tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53477803238991487512024-02-20T03:28:00.931+02:00A skip, hop and a jump...to the other side of the world.Ivanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08169868673158860319noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5347780323899148751.post-14760690540994974462020-05-03T15:02:00.001+03:002020-05-05T20:52:36.481+03:00What normal?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This morning </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">a friend from South America</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> shared a video on Facebook of doctors and nurses in an Israeli hospital, sporting head to toe protective gear, dancing to the rhythm of Israeli music. The caption? "Israeli medical staff celebrates Covid-19 farewell". It made me so mad. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The video was probably made as part of our recent independence day celebration and not as a celebration of the end of the pandemic. Doctors and nurses are NOT celebrating the end of Corona, because even though Israel has weathered the corona virus storm better than most countries, the virus is far from gone. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The video made mad because this type of false </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">information, of false sense of security and hope, makes people take their guard down and act selfishly and recklessly, leading to an inevitable second wave of the virus. But mostly, it made me mad because today I sent my daughter to school for the first time in almost two months wearing a mask. Israel opened schools partially, with only 1st through 3rd graders attending in groups of up to 15 kids. There were strict instructions for drop off and pick up, we had to sign an affidavit of health, she had to bring alcohol-gel and disinfectant</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> wipes. I spent all night debating whether I should send her; balancing thoughts of fear thinking the government was opening schools not because it was safe but because the economy needed to be restarted, with thoughts about it being time, about how we can't keep everything closed for a year or two (that's how long they are predicting this whole thing will last). So you see, we are not celebrating the end of any pandemic in Israel and there is nothing "normal" about what we have started to go back to. There is nothing normal about sending your kid to school wearing a mask, nervous of whether you made the right choice. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And then there's the issue of "normal", of "going back to normal". Do we really want to go back? Back to running like a chicken with its head cut off, rushing to drop them off at school so you can get to the office, and back so you can pick them up in time and take them to gymnastics or tennis or whatever extracurriculars they have to go to? Back to pushing each other in supermarket lines? I for one am not ready. I do want to go to the beach or the pool, I want to hug my friends, I want to travel for work and on holiday, I want this damn virus to be gone, but go back? Not so much. I've enjoyed the slower pace of my day, I've enjoyed baking with my kids, and having a much more manageable work/life balance. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So as we continue to navigate this ordeal and the government slowly eases restrictions, I can't help but think: "What do I want the rest of my life to look like and how do I design my new normal?"</span>Yael Warmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11992706331334598407noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5347780323899148751.post-48433834473764833632020-03-22T13:18:00.001+02:002020-03-22T13:32:55.038+02:00What a week it's been<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /><br />I threw a tantrum today. Like a 2 year old, I stomped my feet, screamed and cried. And for something a 2 year old would cry. I was making breakfast and the yolk of my fried egg burst and I screamed, went mad crazy and cried. And I blamed my poor husband who wasn't even in the kitchen. I blamed him for not being in the kitchen, because he makes better fried eggs than I do and had he been in the kitchen this would not have happened, so clearly, it was all his fault. And he was graceful. He took the spatula and finished breakfast while I sat there on the kitchen table. And you know what? I guess it's ok to lose it every once in a while and it's ok to be vulnerable. Because we are all going through a really tough time, one of those tough times kids will learn about in history class 100 years from now, and we all need to cope in whatever way works for us, and sometimes, that means others in our family need to be the adult while the other one cries like a baby. <br /><br /><br /> This has been a tough week. Not for me, for the world. And while it does make it better knowing we are all on the same boat, because the level of sympathy and understanding is great, it sucks that we are all living through this. It sucks that there is no visible end on the horizon. Every time the President gives a press conference it's to strengthen the rules of the lockdown. And the numbers keep rising. We've been cooped up for a week and the numbers are still rising! An entire neighborhood in our city is under quarantine, the streets were sprayed down with some kind of disinfectant, the streets are empty, the stores are closed, and the numbers keep rising. <br /><br /><br /> This whole situation feels surreal. The last week is a blur. I don't even know what day of the week it is as I shower every morning only to change into a clean pair of sweats. But I also realize how lucky I am and how much I have to be grateful for. And maybe in times like this we need to lower our standards of the things we are grateful for. So here's my list, low standards and all:<br /><br /> </span><br />
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<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I'm grateful for the opportunity to live in a country where the government is taking strong measures to contain the pandemic before it's too late. </span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I'm thankful that the people I get to be locked in with don't drive me up the wall. </span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I'm grateful that I finally got to see the bottom of both my laundry baskets. </span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I'm grateful for the walks around the block we are still allowed to take (as long as we are 2 meters apart from other people we may encounter on the road) </span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I'm grateful for cake and cookies. Because in times like this, a little sweet can go a long way. </span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I'm thankful for not having to wear jeans, because I don't think they'd button with all the crap I've been eating. </span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I'm grateful for the extra hour of sleep now that there is no school drop off and commute. </span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I'm grateful for my job, because not only do I have work to do that keeps me busy and my mind occupied, but because the company has been incredibly understanding of the fact that with kids around and anxiety lurking, we may not be able to work the same way we normally do. </span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I'm thankful for being able to manage my expectations and for not letting incomplete to-do lists and not-followed kids' schedules drive me nuts. </span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I'm thankful that my gel nails are still decent on their 4th week and my gray hair is not too noticeable. </span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I'm thankful for electronics. TV, iPads, phones. Because they keep us connected to the world out there, sure, but mostly because they sedate our kids so that we can have a little quiet. </span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I'm thankful for the memes. Oh, so many funny memes. Because nothing brings out the funny in people like a big crisis.</span></span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /><br />So yeah, sometimes, to survive and to keep our sanity, we need to lower our standards. So I'm not thankful for fancy restaurants, elaborate trips, luxury travels, or pretty clothes. I'm thankful for the little things, and for now, those are the things that make me happy. <br /></span> Yael Warmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11992706331334598407noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5347780323899148751.post-17887913740760326512016-08-13T13:18:00.001+03:002016-08-13T14:11:01.689+03:00TriAliyaversary<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ZcQ3j_b48uc/V67_zM55RLI/AAAAAAAABlw/99wcdd4PzwU/s640/blogger-image-1997617121.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ZcQ3j_b48uc/V67_zM55RLI/AAAAAAAABlw/99wcdd4PzwU/s640/blogger-image-1997617121.jpg"></a></div>Three years! That's right! It's been three years since we packed up our home into a 20ft container and shipped our two kids, our dog, our lives and our dreams all the way across the Atlantic. <div><br></div><div>It doesn't feel like three years. It feels like a blink of an eye and like we've been here forever all at the same time. </div><div><br><div>It's been three years of a true acclimation. Our first year felt like a vacation. Like we lived here, but looking at Israel through the glass. Our second year, we dipped our toes in the water. We felt comfortable enough to call this place home, yet still trying to figure out how to fit in this crazy puzzle of a society. Today, three years after we stepped off of that charter flight to the sound of Israeli music and the smell of the desert and the sea, we have truly immersed ourselves in israeliut. Our kids speak Hebrew amongst them, we have jobs in israeli companies and have israeli friends, we've travelled the width and length of our country, we volunteer. We've lived through peace and through war. We've made it home and we've made this home. </div><div><br></div><div>My grandfather was the ultimate zionist. He was born here and he moved with his parents to Colombia when he was a child. When he was 18, he came back to fight in the war of independence. He would be thrilled to see his grand daughter live here so happily. </div><div><br></div><div>Today, three years after having gotten off of that El-Al flight with our pockets filled with hopes and dreams, we've turned those dreams into reality and i can say, without the shadow of a doubt, that this is it. This is where we are meant to be</div></div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5347780323899148751.post-21100298256817334532016-03-23T10:05:00.000+02:002016-03-23T10:05:07.549+02:00Not even chocolate is safe anymore!