmrybPtPr8/s1600/Shayna_MM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi1B0qg7cnoR2THR-L5dKM6g9JMQ4Ar9RDGIqnZYHHut2h11jsOBPCRuj9enxAGoRqIrCqczp36U2dXf0rm1YoSI_TL7NSejoT_xYFVN9NthoPOvRnzwRfA1WGcMNqtevfHNmrybPtPr8/s320/Shayna_MM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
I painted my nails red for the first time, then green. I ate a black radish and some weird fruit that tasted like a pine tree. I also discovered some new trails around here and the fact that I like guavas. I sang in front of a crowd for the first time in over a decade.<br />
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And last night I had my first flat tire.<br />
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Definitely not an experience that I sought out, but it happened and all's well that ends well. Boy did it end well...<br />
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I was picking up my mom and sister from Tiberius. They were at the grand opening of ARC (Aliyah Return Center) and my mom was coming to help with the kids in the morning so I could leave early to accompany Teneya to her school concert.<br />
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Just after Migdal, we heard a bang of sorts and then an obnoxious dragging/grinding sound. I pulled over and went right to work. Hauled out my jack and looked over the directions (in Hebrew, without diagrams) then tried valiantly not to look like I had no idea what I was doing.<br />
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Someone stopped to help. A man. An angel. An Arab.<br />
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He was kind, quick, and spoke sweetly of the need to put our differences aside and care for others. Life is hard enough. This country is hard enough. We don't need to be hard on each other.<br />
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A friend, who we had called when the incident first occurred, showed up and helped finish off the job. It didn't take long for us to be on our way, but this encounter is one that I'm sure will stay with me for some time.<br />
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There is so much good in the world, and so many wonderful people.Shaynahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282197713834009926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663559211316560269.post-46660699266538626202014-02-26T00:37:00.001+02:002022-01-05T11:28:59.289+02:00My Upside-Down Life<div style="text-align: justify;">
So many changes, so little blogging. I hardly know where to begin...</div>
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I'm on my way into the eighth month of separation and grateful each day for the chance to finally breathe, do, live, laugh, explore, etc. "Isn't it hard?" some ask. Sure, but whoever said life wouldn't be? I've been through a lot of tough times and I'm sure there are more to come. It's hard, but better. The important thing is to keep smiling no matter what comes my way.</div>
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I left Livnot. That's probably been one of the more difficult changes. Livnot is my second home; was, and still is. Although I never did the program myself, I saw the transformation of participants--the joy, awe, self-discovery, fear-conquering, root-finding, vision-revealing, goodness and took steps along with each group to taste those things too. Positivism. There's lots of that at Livnot, and it's contagious. I like being positive. Life is just so much better that way.</div>
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Like most non-profits, budgets are tight and each employee wears multiple hats. I enjoyed the multi-tasking, but am doing a little too much of it in my personal life to do it other places as well at the moment. I needed a job where I would clock out and not think about work again until the next day, so I could just go home and focus on my kids. I'm working part-time at a winery now and loving it, except for the occasional dish-washing. Meeting great people, having adult conversations, expanding my knowledge, and enjoying the most amazing cheeses and wines. Working is healthy for the body and mind. </div>
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The Israeli unemployment system is pretty fantastic. I was signing off weekly at the employment office in Tzfat when, one day, they said there was a suitable job for me in the Dalton Industrial Park. "The owner is out of the country," they said, "but send in your resume and see what happens." I admittedly dragged my feet a bit while trying to get in a bit more organizing with the kids' schedules and order of the house before locking in to a new work routine. Popped in one day to see if my email was received and met a pleasant English fellow who gave me the impression that this would be a lovely environment. And it is.</div>
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It was the first Thursday of January when I went in for an interview. That same night I had been encouraged to sing in Tzfat. Not having a television, and being way out of the loop on pretty much everything other than work and home, I didn't realize that the evening was an audition for a reality TV show. So I called to sign up for an "open mic night" and the lady on the phone asked "you mean the auditions?" Yeah, I guess so. Eventually I Googled it and discovered what it was all about. Woah!</div>
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I hadn't sung in front of an audience for over a decade and was terribly nervous. I was in a rock band, school choir, and a black gospel choir in Germany when I was 16. I also grew up in a very musical family and always loved to sing. When I was 18, I became religious and moved to Israel and got married...all in the same year! Life was moving fast. I held on tight, closed my eyes, and rode the roller-coaster as long as possible. The singing stopped.</div>
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Religious Jews are rather obsessed with a little thing called <i>tzniut </i>(aka <i>tznius</i>), which is translated as modesty. Anything that is normally covered, which becomes uncovered, is nakedness. So if my shoulders are normally covered and I'm wearing a tank top to bed, then I'm sleeping partly naked. But if I wear 3/4 length sleeves, then long sleeves one day, and then roll them up while washing dishes, you're not seeing nakedness because my forearm is not a part of me that I habitually cover. Am I making sense so far?</div>
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Modesty is a really beautiful idea that protects our dignity and consciousness. It's not just our bodies that we take care to treat with modesty either. Think of a <i>sefer Torah</i> (scroll of the five books of Moses). We give it a beautiful garment and build it a nice home. We only take it out in a special place, at the right time, with the right person who has good intentions to use it for holiness and connecting to the Divine. And we should of course treat ourselves with the same respect that we show the <i>sefer Torah</i>.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
So what's up with <i>kol isha</i>? A couple thousand years ago, not just in the Jewish world but all over, women were treated very differently from today. The discussion in ancient texts about whether or not a woman's voice is nakedness wasn't limited to whether she was singing, but even speaking! Women's voices were covered, stifled, muffled. Many men just didn't want to hear them at all. Period.</div>
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The Torah is a tree of life, always growing to keep up with the times. Now the trunk and roots pretty much stay the same all the time, but branches are pruned or fall off, newer and stronger ones grow in their place, with leaves and fruit popping up seasonally. Change is slow but does happen. Women have a voice now! Women are leading countries, sitting in the Knesset, directing schools and hospitals; women are judges, lawyers, doctors, professors, and really just about anything we set our minds to be. Women are no longer relegated to the kitchen and seen as good for nothing more than baby-making. The voice of a woman isn't normally covered and women are not naked just because they voice their views.</div>
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Or so I see it...what do you think? In short, yes, I sing again. No, I don't do it to be against the Torah. I think we're returning to the place we were when Miriam took up tambourines, and inspired the other women of Israel to do the same, after the parting of the sea. Do you think they put up a mechitza?</div>
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It's never too late to pursue your dreams and do what you love. The audition went well and I got called back to Tel Aviv twice. It seemed a sure thing but some weeks after I read through and signed the ginormous contract they suddenly called again. "Sorry, but we're not going to have you on the show this season. Maybe next time," she said.</div>
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"Can I ask why?" She told me that a committee makes the decisions and she didn't know. Sorry.</div>
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I'm not gonna lie, it really killed my day to receive such news. Although part of me is also relieved that I don't have to worry about how to juggle work, kids, and filming this summer. "This isn't the end," I told myself. And it's not. I'm never again going to stop singing. I can't! I will simply find another stage.<br />
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So there's a bit of what's going on in my head lately. And life is indeed a bit upside-down and crazy still...but better than ever.</div>
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Shaynahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282197713834009926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663559211316560269.post-14615893632253025852014-01-04T20:38:00.000+02:002014-01-04T20:47:48.692+02:00Israeli Standard TimeWell it's taken me nearly 11 years, but I think I'm finally getting the hang of it. If you are visiting, or a recent immigrant, take a moment to review this handy guide I've worked up to save you the time and embarrassment of figuring it all out the hard way like I had to.<br />
<br />
If an Israeli says...<br />
"I'll be there in a few minutes."<br />
...it really means...<br />
"If I come, it could take me at least another hour."<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggdk4394uYoMv-IEhOuG01DXZTqPdyVRBOVykwtpjYfjtxa6yUXcS7fBBR-6aAYTQdVVqLZcXND8ZrpEoxyEHE7jJX-F9pjIy79OxP2rPQdV4SEHJsyJpTckTwQs-nTMkF3GIiJ9x30zM/s1600/Clock_Gerard_Dou_Synagogue_Amsterdam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggdk4394uYoMv-IEhOuG01DXZTqPdyVRBOVykwtpjYfjtxa6yUXcS7fBBR-6aAYTQdVVqLZcXND8ZrpEoxyEHE7jJX-F9pjIy79OxP2rPQdV4SEHJsyJpTckTwQs-nTMkF3GIiJ9x30zM/s320/Clock_Gerard_Dou_Synagogue_Amsterdam.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/39049548@N05/5034850798/in/photolist-8EUVJo" target="_blank">Not my picture</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
If an Israeli says...<br />
