tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-276785432024-03-07T10:18:55.159+02:00Sabra PricklesI love living in Israel but sometimes this country drives me crazy.
This blog is about the prickles and the sweetness -
Happiness, Heartache and HizbollahSabraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02464008307768401223noreply@blogger.comBlogger108125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27678543.post-77870082081491390202009-02-24T19:54:00.007+02:002009-02-24T21:08:10.229+02:00Bat MitzvahOur daughter has her bat mitzvah coming up soon.<br />As we are active members of our local Reform congregation our daughter will be leading the congregation in the Friday night Kabalat Shabbat service and on Saturday she will read from the Torah (Bible).<br /><br />Because we regularly frequent our synagogue the religious aspects of the bat mitzvah have been no surprise to us or our daughter (I did my own bat mitzvah in 2006). She has settled happily into her study sessions with the Rabbi and can focus most of her attention on her Torah portion as she is well acquainted with the songs, prayers and order of service. She has already taken part in our yearly Rosh HaShanah Youth Service where, in addition to reading, she and her brother played on the flute and trumpet accompanied by the Rabbi.<br />As a rehearsal, this month she assisted the Rabbi in leading the Friday Night service and read the drash(sermon) she had written (with a little help from her mother.)<br /><br />But there are more banal aspects to a bat mitzvah:<br />There is the celebratory party. For most bnei mitzvah this is a large party in a local wedding hall. I can't remember the last time I went to an 'aliyah l'Torah' (reading from the Torah scroll) of a bnei mitzvah who wasn't a member of our congregation but we are frequently invited to such parties. There is food, music, dancing and lots of guests. Normally resulting in a fat overdraft for the parents.<br /><br />The only times we have organised large, fancy parties in a wedding hall was for the brita and brit after the birth of our children. Both times we felt both over- and underwhelmed. (as well as exhausted and broke!)<br /><br />Luckily for us Daughter decided to pass on a fancy party as she preferred a trip to England.<br />Last time were in England, in fact the last time we went abroad, as a family was in 2001. The children were quite young and remember very little. Daughter is intrigued by my mother's stories of friends and family and ever year, when my mother return from visiting the UK, the daughter asks when we will be going.<br /><br />Apart from the trip to England there is still plenty of planning to be done - friends and family will be invited to services so lists must be made and invitations printed. I also need to provide kiddush snacks after Friday evening service and a light brunch for after Saturday service.<br /><br />And then there are the clothes. We may not need party clothes but this is a major life cycle event and Daughter will expect us to be looking our best. However Israeli we maybe, this time jeans and a t-shirt will not do.<br /><br />First and foremost we have the question of clothes for the bat mitzvah herself. Her wardrobe is surprisingly thin on party clothes which is a good excuse for some retail therapy.<br />For the boys of the family we must check they have smart trousers and matching shirts, neatly ironed and ready to be worn.<br />For me - well, can I justify buying new clothes? Do I have anything suitable in my wardrobe? When did I get so old that shopping for party clothes became a chore?SabraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02464008307768401223noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27678543.post-45612824904794404502009-02-10T10:57:00.002+02:002009-02-10T12:02:23.976+02:00Election DayToday is Election Day in Israel.<br /><br />Tuesday is always a day I work from home and my husband getting a day off work would require some kind of miracle or the outbreak of war.<br />However the children are home as their school is being used as a polling station - our polling station to be specific.<br /><br />The sky is grey and there is a strong wind bending the branches of the tree outside the window and for the first time in my life I'm almost reluctant to vote.<br /><br />Polling stations have already been open for nearly 4 hours and although I'm pretty sure who I will vote for I'm not sure it is the right choice.<br />My husband and I frequently discuss our political choices, agreeing to disagree at times and using these discussions to cement our opinions in a non-adversarial forum. <br />But our lack of decision this time has left us listing who and why we wouldn't vote for this or that candidate rather that any positive belief in a certain party or politician.<br /><br />Normally we are deluged with telephone messages from the candidate but I received one from Bibi and two from Benny Begin (!!): an English version more than a month ago and Hebrew last week.<br />Both hubby and I got surveys. His was from Barak while mine, which I refused to answer because I truly believe it should be a secret ballot, was from Bibi.<br />We have watched the various party political broadcasts but more for their entertainment value than as valid political information. Some of them were in Russian and some in Arabic, not all with Hebrew subtitles, and several seemed more suited to Youtube. The most amusing was Gil Kopatch as a shepherd for the Green Leaf Party and they must have be smoking something to think up <a href="http://ale-yarok.org/english/">this combination.</a> <br /><br />But after the laughter there is a serious decision to make.<br /><br />I have been politically aware since I remember being aware. Politics was always an open subject for discussion in our house, amongst ourselves or with friends and I knew enough to be concerned when I saw the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/British_National_Front">National Front</a> on the news.