<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7ONzAvJ-2II/VvJOD0TOCKI/AAAAAAAABjA/0z_HBCzxhYE2IUo3ljQVVAN9LbvaBGCpw/s1600/choco.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7ONzAvJ-2II/VvJOD0TOCKI/AAAAAAAABjA/0z_HBCzxhYE2IUo3ljQVVAN9LbvaBGCpw/s320/choco.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And here I thought my Hebrew was great. I mean, I took Ulpan for six months, I have been in this country for two and a half years and other than cursing and holding a good fight in Hebrew (there is nothing like sending someone off to hell in your native language-good thing the finger is universal), I can hold my own. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There was a time when I would go out with my friends and they would be speaking Hebrew and I would think to myself "wow, I understand everything" and then they would all laugh at something and I would think "maybe NOT everything". That's not the case anymore. I now laugh at their jokes!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I had a parent/teacher activity at my daughter's gan (kindergarten) the other day and once again, my self-confidence in my Hebrew abilities took a nose dive. The teacher had all the parents sit in a circle and started passing around a box of chocolates. In my book, anything that involves chocolate is a good thing. Little did I know my faith in chocolate would also be tested that day. The individually wrapped chocolates had each a Hebrew word written on the wrapper. Health, luck, success... we were instructed to each take a chocolate and use the word written on it to express that feeling to our kid in this year of gan and say why we had chosen that word. The box started making its way through the parents and by the time it got to me, only a handful of chocolates were left. I quickly scanned the box and guess what? no idea what the words in the chocolates that were left meant! all of a sudden, in a moment of panic the words "hatzlaha" jumped in front of my eyes! not my first choice of a wish to my daughter, but hey, between that and sigsug (?) I went for the safe bet.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"I want to wish my daughter lots of success in this year of gan. She has accomplished so much in this short 3 years of life. She has lived in two countries, learned three languages, been in two schools and I want to wish her lots and lot of success... and I chose "success" because it was the only word left that I understood" Thanks goodness for Israelis good sense of humor. They all burst out laughing. </span><br />
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<br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5347780323899148751.post-35911251305317579432016-01-27T11:09:00.001+02:002016-01-27T11:20:39.249+02:00A Mover and a Shaker<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-W51ZZk3nlsc/VqiJIJYwiqI/AAAAAAAABhc/Hv2x_22VNEM/s1600/Yael.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-W51ZZk3nlsc/VqiJIJYwiqI/AAAAAAAABhc/Hv2x_22VNEM/s320/Yael.png" width="179" /></a></div>
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If you've been following my blog or my endeavors on Facebook, you know I have a new-ish job. A fabulous job I am super happy with. I get to write for a living, which I love, and the high-tech company I work for is very very cool (game room with air hokey, ping pong table, xbox and beer tap in the kitchen bar kind of cool).<br />
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Anyways, a few weeks ago, the editor of one of the industry publications sent me an e-mail. The first few lines read something like "Hi Yael, happy New Year. We are working on a series of articles on movers and shakers in the industry and would love to interview you..." What??? I thought to myself, this guy hasn't seen me drunk and dancing, which is truly the only time in which I may consider myself a mover or a shaker... but I guess I am a mover and shaker.<br />
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So we did the interview and I wanted to share the link with you, because I am so very proud of it and I figure there is nothing wrong with bragging a bit :)<br />
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<a href="http://financefeeds.net/movers-shakers-next-up-is-yael-warman/">http://financefeeds.net/movers-shakers-next-up-is-yael-warman/</a><br />
<br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5347780323899148751.post-1744525062167749462016-01-17T14:51:00.002+02:002016-01-18T08:23:01.789+02:00A working mom or a mother who works<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lQYFUOC44n8/VpuOLwNtW_I/AAAAAAAABhA/rD7e-Ow5F4g/s1600/o-WORKING-MOM-facebook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lQYFUOC44n8/VpuOLwNtW_I/AAAAAAAABhA/rD7e-Ow5F4g/s400/o-WORKING-MOM-facebook.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Pretty much my entire professional life I had been a mother who worked. I had owned my own businesses and had the challenges that come with it, as well as the flexibility to see my kids dance on stage at school presentations on a Tuesday morning and take them to soccer practice and art class. I had the best of both worlds: the excitement and stimulation of a career and the opportunity to put my family first, without having to make difficult choices.<br />
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When we made aliyah, I knew I didn't want to keep doing the same thing I had been doing in Miami and knowing that aliyah is the perfect opportunity to reinvent oneself and begin from scratch on a clean slate, I started pursuing my hobbies (writing and photography), in hopes that they would lead me to a comfortable income. As the second year after our aliyah ended, I got the opportunity to write for a living. Not just writing as a hobby and getting paid a few bucks for it, but to actually have a job as a writer. I was hired by a high-tech firm as their content manager.<br />
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I had never really worked in a corporate environment before and I've been dazzled by the corporate perks and offices in tall towers overlooking Tel Aviv where desks share space with game rooms and cool Google-wannabe incentives. I have also discovered, however, what it means to be not a mother who works, but rather a working mother. I have come to know closely, the struggles a mother faces when having to decide between missing their son's performance at school or meeting a client. I've come to know too well, the mother who comes home tired and still finds the strength to sit on the floor to play with her kids, make dinner (even if just a quick omelette, which on most days is all she can handle), and read a bedtime story.<br />
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Don't get me wrong, I am not complaining. I love coming to work every day. I am loving this new working mother side of me. I just have acquired a new-found respect for this breed of superwoman. I recently became part of a group called Ima Kadima, who supports working mothers in Israel. Last Friday, the women from my city got together for breakfast and I had the honor to address them and share some ideas from a book I had been reading called Getting to 50/50. I wanted to share the words I shared with them last Friday with all of you, so if you are a working mom out there, maybe this will inspire you in some way...<br />
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"When a lot of us were younger, we went to college, some
pursued a master’s degree, we started a career and gave it our all. We started
to climb up the corporate ladder. We got married and it was all great, both
husband and wife having a striving career and then one day, you decide you want
to start a family and after your maternity leave, when it is time to go back to
work, you look at your little baby and ask yourself “how am I going to leave
this little creature?” and you hear everyone around you asking how will your
little one do without you, won’t they need you too much, and so you are led to
think you may need to “opt-out” from a career.<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Studies show that although women outperform men academically,
the picture dramatically changes in the corporate environment, when less than
15% of board seats and senior executive positions are occupied by women and 85%
of leaders in most fields are men. This isn’t because women are less capable or
talented, but rather because society has this stigma that we are the ones who
need to sacrifice our careers in order to raise a family.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Society believes men can have a successful career and a
fulfilling personal life, but we are led to believe that as women, that is
difficult at best and often impossible. <o:p></o:p></div>
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In most households, it is the woman who has to spend less
time at the office so she can make pick up in time, it is the woman who spends
her weekends in a marathon against time to do the grocery shopping, errands,
laundry, etc. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Add that to the mental struggle you face when you see a
flyer that says “story time every Monday at 11am”. How in the world will you
ever make that? You think to yourself “Is my kid missing out because I’m a
working mom?” Then comes the day when the staff meeting started 45 minutes late
and you now have to choose between being late to the little league game or
looking unprofessional at work. So one day you think to yourself, “does my
salary even cover day care? Should I just be a SAHM?” <o:p></o:p></div>
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But before you start thinking whether you can make do
without your income, think of a different alternative, one that involves you