"Another 7 minutes."<br />
...it really means he'll be there in half an hour.<br />
<br />
If an Israeli says...<br />
"Another 5 minutes."<br />
...expect him in 20.<br />
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If an Israeli says...<br />
"Another 2 minutes."<br />
...expect him in 10.<br />
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And if an Israeli says...<br />
"I'm here already."<br />
...he's only 5 minutes away.<br />
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The other thing you should know is that events never ever start on time. Unless it's a preschool event and the teacher is over the age of 60, then you'd better be punctual or you'll get a phone call two minutes after the time listed on the Hanukah recital invitation asking if you're still alive and well.<br />
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But all other events take their time getting off the ground.<br />
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Weddings especially. I was recently the designated driver for the family of the sister of the groom at a wedding near Haifa. She tells me the day before, "We'll have to get there early, you know, for family pictures and such." The invitation says <i>Kabbalat Panim</i> (reception) at 7:30 and it'll take over an hour to drive there. "So do we need to leave at a quarter to six," I inquire. "What?! No we'll leave at a quarter to <i>seven</i>." It was nearly seven o'clock by the time we dragged their teen-aged girls to the car, nail polish still drying, and very few people had arrived before we got there.<br />
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<i><b>What other differences have you noticed while on Israeli Standard Time?</b></i>Shaynahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282197713834009926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663559211316560269.post-43878610784389115182013-11-03T05:31:00.000+02:002015-09-24T21:48:38.973+03:00Silence is golden, but it eats you alive<div style="text-align: justify;">
"No news is good news," they say...but "they" clearly live in some other reality than mine.</div>
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Writing is therapeutic for me, freeing my soul, transforming scattered thoughts into black and white letters. I enjoy writing about deep, emotional, spiritual ponderings (and some silliness from my kids too), but what do you do when you can't write about what's really happening in life?</div>
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I'm entering the fourth calendar month since separating from my husband of ten years. Maybe it's a generational thing, but it seemed reasonable enough to keep things quiet on my Facebook wall and see what would develop once I had a little room to breathe and consider the future.</div>
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Last month I filed for divorce.</div>
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"Why isn't <i>Aba </i>(Daddy) coming home?" my three year-old asks me. Where do I start? What can you say to a child who wouldn't understand and shouldn't have to know. My neighbors need no explanation; they've seen and heard enough.</div>
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<br /><iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/QUQsqBqxoR4/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/QUQsqBqxoR4?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My theme song in life at the moment</span></i></div>
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So there, it's out now. I'll not be answering questions on here, or social media. I have no interest in public besmirchment of my nearly-former other half. But I'm home all the time now so feel free to stop by for coffee, to chat and catch up on life.</div>
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I want to end with a big THANK YOU to the family and a few geographically close friends who have not pushed me one way or another but only supported me in love. There is so much good in the world and so many good people. Thanks for helping me see that.</div>
Shaynahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282197713834009926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663559211316560269.post-26074873456016308262013-07-08T23:35:00.002+03:002013-07-08T23:36:44.597+03:00She's dead, JimOk, so this blog isn't really permanently dead...it's just that I've been writing more lately on my "work" blog (which you should check out too!)<br />
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See you at <a href="http://www.livnot.org/blog" target="_blank">livnot.org/blog</a></div>
Shaynahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282197713834009926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663559211316560269.post-34295630597133484792013-06-17T06:07:00.004+03:002013-06-17T22:33:43.043+03:00Gamla of the Golan: Camel's hump jutting out of the earthMostly pictures, but wanted to share this season's scenery from a recent <i>tiyul</i> (hike) in the Golan. Enjoy the views from here and see them for yourself someday--worth the trip!<br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyYY6rHLWGdArEQvIQusHYCU5XxNOHTKYBPizinTsCQKhETucAe-uIm_rIZtOOULd_kE7t3U7s76SaxHjdAuB2Qr20_8GqmOLDvHX4TJ0dvc-7sRQW0TQY-1BtopwjTjIC4ADQdePHy_8/s1600/387.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyYY6rHLWGdArEQvIQusHYCU5XxNOHTKYBPizinTsCQKhETucAe-uIm_rIZtOOULd_kE7t3U7s76SaxHjdAuB2Qr20_8GqmOLDvHX4TJ0dvc-7sRQW0TQY-1BtopwjTjIC4ADQdePHy_8/s320/387.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Took a day off from work to join Teneya for her class trip to Gamla.<br />
The white next to the trees isn't a cloud, rather the snow-capped Mount Hermon.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsT3tGudrbKS0sufltm8Ifsde8PoH2h6Tt4FqpGytFpz80hie2V5-rxbJkmtfKmn46j1mm1cAb5jIBlFKNIM5QzvVlbQUV0eH9Q1Ul_hRfdkqp5-sj6tMUNus5bkDok-BkFQR-OsO2mJ0/s1600/393.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsT3tGudrbKS0sufltm8Ifsde8PoH2h6Tt4FqpGytFpz80hie2V5-rxbJkmtfKmn46j1mm1cAb5jIBlFKNIM5QzvVlbQUV0eH9Q1Ul_hRfdkqp5-sj6tMUNus5bkDok-BkFQR-OsO2mJ0/s320/393.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Caught the last of this year's poppies,<br />
unusually late and vibrant among the fading grasses.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9d5NC2O8V76h4baegDQOamKzGqXyrkadOmDPxhzAAdxznpINxpboRZM8mRZ_WwrBkVByJbirmFnmdblZXmzvr8pt2cOtymulanAreeDiwECMU7YufeQpT8TTQgFPJJcuIrJ0j7bQMUmk/s1600/414.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9d5NC2O8V76h4baegDQOamKzGqXyrkadOmDPxhzAAdxznpINxpboRZM8mRZ_WwrBkVByJbirmFnmdblZXmzvr8pt2cOtymulanAreeDiwECMU7YufeQpT8TTQgFPJJcuIrJ0j7bQMUmk/s320/414.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amazing views along the way.<br />
No wonder the eagles love it here.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdVBhYQvA56Pw5Aw8J2mHPMSg2SnCdlvZrRzhVtuiwHpIa2WV1MrUSsTai4qTozxcfFtooOVND3Jr7KLppuFkMIb48Afo2Ld2kONXizyQ8RVYhprnSYC8cZvDcIURrXTsXckpbN0qLtUk/s1600/441.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdVBhYQvA56Pw5Aw8J2mHPMSg2SnCdlvZrRzhVtuiwHpIa2WV1MrUSsTai4qTozxcfFtooOVND3Jr7KLppuFkMIb48Afo2Ld2kONXizyQ8RVYhprnSYC8cZvDcIURrXTsXckpbN0qLtUk/s320/441.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Israel's tallest waterfall: 51 meters.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWAC7iWCJsgYI5oZOcdIBG1IuDRqKiPV4vfzEql1Rn1EEO-xoyWRSqwj8eSyjzybqF1_PpRu1O_un7d7GpwPawxecWiOfhxfxUeLslEpM9SHpAcsThSj_P3l_kslN28gWOtonSeoFV1B0/s1600/469.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWAC7iWCJsgYI5oZOcdIBG1IuDRqKiPV4vfzEql1Rn1EEO-xoyWRSqwj8eSyjzybqF1_PpRu1O_un7d7GpwPawxecWiOfhxfxUeLslEpM9SHpAcsThSj_P3l_kslN28gWOtonSeoFV1B0/s320/469.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mother-daughter love.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqlXnM2Y0vpYr1TodHMzBxXnD-Y3kq6me1eUgCoOLTODa-Zdpch1nDkh30v0UFkhZgxGaLAtZbU6PDIe7o299OP1I7jbou5pl_YYRI39LcWdWvJTk4e0_WIqt9_SOBB9hc_zgPovG293A/s1600/529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqlXnM2Y0vpYr1TodHMzBxXnD-Y3kq6me1eUgCoOLTODa-Zdpch1nDkh30v0UFkhZgxGaLAtZbU6PDIe7o299OP1I7jbou5pl_YYRI39LcWdWvJTk4e0_WIqt9_SOBB9hc_zgPovG293A/s320/529.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Saw some unusual wildlife.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Teneya enjoyed the ruins;<br />
climbing inside and imagining life during this period.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM0fSLMMnwze-cLN-SNk6ZUbQhQ-GWPlCBnkaYVkz4XB3Dlfki2inojwFlbXkUy9sdxzxUqbwq7rd2oMNi8-4WRYLDwlgifrQxSzSgavm7w-BB0WIqua9bm_teGp8A6u56tvmUZXeAQKU/s1600/513.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM0fSLMMnwze-cLN-SNk6ZUbQhQ-GWPlCBnkaYVkz4XB3Dlfki2inojwFlbXkUy9sdxzxUqbwq7rd2oMNi8-4WRYLDwlgifrQxSzSgavm7w-BB0WIqua9bm_teGp8A6u56tvmUZXeAQKU/s320/513.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of Gamla. Another Masada-like story.<br />
Tragic, yet inspiring to many. Would you prefer death to capture?</td></tr>
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Shaynahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282197713834009926noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663559211316560269.post-84837780486224602562013-04-07T19:12:00.001+03:002013-04-07T19:12:24.136+03:00Blue Valley<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="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjflTXFOF6w3p5xb-zjxOePH2cWgJVb8vQTKZBSTZWB2XCsAWzK2uf49XJHlAs7lfD6vKfrpMvqh-tz_sqhU_NYTfaEPob8WW8WzyVRZC2N7G9cCfESQksG5jVMzMa1f8k0IxUTkixtyK4/s1600/path2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjflTXFOF6w3p5xb-zjxOePH2cWgJVb8vQTKZBSTZWB2XCsAWzK2uf49XJHlAs7lfD6vKfrpMvqh-tz_sqhU_NYTfaEPob8WW8WzyVRZC2N7G9cCfESQksG5jVMzMa1f8k0IxUTkixtyK4/s400/path2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last week we took the whole family on a hike in <i>Emek Hatechelet</i>, the Blue Valley Park</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY3BI4rjI5DqzRTJS-Nc9bISl8rojYlVo4VFSJVVAVYgjYDunwZ4JTFjzMRIMVX__tx9-oHX9I_P8RXCyjXMRqMQ6kDdsy-AZbYOAtzmeWQPqcAmYu6vnMJGPh-CN8HEN73hX7xWLDyZM/s1600/spring.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY3BI4rjI5DqzRTJS-Nc9bISl8rojYlVo4VFSJVVAVYgjYDunwZ4JTFjzMRIMVX__tx9-oHX9I_P8RXCyjXMRqMQ6kDdsy-AZbYOAtzmeWQPqcAmYu6vnMJGPh-CN8HEN73hX7xWLDyZM/s400/spring.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The calming sound of the running spring mixed with majestic views<br />made it seem like we had traveled far from the city</td></tr>