<br />My mother always took me with her into the polling booth with her - showing me who she voted for and explaining why, even trying to explain why my grandmother voted differently.<br /><br />I can well remember the general elections of 1979 and during the elections of 1983 I spent hours discussing politics with my school friends and teachers (I didn't go to a UK state school where it was generally considered taboo for teachers to discuss politics).<br /><br />By the elections of 1987 was 18 and not only did I vote but I joined a party and actively campaigned. <br /><br />In 1988 I moved to Israel where they were also holding general elections and as an Israeli citizen I had the right to vote. I decided against it as, isolated by my lack of Hebrew and living on a kibbutz, I felt unable to make a considered decision.<br /><br />In 1992 Israel went to the polls again . I had moved house after the elections rolls were filed so I had to return to the area where I had lived during the army. Having only stayed there for a couple of hours every weekend I had no idea where my polling station was. Luckily I was met by a friend who gave me a lift in his car and another friend who was working for the elections was able to direct me to the correct ballot box.<br />In 1992 there were also elections in UK and although I had definite views about who I wanted in government I decided that I had no right to dictate the government in a country where I wasn't a resident.<br /><br />This being Israel I have voted in many elections since then but despite many hard decisions I have never been so undecided.<br /><br />Enough procrastination - I must go and vote!SabraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02464008307768401223noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27678543.post-34635357268783168122009-01-08T17:51:00.007+02:002009-01-08T18:02:30.671+02:00Good MorningCraaaaakaboom!<br />is the sound that woke me up this morning almost immediately followed by 'Eeemma!' - Mummy in Hebrew.<br />Before I was fully conscious or even had my eyes open I bounced out of bed and yelled at my daughter to run into the security room, more commonly known as my son's bedroom.<br /><br />Yes, this morning I was snuggled under the cover trying to ignore the annoying rooster alarm tone from my mobile phone that does its best to irritate enough to get us out of bed every morning.<br />Today it wasn't having much success. Both yours truly and son were tucked under the covers though my daughter had managed to get up and dressed.<br />The thought was just passing through my dreams that if I didn't move soon the children would be late for school when a great cracking noise ripped across the sky above us.<br /><br />I had no problem recognising that sound having heard similar almost every month since we moved to Shlomi in 1996 and with a much greater intensity during the summer of 2006.<br /><br />My body leapt into action even before my brain was able to process the recognition.<br />Of course, my body was still in my nightclothes and I hopped around my dark room trying to drag on something decent while yelling at my concerned daughter that she must stay in the security room and I would be with her soon.<br />After a while I realised much of my clumsiness was due to the fact that I had forgotten to put on my glasses or switch on the light.<br />Finally, after a couple of extremely long minutes I joined my children sheltering behind 55cm of reinforced concrete. Then I texted my husband and phoned my parents so they would know we were OK.<br /><br />Everything was so familiar from 2 and a half years ago: exiting the safety room after waiting the required amount of time, phoning friends to check they are alright,<a href="http://www.ynetnews.com/articles/0,7340,L-3652649,00.html"> checking the news</a> on the internet and TV, trying to recognise where the missiles have landed from news photos.<br /><br />My daughter stayed calm by phoning all her classmates to exchange a few words of comfort while my son relaxed with the Sims.<br /><br />After I had contacted my local friends and compared notes with my parents about the people they had contacted I received a call from my father in law who had just stepped out of the shelter at his work in Naharia. He joked that my phone had been busy all morning.<br /><br />Then I began to reassess our plans for the day.<br />School was cancelled so I insisted the children tidy their rooms. <br />I work at the local library which was closed and nobody had phoned me so they obviously didn't expect me to take part in any emergency measures. Despite this I felt perversely guilty about staying at home!<br /><br />I warmed up a snack to replace the breakfast the children had missed in all the confusion and then prepared lunch. I made an effort to tackle the laundry that has piled up since our broken dryer and the damp weather had combined to make drying laundry Mission Impossible.<br />Basically a normal day at home except for our dash into the security room when the sirens went off just before midday<br /><br />Then there were our plans for the afternoon. Obviously I wasn't going to be walking around Naharia in the company of my children in order to visit friends but before Lebanon II there were frequent 'love' missiles from Hizbollah and after an hour or so we would all return to our routine.<br />Was the new reality that we now expected every 'booming' to turn into Lebanon III? <br /><br />Not quite - life still goes on in a limited fashion; ballet was off, the bat mitzvah party was on.