and your husband, your partner in life, your ally, to share the load equally. <b>We
strive for gender equality at work, but not at home.</b> According to recent
data, when a husband and wife both have full-time jobs, the woman still does
about 40% more childcare and 30% more housework than her husband does. If we
strive to get an equal share of labor at home, then we as women may not need to
choose between a successful career and a fulfilling personal life either. There
should come the day in which you get to the little league game 45 minutes late,
just as your son is ready to bat, and your husband holds your hand and says
“don’t worry, I got here early”. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>But for your husband to be able to work less, you need to
begin to work more.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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When women quit their jobs, the repercussions go way beyond
an economic impact. It reinforces the women’s second-class position in the
workforce and dad’s second-class position in the family. The benefits of both
parents working equally outside the home and sharing equal responsibility of
housework and children duty far exceed the benefits of one parent staying home.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Research shows that couples who share work and family loads
equally enjoy as much as a 50% lower risk of divorce. Couples win when they can
stand in each other’s shoes. Men, the fathers of our children, can excel at
parenting just as much as we do and when we can see them as equals in the
parenting tasks, we don’t feel as though we are facing the parenting challenges
alone. Mothers work with less guilt, fathers bond more with their
kids and children benefit from the attention of two equally involved parents.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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A study based on the richest data ever collected and
performed by the National Institute of Child Health and Human Development in
2006 gathered 1364 kids over a period of 15 years concluded unambiguously that
kids with 100% maternal care fared no better than those who spend time in child
care, which included all types of non-maternal care. The study concluded that
childcare is not what parents should worry about, but how they parent should
be. Kids in high-quality child care had higher cognitive language skills than
other kids including those with at-home moms. Furthermore, you should remember
that your child’s time in child-care is short-lived, whereas your time as a
parent lasts forever. How you behave as a parent is what makes the difference
in your child’s cognitive and emotional development. Stop worrying about who
you are leaving your children with, worry about what happens the moment you and
your husband get home. <o:p></o:p></div>
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A couple who has only one bread winner has more stress
believe it or not. If you stay at home, you’re likely to take on more family
work and your husband is less likely to be home in time for dinner, something
you’ll begin to resent. Being the sole breadwinner is also stressful. A husband
needs to decide between calling one last client or racing home for bedtime and
when he is the sole breadwinner, he may think the kids don’t need him that
night and stay in the office later. When both husband and wife share the load
of bringing money in, the stress is divided, a husband may have the opportunity
to find a better job or a more fulfilling job because he is not being forced to
stay where he is at at the risk of losing the one income. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
Now, most of us here have little kids. We get those notes
from school about the kids having to be dressed in a blue tshirt for the next
day when they don’t own a blue tshirt and we go into chaos. But consider this:
blue tshirts and permission slips will be over before you know it and when your
kids are older, having a working mother who can teach them about finance or
management in addition to teaching them how to sow or bake will prove
invaluable. " Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5347780323899148751.post-81120298259668596792015-08-15T09:50:00.001+03:002015-08-15T09:50:59.195+03:00Aliyaversary #2<div>Two years ago we embarked in this crazy adventure. We left friends and family in search of a more meaningful life. We left the comforts of a big house in order to find our home. We exchanged hamburgers for falafel. In two years we've learned a language, we've made new friends, we've been through war, we've traveled the country in every direction. We've seen the red and arid desert and in the same day we've dipped our toes in the ocean, that's how magical this land is. In two short years we've accomplished so much, yet we are just getting started. One thing i can say though, without the shadow of a doubt, and that is: we are home. </div><div>Thanks churri (Ivan) for getting this crazy idea of moving into your head (and mine). What an incredible adventure it has been.</div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-CTAfMvRZbYw/Vc7hUVV_lYI/AAAAAAAABfg/51IwdT1ujW8/s640/blogger-image-125846604.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-CTAfMvRZbYw/Vc7hUVV_lYI/AAAAAAAABfg/51IwdT1ujW8/s640/blogger-image-125846604.jpg"></a></div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5347780323899148751.post-55748933456370912962015-06-18T10:43:00.003+03:002015-06-18T10:43:46.579+03:00Jewish Mother Paranoia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eb6X5Maioxg/VYJ2gxiEjcI/AAAAAAAABew/dwvGQaFSWI8/s1600/i-don-t-do-calm-i-m-a-jewish-mother-10.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eb6X5Maioxg/VYJ2gxiEjcI/AAAAAAAABew/dwvGQaFSWI8/s320/i-don-t-do-calm-i-m-a-jewish-mother-10.png" width="274" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6666666666667px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’ve always felt like I can’t be like the ostrich and hide my head in the sand. Things happen and you are better off knowing about them so you can be aware. Whether you decide to let it bother you and sacrifice your sanity, that’s up to you, but not wanting to know about it is like wanting to hide the sun with your hands.</span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-688abaf1-0574-6aea-1cc4-2816f2455ea9" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A few weeks ago I posted an article about secondary drowning on a mother’s Facebook group. I had recently been reading a lot about it and with summer here, I thought it best to help other mothers be aware of the existence of secondary drowning and of its symptoms. The first comment on my post was a mother saying we should not read this kind of article, that all they do is scare us. Other mothers immediately started weighing in saying we need to be aware of this and it is serious stuff. I was confident in my belief that you are better off being informed and that I would not let knowledge drive me paranoid and so I went about my business. Until yesterday that is.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I took both my kids to the pool, like I typically do a few times a week. We all love it and by the time we get home, they have swam like fish, eaten like tigers and so they sleep like bears. What’s not to love? My son is 7 years old and has been swimming since he is 4 months old and although I do watch him, he really does not need much of my attention, unlike my 2 year old, whose daredevil personality will have her jump into the depths of the unknown at the first chance she gets. So there we are, in the shallow part of the pool, my daughter sitting on the steps and my son doing rolls in the water. He asked me for help doing a handstand, so taking my daughter off the steps and farther away from the edge of the pool, I proceeded to help my son hold his feet up as he dove into the bottom of the pool to stand on his hands. I grabbed both his ankles and he wiggled away, so I let go only to watch him come out of the pool coughing. I DROWNED MY OWN CHILD! I thought in horror. Having had read one too many articles about secondary drowning, I freaked out. Despite having swallowed water myself as a kid on more than one occasion, despite having played “let’s drown each other” with the cousins while growing up, images of my imminent trip to TEREM (emergency room) invaded my head. For the proceeding half hour or so, as my son continued to roll and dive to collect objects from the bottom of the pool, i kept alert to signs of vomiting, coughing, excessive tiredness. Every time my son coughed my heart skipped a beat. I asked him to tell me if he felt tired and after swimming to the other end of the pool and back, he came to me and said “mom, I’m tired, but I think it’s because I just swam a lot”. I meant tired as in sleepy god damn it! stop scaring me so much. As I looked at his purple lips, wondering if it was just the cold water or perhaps a symptom of secondary drowning not mentioned by the article I had read, I realized that “Jewish mother worry” had possessed me, and for that, unfortunately, there is no cure. </span></div>
Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5347780323899148751.post-34974442355969264132015-05-27T11:19:00.004+03:002015-05-27T11:32:40.923+03:00Now that you are here, drop some reishes<span id="docs-internal-guid-f012bc51-9453-99bc-a5f7-1c7359d913e2"></span><br>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; line-height: 20.7000007629395px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"><b>Things that will get your Teudat Zehut revoked</b></span></span></h2>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; clear: left; color: black; float: left; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><img height="320" src="http://washingtonbureau.typepad.com/jerusalem/images/2007/12/20/typical.jpg" width="248"></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We made it here, all the way from the other side of the pond and as hard as we try to blend into Israeli society, there are certain things that will just give us away. We concentrate in clusters in either Jerusalem, Modiin, Beit Shemesh or Zichron, our first question when we walk into a place is “ata medaber anglit?” and mastering the “reish” has proven to be a lost cause. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m not saying you should become a kibbutznik and get high with the smell of cow manure and smoke hookah or a Tel Avivnik who holds weekly debates supporting the underprivileged Somali youth at his tiny studio apartment, but when in Rome… </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Here is a list of a few things that now that you live in Israel, you should immediately adopt to avoid the risk not only of being spotted from a thousand miles away, but of getting your Teudat Zehut revoked. </span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You must barbecue on Yom Haatzmaut. Let it be a public park, forest or your friend’s backyard, turn that mangal (grill) on and get your Al ha Esh going.</span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Go big or go home on Lag Ba’Omer. Bringing anything smaller than a door to a Lag Ba’Omer bonfire is simply embarrassing.</span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Hit the road on Chol Hamoed. Those very rare, very precious few days in which work and school are off and the Jewish law allows you to drive, you need to spend stuck in traffic for hours on your way to, anywhere really, doesn't matter the destination, it’s the slow-moving journey that counts.</span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sandwiches at a picnic? no way! If you don’t want your TZ revoked you must at the very least bring corn on the cob, boiled eggs, julienned red peppers and any left over food you may find in the fridge before you head out.</span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Picnicking, Israelis’ favorite pastime, involves seating on the floor. You don’t want to seem like an amateur at this, so you’ll find money well spent is money spent on an oversized wicker-looking mat. We used to have this trendy soft mat we brought from Miami where me and the baby could sit comfortably on the grass for tummy time or a snack. Forget that! that is an embarrassment. You need to get a colorful Israeli mat. A grass-flattener if you will. One of those where you can sit three families and you don’t need to wash, ever. </span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br></b></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And then there are things that perhaps won’t get you your TZ revoked, but that you can start doing if you want to earn some extra brownie points and let your Israeliut speak louder than that American accent of yours:</span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bring a WHOLE watermelon to the beach. None of that cut up pieces in a Tupperware nonsense. Bring a kick-ass size abatiach, a knife and get cutting. </span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Get into the matkot madness. There is no beach in Israel where you won’t find a few paddle ball matches going.</span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Be loud, sound angry when you really aren't, speak with your hands</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Throw a bucket full of water and squeegee it out to the balcony or the yard when you are cleaning the floor</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Although a complete fashion faux pas and I would certainly frown upon it, if you are feeling really daring, wear sandals with socks!</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You know what they say, when in Rome, do like the Romans did and so now that you are an Israeli, step out of your comfort zone and let your reish-induced, hummus-breath, sandal-wearing, mangal-lighting, easy-going personality flourish. </span></div>
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Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5347780323899148751.post-84720042854885674792015-04-27T10:19:00.001+03:002015-04-27T10:19:53.892+03:00#CampYael no more<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0zFcWf9hyTM/VT3ipeKDa4I/AAAAAAAABdY/jZx_mqMKo2s/s1600/filename-camp-sign-replica.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0zFcWf9hyTM/VT3ipeKDa4I/AAAAAAAABdY/jZx_mqMKo2s/s1600/filename-camp-sign-replica.jpg" height="200" width="148" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20.7000007629395px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Is my gift for planning cool weekend getaways gone?</span></div>
<span id="docs-internal-guid-64984f3a-f9bb-4399-4d70-f5475ce3cf2e" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It has been just a little over a year and a half since we made aliyah and following on the footsteps of my good friend Lisa and her #camplisa initiative, we made it a mission during our first year in Israel to visit different places each weekend. We did some great stuff. We went north, south, we hiked, we went to different beaches, museums, parks, small towns, smaller towns... We did so much stuff that I even started a “cool things to do in Israel” list, which I began to proudly share with others. Mostly I was in charge of coming up with plans and everyone was happy with the results. Up until a few weeks ago that is. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After reading so much about the Darom Adom festival and how the fields are covered with beautiful red kalaniyot (flower-anemone coronaria) and seeing picture after picture of red fields, I planned our weekend outing to Shokeda. THE place to go see kalaniyot according to the many facebook groups of which I am a member. If it’s on the internet it must be accurate I thought, and so armed with my DSLR camera, pretty dressed children in almost matching but non-cheesy outfits, a cooperative husband and a bag full of snacks, we took on the road southward bound. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As we got off kvish 6 we realized we were getting closer. Lines and lines of cars were parked on the side of the road next to a forest and hundreds of Israelis with their wicker mats under their arms were walking towards the entrance to the forest (did I ever mention how every Israeli has a wicker mat for picnicking? Apparently its the kind of thing they can revoke your Teudat Zehut if you don’t have one… Anyways, that might be material for another article). We parked our car and joined the wave of Israelis as they entered the forest in search for the beautiful red fields. We walked, and walked, and walked, and walked some more and suddenly we started hearing others say what we had only been so brave as to admit inside our own heads: “where are all the kalaniyot?”. After having driven an hour from home I wasn’t about to get my plans ruined, so I told my husband, “let’s find another field”. So we got back in our car and drove a bit more until we saw another wave of Israelis making their way into the forest and we parked on the side of the road. The kalaniyot were beautiful! All 5 of them! I strategically positioned my kids for a picture that anyone who saw would think “wow” of, clicked on the shutter button and snapped a few photos before making our way back into the car and driving all 120km back home. Upon our return, we discovered there were more kalaniyot in the field behind our son’s school than there were in Shokeda. After a year of planning great activities, it isn’t a big deal to have one disappointment, is it? </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A couple of weeks later, after having heard from my friend and coworker about an incredible place called Maskeret Batya, we made a plan to visit. Maskeret Batya is one of the oldest towns in Israel and according to my friend and her pictures, a town full of charm and plenty to do for everyone in the family. We woke up on Saturday morning and headed out to this enchanting town, only to find out that it’s a ‘religiousy’ town and EVERYTHING is closed on shabbat. My husband and my son wanted to kill me, no, I’m not exaggerating, they really wanted to take my life away. They were hungry and there wasn’t even a convenience store open. My daughter is the only one who had my back, but only because she is two and she had no idea what was happening. She wasn’t exactly vocal in her support, but I sensed it was there.That day, I was banned from making further plans without the prior consent of, and further investigation by my husband. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My busted plans must have frustrated my husband so much that the last two weekends, his usual lazy-let’s-stay-in-bed-all-day personality has been completely reversed to a 9 o’clock get up and let’s go attitude for which he has been making the plans. We went to Caesarea one weekend, walked along the beach, saw ruins, spent time with friends, ate a great italian place and came back home happy. Last weekend, we went to Utopia, a tropical rain forest with orchids, animals, musical fountains and plant mazes near Netanya. We then went to Rishon Lezion for lunch and got home in perfect timing for kid’s bath and bed. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I must say, I’m liking this no-pressure-to-come-up-with-activities thing. While I might relinquish my baton to hubby for a while, it’s not easy with my OCD personality. It has been a total struggle to relinquish, so I have committed to this change of hands just until after we go to Banyas, a gorgeous hike in the north and this fantastic beach festival in Dor beach that will require complete and utter dedicated planning over the next two weekends. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5347780323899148751.post-2775730967531516552015-03-25T14:24:00.002+02:002015-03-25T14:31:34.249+02:00To hashtag or not to hashtag... that's not even a question!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/57dzaMaouXA/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/57dzaMaouXA?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I know my blog is supposed to be about aliyah and how incredibly funny and frustrating at times life in Israel can be, but in all fairness, I did say when I created it that I would use it in part to vent about things that annoyed me, and so here it goes, in fair warning to all of you readers, I’m about to let it out...</span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b id="docs-internal-guid-9cd08cd7-50df-e021-debd-88093827255a" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What is it with people and hashtags? maybe I should capitalize it so you can sense how much this bugs me. WHAT IS IT WITH PEOPLE AND HASHTAGS???? There, that’s better. </span></div>