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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="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ6zw5H3uofGxA0_Mr6nKnyJbc0pzPnkJExwhh9WDL4C-fVVkxDW2YyC3d837nQXfW_9P_zYUvMSXBaBT8_DAgQBB5tV13JiNoQH412_UK3RanfhMaz6zehcv_bvLD_zcO3XUJShWcvCI/s1600/tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ6zw5H3uofGxA0_Mr6nKnyJbc0pzPnkJExwhh9WDL4C-fVVkxDW2YyC3d837nQXfW_9P_zYUvMSXBaBT8_DAgQBB5tV13JiNoQH412_UK3RanfhMaz6zehcv_bvLD_zcO3XUJShWcvCI/s400/tree.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hemdiya found an old olive tree to sit in along the way</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL5aX3Vp7V7S5KMjzAVWbMVk-rZxJ6p6WaNnuWmFRKKXvfptQo_h3FOnU9IS9iuD1tcSvmMb6gaqoaPIP76mx1Gs_Ih3HBEsNxvdnMRa_fIyAY3GL4SapV3P0XS9gJLCcrjO4kxR3QU3o/s1600/stream.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL5aX3Vp7V7S5KMjzAVWbMVk-rZxJ6p6WaNnuWmFRKKXvfptQo_h3FOnU9IS9iuD1tcSvmMb6gaqoaPIP76mx1Gs_Ih3HBEsNxvdnMRa_fIyAY3GL4SapV3P0XS9gJLCcrjO4kxR3QU3o/s400/stream.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Butterflies danced between the flowers</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG4yblwpotvDcq4iRNB0SnE4pb8MGWft7fWOeZJbCxAwlIc0nZVCu_bmkYlQwFUR9PSkUDvsw3xq0J9IyvVNY5ZOB3MBmPCniQyfsQKGtS3eDmAEUdUassuOlcvpl4IvdVtsaBk9SVOAs/s1600/283.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG4yblwpotvDcq4iRNB0SnE4pb8MGWft7fWOeZJbCxAwlIc0nZVCu_bmkYlQwFUR9PSkUDvsw3xq0J9IyvVNY5ZOB3MBmPCniQyfsQKGtS3eDmAEUdUassuOlcvpl4IvdVtsaBk9SVOAs/s320/283.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An ostrich came over to greet us</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJbfRKovSrclS8AnE1XH2PD-1V8WHh9Xm_m2JDU4KpB331UWNDmacd5b2d4G9LwyRbnuiXK0M34U7dm3b_l-pgIiKye9G0zuuLcL5OsPX8XuZB_1qXmqicyrmo6g7DnqFdiHj0b4iwWtU/s1600/277.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJbfRKovSrclS8AnE1XH2PD-1V8WHh9Xm_m2JDU4KpB331UWNDmacd5b2d4G9LwyRbnuiXK0M34U7dm3b_l-pgIiKye9G0zuuLcL5OsPX8XuZB_1qXmqicyrmo6g7DnqFdiHj0b4iwWtU/s400/277.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A few ducks and swans too</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhva40ovhlMmLlfnbAlt-UrxUlATWwwN-8fpu0fD5UnTtCMlNKBYbhiCJRbzvN-eAn4JVZlun45lNmTsP1JF6aWshUQTtaUJIAcbQ5unZCxTVsY54412BpN6dfTQHJWvmAw-ndl69qrsa4/s1600/299.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhva40ovhlMmLlfnbAlt-UrxUlATWwwN-8fpu0fD5UnTtCMlNKBYbhiCJRbzvN-eAn4JVZlun45lNmTsP1JF6aWshUQTtaUJIAcbQ5unZCxTVsY54412BpN6dfTQHJWvmAw-ndl69qrsa4/s320/299.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We can hardly wait to go back again</td></tr>
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<br />Shaynahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282197713834009926noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663559211316560269.post-15951000925588942522013-04-01T21:57:00.004+03:002022-01-05T11:25:54.429+02:00Vacation<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtrHgq-s3k55jqCDJV-PxoCI3TWJHa5DeXDmcpXK9ZtAdc839QGX4v0X3HQWLJSiNJykTi1ntFTiHem6jXbfhtaqtMJDMl3B6MzCmV7pz35Inq8tRl-bR9DGKpA8L4QlgvH8WHdU5Qgag/s1600/562659_333301763459134_51618233_n.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtrHgq-s3k55jqCDJV-PxoCI3TWJHa5DeXDmcpXK9ZtAdc839QGX4v0X3HQWLJSiNJykTi1ntFTiHem6jXbfhtaqtMJDMl3B6MzCmV7pz35Inq8tRl-bR9DGKpA8L4QlgvH8WHdU5Qgag/s200/562659_333301763459134_51618233_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Vacation and I have this love-hate relationship. Admittedly a workaholic, I also enjoy spending time with my family. So after saving up some overtime hours, and while the kids are home from school for over two weeks straight, I decided to take some time off.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">On my first two days of vacation I only worked a total of five hours. On the third, I worked another five. Coming home to five restless pairs of adorable blue eyes, I finally caved and set up an auto-reply on my email that I would be gone for a while.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi58NVMIOihcVUIVFI5UZ44DC6XLPnYvKI81cRde-gagq5yics1zl9ZZ82nEbYpLABldnWdGRSXoDPafz6IwQSAKh9K89MSsRGrp6DZAVY2EOy5dud2GwWaXJRwcy_a-RwUHAicFN8ihA4/s1600/livingroom.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi58NVMIOihcVUIVFI5UZ44DC6XLPnYvKI81cRde-gagq5yics1zl9ZZ82nEbYpLABldnWdGRSXoDPafz6IwQSAKh9K89MSsRGrp6DZAVY2EOy5dud2GwWaXJRwcy_a-RwUHAicFN8ihA4/s200/livingroom.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
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We've had a great time, my family and I. A lot of hair-pulling too...as the kids, and also the adults, do our best to adjust to the unusual amount of time that we are "breathing each others' air." Of course, the early part of the vacation was preparation for Passover. A wonderfully helpful guest arrived the day before the <i>seder </i>and the kitchen was clean and ready despite a late start. A family with three playmates for our children arrived later, followed by my sister. It was practically a miracle that we fit all 13 of us into the living-room-turned-dining-room. Reminded me of Shabbats and holidays while we were on <i>shlichut</i>. Hadn't had so many guests at once since those days...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-KLTDPEgu5UlLH1xmyAT1A3Ct36LhJt9Jq3O8hFS3cqLEJWON-5Pbd6s_2Kd2LibwxNpdOvmYRbRBP2K9UiLljsDrVQLsP7Cpe-zVtcM7Mh7ULFk0uReap2BgZRkcldVKmF_jmrKKEHI/s1600/chick.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-KLTDPEgu5UlLH1xmyAT1A3Ct36LhJt9Jq3O8hFS3cqLEJWON-5Pbd6s_2Kd2LibwxNpdOvmYRbRBP2K9UiLljsDrVQLsP7Cpe-zVtcM7Mh7ULFk0uReap2BgZRkcldVKmF_jmrKKEHI/s200/chick.jpg" width="150" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGoHU-m1gMBEwrNAZDRg56AmQYvMy8bJ8G34yPFrWsNsxZX46kopakuhbwrpEgFbcIWr3hZ7c-X63VLBT2l1WDSBYAurxMNyq6HKqvL0m3Hb8xXZbPFVviVNzof0CoxqCCJjdrz6TVuRc/s1600/6584_333303306792313_1760096431_n.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGoHU-m1gMBEwrNAZDRg56AmQYvMy8bJ8G34yPFrWsNsxZX46kopakuhbwrpEgFbcIWr3hZ7c-X63VLBT2l1WDSBYAurxMNyq6HKqvL0m3Hb8xXZbPFVviVNzof0CoxqCCJjdrz6TVuRc/s200/6584_333303306792313_1760096431_n.jpg" width="200" /></a>After the first day of Passover, we road-tripped to Hamat Gadar with extended family. The water was stinky but soothing. Kids had a blast at the petting zoo and bird show. We missed the alligator feeding, but everyone was content to swim a bit longer. I recruited my brother to ride one of those gut-wrenching gyroscope things that I hadn't set foot on since pre-pregnancy days. Used to be crazy about roller coasters, as some of my friends may tell you with some slight residual tremors at the memories. Before the sun set, we strolled around the ancient Roman bathhouse and caught a second, impromptu, bird show from a resident peacock.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggAFfrNtI7GrjSbtapcY_BZiADFJCdA8y0FsDgNxusM6QyrPFbqomCADrw5dY-ssZMH-Qz3styzvVCOJgEFIRDu0Vd5BRzAa4eMGiGQJOlHmhUmfn_MTWTfAhHqgLQZAnBCBdyGwKM09A/s1600/9668_333303630125614_1372364503_n.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggAFfrNtI7GrjSbtapcY_BZiADFJCdA8y0FsDgNxusM6QyrPFbqomCADrw5dY-ssZMH-Qz3styzvVCOJgEFIRDu0Vd5BRzAa4eMGiGQJOlHmhUmfn_MTWTfAhHqgLQZAnBCBdyGwKM09A/s1600/9668_333303630125614_1372364503_n.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggAFfrNtI7GrjSbtapcY_BZiADFJCdA8y0FsDgNxusM6QyrPFbqomCADrw5dY-ssZMH-Qz3styzvVCOJgEFIRDu0Vd5BRzAa4eMGiGQJOlHmhUmfn_MTWTfAhHqgLQZAnBCBdyGwKM09A/s200/9668_333303630125614_1372364503_n.jpg" width="200" /></a><i><i><br /></i></i></div>
<i>Yom tov, Shabbat, yom tov</i>--and now, here we are at the end. It was too short, but it should have ended yesterday. As with any extended break at home, I mentally beat myself up for not being home with my kids all day, every day. Hemdiya opens up and rattles on about the workings of his three year-old mind. It's mostly talk of birthdays and his favorite things to eat, sprinkled with kisses and hand gestures when words won't suffice. His Hebrew is getting better now and sometimes the two languages get crossed. Cute as a button. Yahli Tifferet is already out of the infant stage and is a full-blown baby. Cooing and giggling, rolling and nearly sitting, her knees are as chubby as her smile.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBvfonBHWKi22lDcevw-4h6YmH48Uli6mxubXPRNaCFm2FeuE0yuJBUc9WukfN7gOnTBcC9ChoRYVC6Tm74s6X_uIlI73UFFwSvbe0tJDiKhqxCgNUTF9H7xLRjE5rlaZ3lm95_S2sf1c/s1600/chick2.jpg" style="clear: left; display: inline; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBvfonBHWKi22lDcevw-4h6YmH48Uli6mxubXPRNaCFm2FeuE0yuJBUc9WukfN7gOnTBcC9ChoRYVC6Tm74s6X_uIlI73UFFwSvbe0tJDiKhqxCgNUTF9H7xLRjE5rlaZ3lm95_S2sf1c/s200/chick2.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq3kdtz15jxsOUd-Fl02dfg23XewZW6ggC5PqcMAl97sAT-9ZJ1Kfvp6eBLs__-rBoE4lWUTlBlj1Oxi3P9eyOG5JQa2_3YdKBx8SQI-3CA1ldnAXJA8gg0uF-kt0BzuZho2HiZHP-12o/s1600/goat.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq3kdtz15jxsOUd-Fl02dfg23XewZW6ggC5PqcMAl97sAT-9ZJ1Kfvp6eBLs__-rBoE4lWUTlBlj1Oxi3P9eyOG5JQa2_3YdKBx8SQI-3CA1ldnAXJA8gg0uF-kt0BzuZho2HiZHP-12o/s200/goat.jpg" width="200" /></a>The two bigger kids are just that: bigger. Teneya is nearly nine and Puriel's height fools strangers into thinking he's the oldest of the bunch. She has an email address already, and he's been on his first sleepover. Where does the time go? Before I know it, they'll be driving me to the doctor for my hearing aid tune-up.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmrJFDkt4jVhKs8TAV3O0cY29z4jiL9isYngkG2MrRKIK_Ttp5M1u5Ty89eawAlTkjuepLOBazmDw3P6ounpTHls1MYme2gIWszRNYBx5HP3ojUPk5NiOuCFIy4Ka3220vTA-xyXxsmGg/s1600/painting.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmrJFDkt4jVhKs8TAV3O0cY29z4jiL9isYngkG2MrRKIK_Ttp5M1u5Ty89eawAlTkjuepLOBazmDw3P6ounpTHls1MYme2gIWszRNYBx5HP3ojUPk5NiOuCFIy4Ka3220vTA-xyXxsmGg/s200/painting.jpg" width="200" /></a>Before the holiday, I got together with my usual Rosh Chodesh crew: an eclectic mix of mothers in a neighboring town. I adore these ladies and treasure this time to sing, create, learn, eat and talk with other women who have many of the same joys and struggles that I do.<br />
<br /><br />After painting, I shared a song that was my anthem on the way out of my "Egypt" and has stuck with me since. Even now, ten years after packing my duffle bag and handing over the one-way ticket that I received three days earlier, the words still resonate just as strongly...perhaps even more so. Smack in the middle, between Rosh Chodesh and Passover, we celebrated our 10th wedding anniversary. Ever glancing over my shoulder, still gazing at the long path ahead, constantly flitting between here and then, now and there, "the promise and the things I know." I'll have to record the song someday to share it with you too.</div>
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So I'll eat my last matza ball and save these pictures for the next vacation; sit down with a cup of tea to pull them out and dream of the good times and the bad, the sweet smiles of young faces. Then make more memories for the next year.</div>
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Shaynahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282197713834009926noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663559211316560269.post-18188151911564268832013-01-01T02:01:00.002+02:002013-01-01T02:21:14.754+02:00Perspectives IIThis past week has brought on the realization that I'm afraid of messes. (See original post <a href="http://spirit-and-matter.blogspot.co.il/2012/12/perspectives.html" target="_blank">here</a>.) I've seen how it's crippling at times and hampers my creativity, as well as my kids' artistic endeavors.<br />
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Challenged myself to a week of letting go, encouraging their expression, and getting my hands dirty along the way. Here's what happened:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We used colored marzipan like modeling clay--then ate the creations!<br />