<br /><br />So as soon as I finish writing this I need to get ready for a partySabraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02464008307768401223noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27678543.post-44841767040283069172008-12-30T17:16:00.011+02:002008-12-30T17:44:44.138+02:00Hanukah Cookout Part III<div>I was always brought up to waste not, want not and after the sfinge I still had half a packet of yeast left over. So I decided to try my hand at making doughnuts (No insanity does not run in my family) </div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdIwGGLT9l0ht2cJ0_c7JVQPNTV0tSjRioQ-ho2PUqs-FRtV-5_OL-sK7bBD6f_3F2UlGC1nAOu26nPLA8wB3L8nj7mB183QvQ1laXk8HEXlA-WElSgBrl-9ukIfuFF0DvbBSh/s400/Hanukah+Doughnuts+2008+(9).JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285607592458000994" />I didn't have any particular recipe in mind so I turned to my favourite solution - the internet. <div>I found several interesting recipes which didn't require yeast and they will be saved for later. However most yeast doughnuts seemed essentially the same and I decided to follow <a href="http://www.cooks.com/rec/view/0,1818,155188-244195,00.html">this one.</a></div><div>3 cups of flour seemed a little excessive to me and in fact, when I mixed up the dough 2½ cups was more than enough.</div><div><br /></div><div>I left the dough to leaven but there was a problem. Although Israel is in the middle of winter, we live in a well-insulated apartment and as we hardly suffer the sub-zero temperatures we having no need for any form of central heating. This means that while our flat is not cold for a human being in a warm sweater it is a little chilly for yeast doing it's darnedest to leaven. Especially when it's a cloudy day and there is no sunbeam to lie in. What I mean to say is that the yeast didn't seem to active.</div><div><br /></div><div>Meanwhile I decided that the lady I was visiting</div><div> later that afternoon would appreciate something sweet and fluffy - Chocolate Mousse.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Chocolate Mousse is one of my standard recipes because it is easy to remember and the ingredients can almost always be found in my kitchen.</div><div>It is also popular with my guests, though its popularity can lead to its downfall as making enough can be an expensive proposition! </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS8lCIVD4l9BKIwkDHaFFm5AhSuEFrsPcwk-0ZF2ZpGINx-xRmzl9c1iH6RqSI4fp88Mjd4NL8LaaNHKo9GHb3JQ6flm5VsEiqAG2ac7BrHHRO-B6_LZ1zCFqr1BmSLHXkumns/s320/Chocolate+mousse+(2).JPG" style="float:center; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 236px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285605840865767618" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Chocolate Mousse</span><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">4oz (125g) bittersweet chocolate</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">4 eggs</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Melt chocolate in a bain-marie or in the microwave. Cool.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Separate eggs. Beat whites until stiff. Beat yolks until thick and creamy. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Mix chocolate into yolk mixture, stirring thoroughly so the warmth of the chocolate doesn't cook the egg... When chocolate is mixed into yolk so there are no streaks of colour carefully fold in egg whites. Mix carefully until there are no streaks of colour.</span></div><div>Chill in fridge for a couple of hours. It may be necessary to padlock the fridge door.</div><div><br /></div><div>As far as possible I like to make my cakes and desserts non-dairy as I make them for Shabbat and holiday meals which a<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">re normally meat. However if you are eating dairy or keeping kosher does not play a part in your lives the yield of this recipe can be almost doubled by adding cream. It also makes it, surprisingly, less rich.</span></div><div><br /></div><div>Take 4floz (125ml) of whipping cream, beat it until stiff and then add it to the chocolate mixture before the egg whites.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>After that short chocolaty interval, back to the doughnuts.<br /></div><div>Actually it was a good thing I had been nibbling (well I call it nibbling...:0) on some mood uplifting chocolate because my dough hadn't uplifted much at all.</div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdBNBx5w4K105Y5k0QN-NdF-AvohsOKYYVMMSAn3SVLbq_lHvZfh8dZHaGcLSXVCKLpqKrWK-i2Iw14gkkynJ6aRgS-u64ZoRslqwbFk4_yt2x7r6t8QYBuZ7I6lyyuzEa6APC/s200/Hanukah+Doughnuts+2008+(8).JPG" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285603021976085714" /><div><br /></div><div>Despite that fact, the dough still seemed quite light so I fired up the fryer.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I rolled two walnut sized balls of dough and dropped them in the oil. The seemed to brown much more quickly than the sfinge and, as I suspected, when I performed the obligatory taste test the centre wasn't properly cooked. </div><div>I turned the fryer to its lowest temperature setting and tried again. After a second taste test, and this time I was also joined by my daughter, I concluded that the problem had been solved. </div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGz2wAB86WA3GWcnya8c61GdE88WSOOpV0NcmbzbkdDmRT1wAK-V6Z7PgVtFHJO6-GNOrV8wntM8-4dpp8ff2nbFMvV29o6BZr0qM7_RgabPGCJ98N5-hBWnyu9oOIYv_c5jZE/s400/Hanukah+Doughnuts+2008+(11).JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285607024487869330" /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>SabraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02464008307768401223noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27678543.post-23365925666828839832008-12-30T14:38:00.014+02:002008-12-30T15:34:31.257+02:00Hanukah Cookout Part II<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgioGdK85I7nEIhaDm2SY6H66gXUy9jgFZsYLAt-yhEhdNaEAwzpdQ789soBncyAU1KfYko2ypx1fTrid7OzQNqHmPZtcz7DcVORfNtJGFoVZvNQf_eKh4gaMWjA3m7HptjObhv/s1600-h/Sfinge+Hanukah+2008+(16).JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 260px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgioGdK85I7nEIhaDm2SY6H66gXUy9jgFZsYLAt-yhEhdNaEAwzpdQ789soBncyAU1KfYko2ypx1fTrid7OzQNqHmPZtcz7DcVORfNtJGFoVZvNQf_eKh4gaMWjA3m7HptjObhv/s400/Sfinge+Hanukah+2008+(16).JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285572237276006226" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Buoyed up with my success at latkes I decided to take on sfinge - I'm half Sephardic and live in a Moroccan development town. It is almost a moral imperative.