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</span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m certainly no expert on technology and when faced with a blue screen or an official-looking message from “the Windows” people on my computer I’m fast to call on my hubby’s help, but I am a writer, a marketing writer nonetheless, and so to me, the cross-hatch figure has stopped being merely the thing on touch-tone phones that noone ever used, and become the very necessary, totally infamous #hashtag, so you could say that I posses some sort of entitlement when I </span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">laugh</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> make mental corrections of the use of hashtags on my friend's (as defined by Facebook) posts. </span></span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In case some of you don’t know what a hashtag is, which if you don’t use it in ridiculous-excess-Jimmy-Fallon-style is totally respectable, here is a little preamble: a Hashtag is a marker used to group together 140-character tweets by subject. Say you want to group all tweets relating to things that should exist but don’t, then you would accompany all of your tweets about the great ideas you have, such as a “nobody cares” button on Facebook or push-up Pringles cans with a “</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">#WhyDontTheyMakeThat” hashtag. Hashtags are also supported by other social media platforms like Instagram and most recently Facebook. </span></span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Well, I am all for the use of hashtags. I think they are a great marketing tool for companies and an efficient way to catalog and later find sometimes useful, sometimes not so useful things. Some hashtags are funnier than others and I do get a kick of seeing what people come up with, but what really makes my day is when #hashtagsgetoutofcontrol and I see people who evidently have no idea of what a hashtag is or what it does, make widespread use of the poor little pound sign making their phrases an incoherent mess of strung-together words. So without further ado, if you feel the compulsory need to use hashtags, keep in mind the do’s and don’ts of hashtagging so people don’t go all “#whatwereyouthinking” on you : </span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">#Don’t #hashtag #every #single #word</span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">#donthashtagridiculouslylongstringsofwords</span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Don’t use hashtags in platforms that do not support them </span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Don’t try to be funny or sarcastic with your hashtags</span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mind your spelling. misspelled hashtags will left your post out of the group and make you look dumb, like the guy who </span><span style="font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">#dieofbeaties from eating too many Oreos dipped in Nutella</span></span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If it can be misread, it will be. Susan wanted to throw an album party and she is now kicking herself because her advertising backfired when she used the hashtag </span><a href="http://www.theguardian.com/technology/shortcuts/2012/nov/22/twitter-susan-boyle-susanalbumparty"><span style="font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">#SUSANALBUMPARTY</span></a><span style="font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. Proofread your hashtags with the mentality of a 12 year old boy. </span></span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Don’t use space or punctuation on your hashtags</span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">#FOMO, #LOLOLOLOL Need I say more?</span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Don’t use irrelevant hashtags that do not relate to a category. #larrydidnotwanttobeinthepicture is not only a ridiculous long hashtag (see #2 above), but how many pictures did Larry not want to be in that you must group them all together? </span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: decimal; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Don’t even get me started on spoken hashtags. Leave the finger gesturing for other uses will ya? and if you see someone yelling “hashtag (accompanied by the hand gesture) oh em gee”, you have my permission to punch them in the face and then kick them while they are down. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now that you have an idea of the basics, go out and hashtag the hell out of everything!</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5347780323899148751.post-33177197670841611312015-01-31T09:02:00.000+02:002015-01-31T09:03:33.155+02:00This is MY land<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-s1H3qCSVkWk/VMx9xe3hd1I/AAAAAAAABao/qQ7AGCNiGv4/s1600/Shopping%2Bcart1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-s1H3qCSVkWk/VMx9xe3hd1I/AAAAAAAABao/qQ7AGCNiGv4/s1600/Shopping%2Bcart1.jpg" height="200" width="192" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">They say one of the hardest things about moving to a new country is adjusting to its food. The truth is I love Israeli food and since we moved here we have eaten in some of the best restaurants I've ever eaten before. Food is kind of like a passion to me (eating it of course, not so much cooking it), so I like trying new flavors. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Grocery shopping however, well that is a whole different story. I must admit I have never been one to enjoy my trips to the grocery store and since moving to Israel, my hate-hate relationship with the grocery store has gone to new levels. It isn't just not finding the products you are used to, the fact that 1% milk is as fat-free as you can get, that a year supply of Haagen Dasz costs as much as tuition did in America, that figuring out the names of the cuts of meat requires a PhD, or the fact that the employees of grocery stores here do not seem to have gotten the "customer service" memo and will run you over with their dollies as they take up 3/4 of the aisle while replenishing the shelves. My biggest pet peeve, one that I cannot seem to get over, is the fact that in order to get a grocery cart, I am required to deposit a <span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">₪</span>5 coin in a little slot that causes the chained cart to become lose. I get the idea behind it. Depositing <span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">₪</span>5 ensures that I will return the cart to its designated place once I am done using it instead of leaving it behind in the middle of the parking lot, but c'mon, I am about to spend close to a thousand Shekels inside, can't the supermarket afford someone to retrieve the carts from the parking lot? Is it not enough that I just bagged my own groceries? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yesterday morning was like any other Friday morning at the grocery store: a complete zoo. Lately I have been doing my grocery shopping online, which I must say, is a complete wonder, however, my last purchase was short a few things, so a visit to the brick and mortar was necessary. I arrived a little after 10am with my two year old daughter and shuffled through my purse to find <span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">₪</span>5. The best I could come up with was a <span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">₪2 and two</span> <span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">₪1 coins, which meant I had to get change because the grocery cart retrieval requires an exact</span> <span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">₪</span>5 coin. I scanned for the possibility of a lose cart to no avail, so went inside to get change from the "customer service" desk (note the quotation marks are to denote sarcasm). There were three people in line for the same reason I was and the woman at the desk was on the phone. After a few minutes of waiting, armed with my <span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">₪</span>5 coin, I retrieved a cart and started my battle for grocery shopping on a Friday morning. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I finished rather quickly, except for the line at the register which held me back about 35 minutes, and all the while I was waiting, ideas of using my blog to vent about the <span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">₪</span>5 situation flowed through my head. As I was bagging my groceries, talking to the lady behind me and the woman at the register, they noticed I have an accent and asked where I came from. People can't believe I left Miami (paradise to them) to come here. The woman behind me asked how I liked Israel. Grocery shopping aside, I love living here, so with a bright smile I said "I love it, we are really happy". She was surprised and said "wow, that's wonderful to hear. Even with all the problems we have, you are happy here". Without hesitation, I said "there are problems everywhere, but here these are OUR problems". Even I couldn't believe my own answer, I really meant it. I feel that even after only a year, this is MY land. And so I left, having said shabbat shalom to both women, proudly pushing my sideways-running grocery cart (what's up with that by the way?). </span><br />
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<br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5347780323899148751.post-18106248871812363692014-11-23T17:13:00.000+02:002014-11-23T17:13:35.486+02:00Leaving your kids with strangers<div class="MsoNormal">
Israel is a peculiar place and Israelis are a peculiar
breed. Nothing new there, but the things living in Israel does to you, that is,
well, surprisingly peculiar. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DP88Yk9B8zU/VHH5DVKKt2I/AAAAAAAABZY/KIC9Ocayunc/s1600/baby%2Bdayout.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DP88Yk9B8zU/VHH5DVKKt2I/AAAAAAAABZY/KIC9Ocayunc/s1600/baby%2Bdayout.jpg" height="320" width="248" /></a></div>
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Everyone thinks of Israeli kids and thinks of how free they
grow up. Eight and nine year olds walking home from school by themselves is the
norm. Our neighbor’s kid, who is just
one grade above our son Nathan, rides the city bus back from school by herself.