It's a birthday party with cakes, presents, a girl and her dog.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWxHHJcCGzOBEY2G1B1EFsJZOBmVUh0rA5Ah2J3JrQUZGn8CZMiUOt98cnGQn1hGwx6Vh4CSyhN7EJqxEQCve26eaS-uCIXfez8ZdUlNWXbKczECDbFzPJ38LFHXG0_T4y7z-sSuHnGXA/s1600/Galaxy+31-12-2012+141.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWxHHJcCGzOBEY2G1B1EFsJZOBmVUh0rA5Ah2J3JrQUZGn8CZMiUOt98cnGQn1hGwx6Vh4CSyhN7EJqxEQCve26eaS-uCIXfez8ZdUlNWXbKczECDbFzPJ38LFHXG0_T4y7z-sSuHnGXA/s400/Galaxy+31-12-2012+141.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Weeded my flower pots and planted seeds:<br />dill, parsley, and sweet pea.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkhDVHODlM3w7gCgEPXp6kQehbBd5vz23kJiZUAzRpH_Q6jBLYl0-VRSEVvVPfLLQ3e9ZxdOyAL_08vjdMSymkMrST9ym-pvF5CNMK-7szjEs8au0u5MQ6C9ZpvRjUG3H7c0-WdR8mmA4/s1600/Galaxy+31-12-2012+157.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkhDVHODlM3w7gCgEPXp6kQehbBd5vz23kJiZUAzRpH_Q6jBLYl0-VRSEVvVPfLLQ3e9ZxdOyAL_08vjdMSymkMrST9ym-pvF5CNMK-7szjEs8au0u5MQ6C9ZpvRjUG3H7c0-WdR8mmA4/s400/Galaxy+31-12-2012+157.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pipe cleaners were transformed into Puriel's Snoopy and Spiderman.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtPT8Rvb1zZCc1ZNysfQieO0T3q7MehFWnz8ecXFW0BmB0vVX691FHTO_S_I7p0J4_XiEWHN15wXcfkKiu7hatS45jFv4OLdzN4VRPLcoYhFtWMwd2wjG9cjpBWRjf7zvHwYtBpLKOdfA/s1600/Galaxy+31-12-2012+159.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtPT8Rvb1zZCc1ZNysfQieO0T3q7MehFWnz8ecXFW0BmB0vVX691FHTO_S_I7p0J4_XiEWHN15wXcfkKiu7hatS45jFv4OLdzN4VRPLcoYhFtWMwd2wjG9cjpBWRjf7zvHwYtBpLKOdfA/s400/Galaxy+31-12-2012+159.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Teneya's rose-colored glasses (and their opposite) inspired by<br />
studying the life and music of Nathan Alterman,</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6auDrEfKSAYdAciuv8IqjvTFF8GJUpf92BVH0uYK1X3NFU8l0hOuqupgHU-IYJ-0oIESD3FGk0BMUDek8KxHSIDAE3Cc0AUmZd7ozg0hEMBkkdeRxO0eST3GayX3W6N-fyKJKxtf_d2s/s1600/Galaxy+31-12-2012+154.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6auDrEfKSAYdAciuv8IqjvTFF8GJUpf92BVH0uYK1X3NFU8l0hOuqupgHU-IYJ-0oIESD3FGk0BMUDek8KxHSIDAE3Cc0AUmZd7ozg0hEMBkkdeRxO0eST3GayX3W6N-fyKJKxtf_d2s/s400/Galaxy+31-12-2012+154.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pine cones found in the forest + stale bread/Bamba = a bird feeder.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia01iyEzMg9YBvmA9sqkloCmnwmLT9jw1LCyAAAR72FlerCPPzlbb0ccfJbjfVYIceGE7sEHGkOpIQ9lU6PJ_qjw9LrYBg-otYTUlCqiMr1Op3j55Cnm0AvnyrGAsx8lBhkqQls-aonDc/s1600/Galaxy+31-12-2012+145.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia01iyEzMg9YBvmA9sqkloCmnwmLT9jw1LCyAAAR72FlerCPPzlbb0ccfJbjfVYIceGE7sEHGkOpIQ9lU6PJ_qjw9LrYBg-otYTUlCqiMr1Op3j55Cnm0AvnyrGAsx8lBhkqQls-aonDc/s400/Galaxy+31-12-2012+145.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We also spent more time just looking up at the sky,<br />
catching beautiful sights like these.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdmUUjr05jgYMiVzNl51G89cLJzX0tVpPUNp632cClYD4-9BgWDLHC1MGWJ_FgamPTuJiXX3tjtMuCukc072LOae_Den88Ratt-vI-lWHmEFv6nSjv0hyphenhyphenfoxyTvjCKPSlJU8lWqyqGSkQ/s1600/Galaxy+31-12-2012+149.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdmUUjr05jgYMiVzNl51G89cLJzX0tVpPUNp632cClYD4-9BgWDLHC1MGWJ_FgamPTuJiXX3tjtMuCukc072LOae_Den88Ratt-vI-lWHmEFv6nSjv0hyphenhyphenfoxyTvjCKPSlJU8lWqyqGSkQ/s400/Galaxy+31-12-2012+149.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Happy 2013! Here's hoping that it will be a bright year;</b><br />
<b>full of joy, art, love, and creative messes.</b></td></tr>
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Shaynahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282197713834009926noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663559211316560269.post-9024478359915999002012-12-22T19:06:00.000+02:002012-12-22T19:11:02.480+02:00Perspectives<div style="text-align: justify;">
On Friday, I shared this photo on Facebook and wrote: <i>Three hours before candle lighting and this is what my table looks like. Still haven't made lunch, working on tonight's dinner.</i></div>
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I wasn't expecting the responses that came back.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIIm-7XDHOt6N6ikHqKAKnBHWLFGyDukvxlYC22_SJ4I8KqK4zAOMqb2-ppD-qOMJXe_1-sMYNgZ5eJBfVeWfhoROvb0WvcFQNicHLG_JGtlY8eCJyy9TBYCyF6TEJt47SMhwsvDw6VvA/s1600/mess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIIm-7XDHOt6N6ikHqKAKnBHWLFGyDukvxlYC22_SJ4I8KqK4zAOMqb2-ppD-qOMJXe_1-sMYNgZ5eJBfVeWfhoROvb0WvcFQNicHLG_JGtlY8eCJyy9TBYCyF6TEJt47SMhwsvDw6VvA/s400/mess.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i>Looks like a home full of love and joy!</i></div>
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<i>I'm gonna paint paint paint with you!</i></div>
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What?! No, no, <i>no</i>, people...you got it all wrong. I'm frustrated that my kids took the paint out, without permission, and made a giant mess while I'm trying to clean the house and get ready for Shabbat. Or maybe...just maybe...you got it right.</div>
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It really got me thinking (after they hung their pictures to dry and wiped down the table) about perspectives. In everything that happens, there is a chance to focus on the good or the bad. Either way we look at it, the situation exists just the same. The only difference is whether or not my blood pressure will spike.</div>
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So, in this new week that we are entering now, I'm going to make a special effort to see my kids' activities through the eyes of my Facebook friends. Let's see how it goes...</div>
Shaynahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282197713834009926noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663559211316560269.post-48590499403764765692012-12-10T23:28:00.002+02:002022-01-05T11:08:52.280+02:00Kislev/Tevet<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's time to kiss Kislev goodbye; this transitional month when winter creeps onstage for its debut. Wet and dreary, dark and cold, then suddenly illuminated by the celebration of a miracle. Kislev embodies the opposing forces of fire and water, which collide to form <i>Keshet </i>(a rainbow, the <i>mazal</i> of the month).</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwCY7mlon3CEUm9L7avVQ-xxoNCjplHzmxHme-5O96MbRXWDs-tIrLuSejhJiyfu691yYqQSaGyHHjWE0ye_LOR4eDtOMqNMsrhr7Uy0B3FO-EgflGd-pH6Ugag3CnpWSDHjfO0QbWEu8/s1600/039.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwCY7mlon3CEUm9L7avVQ-xxoNCjplHzmxHme-5O96MbRXWDs-tIrLuSejhJiyfu691yYqQSaGyHHjWE0ye_LOR4eDtOMqNMsrhr7Uy0B3FO-EgflGd-pH6Ugag3CnpWSDHjfO0QbWEu8/s320/039.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All the darkness in the world<br />
cannot conquer the tiniest of flames</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It may have seemed dark already, but we have not yet reached the depths of this year's darkness. That moment lies in wait for us still, in the month of Tevet.</div>
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Each Hebrew month is a treasure chest of connected ideas and symbols. I love how you can pick Tevet's color blue, letter <i>ayin</i> (×¢), mazal <i>Gedi</i> (goat, or Capricorn), feeling of anger, tribe of Dan, etc. and run with it for miles to learn a million things about where we're standing right now in the yearly cycle. We can, for example, start with the meaning behind the name Tevet.</div>
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Tevet (טבת) is derived from the word <i>tov </i>(good). I've already got a post on the <a href="http://spirit-and-matter.blogspot.co.il/2011/04/yetzer-harah-isnt-all-that-bad.html" target="_blank">meaning of good and bad</a>, so we'll just jump over to Dan for a moment. There's a very famous character from this tribe named Samson. He certainly wasn't the most upright man to ever judge the nation of Israel, but G-d saw (<i>ayin </i>is a letter but also a body part: the eye) the good in his heart and let him have one last fit of holy rage (attribute of anger, which Samson had plenty of) to destroy his enemies. Pretty cool, right? You know what else is interesting? Tov (טוב) equals 17 in <i>gematria </i>and so does Gedi (גדי). Let's see what else we can connect...</div>
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Goats were made for climbing. You can see them around Israel, perched on a steep slope, munching away at the wild winter growth that is sprouting out between the rocks like the nose hairs on Israel's 89 year-old president, Shimon Peres. Goats are tough and sturdy...unless you get 'em around four months and then they're really tender and taste great barbecued.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZaqXhFuSyRpSxhvXkLyfNbmq_kP0HgOXmNxxNhGWy0IGQuYvvGEEwHY3SgiarXqXjHGX_d0KM09adkByOCLq9qv9QYSpuVk4ljBka41IpJpmO2C9eW-cHOGJMBB3Ai-52MiLwGShgMQg/s1600/Yuval+Rosenberg.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZaqXhFuSyRpSxhvXkLyfNbmq_kP0HgOXmNxxNhGWy0IGQuYvvGEEwHY3SgiarXqXjHGX_d0KM09adkByOCLq9qv9QYSpuVk4ljBka41IpJpmO2C9eW-cHOGJMBB3Ai-52MiLwGShgMQg/s320/Yuval+Rosenberg.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who says goats are ugly? Ok, some are...<br />
A beautiful Yael at Ein Gedi - photo by Yuval Rosenberg</td></tr>
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In the darkest days of the year, cornered into the recesses of your home by rain and snow, goats are a great image to meditate on. Imagine yourself out on those rocky hills, making the best of what nature has to offer, confidently jumping higher and higher, and you don't have to worry about what might come your way because your pals are all around and the shepherd is nearby watching over all of you. When the deep, dark blues of winter overcome us, we need positive and bright imagery to help us see the good in life and give hope until the heavy hibernation lifts itself from nature in the springtime.</div>
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You know what sounds like Dan? Dinah. It's the feminine form of the same word; judgement. We just read about Dinah on the Shabbat before last in <i>parashat Vayishlach</i>; how she was abducted by Shechem. Her brothers were very angry and, even though one could say they were justified, their father became angry too as a result of their actions (namely, killing all the males in the kingdom). Yeah, I guess they overdid it.</div>
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Speaking of goats, Yael is the Hebrew word for a Nubian Ibex, a desert-dwelling goat native to Israel. A <a href="http://www.ynetnews.com/articles/0,7340,L-4312524,00.html" target="_blank">mother of four, named Yael</a>, was recently attacked by a Palestinian (not related, but named themselves after the Philistines who pestered the Israelites during the days of Samson). Her husband wasn't home that night when the Arab man broke into her house armed with a knife. Thankfully, she knew Krav Maga and cornered him into the bathroom. After wedging him in there with furniture, she called for help and he escaped out the window. Lesson to take from this? Every woman should take self-defense classes. Tevet seems like a "good" month to start them.</div>