</div><div>However, I was still nervous about that recipe.</div><div>To be honest, with recipes I know well I do cook in the 'throw in a bit of this and that' style. But I have suffered several yeast baking disasters in the last couple of years and wanted to commence this endeavour with a feeling of confidence.</div><div><br /></div><div>If I want to get started, I had to buy the Shimrit. Shimrit is the name of the dry active yeast sold in Israel. It is sold in 50g packets, which can get confusing when US recipes say to use one packet of dry yeast - in US dry yeast is sold in 1/4oz-8g packets. Big Difference :0)</div><div>I bought the packet of yeast and it has a picture of doughnuts on the front and on the back is a recipe for sfinge! Great, now I at least had an idea of relative quantities.</div><div>The yeast packet said 'Take 1 pkt of yeast, 1 kilo of flour....'. Even with my limited experience, I know that this amount of flour makes enough sfinge for a platoon of hungry soldiers. </div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyFn1brrwxaP2iN9qZTpHG-rny-hRlHLQ0RsgNZmS3DckuzZMuZ1aJljqUOK90aprIs52X5Co0jYD0iSuvKHAHhraAFjG5Migc-Rd8uV7zhj7lUcNBZ26GbzJStPKpoQ0_Ifrw/s200/Sfinge+Hanukah+2008+(7).JPG" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285571685778810834" /><div>I used ½ the yeast, ½ kilo of flour and it made 2-3 dozen smallish sfinge. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div>The day was sunny if cold and the dough leavened quite happily in the light of a sunbeam shining through our window. </div><div><br /></div><div>The next thing was the deep-frying. I have a pathological fear of deep-frying. Don't ask me why, it is illogical. </div><div>When I lived at home there was almost no deep-frying - Fish and Chips came from the local Take Away (It was also the Chinese Take Away. The batter was unusual but tasty) and any other chips were those new-fangled oven-chips.</div><div>After my Dad trained as a chef he became a little braver with the boiling hot oil than the rest of us but I never deep-fried in my own home, though there was that short stint at McDonalds and the months on the kibbutz when I worked the diet corner of the kitchen and had to fry chips everyday.</div><div>For us at home a compromise would be an electric deep fryer but we have never got round to buying one. <br /></div><div>The other day I got on to the subject of cooking with one of my English students and when she heard I hadn't got a fryer she offered me hers. She no longer needed it now her grandson had grown up and was out of his chips craze.</div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj68cxVQhikhrOIQHvvfFZr-G01td9Kk19BzGg0VJOGU3WgHg919JQ1VdUL4_5HK8bhYFG6_4f2gu_2geRe9EFLcTuVYQtkLnOJR2xxVF0H84dB-EV2P1nXM08D7HZsRtnTsgey/s200/Sfinge+Hanukah+2008+(9).JPG" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285570824595771282" /><div>At first I went crazy making falafel, egg rolls and chips with every meal but this was the first time I was going to make doughtnuts.</div><div><br /></div><div>I pulled down the fryer and set it on the marble counter top. That was when I encountered a major problem - No oil :0(<br /></div><div>We hummed and hahhed as the nearest open shop was a 10-15 minute drive away. <br /></div><div>Then we had a brainwave and asked my parents to buy some on their way back from an ice-skating trip with my children.</div><div>The final result were quite delicious sfinge which due to our total inability to stop eating them have contributed to the latest increase in obesity statistics.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">My Recipe</span></div><div>25g dry yeast</div><div>1/2 kg plain flour</div><div>1 tbsp sugar</div><div>2 tsp salt</div><div>2 cups (16 floz) water</div><div>Put all ingredients except water in a bowl. Mix. Add water slowly. Mix until dough is smooht 5-10 minutes. Leave to rise for 2-3 hours. Shape dough with oily hands. Deep fry at same temp used for chips until brown on both sides. Enjoy!</div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFNY_rf5EllvQswZ27w18my1MbHX4AieClx3HY-kA6zUdY-mk96H9tR6UQOFywCwqd-V-PezlslWNSOEsPvLXJ4ESFOvkRCha_UjNkX8b-SEX1e7VbFruXfOGqBvw-FNu_X52m/s400/Sfinge+Hanukah+2008+(17).JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285567680506815442" />SabraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02464008307768401223noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27678543.post-32312002207316488902008-12-30T12:35:00.006+02:002008-12-30T13:34:19.475+02:00Hanukah Cookout Part I<div>Every year as we approach Hanukkah I plan to fry up fabulous batches of latkes and doughnuts. Using the holidays as an opportunity to display to my children the mixed delights of Hanukah and cooking.</div><div>But then some how my plans go awry. <br /></div><div>The first two candles of Hanukah the children are still at school and their evening time is taken up with parties and rehearsals and visits to friends. And even once they are holidays from school after school activities plough on regardless so that is two evenings wiped out and Saturday evening is spent with the in-laws.</div><div>Then the Hanukah holiday frequently falls near the end of December when my husband is busy with preparations for stocking in addition to the usual end of the month rush and I have 'end of month', 'end of quarter', 'end of year' and 'plain badly scheduled' financial reports to churn out. <br /></div><div>My children are quite happy to sit at home vegging in front of the TV or trying out the news games they have received as Hanukah 'gelt' and my parents normally dream up some trip to take them on so I don't suffer too much parent guilt for letting my children turn into couch potatoes. But that doesn't leave much time for a family frying adventure.