Our son has started to beg us to let him go to the park alone because some of
his friends already do. He is 7 years old!!! No way he is going to the park
alone! I am not that Israeli yet. But where do you draw the line? When do you
start to let go of our western mentality when “everyone else is doing it”? <o:p></o:p></div>
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There is this restaurant close to our house. We really like
it and we go there very often. The kind of often that when we call for a delivery they
recognize our voice, the kind of often that they hug our kids and pinch their
cheeks. We feel like family when we eat there, but we never see them outside of
the joint. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Well, the other day I was strolling through the shopping
plaza where the restaurant is and ran into the savta (grandma) owner of the restaurant
and we spoke for a few minutes and then she offered that whenever my husband
and I want to go away for the weekend, we can leave the kids with her for a
couple of days. Now even for Israeli standards this is a little over the top
friendly, but what stroke me as odd is that I actually thought about it for
longer than any mother with a little sense of responsibility for her kids
should have! In my defense, my parents and my husband’s parents live on the
other side of the pond and an offer like that was tempting, but in Miami or in
Colombia, an offer like that would have sent me running for the hills screaming
“CRAZY KIDNAPPER” . <o:p></o:p></div>
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With this in my mind for the past few days, I’ve been
thinking maybe we need to become more Israeli, after all, when in Rome… Maybe I
will start by letting Nathan go to the park before I leave him overnight with
the friendly neighborhood restaurant owner. <o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5347780323899148751.post-64658821172726648202014-09-28T16:20:00.000+03:002014-09-28T16:20:47.809+03:00Making an Impact<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Growing up I had always been involved in community projects, I liked making a difference and impacting the lives of others, but sometimes I found myself going against the establishment because "this is how things have always been done". <br />
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One of the reasons I was so excited about moving to Israel, is that I knew that I could make an impact; that no matter how small my presence, every single effort could make a difference. I knew that if I didn't like something, I wasn't limited to complaining about it, but I had the right and the responsibility to change it.<br />
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Israel is such a young country and its people are so passionate about making things better, that everyone can give something back, and no matter how small, it can make a difference. I wanted that for myself, but I mostly wanted that for my kids. I wanted to teach them that it isn't all about ourselves, but also about others. That if we don't like something, we can work to make it different, better.<br />
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We've only been here a year, and I am still working to find my place, but in this short time, we have volunteered to make a <a href="http://brincandoalotroladodelcharco.blogspot.co.il/2014/03/interview-nbn.html" target="_blank">video</a> for <a href="http://www.nbn.org.il/" target="_blank">Nefesh B'Nefesh</a> to promote aliyah, I've had a few articles published which I hope inspire others who have recently made aliyah and two weeks ago, when someone from the Ministry of Absorption called me to ask if I could volunteer to be interviewed by the local newspaper about our experiences during the past year as new olim, I didn't hesitate. It makes me feel so grateful and so unbelievably good that in such a short period of time, I have been able to in some way, as small as it might be, touch the lives of others who have come to this country with theirs suitcases packed of dreams and hopes and are trying to settle and find their own place in a new land.<br />
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I am hoping that with the new year, comes new opportunities to give back, to impact change and to make a difference. <br />
<br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5347780323899148751.post-67460623485971961882014-08-19T20:52:00.000+03:002014-08-19T20:54:36.149+03:00An olah chadasha no more. Ani localit!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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As hundreds of new olim arrived this summer on the Nefesh B'Nefesh charter flights, full of dreams and hopes, ready to begin a new chapter of their lives in Eretz Israel, we celebrated our first year of aliyah.<br />
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Just like these new olim, we arrived in Israel with our two kids, five suitcases and a 20ft container packed with all of our belongings. We faced a new life, a new language, a new culture.<br />
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Today, a year later, our older son is getting ready to enter kita bet (2nd grade), he has made friends and speaks Hebrew with a heavy "reish". Our daughter, who is a year and a half old will be a total Israeli, but for now, I noticed she has a mishmash of languages in her head as she said the other day "Ima, los shoes". My husband and I finished six months of ulpan and although far from fluent in Hebrew, we can carry along a conversation. We know our way around the city, we have managed Israeli bureaucracy as we set up our business in Israel, we lived through a war, we have made friends, traveled the country, we have settled.<br />
I am now asked for directions around Modiin and I can give them! In Hebrew nonetheless!<br />
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A few days ago, as I stood in line at the checkout line at the fruit store, I ran into the owner of a local sandwich shop where we eat often, who knows us since the first week we arrived and he was proudly telling the fruit shop owner how he met us a year ago when we had just arrived and now, look at us, we speak Hebrew and we have settled nicely.<br />
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To an Israeli, I may be an olah chadasha. To the system, I am an olah chadasha, but when I see the families who have just stepped off the plane, and when I say out loud I am an olah chadasha, I don't even believe the words as they come out of my mouth. I am a local. Ani localit!Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5347780323899148751.post-31799569548565480332014-08-19T09:53:00.001+03:002014-08-19T09:53:54.231+03:00My post was published!<br />
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The Colombian Jewish community newsletter published one of my posts!<br />
<a href="http://www.hashavuabogota.com/?op=JudaismoS" target="_blank">Read the post translated into Spanish here</a><br />
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<br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5347780323899148751.post-44317753121580843552014-07-09T20:29:00.002+03:002014-07-09T20:29:29.149+03:00The country we chose to live in<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So this is the country we've chosen to live in. A country in which more than 40% of its population has had to run to find shelter from rockets being fired by Hamas from the Gaza strip. A country towards which more than 180 rockets have been fired in the last 24 hours. A country in which in certain areas, a mother has 15 seconds, the time it takes you to pour a cup of coffee, to gather her four children and run to the bomb shelter. A country in which I have to tell my family, who lives abroad, that the news make it sound worse than it is just to keep them calm. Yet, it is the country I feel safe in. No other country in the world goes to such lengths to keep their citizens safe. We have bomb shelters and iron domes and chayalim who proudly go out to defend our citizens.<br />
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Yesterday afternoon I took my kids with a couple of friends to a kibbutz near Modiin to collect grapes and step on them to make grape juice. The perfect afternoon for the kids. We were having a great time. And all of a sudden, the sound of a siren filled the air. We were in the field with no shelter to run into. We gathered the children and hid under tables. I had Ilanit, my youngest, who is a year and a half old, duck under the table and i laid on top of her trying to protect her head and mine, while my 6 year old, Nathan, was hiding with the rest of the children nearby. Not being next to both my children and the uncertainty of whether Nathan was doing what he was supposed to in this situations was terrifying. We hid for what seemed like an eternity, but what must have been two minutes until we felt the ground shake and the resound of a rocket hitting open ground. My first taste at this country's crude reality. I can't imagine a mother who has to go through what I went yesterday several times a day.<br />
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Today however, as rockets continue to be fired and we find ourselves at what hasn't yet been cataloged as war, but I cannot find a different name for, Israelis went to work, visited coffee shops and restaurants, went grocery shopping and took the kids to school. Because in Israel, life doesn't stop. Because we are Am Israel, we don't let anyone push us over, we are strong and we want to live in peace and will do whatever is necessary to ensure that we continue to enjoy the freedoms that this beautiful country provides.<br />
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<br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5347780323899148751.post-71389261837458614302014-07-06T21:17:00.000+03:002014-07-06T21:17:35.389+03:00Am Echad, Lev Echad<div class="MsoPlainText">
What do you say about the past week's events that hasn't already been said? The impact the death of our three boys (OUR boys because
after 18 days of searching for Gilad, Naftali and Eyal, of
hoping they would come home, they became our boys), had on every one in Israel
was immense and when we heard the devastating news that they would not be
coming home because they had been brutally murdered by terrorists, the loss
wasn't just for their families, but for every one of us. </div>
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I have read article after article from people from different points of views, from different levels of religiousness, from different backgrounds and nationalities, but all with the same message of support and same tone of sorrowfulness. If I wrote about this week's events, my blog wouldn't be any different. I feel the same sadness, the same anger, the same sorrow that everyone has felt this past week. So instead of writing about the three boys and the terrible loss this country had, I want to share the impact today of all days this week has had on me.</div>
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Today, I went with a friend and her family to visit the shiva of two of these boys' families.