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<b><i>What do you like about this time of year? Which symbols and hidden meanings speak to you?</i></b></div>
Shaynahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282197713834009926noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663559211316560269.post-66763822705396303402012-11-26T22:55:00.001+02:002022-01-05T11:21:44.153+02:00Little monster<div style="text-align: justify;">
I don't know how it happened. My first two kids are so calm and well-behaved. Even baby #4, at a mere three months, has a pretty good routine and doesn't fuss much. So how did I end up with such a monster for kid #3?</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEjwWg2ihHWeRPVVzepS9BzB9Y7CSrJvXch-CCKBlrN_XWMeIfm_-it3h2FN-lD-TPHZOrzqXdsBjHLJr-NOXjDAoPCgOAdNyzblxg2qRRtZsVP8PF81vH5FL-B7PdvtSkkzbi2mtm5j4/s1600/048.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEjwWg2ihHWeRPVVzepS9BzB9Y7CSrJvXch-CCKBlrN_XWMeIfm_-it3h2FN-lD-TPHZOrzqXdsBjHLJr-NOXjDAoPCgOAdNyzblxg2qRRtZsVP8PF81vH5FL-B7PdvtSkkzbi2mtm5j4/s320/048.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So sweet...sometimes</td></tr>
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In his defense, he has his wonderfully sweet side too and at times I just want to cover him in kisses. But really, he's had the same upbringing and discipline as the others, so why can't I take him out in public without him making a scene? My oldest is also strong-willed, but she doesn't hold a candle to this one.</div>
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Today my "sin" was helping him into the car when I picked him up from preschool. He was climbing in and I gave him a little boost...and then his world came crashing down. I didn't have time to deal with his drama there, so I just fastened his seat belt and started driving home. He screamed the whole way. He threw his backpack at me while I was driving. I yelled, <i>that's naughty and you could make me crash the car!</i> He threw whatever else he could get his hands on. I pulled over to wait for him to calm down. But he just wouldn't.</div>
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Once we were home he refused to leave the car. Sometimes in this situation I haul him in, kicking and screaming, and dump him in his bed until he calms down. But I'm sick right now and so tired, so I thought I'd try a more passive approach. <i>Fine</i>, I told him, <i>I'm going inside. You can come when you're ready.</i> After a minute, when I could see he wasn't going to join me, I ran out to check on him. He had climbed into the driver's seat where he was simultaneously releasing the hand brake while trying to light a match. Little monster.</div>
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I cut his hair before he even turned three, contrary to the popular Jewish custom. Hoped and prayed the change would help calm him down a little...and it has. This is him being calmer now. I would wish on him that he should have children just the same, but that would be unfair to his wife. I still love the little booger to pieces and wouldn't trade him for the world...most days.</div>
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I'm reminded of a story, told by Rebbitzen Heller, of a mother whose child was playing on the roof and knocked down the solar hot-water tank. She could have screamed and freaked out, but she kept her cool by asking herself <i>in ten years, is this something he'll have grown out of, or is it a serious character flaw?</i> He'll grow out of it, of course. There were still consequences for the trouble he caused, but she didn't have to stress about it beyond that. I'm trying to get to that level...but what can I do in the meantime until he finally does grow out of it?</div>
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<b><i>Do you have a strong-willed child? How do you deal with differences in your children's temperaments? What do you do when they throw a twenty-minute fit in public?</i></b></div>
Shaynahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282197713834009926noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663559211316560269.post-74656038410634785462012-11-11T11:17:00.000+02:002012-11-11T11:17:00.063+02:00Sunshine in my frying pan<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's raining. Here in Israel we're ever so happy for it, but it does get a bit gloomy by the third day in a row. Went out to my favorite spot in the forest today; stood in the rain and <i>hugged a tree</i>, hoping that no one could see me making a fool out of myself. Its bark was rough and wet, but it felt good. The dying foliage, still clinging to the branches, hung heavy with precipitation. Suddenly the sun broke through; drops of rain turned to crystals and new growth glistened beneath the old. It never looks quite the same, but it does grow back.</div>
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I've started swimming again. It's been 15 years since I raced with the Castle Hills Forest Eels and my strokes don't have the same form or speed that they used to, but no one is judging me now. Still, the lack of competition can get...well, a little boring. So when my husband said that he swam ten consecutive laps of breaststroke last week, I had to one-up him and do twelve before switching strokes. My new neighbor, also a mother of four, passed along a few tips for isolating certain abdominal muscles. I've got a grand canyon running down my middle, so I tried them out today.</div>
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After a long swim, my stomach is growling and so is Yahli Tiferet's. Once her marathon nursing session comes to an end, I light a fire on the stove.</div>
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My mother wasn't famous for her cooking, but I always loved her egg-in-the-island...just had to scrape the black parts off. It's an easy meal that works for breakfast, lunch or dinner, making it the best friend of every mother and college student alike.</div>
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<table 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="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHogm64rhrwKy-nlbDWOlgG8jxzJfwN9wbPGqfRmVVEFWf3Sz1dEWqMRojlohC1EZb0RhRTLKZtPXyQzpcPQlmhYQ1vN-tlLpzi9ofzrfU8CSb5jYFQRy6Tjo0XRLF24YoC8oqEMvGwFk/s1600/077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHogm64rhrwKy-nlbDWOlgG8jxzJfwN9wbPGqfRmVVEFWf3Sz1dEWqMRojlohC1EZb0RhRTLKZtPXyQzpcPQlmhYQ1vN-tlLpzi9ofzrfU8CSb5jYFQRy6Tjo0XRLF24YoC8oqEMvGwFk/s320/077.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">use a glass to make a hole for the egg<br />
save the circles and toast them in the pan afterwards</td></tr>
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<table 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="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6hSg1z2BtbEPRNa1_FcC1cL_I1UaYGyokp5JNZLFnsu9WXn_sSHQu7GZOLA-iA4hKmsbY7V72DfoIUi8Ug-4-3LJeoo215juTgIRoW2zZxtlBeKN4Lq_QYRzgDRMZR-AJOy7oGVDjxwc/s1600/078.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6hSg1z2BtbEPRNa1_FcC1cL_I1UaYGyokp5JNZLFnsu9WXn_sSHQu7GZOLA-iA4hKmsbY7V72DfoIUi8Ug-4-3LJeoo215juTgIRoW2zZxtlBeKN4Lq_QYRzgDRMZR-AJOy7oGVDjxwc/s320/078.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">crack an egg into each slice<br />
stare at the bright yellow until you start smiling<br />
opt: pinch each yolk to break if you don't like them runny</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPobC0y3Mqrl8NSbyfJeNMGi1sr0hRHXGrccpKG5QfECL88LmzfG_qKinjm51iUGaoVTXDVRM4D02saUWZ-pv1jHWWDZ4ivP28L6tEJ8ljUgN5O-211oocuZFAhkSOUvS-Pay-2ibEwdI/s1600/079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPobC0y3Mqrl8NSbyfJeNMGi1sr0hRHXGrccpKG5QfECL88LmzfG_qKinjm51iUGaoVTXDVRM4D02saUWZ-pv1jHWWDZ4ivP28L6tEJ8ljUgN5O-211oocuZFAhkSOUvS-Pay-2ibEwdI/s320/079.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">serve with sliced veggies and cottage cheese for a well-rounded meal<br />
enjoy!</td></tr>
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Shaynahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282197713834009926noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663559211316560269.post-41417233671043479762012-11-09T09:35:00.002+02:002012-11-09T09:42:57.438+02:00Baby blues<div style="text-align: justify;">
This has been difficult for me to write about. In general, blogging has stretched me beyond my limits of being open with my feelings and experiences. I'm normally a very private person, but I hope that this post can help anyone going through the same thing--not to feel so alone as I do now.</div>
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About 80% of new mothers get the "baby blues" so it shouldn't come as a surprise if I feel it too, right? Of course, it's supposed to be an <i>overwhelmingly happy</i> time in life-- enjoying those precious moments of motherhood with your new little bundle of joy. Sometimes though, due to hormones, stress, lack of sleep, body changes, family dynamics, or other circumstances, you loose sight of that <i>happy </i>part and it's just plain <i>overwhelming</i>.</div>
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Most of the time, it quickly fades and you find your new rhythm within a few weeks. I would say you return to normal, but it's not the same normal you knew before the baby--even if it's not your first.</div>
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But it's not going away and I can't stop crying. Then I feel guilty for being unhappy and cry again. Then I yell at my son not to squish the baby, then I feel guilty, then...well, you get the point. Some days it's hard to get out of bed. I have lost interest in the activities that I used to enjoy.</div>
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Of course, if we physically break something in our bodies, we don't hesitate to seek the help we need to fix it. But mental health has a bit of a stigma to it. And in the absence of physical symptoms, it can be harder to realize that there is a problem. After all, it's just in your head.</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/NtP58x8xknw?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
I'll admit to being a bit of a perfectionist. It has it's perks, but there are downsides to it as well. Perfectionism has driven me to accomplishments beyond my years. I mean, how many 28 year-olds have visited thirteen countries, lived in four different ones on three continents, are approaching their ten-year anniversary with four children, have a good career that they love, run a charity shop, etc. But it's also crippling when I don't/can't live up to my own high expectations. If I don't manage to also bake bread from scratch, read bedtime stories and put away all the laundry before the day ends, I feel like a failure.</div>