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Considering that, in contrast to previous years, I now work outside the house 2 mornings and 2 evenings a week a Hanukah frying fest this year did not seem likely but then, as my mother will tell you, I always like to be contrary.</div><div>First of all I now possess a deep fat fryer which is great as I have a phobia of deep frying.<br /></div><div>Second I shelved the idea of cooking with the children. My kitchen is small, my children are restless and we are dealing with hot oil.....</div><div>Thirdly I just seem to be in the mood - the weather is cold and I actually got to wear my hat and scarf a couple of times, even gloves.</div><div><br /></div><div>So we come to Monday evening - second candle of Hanukah. My children, as part of the local orchestra, had been asked to perform at a Hanukah 'do' for the local council. (I will not dwell of the irony of wind instruments and a gathering of local government!)</div><div>Well the local council did their usual inconsiderate best keeping the children waiting for over an hour while each council member in turn pontificated on the wonders performed by himself and his fellow council members. </div><div>Blah, blah, blah 'Aren't we doing fantastic things for Shlomi!', blah, blah, blah, 'Forget about the corruption and nepotism!', blah, blah, blah, 'Vote for me!'</div><div>The conductor was furious (Go Reuven!) and threatened to send the children home without performing. Most of us parents sat outside making snide comments about the council gas-bags and reviewing the various types doughnuts and sfinge offered as festive refreshment.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Sfinge, being a traditional Moroccan recipe, has an oral traditional - perfect conversation fodder for a group of restless residents, in a town started by Moroccan immigrants, with no way to pass the time except chat ie I was told the recipe by one of the women I work with as we were waiting.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">A transcript of our discussion </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Her:</span></span> You take 1-11/2 kilos flour, a packet of shimrit and a hand full of sugar (holds out a cupped hand to give me an idea of the quantity). Mix. Add at least a teaspoon of salt, be generous with the salt it adds flavour. Add water. Mix until smooth.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span></span> How much water? </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Her </span></span>: I don't know. Enough. You need quite a soft dough. Let it rise for at least an hour. Also if you add some alcohol it makes them better!!! </div><div><br /></div><div>Invigorated with enthusiasm for Hanukah baking I decided to make .....</div><div style="text-align: center;">latkes<br /></div><div>(Look to the top of this post. It says something about me being contrary:0)</div><div>Actually I was going to make both doughnuts and latkes but I remembered to buy potatoes and forgot the yeast!</div><div>Latkes frequently suffer from my lack of patience as I grab them from the pan when the potoatoes are still cruncy and almost totally uncooked.</div><div>So I watched a couple of videos on making latkes to relax. </div><div><object width="445" height="364"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/XcxH260zI-4&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0x402061&color2=0x9461ca&border=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/XcxH260zI-4&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0x402061&color2=0x9461ca&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="445" height="364"></embed></object></div><div>I grated my potatoes and onions, mixed in the flour and egg and then set my timer set at 3 minute intervals while I glanced at the TV through the kitchen doorway treating the latkes sizzling in the pan with a certain nonchalant disregard instead of my usual method of staring at them intently, hoping by force of will to make them to cook at Mach 3.<br /></div><div>Success!</div><div>They were really tasty and after munching through a kilo of latkes my family decided they didn't need any supper. </div><div>Latkes for the win!</div><div>Unfortunately I was being so nonchalant I forgot to take a photo!</div>SabraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02464008307768401223noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27678543.post-85934316056759245282008-11-16T14:22:00.001+02:002008-11-19T20:08:53.882+02:00DoughnutsYes, five weeks until Hanukkah and the doughnuts are already in the shops! Yes, yes I'm sure folks from the Tel Aviv and Jerusalem have already spied doughnuts in their bakery. Maybe for them doughnuts, or even donuts, are available year round but here in the BOB (back of beyond) doughnuts are a seasonal delicacies - OK so they are not delicacies rather a sugary lump of fried dough, but round here they are normally only seen at Hanukah.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGMyf4WnOzB7kwPhld8l1wJs2szD-67mBWP9g4HALyPzSVZMNfXLvKvaW7pkYh15di1baYI9f4ay8WwoSmanLrO4LKubZAalvf3L8MgxBN-1SYpEmCSSiO9IPUq4vRPTtsKL6R/s1600-h/Doughnuts+2008.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGMyf4WnOzB7kwPhld8l1wJs2szD-67mBWP9g4HALyPzSVZMNfXLvKvaW7pkYh15di1baYI9f4ay8WwoSmanLrO4LKubZAalvf3L8MgxBN-1SYpEmCSSiO9IPUq4vRPTtsKL6R/s400/Doughnuts+2008.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270430753978924514" border="0" /></a><br />As soon as I stepped off the bus in Naharia the warm sugary aroma assailed my nostrils. I was virtuous and instead of dashing into the nearest bakery, I entered the health food shop to buy nuts as per my shopping list. Well, the shopping list had actually been forgotten at home but the part about nuts I remembered (the part about raisins I did not!)