I didn't want to intrude during this very sorrowful moment, but at the same time I wanted to show my support. To be like one of the thousands of people who
have shown the families during these past few days that they are not alone. And
so I went, and what I saw and felt was incredible. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The amount of people at the Frenkel's house was unbelievable. Naftali's parents were sitting under a tent in their backyard surrounded by tens of people tying to give their condolences. Among those, was Sherri Mandell, whose son Koby was brutally murdered by terrorists in 2001. I was not farther than a yard away when one of those moments in which the world starts moving in slow motion took place. Sherri Mandell and Rachel Frenkel saw each other. Two women who had never met, but who recognized each other from TV and who now share an inexplicable bond held each other's hands. I couldn't hear what they said, but I could feel the intensity of the moment. </div>
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We then visited Gilad's family's home. We had the incredible opportunity to sit with Gilad's parents and one of his sisters in their living room and listen to stories about Gilad and we talked about how not only in Israel, but in the US, in Colombia, in Panama and everywhere in the world, the boys are being remembered and memorials are being held in their names. Bat-Galim, Gilad's mother told us how a month ago the parents of these three boys had never met, but today, they share an incredible bond and they have found a new family in each other.</div>
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And just like the Mandells and the Frenkels and the Sha'ers and the Yifrahs share an unbreakable bond, Am Israel has bonded together over this tragedy, like we usually bond over difficult times. I have been utterly amazed at how an entire country mobilized to first find these children and now to comfort their families. Am echad, lev echad. The people of Israel is one nation, we are one heart. </div>
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Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5347780323899148751.post-68322212378659722752014-06-24T15:29:00.001+03:002014-06-24T15:29:45.619+03:00And where are you from?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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19 years ago I came to Israel for the first time with 30 of my classmates from the Colegio Colombo Hebrew, the Jewish day school in Bogota, where I grew up. It was a tradition for 10th graders to spend 3 months in Israel traveling around the country, getting to know the culture, studying (and I use the term losely, very very losely) and partying. It is an extraordinary experience that accompanies you for the rest of your life. Back then, the base for our trip was a place called Givat Washington. A student campus near Ashdod. <br />
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A few weeks ago, the director of the campus, the same guy who organized our trip 19 years ago and who still organizes the trip for the kids from the Colombo Hebreo, called my friend Ethel (who I know from Colombia and also lives in Modiin and who made aliyah right after high school) and asked her if she would be willing to spend a weekend on campus and give a peula (organized activity) to the kids attending this year's trip in order to promote aliyah. Ethel said yes, as long as she would be able to bring her dearest friends, the Warmans. To my husband, anything free is worth taking, so he said yes right away, before I even had a chance to remember the modest accommodations of the place. Anyways, we were committed to the plan and just a few days before going, I learn the additional detail that I as well was in charge of an activity for the kids. I pulled out and dusted off old tochniot (activity planners) from my days as a madricha of the tnuat noar (counselor for the youth movement) and started planning. I was horribly nervous. If this 15 year olds were anything like we were, it was going to be a huge challenge keeping them engaged. <br />
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The day came to leave for our weekend at Givat Washington. We arrived on Friday right before shabat and as we drove through the gate, memories of my stay there 19 years ago started to hit me. Things looked vaguely familiar. Some of the buildings and pathways were the same, among a lot of new construction. We settled in our rooms and headed straight for shabat services and then dinner where we met for the first time the group of 13 kids from Colombia, now visiting Israel for 3 months, just as we did so many years ago. "13 kids, boy the school has shrunken" was my first thought. The security situation in Colombia hit rock bottom in the late 90's and a big part of the Jewish community fled, so now the school is about half the size of what it was when I studied there. Right after dinner, we went outside for our first peula. I was in charge of doing some ice breakers, and to my surprise, this kids were totally engaged. We spent about 45 minutes in activities and then sat down for some informal chit chat where the kids introduced themselves, this time not by name, but by the name of their parents or uncles, who we were more likely to know. <br />
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The next day we met for more peulot. Aliza, the Colombia's Ashkenazi community rabbi's daughter, who also attended the weekend had a peula organized for the morning and Ethel had one planned for the afternoon. During Ethel's activity, we got to talking about identity. What makes up our identity, who we are. How is our identity related to our nationality as living in Colombia or elsewhere and living in Israel. <br />
It got me thinking and I got the chance to share with these 13 kids, who are about to graduate high school and make decisions that may affect the rest of their lives, how my identity <br />
has been forged since the time I graduated high school, to my years in Miami, to now living in Israel. My identity per se, the way I am has been forged by my circumstances, but my identity as it relates to my nationality has been tremendously impacted by my move to Israel.<br />
I was born and raised in Colombia. Growing up, I was Colombian at heart. I owned the jersey and my heart beat for Colombia. When I was 20 I moved to Miami, and despite having spent 14 years there, I never felt American. I did lose my Colombia identity though. I wasn't from here nor there. A citizen of the world as they say. It wasn't until 10 months ago, when we moved to Israel that my Zionism flourished. I feel here what I never felt in the US and what in retrospect I think I never felt in Colombia. This is my country, my land. This is where I belong. It's an inexplicable feeling having only been here 10 months, but I feel like my identity as a person and as a Jew in the State of Israel can be truly shown. I am Colombian, I will always be. When it is time to root for a soccer team, I will root "Si Si Colombia", but the land I love, my land and the land where I want my children to grow in is the State of Israel. <br />
We left that weekend hoping some of these 13 kids decide to continue their future after high school in Israel and like Ethel, Aliza and me, realize that as a Jew and as a person, we belong here.<br />
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<br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5347780323899148751.post-16249703979394261332014-05-18T22:27:00.001+03:002014-05-18T22:27:46.289+03:00Holiday A'la Esh<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
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We've been in Israel for nine months now, so we've pretty much witnessed every holiday there is to celebrate in the Jewish calendar and I must say, there is no holiday that shows off the folklore of the Israeli like Lag B'Omer does.<br />
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If you’re not sure as to what this holiday is all about, you’re not the only one. It's a minor Jewish holiday turned big by Israeli's love of gathering. The literal meaning is straightforward: “Lag” is the acronym of the Hebrew letters ‘lamed’ and ‘gimmel’, which have a combined numerical value of 33, and the Omer is the period of 49 days between Passover and Shavuot that we count and observe as a period of semi-mourning. It’s said that 24,000 students of Rabbi Akiva died during this period and that Lag B’Omer, the 33rd day, marked a respite from battle or disease. Anyway! The newly redefined version of the story is that Lag B’Omer is a day for weddings, first haircuts, festivities, and of course, bonfires.<br />
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Israelis are big on getting together with family and friends and have an innate love for cooking A'la esh (what us folk know as BBQing), so a holiday that combines both, well that's bound to be a huge success of a holiday. And Israelis are not about to make anything small. Competition for the biggest bonfire is not official, but evident. People bring doors and pieces of furniture to burn, they bring potatoes and hot dogs and all kinds of food to cook on the fire. Your little park ranger fire where you burn marshmallows is put to shame next to an Israeli bonfire.<br />
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Our son's class made plans for a bonfire at a park in the center of town. When we got there, there must have been about another 12 or 15 bonfires. People brought tables and chairs and gather around the fire cooking and singing. We got home smelling like bonfire. The entire city smells like smoke. And the fires will burn, all throughout Israel, all night long.<br />
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Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5347780323899148751.post-67188876454489331082014-04-28T16:30:00.001+03:002014-04-28T16:34:39.575+03:00A country stood stillThere is no way for me to describe only with words what I felt today as I witnessed for the first time in my life, the entire State of Israel come to a complete stop as the sirens were sounded throughout the Country in remembrance of those whose lives were taken during the Holocaust. <br />
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I had just finished pumping gas at a busy intersection right outside Modiin and was parked on the side of the gas station as a steady siren started to sound. Almost immediately, a bus came to a sudden stop on the side of the road, another car stopped in the middle of the highway and the driver got out of the car, people started getting out of their cars at the gas station, workers stood still. I followed and got out of my car and stood thinking how the entire Country, at this exact same time, was at a standstill. I used the time to think of the lives that were taken, but mainly, I thought of how lucky we are as Jews to have Eretz Israel, how lucky I am to be able to live in this Country, to raise my children Jewish in a State where Judaism is not only taught, but it is lived and breathed every day, in everything we do. I am so lucky to have made the decision to make Aliyah and so proud to be now an Israeli.<br />
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Am Israel Chai<br />
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<br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5347780323899148751.post-48598664174791908582014-04-12T10:57:00.001+03:002014-04-18T02:33:52.571+03:00To Jew or not to Jew<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
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There's something about living in Eretz Israel that makes us Jews feel, well Jewish. There is no need to show off your judaism in order to feel Jewish. Now, dont get me wrong, I am not one to feel, like many who have made aliyah before me, that just because we live in Israel, we no longer have the need to follow certain halachot and therefore stop fasting on yom kippur, but I do believe that because we are here, the pressure to instill a Jewish education on our children is less, because at the end of the day, Judaism in Israel is inherent.<br />