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<i>I've been through this before</i>, I thought, <i>it'll get better soon</i>. And then, there I was, sitting across from the nurse at the two-month Tipat Chalav checkup, crying like crazy for no reason. She pulled out a self-test for new mothers (similar to <a href="http://www.babycenter.com/5_could-you-have-postpartum-depression-ppd_10351692.bc" target="_blank">this one</a>) created by the Health Ministry. If you circle too many answers a certain way, do they take your kids away? I cheated a little, but still ended up with a high enough score that she gave me the phone number of a clinic in Tzfat.</div>
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It took me a couple of days, but I finally called for an appointment. <i>We'll send you some forms in the mail</i>, said the voice on the phone, <i>fill them out, mail them back, and we'll get in touch with you</i>. Israeli bureaucracy strikes again! Luckily, the other nurse who works there is my neighbor. Told her what happened and in less than 90 seconds I had an appointment. Finally, I've lived here long enough to have a little <i>protexia.</i></div>
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So, there, I've taken the first step. I'm a little nervous about my appointment on Sunday. Will I like the doctor? Will I freeze up? Does she speak any English? Will I spend the whole time crying?</div>
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I'll find out soon...</div>
Shaynahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282197713834009926noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663559211316560269.post-25427598496495584512012-10-30T16:25:00.000+02:002012-10-30T16:26:38.812+02:00Be Prepared<div style="text-align: justify;">
My first memory in life is of a hurricane, so I never needed the Boy Scouts or Disney's <i>Scar </i>to teach me this lesson.</div>
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I had just turned two years-old the month before Hurricane Charley whipped through Virginia Beach. We lived in a small apartment, my mother, my sister and I. Huddled in the narrow hallway, the only space without windows, she told us stories and let us hold the flashlights to keep us calm. My thoughts and prayers go out to every family and individual in the path of this week's crazy storm.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two year-old Shayna in Virginia Beach</td></tr>
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Aside from the lasting impression of that first memory, being prepared is something that I inherited genetically through my mother. We, her five children, always joke that she thinks the world is going to end next Tuesday at four o'clock. Y2K was a big deal in our house; the only thing missing from my mother's stockpiling was a gun (or at least we never <i>saw </i>one in the cupboards). While I don't think the world is going to end anytime soon, I've found that being prepared isn't just about surviving in a rare, extreme emergency...is can also make your everyday life a little easier.</div>
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As Hurricane Sandy was approaching and stores had already run out of bottled water, I'm sure that somebody somewhere was asking themselves "how can I make sure that I will have clean water in a potential emergency?" The answer is simple, buy and store it when everything is just fine...well before there is a storm on the horizon.</div>
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While hurricanes are somewhat predictable, there are many other emergencies where having even a modest stock of consumables can keep life from being interrupted by a less-foreseeable crisis. Whether it's (G-d forbid) a death in the family, loss of job or sudden illness, a little bit of preparation now can ease your troubles later. As a bonus, remember the phrase "if you have it, you'll never need it?" It's not guaranteed, but the chances are usually pretty good that if you put in the effort it'll just go to waste (we should be so fortunate).</div>
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In a country where war is always a possibility, and in the phase of life where our family has grown every two years or so, here are a few things I've learned about being prepared:</div>
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<b>Water</b>. Water is without a doubt the most important thing. Keep a few bottles in your car, stash some in the back of your laundry room cabinets, stuff it in every corner possible. I've experienced small water shortages and have been able to continue washing hands and dishes while keeping everyone hydrated until it's restored. Like I said, a major ideal of preparedness is to eliminate the stress of life being interrupted.</div>
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<b>Food</b>. I'm not a fan of canned food, so it stays in storage where it belongs for that "rainy day." While the Homefront Command just recommends tuna, we also have peas and corn, applesauce, pickles and olives. The salty foods help you retain water in case of rationing, while fruits and veggies keep the kids happy and snacking. When you have little rumbling tummies in your midst, <i>everyone </i>gets cranky and irritable.</div>
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Living outside of the city, we try to plan our shopping trips in sync with other errands to save time and gas. Aside from preparing for disaster, we stock up on certain non-perishables and keep extra bread, cheese, etc. in the freezer so that we're not desperate for a shopping trip (in case of a power-outage, eat this first before opening your cans). This way, if something prevents us from a regularly scheduled outing, we'll still have enough to hold us over without wasting gas on a "single-mission" trip.</div>
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<b>Clothing</b>. Being prepared means keeping up with the laundry, for one thing. If you loose water and electricity, do you have enough clean clothes to get by on? Additionally, especially if you have kids, it helps to keep a backpack in your trunk with spare shirts, pants, socks, diapers and wipes. Stuff a water bottle and a few granola bars in there too and you'll be ready for almost anything.</div>
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<b>Money.</b> Most people say you should have savings for three months' worth of expenses. I say, whoever wrote that probably doesn't have young children...probably weren't paying rent in Israel either. But set a reasonable goal to stash away a little bit of emergency cash and then pretend that money doesn't exist. Seriously, don't touch it!</div>
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You can keep a bit of not-quite-emergency money around too just to get by in a pinch. If your wallet is stolen and you have no credit/debit cards, if the watermelon peddler comes through your neighborhood Friday afternoon as your kids have just devoured the last of your fresh produce, if you run out milk and your local grocer only accepts cash, if your car breaks down and you need to buy a bus ticket... <i>All of these</i> things have <i>actually happened</i> to me and our nearest ATM is in another city, so it was incredibly helpful to have a small cash reserve available for when I needed it. Don't forget: after you use your stash, remember to replenish it for next time...and then pretend that money doesn't exist again in the meantime.</div>
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<b>Fuel. </b>Never let your car's gas meter go all the way to <i>E</i>. If you have an old car, this is doubly true because it throws gunk into your fuel filter when the tank is that low. Fill up when you get down to a quarter of a tank so that if you ever need to evacuate you'll be able to get a reasonable distance away to safety.</div>
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<b><i>What is your first memory? How has it influenced your life? Tell me about it in the comments below...</i></b></div>
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Shaynahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282197713834009926noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663559211316560269.post-24554220363232320662012-10-02T03:48:00.003+02:002022-01-05T10:36:54.158+02:00Last but not least<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The girl of my dreams</td></tr>
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When Hemdiya was about a year old, I had a dream about my baby girl...and she was not <a href="http://spirit-and-matter.blogspot.co.il/2012/08/tales-of-teenaged-mother.html" target="_blank">Teneya</a>. I wasn't ready at that moment, but I knew she would come when I would be. You see, <a href="http://spirit-and-matter.blogspot.co.il/2012/09/things-dont-always-go-as-planned.html" target="_blank">Hemdiya</a> is worth about three children in the amount of time and energy is takes to lovingly parent him. But enough about the <a href="http://spirit-and-matter.blogspot.co.il/2012/08/oh-boy-its-boy.html" target="_blank">other kids</a>, this post is about that baby girl in my dream.</div>
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In her first week of life, I saw the movie <i>What to Expect When You're Expecting</i>. I felt like Wendy this pregnancy; all the way from the "where is my glow?" to the "no dear, the baby farted."</div>
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I'm not gonna lie, it was tough. And though it was the fourth time, there were a lot of firsts. It was that first time that I was...</div>
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<li>working full time through the whole pregnancy</li>
<li>making it through the last trimester in the middle of summer</li>
<li>parenting solo for six weeks while my husband was in Central America</li>
<li>experiencing premature contractions</li>
<li>induced with Pitocin</li>
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Pitocin is so nasty. And I discovered that most doctors don't really know how to use it...at least most of the ones at the hospital in Tzfat.</div>
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After a pregnancy that seemed to drag on for years, I had another (surprise!) breech baby. She was head-down the whole time until 39 weeks. I went in for a check-up and the doctor saw that my placenta was also very low and may even be blocking the exit path. She referred me to the hospital where two doctors, three midwives and a couple of nurses crowded around to see such an usual case.</div>
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They weren't used to the request for ECV (turning the baby from the outside) which I knew about from having it done with Hemdiya at 38 weeks. In fact, a neighbor who gave birth in Tzfat a few years ago was sent straight away for a c-section because her doctor said that ECV is "dangerous" (and surgery isn't?!). There were a few differences this time though:</div>
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<li>with him, I had too much water which meant plenty of space to turn</li>
<li>with her, my water was very low and they didn't think it would work</li>
<li>with him, I went to Hadassah Ein Kerem Hospital in Jerusalem which is one of the best in the world, and had several doctors who could do the procedure</li>
<li>with her, I went to Ziv Hospital in Tzfat where one doctor who was only there on Tuesdays could do the procedure</li>