<br /><br />Across the road from the health food shop is the most recently opened, and possibly most fancy, conditoria in Naharia. Dudu's shop is all dark wood, glass display cabinets and romantic lighting, and his prices are considerably more fancy than anywhere else in town. Though I feel obliged to admit that the cream cheese cake on chocolate brownie base was ridiculously delicious which another reason why I hurry past the shop safely on the opposite side of the road.<br /><br />When I first moved into this area the most renowned conditoria in Naharia was Lahmi. On special occasions, such as my release from the army, my father-in-law would order one of their gateaux. Not only was the cake delicious and light but these were the first cakes I encountered in Israel that contained real cream. The added bonus was that the dedication on top of the cake was always piped onto a thin disc of marzipan. Yum marzipan. As other conditoria moved in to town Lahmi went commercial, the shop closed and they now produce an exclusive, read expensive, range of biscuits and cakes to be sold in supermarkets.<br /><br />The first conditoria to challenge Lahmi was Pie. I heard the name and dreamed of all the delicious pies they might offer: Pies being a staple of the British menu but a rarity in Israel. Naturally, I soon discovered that in that peculiar Israel way Pie sold everything but: Cakes, biscuits, mini pizzas, even fruit tarts but no pies. However, I mustn't complain as thorough the years Pie has provided me with several very yummy, 40-portion, chocolate cakes for my children's birthday celebrations.<br /><br />As it happened, my way through Naharia went right past Pie front door. And I confess I succumbed. The soft, sugary aroma was too much for my will power to resist. Like all bakeries they had developed a range of glazed doughnuts in order to circumvent the government price control on Hanukah doughnuts ,(yes that is Israel's socialist past you see peeking its head round the corner) however my taste doesn't run to these colourful confections and I chose a sugar-coated, price-controlled, jam-filled doughnut.Estherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11276711065670111187noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27678543.post-5262752980167796852008-11-11T23:40:00.000+02:002008-11-11T23:47:29.511+02:00Local Elections<span style="font-family:georgia;">Today I voted in the local elections. At first I was worried that my husband wouldn't be able to vote as is out of the house from 6am to 8pm. However, a quick phone called assured me that the election station would be open until 10pm.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">I didn't have to as</span><span style="font-family:georgia;">k where we would be voting even though my husband </span><span style="font-family:georgia;">managed to misplace the election cards.</span> <span style="font-family:georgia;">My children had a holiday from school today because it is the local election station and it is where we have always voted, at least since we have lived here.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">In previous years I was an active participant in the election, after showing an interest in certain issues I was recruited to the campaign. I stood on street corners, visited various members of our community and spent several hours of election day hanging around in the booth near the election station with other volunteers who were there to arrange transport for those who had difficulty arriving, explaining to people exactly how to vote for us and generally chit-chatting about the day's progress. </span> <span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /><br />Today when my husband got home from work we drove up to the school. As usual the place was packed and </span><span style="font-family:georgia;">there was a festive atmosphere. There were banners for the various candidates hung on fences and posts for several hundred metres in every direction and there were ballot papers all over the ground. </span> <span style="font-family:georgia;">There are also the booths, recycled Succot booths, were the various candidates' supporters hang out. Someone had parked there car at the side with the doors wide open and the radio turned up as loud as possible belting out Mizrahi (Eastern) music.</span> <span style="font-family:georgia;"><br />The gate was surrounded by a herd of people chatting with the guard but we had no problem getting through.</span> <span style="font-family:georgia;"><br />Inside the school gate it was a little calmer: the ground</span><span style="font-family:georgia;"> was clean of papers and there was a plant smell of coffee as the inspectors stood, chatting quietly cups in hand, around the entrance to the election stations.</span> <span style="font-family:georgia;">A chubby, middle age guy lounging against a wall was in charge of the election lists and told us exactly where we needed to vote.<br /></span> <span style="font-family:georgia;">A man at the door checked we were at the correct place and let us in one by one. I went in, presented my id card to the panel, and in exchange received two envelopes, then I stood behind the screen and choose two pieces of paper - one for each envelope. I double-checked there was only one paper in each envelope, closed the enveloped returned to the panel placed my envelopes in the sealed box, retrieved my id card and exited.</span> <span style="font-family:georgia;"><br />Outside we chatted to a previous mayor for a while and then made our way home.</span> <span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /><br />Elections in Shlomi tend to be rather emotional affairs. It is a small community and the electorate are often personal friends or relatives of the candidates.<br /></span> <span style="font-family:georgia;">This year, as in previous years, there have been physical altercations between the supporters while small forests and vats of ink have been sacrificed to create flyers making claims and counter claims of incompetence and even criminal misdeeds.