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When we decided to make aliyah last year, we were very excited about the fact that our children would be raised as Jews in a Jewish State. What I didn't realize is that just because our public education sytem includes teachings about the Jewish Holidays in its standard curriculum, it is still our job as parents to instill our family traditions. A few days ago, Nathan, our 6 year old, was talking about how much fun he had during the "bycicle holiday" and how there were no cars on the road and he could ride his skateboard down the hill. It took me a minute to realize "bicycle day" is Yom Kippur. The holiest of the Jewish holidays has been redesigned by Israelies as the holiday in which no cars are allowed on the road and children can safely ridetheir bikes and scooters. We are a few days away from Pesach now, a holiday that marks our freedom as Jews and which in my opinion is a breeze celebrated in Israel. Breads of all kinds, pizza, cakes, anything you want Kosher le Pesach. Everyone and I mean everyone, takes this two week hiatus to travel around the country. Hotels are overbooked and parks are overcrowded. My mental shock, just like with "bicycle day", is that Pesach break is becoming more commonly referred to as "chag aviv" or spring break. </div>
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I<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> understand and I appreciate that Israel allows us to be as religious or as secular as we see fit, but it has been this past few days that have made me realize that Judaism comes from home. </span></div>
Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5347780323899148751.post-8549597444635609432014-03-20T16:46:00.001+02:002014-03-20T17:01:09.221+02:00The Chag of all Chags Forget the High Holidays. In Israel, the chag of all chags is Purim.<br />
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This is our first year celebrating Purim since we made aliyah and although I had high expectations having been warned by friends and family, I must say Israel really goes all out when it comes to celebrating Purim.<br />
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When I lived in Colombia, before kids, before marriage, Halloween was my favorite holiday. In college, any excuse to have a party and dress up as ridiculous as an adult possibly can, is a good excuse. Then I moved to Miami and met my husband, who came up with this whole explanation about how Halloween is a pagan holiday and as Jews we should not celebrate it. Crazy in love as I was at the time, it all sounded so reasonable coming from him that we made a pact and since that day I never again dressed up for Halloween. Purim in America wasn't the same since kids dressed up, but adults would not get the equivalent celebratory mood that we got on Halloween, so to say the least I felt like I had gotten bamboozled.<br />
One of the reasons I was so excited about moving to Israel was that once again I would be able to dress up for a Holiday and not look out of place.<br />
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We've been celebrating Purim for two weeks now. A party for Olim at the Iriya, a Yuval ha Mebubal concert, a Miki concert, Yom Hafuch at school, kids dressing up as something else each day of the week... To top all the craziness off, we decided to go with friends to the crazy Adloyada/Parade in Holon. Holon holds each year what is known as Israel's biggest Purim parade. Being olim chadashim , how could we let the opportunity pass? I mean, these are things you only do on your first year in Israel. And after having been there, I can say it will probably be the last :) We set a time and place to meet with our friends at the main street where the parade traveled through. The plan was scheduled pretty well, until we got there and discovered we needed to park 15 blocks away. We walked, as hundreds of other costume wearers did towards Weizmann St. Once there, we needed to find our friends, except walking among the crowd was a feat. Thousands of people stood against the barrier that separated the parade form the crowd as my son Nathan sat on my shoulders in order to see the floats go by. What so many people say is nice about Israel is knowing that no matter where you go, everyone is Jewish. That's true, that is something I appreciate as well, but body odors are body odors no matter how Jewish you might be. Being just two blocks away from our friends, we never found each other and watched the parade (or should I say the top of the floats) from two different corners. This was our first and last, but I am happy we went. I can say we've done it.<br />
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Tomorrow the celebrations continue locally as Modiin's parade will take place along a street not far from our house, so no 15 block away parking, just costumes and a good time.<br />
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<br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5347780323899148751.post-19903355023552163242014-03-08T21:55:00.002+02:002014-03-08T22:48:35.213+02:00Poster child? Nefesh B Nefesh thought so :)<br />
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It's been almost seven months since our Aliyah. It feels like yesterday we were packing our stuff in Miami, yet we've accomplished so much in such a short period of time, and we are so settled and well adjusted, that it feels like we've been here forever.<br />
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When we decided to make Aliyah, I was certain we were making the right decision, yet I was full of fear and sure that no matter how great a country Israel might be, there would be challenges along the way in settling in and getting acclimated. I wasn't entirely wrong, I mean moving to a new country, with two kids and a dog, enrolling them in school, learning a new language, getting the paperwork out of the way, meeting new people, keeping in touch with friends and family 7 hours behind schedule, not finding the ingredients you need when baking your favorite cake, shopping for groceries in kilos instead of pounds, driving in kilometers... yes, it's been an adjustment, but it has been a fun adventure and not as traumatic as I thought it might be. We are happy, we are settled and I can't think of a better place to call home.<br />
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Are we the poster child for <a href="http://www.nbn.org.il/" target="_blank">Nefesh B Nefesh</a>? Well, they seem to think so and we couldn't be more thrilled. About a month ago, I received a call from one of NBN representatives asking if we would be willing to participate in a promotional video that would be featured in their upcoming Mega Aliyah Fair in the US. Willing? I felt honored to be considered. Nefesh B Nefesh has made our Aliyah an amazing experience. They have made every pain in the butt bureaucratic errand easy, they call us to make sure we are ok, they care that our Aliyah is a success, and to be able to do this for them, well that, although not at all comparable to what they have done for us, seemed like the least we could do to repay the amazing job they've done. <br />
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So we filmed our interview, and above, we would like to share with you a little bit of what we said...<br />
If you can't see the video above click the link<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hRfbLCZ8Jmc">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hRfbLCZ8Jmc</a><br />
<br />Ivanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08169868673158860319noreply@blogger.com0Modi'in, Modi'in-Maccabim-Re'ut, Israel31.90912 35.0024620000000376.3870855000000013 -6.3061319999999625 57.431154500000005 76.311056000000036tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5347780323899148751.post-69503281159083368022014-01-22T15:52:00.000+02:002014-03-12T22:42:14.512+02:00An Yidishe mame in every Israeli<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Living in Israel is an experience in itself. The idiosyncrasy of the Israeli is very particular to say the least and you can spend your days complaining about it or simply embrace it, enjoy it, appreciate it and even laugh at it.<br />
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To describe Israelis requires more than words -perhaps the use of hand gestures-. Israelis are referred to as Sabras (Prickly pear in English. The term is used to compare an Israeli Jew to the fruit's thick skin and tough exterior that conceals a sweet and soft interior), and they are nothing short of it. They are impatient, they yell, they speak with their hands as if about to hit you, they cut in line, they have no concept of customer service as we know it, but boy, are they there when you need them. You don't have to ask for advice to get it, and not because they are nosy, but because they care. You don't have to ask for help, because if they see you stranded on the road, they won't think about how late they will be to the meeting they are running to, but they will stop and help you. They genuinely care about others and have a unique way of showing it.<br />
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The first week we were here after making Aliyah (just three weeks before the High Holidays), we got invitations from total strangers to spend the Holidays with them. A few years back, my husband and I came for Passover break and after getting into a heated argument with a guy who cut in front of our car to steal our parking space in a crowded mall, he and my husband, hugged, shook hands and wished each other Hag Sameaj. Only in Israel.<br />
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Israelis are like siblings. They will fight, and yell and tell it to your face, but when it comes down to it, they will help you and care about you.<br />
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Israelis also have an Yiddishe mame complex. When it comes down to food, they "know" what's best for you. They won't let you have what you want, but they will tell you what you should be having and convince you until you have what they want you to have. It may be my ola chadasha face, but I may seem to attract "food advice" at every restaurant I go to. We went for pancakes this morning at the new <a href="http://modiinapp.com/en/page/2274/beit-hapancake" target="_blank">Beit HaPancake</a>. I like my pancakes plain with syrup on top. The store owner wanted to make them with walnuts and coconut, but he didn't just suggested it, he insisted they were so good I had to have them that way. At the gym , I never seem to be able to order my smoothie without "added" ingredients because they guy at the counter thinks what I order is too simple. At <a href="http://modiinapp.com/en/page/810/pisgat-habaguette" target="_blank">Pisgat Habaguette</a>, even when I want a plate and not a sandwich, the owner insists on the bread being fresh and delicious and everything being better on a sandwich.<br />
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My experience last week at the super market put all my previous encounters with the Yiddishe mame to shame. I was buying cheese at the counter for a lasagna I wanted to make. After the counter attendant diligently searched through my grocery cart and replaced the pre-packaged cheeses I had gotten from the refrigerator with ones from the counter because as he said it, the ones at the counter are less expensive per kilo and better tasting, he "suggested" I put pesto in my lasagna. Now, I am not big on pesto sauce, so I told him I didn't like it. He opened his eyes as in disbelief and signaled me to wait (you know, the "rega" hand signal where they put all fingertips together upward) . He went to what I assume is a back kitchen, only to come back with a spoon full of pesto sauce, which he proceeded to feed me! I had no choice but to open my mouth and eat a spoonful of pesto sauce, because how dare I say no to an Yiddishe mame.<br />
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published article<br />
<a href="http://issuu.com/modiinfo/docs/spring2014a/45?e=1720058/6976020">http://issuu.com/modiinfo/docs/spring2014a/45?e=1720058/6976020</a><br />
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