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It was Thursday, so they sent me home.</div>
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Tuesday finally came after what seemed like a few more years. I was sent around to so many desks to get this letter, and get that stamped, and see this person who sends you to next. Israeli bureaucracy strikes again. Despite arriving at eight o'clock in the morning, I didn't get the pre-ECV ultrasound until over four hours later. At some point, between checking in and lunchtime, my baby had flipped head-down again. Ultrasound showed that the low-lying placenta wouldn't be in the way. Hurray!</div>
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Because ECV could only be done on Tuesdays, plus the fact that I had passed my due date and had very little water left (2.7), the medical staff were all in agreement that I should be induced and get the baby out while she's still head-down. The thought of a c-section had been hanging over my head since the week before and threatened its ugly head again if she turned bottom-down and I went into labor on any other day of the week. <i>Let's get this baby outta here,</i> I thought, and went along with the plan.</div>
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So, the very first thing they did was hook me up to Pitocin. BAD IDEA. Aside from my incredible need to walk during labor, plus the fact that all the delivery rooms in the usually sleepy hospital were full because the Klezmer Festival was in town, tying me into the wall with tubes in a tiny pre-delivery room was a bad idea for medical reasons too.</div>
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After five hours of absolutely nothing happening, I was practically clawing at the walls and insisted on stopping the induction. Because we had already started inducing labor, they didn't want to let me go home and said I should get some sleep and we'd try again in the morning. I needed the sleep.</div>
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In the meantime, I read up on the drug online. Apparently, it's well-published (in English anyway) that synthetic oxytocin (aka Pitocin) will aid in the onset of labor ONLY if the cervix is already ripe. In the morning, after being told that I would be given Pitocin again, I found a really nice Arab doctor who took the time to answer my questions and brainstorm for alternatives. Aside from the prostaglandin hormone cream, there is a small balloon (like <a href="http://www.cookmedical.com/wh/features/crb_en_US/index_crb.html" target="_blank">this</a> one) that can be inserted and filled with water to open the cervix. It also slightly, gently separates the amniotic sac from the cervix which stimulates the production of prostaglandins. At the end of the day I made it to 3.5 cm, but the next morning was back to 2 cm and the new doctors on duty were only interested in pushing Pitocin. My plug came out that morning and contractions were coming every 20 minutes, but I knew my body wasn't going to plunge into labor...even with hormonal help.</div>
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At the end of my third day in the hospital, I had enough. The staff on that Thursday were particularly green and unhelpful. Pitocin, Pitocin, Pitocin--it was like a mantra for them. I missed my kids. I missed my home. I signed out again doctor's advice and went home for Shabbat, promising to come back afterwards for a check-up and monitoring.</div>
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It was honestly more nerve-racking than I thought it would be, stepping away from the baby monitors for those two days. I had a spinning sometimes-breech baby with low water over 40 weeks and in the middle of being induced. It was hard to sleep. Contractions came randomly; three in an hour, then none for three hours. At one point, I hadn't felt movement for some hours and started to panic. Even laying down on my left side or playing with my belly didn't stimulate anything. I was about to run back to the hospital when she finally kicked Aaron's ear and he listened for signs of life.</div>
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By the time Sunday came around the corner, my gut was screaming <i>get this baby out NOW! </i>The staff on duty that day were so much better than a few days before and I had made it 4 cm on my own over the weekend. I agreed to go ahead with Pitocin this time.</div>
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Like I said earlier, Pitocin is nasty. It actually made me have contractions on this try, but they were so unnatural. I was used to the way that contractions start gradually and increase in intensity while getting slowly closer together. A little while in, I was having contractions every two minutes but--even though they were so close that I felt like I should have been at 9 cm and almost ready to push--I had only made it to 4.5 cm after five hours.</div>
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Hearing that news broke my willpower. I don't know if I have ever felt so close to my end. <i> They'll have to cut me open anyways now to get this baby out, </i>I thought,<i> I just can't go on.</i></div>
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I, the natural-birthing-doesn't-even-take-painkiller-for-headaches-or-PMS lady, asked for an epidural.<i> In the meantime, </i>I said, <i>get me off this stupid Pitocin until the anesthesiologist arrives.</i></div>
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I got up to stretch my legs and use the bathroom. The contractions didn't stop once I was unhooked, but became stronger. After half an hour, right before the doctor showed up, the midwife checked me again. Seven centimeters. That's when I got my second wind. I also got laughing gas.<br />
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Nitrous oxide is a beautiful thing. It's like being drunk, but kicks in quicker and will wear off just as fast if you need it to. In between contractions, which were now completely being made by my body and become longer and more effective, I kept the mask on and breathed in the delightful gusts of intoxicating air.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMGlnMe8_voeYx04vSvjY3D6gv-GcQojHsj8Tr0nPDNtGCnhz89FKqJ7Gt0fVtbjt0IB_kfy8xymOuR75ctUz9fALNdYjpoAraVOziCx5mM30anjxJ5eDGta_e0gGdKlrs45XkfCMdjHc/s1600/Yahli+Tiferet.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMGlnMe8_voeYx04vSvjY3D6gv-GcQojHsj8Tr0nPDNtGCnhz89FKqJ7Gt0fVtbjt0IB_kfy8xymOuR75ctUz9fALNdYjpoAraVOziCx5mM30anjxJ5eDGta_e0gGdKlrs45XkfCMdjHc/s320/Yahli+Tiferet.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Nine hours after labor began, I was a new mother all over again. Yet another pair of bright, blue eyes was staring up at me as feelings of pride and joy flooded my entire being.</div>
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I roomed with two other new mothers, one of whom had an epidural. Overheard her asking the doctor about how long the residual back pain would last. <i>Maybe a week or more</i>, she said, <i>could take a month even.</i> They should really warn you of that possibility before giving it to you.</div>
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Another woman down the hall had been induced with Pitocin after her water broke a day before. She finally begged for an epidural after hours of the same terrible contractions. Thirty minutes of sweet relief were followed by contractions again. The needle wasn't placed well and had slipped out of the right spot. She ended up with a c-section and developed an infection requiring IV antibiotics.</div>
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<i>Thank G-d I missed out on the epidural,</i> I thought after hearing and reading more. My whole pregnancy, I had felt so tired and weak. I worried about if I would be able to push another baby out. <i>I'm not 19 anymore, </i>I told my husband while I was on bed rest at 26 weeks. But afterwards, I realized how incredibly empowering it is to have accomplished a natural birth. I felt sad thinking about how some women may enter motherhood without this belief in themselves, that they are strong enough to bring a baby into the world. This is one of the pitfalls of a so-called gender equality where being like a man is what it takes to make a women not feel inferior. After all, I don't believe that a man could endure childbirth without being drugged up. No offense guys, you just don't have what it takes...and that's ok, you've got other things going for you.</div>
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My feelings of inadequacy and weakness were replaced by a new inspiration to conquer my fears and achieve whatever I set my mind to. And as all mothers know, we need a lot of physical and mental stamina to survive what our kids will end up putting us through.</div>
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Shaynahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282197713834009926noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663559211316560269.post-47531234069311269812012-09-09T16:52:00.001+03:002022-01-05T10:31:45.576+02:00Things don't always go as plannedIn fact, they usually don't. I had planned for another <a href="http://spirit-and-matter.blogspot.co.il/2012/08/tales-of-teenaged-mother.html" target="_blank">home birth</a>. I had also planned for the trip back to America to only last a year. Let me back up a little...<br />
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We lived a <a href="http://spirit-and-matter.blogspot.co.il/2012/08/oh-boy-its-boy.html" target="_blank">simple, quiet life</a> out in the<i> <a href="http://www.laweekly.com/2005-03-31/news/the-wild-wild-west-bank/" target="_blank">wild, wild West Bank</a></i>--as some liked to call it. Felt like the last place in Israel where one could be a "pioneer" and farm a piece of land without spending three lifetimes' worth of savings to do so. Even though the generator broke down rather often, no one had air conditioning, and the few scraggly trees kept getting eaten by an absent-minded neighbor's animals...we were out of the rat race, unplugged, living off the land.<br />
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There was a sense of satisfaction that came from such a life. One that had absolutely nothing to do with politics, but you can't run or hide from them. In 2005, the 8,000 Israeli residents of Gaza were uprooted from their homes for the simple reason that they were Jewish. Violent clashes, wounding hundreds of people in Amona, followed in the same month that <span id="goog_1320061462"></span>Puriel was born<span id="goog_1320061463"></span>. We kept hearing rumors that our town was "on the chopping block." After all, we were on the "wrong side" of the fence that was going up.<br />
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Around that time, my husband had finished his seventh year in yeshiva and mastered the practice of <i><a href="http://spirit-and-matter.blogspot.co.il/2011/03/meat-we-eat.html" target="_blank">shechita</a> </i>(kosher animal slaughter). He started talking with the school's founder, Rav Adin Steinsaltz, for guidance on how to best put his education to use. Since he is a descendant of <a href="http://spirit-and-matter.blogspot.co.il/2011/08/benei-anu-what.html" target="_blank"><i>benei anusim</i></a>, we set out for the American Southwest to help others in that same boat who are reconnecting to their heritage.<br />