<br /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;">There is also no doubt that the 'reign' of the present incumbent has been coloured by alleged dodgy dealings and nepotism. In addition to all the officially printed posters and flyers there was a home printed flyer that appeared all over Shlomi in the last week.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV2AmFKn6QXqAGNTIU96oR157Pey26RhBB_9a3L3fw4eDdhOto00ZMKzb-JwdqNs3JnJaIQDss5k5i7mYEJ-J-OatDSHsZ4b27jmrCk2p6nUdrNQr8sKAEpkyDofmdO-fzs1fE/s1600-h/Election+2008.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV2AmFKn6QXqAGNTIU96oR157Pey26RhBB_9a3L3fw4eDdhOto00ZMKzb-JwdqNs3JnJaIQDss5k5i7mYEJ-J-OatDSHsZ4b27jmrCk2p6nUdrNQr8sKAEpkyDofmdO-fzs1fE/s400/Election+2008.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267519092288068146" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:georgia;">It says "The Second Lebanese War: We won't forgive or forget" </span> <span style="font-family:georgia;">Despite the fact that two years have past since the war, it is clear to anybody who was resident in Shlomi at the</span><span style="font-family:georgia;"> time that this flyer refers to general resentment about the way the local council behaved during the war. Probably this issue will have most effect on how people voted today. Tomorrow we will know just how much of an effect it had.</span>SabraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02464008307768401223noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27678543.post-63582664184439187492008-10-23T01:01:00.000+02:002008-10-23T01:04:55.129+02:00Holiday in Eilat<span style="font-family:georgia;">When my husband started planning a holiday for the </span><span style="font-family:georgia;">end of October, I wasn't too sure. We were going to Eilat so there was no worry about the weathe</span><span style="font-family:georgia;">r and the off-season meant the price was right. Also, my husband and his work colleagues had managed to organise that we would be a large group as we had intended. It just seemed that the end of October was an awkward date, in the middle of nowhere.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br />Over the last couple of weeks, I have realised that the end of October is the perfect date, giving us a few days away to recover after the craziness of the holidays.<br /><br />At first, I thought it was just me, feeling the pressure of working outside the home, particularly as I was working extra hours to compensate for the holidays and to cover for my colleague who was ill. I was also recovering from a nasty bout with the flu but unlike my colleague, I didn't have the option of retiring to bed until I felt better.<br />Now it seems that everyone has found this holiday season particularly difficult. The problem is the timing of all the holidays - they all fell mid-week.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Personally, I hate it when the holidays fall on a Saturday - I feel cheated - all that extra preparation and no extra day off work. Strictly according to the law employers are supposed to give an additional day for every holiday on a Saturday but my husband is unable to take full advantage of the holiday time he already had=s so that doesn't help much.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br />Holidays that fall on a Friday or Sunday are good as they extend the weekend. Holidays on Thursday or Monday can be fabulous if there is a 'bridge', ie the employer decided that bringing the workers in for only a half day on Friday or Sunday is not worthwhile, resulting in a 3 day weekend!<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">For those of you wondering what the heck I mean by half days - In Judaism a day starts at sunset. On holidays and Shabbat after a quick trip to the synagogue, we return home to a festive meal. Because work, lighting of fire and therefore cooking is forbidden on Shabbat or religious holidays the home and the meal must be prepared before hand thus requiring that on Shabbat or holiday eve there is only a half day of work . Or rather paid work - cooking and cleaning the house seems like more than enough work to me!</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br />But this year was neither the disappointment of a holiday on Shabbat or the joy of a 3-day weekend. This year the holidays were mid-week giving us just enough time to fit in a few days of work on either side. It became a treadmill of work, cook, holiday, work, cook, Shabbat, work cook, holiday, work, cook, Shabbat. Exhausting.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">For the last few years the factory where my husband works has giving us a weekend in Tel Aviv as a 'birhtday present.'<br />We would ensure that we were booked for the same we</span><span style="font-family:georgia;">ekend as his friends and I soon had made great friendships with the wives.<br />This year they chose to oofer us a contribution towards any holiday we chose. Some poeple went their own way but a large group of us decided we wanted to be together. Someone organised a deal with a family hotel and everyone booked.<br />We will be about 30 couples plus children.<br /><br />So tomorrow, no today, we are leaving the house at 5am to drive to Eilat.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Kj19qyv2HaSXeR3rDeAZu2NmGjGC7rq5ivNA9BXgddQUBgd3Z-c1K8BeWgWDa2EBn5T8AZU1iH0z0mH0uLsfyzrqHwRlOsGEHX2Lz-95sp5Qx8Od9SQ2rgDBFB5telkpmGwb/s1600-h/Israel.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Kj19qyv2HaSXeR3rDeAZu2NmGjGC7rq5ivNA9BXgddQUBgd3Z-c1K8BeWgWDa2EBn5T8AZU1iH0z0mH0uLsfyzrqHwRlOsGEHX2Lz-95sp5Qx8Od9SQ2rgDBFB5telkpmGwb/s400/Israel.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260117771622855746" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /><br /></span>SabraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02464008307768401223noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27678543.post-86466145987755491242008-10-21T14:25:00.001+02:002008-10-21T18:26:32.215+02:00Succot in Shlomi<span style="font-family:georgia;"><br />Within hours of the end of the Yom Kippur fast, the sound of hammering fills the air as all over Israel people start constructing their succot.