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It wasn't your typical <i>shlichut</i>. There was no house, job or car waiting for us; no cohesive community. Just scattered pockets of a dozen or two people here and there, greatly lacking local educational resources. We planted ourselves in San Antonio quite by accident after a visit that was only going to last a couple of weeks. One year passed, then another. I found a great job and my husband taught classes. We bought our first-ever new car and had a nice house that sometimes slept guests in the double digits. Gone were the days of clothes made from old bedsheets; we shopped at outlet malls now. We had air conditioning. The plumbing and electricity always worked. It was quite comfortable. A third year began.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWnE1sIhjCtNXfntA8nn88HpWq9H1m7iq5P2P1GsiNExP-lonY_dUMDs6DAJkZ3BREuMukiNitg_gKWURLcf9lMuczuWSLGw3rToVzCHNfFb0OtkjiRf2HJZqu70qihp5P5Fc_yK5ZItg/s1600/Puriel3.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWnE1sIhjCtNXfntA8nn88HpWq9H1m7iq5P2P1GsiNExP-lonY_dUMDs6DAJkZ3BREuMukiNitg_gKWURLcf9lMuczuWSLGw3rToVzCHNfFb0OtkjiRf2HJZqu70qihp5P5Fc_yK5ZItg/s320/Puriel3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy third birthday!</td></tr>
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Puriel had his first haircut. My baby was growing up and was already the same shoe size as his sister. I stopped <a href="http://spirit-and-matter.blogspot.co.il/2012/03/here-have-some-free-birth-control.html" target="_blank">preventing</a> pregnancy, unsure of when the next one would come but very sure that I wanted another at some point. Within a month I had a bun in the oven.<br />
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<i>We're going to get stuck here forever</i>, I thought...not altogether dreading the idea. Many Israelis go to the US for a season and stay until retirement. The cushy life was nice, although the thought of paying $10,000 for my daughter to attend Jewish kindergarten in the coming year was not so appealing. Ultimately, I wanted my kids to grow up in a Jewish environment with a good education and friends who share our lifestyle. Israel still seemed like the best place to make that happen.<br />
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<i>We're moving back--now</i>, we decided...and started packing up the house. A container was too expensive, even to split the cost was out of our reach since we needed some funds to land with while looking for work and settling in. Whatever couldn't fit in our suitcases had to be sold or given away. This would be my seventh time moving overseas and starting from scratch. I promised myself it would be the last.<br />
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I had the worst morning sickness ever this time and subsisted off little more than soda water and matza for the entire first trimester. Got in touch with my midwife, who warned me so severely to avoid sugar (because my last baby was big) that she said I shouldn't even eat fruit. Something didn't feel right about that but I tried to obey, hoping this baby wouldn't top Puriel's 3.9 kg birth weight. I dropped from full-time employment and lost my medical benefits. Aaron became a taxi driver for the summer while I packed with two little ones underfoot.<br />
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By the time we arrived in Israel, I was finishing up my second trimester. We lived in two temporary apartments before settling into a third. Ended up back in Tekoa, but in the main part of the town with a few hundred other families instead of out on the edge like before. We rented the upper floor from old friends and our kids played together every day after school.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back in Tekoa</td></tr>
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In the meantime, I had no <a href="http://spirit-and-matter.blogspot.co.il/2012/09/free-health-care.html" target="_blank">health care</a>. We had filled out the proper forms before leaving to suspend our national insurance payments and should have been eligible to pay the hefty fee of NIS 9,000 to get back into the system. This law exists to keep people from leaving the country and only coming back in cases of severe illness to receive expensive medical procedures at little to no cost. Because I had a midwife and planned for a home birth, I wasn't so worried--at first.<br />
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But something felt very different about this pregnancy. Felt very wrong. I hadn't been able to do any of the usual screenings or tests and started looking for a place to do basic blood work and an ultrasound. When you give birth at home, I believe it's a good idea to make sure that there are no surprises.<br />
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Private health care was too expensive. It would cost NIS 800 (over $200) just to get an appointment with a doctor who could order the tests (which, of course, each test had its own high price tag). With a lot of help from my mother, I finally found a Catholic hospital in East Jerusalem, where an Arab doctor who works at Hadassah hospital runs a clinic one day each week. His fee is a quarter of the going rate and the tests are done in-house, also at a much lower cost.<br />
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Surprise! At 32 weeks I learned that my baby was already over 3 kg and breech, and that the reason it looked like I had twins from the outside was because of an abnormally large amount of amniotic fluid. That ruled out a home birth for me. But a hospital birth without insurance costs upwards of NIS 15,000 for a natural, uncomplicated birth. If a cesarean was needed, it could end up being double that amount. Suddenly the "redemption fee" for the insurance didn't look too bad. But they wouldn't even let me pay it.<br />
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One trip after another to Bituach Leumi (the National Insurance Institute) left me with a different answer every time. I kept going back, hoping for a miracle. And one day the first of miracles came.<br />
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"Your husband is out of the waiting period," said the middle-aged woman with reddish-purple hair. The waiting period is six months from when you return from a 2+ year absence, but almost three months after my due date. "Did you leave and come back at different times?" she wondered. <i>No, we were on the very same flight as each other.</i> "Do you want me to fix the problem?" she asked with half a smile and the first hint of sweetness. <i>No, no thank you. </i> She even moved the kids, from being listed under my name, to being with my husband. Now everyone in the family had health insurance again...except me.<br />
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A follow-up visit to the doctor--right after we moved into our third apartment--revealed that my tush-down breech had become a 36-week, 3.5 kg, footling breech. <i>What doesn't kill you makes you stronger</i>, I kept telling myself. But I still cried every day from the stress of it all. My husband was working a night shift in Jerusalem even after our car broke down. Then he found a local job, but they never paid on time. Puriel was getting bullied in preschool. Teneya was the only one who was settling in well.<br />
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The next trip to Bituach Leumi yielded a new development. They would finally let me pay the redemption fee and come out of the waiting period early. Better late than never, I sighed with a fair amount of relief. But by then our savings were all used up. We would have to use our credit card.<br />
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Bituach Leumi accepts foreign credit cards, but their payment system was down that day. <i>Try again after the weekend</i>, they told me. First thing Sunday morning, I was on the phone. <i>Sorry, it's still down--do you have an Israeli card?</i> We had just opened a new account upon returning to the country and the card had a NIS 500 limit. <i>Nope</i>. First thing Monday morning, I was on the phone again. That's when the next miracle happened.<br />
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"What are you trying to pay for?" the lady asked me, with no amount of patience in her tone. "You're not in the waiting period anymore." Another glitch. Another wondrous computer error. I went that very same day to the clinic to get my insurance card printed. "But you're in the waiting period," came the conclusion after nearly an hour of unsuccessful attempts to register me. An hour more of phone calls to the main office of Maccabi and Bitach Leumi finally cleared things up.<br />
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It was official. I had health insurance. Slept better than ever that night and woke up the next day with a bit of spring in my step...something that had been missing for a long time. I scheduled an appointment, curious about external cephalic version (ECV) and eager to avoid a c-section, but it would take a week to see the doctor. A friend who had high-risk pregnancies took me in person the next day to her doctor in Jerusalem, who worked out of a clinic attached to the hospital. He was over-booked already, but had some great advice for how to get a checkup without waiting for an appointment.<br />
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"Go upstairs to the maternity ward and tell them you're having contractions. They'll take good care of you right away." So that's what I did. Turned out that baby had flipped head-down on his own and that's why walking was suddenly easier. Hurray! But by my checkup later that week he was <i>breech again</i>. ECV was scheduled for 38 weeks and he stayed that way until the very end.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bundle of miracles</td></tr>
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My little bundle of miracles was born on a Shabbat morning, after 7.5 hours of labor, at the end of Hanukah. He weighed in at 4.08 kg and had loads of strawberry blonde hair down his shoulders and back. From all the excess water and freedom of movement, his muscles were developing ahead of schedule and he was holding up his head from that first hour. It was like he skipped the newborn phase. I had given birth to a month-old baby.<br />
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The land of Israel is often described as <i>eretz hemda</i>, a desirable land; a land that we returned to when we did because of this little boy. We named him Hemdiya (G-d is my desire). I added Imanuel (G-d is with us), in gratitude for the miracles that were done for us <i>in our days, at that season</i>. Shaynahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282197713834009926noreply@blogger.com2