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">In England we relied on our synagogue to supply our succah requirements. We did have a garden and one year considered constructing a succah using the frame of our 5-man tent as a base but inclement weather soon put paid to our plans.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br />In Israel Succot comes at the end of a long, dry summer and the outside temperature is still warm even at night, often unbearably so. It is rare for the first rain to fall, as it has done this year, before the end of Succot.<br />Few Israelis have a house with a garden where they can build a succah so at this time of year when you look skywards you catch sight of various types of huts with leafy top coverings, perched on the balconies on apartments.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Shlomi was started as a development town. At first they build 'train' houses - small one-storey houses built in a line like railway carriages. But as Shlomi's population expanded and the need for government housing grew the authorities began to build low rise apartments blocks (four storeys - the maximum allowed without a lift). These are small, subsidised apartments without balconies. The only space for a succah is the area of </span><span style="font-family:georgia;">communal space under and around the block.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWnQdsjq8fdk1JrlqEd8YqGi8ftvMy6ajc9CWMOOz8L3gMjlnIy8JIMmvj5l5YoHVIWv92GZEpUdTPEaBruGz-97jS5YXgYARefXOrXN05bKM5IFL6JhuCO4iEl4bJZsHDQQ85/s1600-h/Succot+2008+in+Shlomi+%286%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWnQdsjq8fdk1JrlqEd8YqGi8ftvMy6ajc9CWMOOz8L3gMjlnIy8JIMmvj5l5YoHVIWv92GZEpUdTPEaBruGz-97jS5YXgYARefXOrXN05bKM5IFL6JhuCO4iEl4bJZsHDQQ85/s400/Succot+2008+in+Shlomi+%286%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259583414133028674" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">An alley lined with a wild variety of succot</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Once the hammering has died down it is great to walk round Shlomi listening to the rustle of palm fronds on succah roofs and the flap of sheets used as succah 'door' coverings. Most succot are the same size as they are based on commercially built frames but the coverings are wild and various. Some use spare wooden boards, rescued from cast off furniture and saved in the store. Some use the green or blue 'juta', a plastic imitation of jute that is cheaper and much light than canvas. </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLrn7qL8U_jZGrIGHqaGaB5MhVCEeBwKyXSwj7D2pvEes0aAoyduxOBWzBjvuVWHBn3wggN0mxX-nNXQ-dgB5Yx0kIcZoLK54SyJuXBmeM5f_cN1dS9TQkreYIt8LDvJ8yuBy4/s1600-h/Succot+2008+in+Shlomi+%283%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLrn7qL8U_jZGrIGHqaGaB5MhVCEeBwKyXSwj7D2pvEes0aAoyduxOBWzBjvuVWHBn3wggN0mxX-nNXQ-dgB5Yx0kIcZoLK54SyJuXBmeM5f_cN1dS9TQkreYIt8LDvJ8yuBy4/s320/Succot+2008+in+Shlomi+%283%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259582870364067682" border="0" /></a><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size:85%;">One family built a succah in their parking space</span><br /></p><span style="font-family:georgia;">Many use old bed sheets, the floral patterns acting as background 'wallpaper' for other decorations. A few even use banners covered with political slogans provided by the local incumbent who is doing his best to garner goodwill before the November elections.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw7-uZQVfMP5cy4iY7bbJVChz49gnHb17egN522h-7ETgfVsEsqvxleU2495SnuQMQwE01O2ZyItRgzT6O_5HLvQHpdMPwWJ_EO7EfHLqRxniAguv4V-qUj6zBD63juoYTus1m/s1600-h/Succot+2008+in+Shlomi+%289%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw7-uZQVfMP5cy4iY7bbJVChz49gnHb17egN522h-7ETgfVsEsqvxleU2495SnuQMQwE01O2ZyItRgzT6O_5HLvQHpdMPwWJ_EO7EfHLqRxniAguv4V-qUj6zBD63juoYTus1m/s320/Succot+2008+in+Shlomi+%289%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259582897532410674" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:georgia;"><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size:85%;">A succah with political tendencies</span></p></span>SabraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02464008307768401223noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27678543.post-54460316077040454262008-10-21T11:50:00.006+02:002009-02-24T21:07:46.183+02:00Succot<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirV7lMch-h2oqdgNVRvjpcdTw3-xds1xbmyHpljoNG-iQp4XBeNl_dPRJ_0nHnpbQfFAiyYTxNPBDyH6sOGF4lqPaMn7rxhgOXKa3_NcePgQWiLRbc75uB4quCLyChI4rp6W91/s1600-h/Succot+2008.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirV7lMch-h2oqdgNVRvjpcdTw3-xds1xbmyHpljoNG-iQp4XBeNl_dPRJ_0nHnpbQfFAiyYTxNPBDyH6sOGF4lqPaMn7rxhgOXKa3_NcePgQWiLRbc75uB4quCLyChI4rp6W91/s400/Succot+2008.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259543034360926210" border="0" /></a><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size:85%;">"Welcome" to our succa</span><span style="font-size:85%;">h</span></p>When I lived in England I had mixed feelings about Succot. It was this funny little festival coming after all the hullabaloo of Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur.<br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">When I went to cheder on Sunday morning there would be a couple of my classmates' fathers dangling from ladders in the JCC's small courtyard and our lessons would be accompanied by the sounds of rustling leaves and hammering nails. The young</span><span style="font-family:georgia;">er classes would troop in after a while to hang their decorations. Inevitably it would rain at some point.<br />Following the Succot service itself the congregation would huddle in the cold, damp Succah and say a blessing. Then after devouring a symbolic morsel we would shuff</span><span style="font-family:georgia;">e out again. It was all a bit of an anti-climax.</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6jycRlI30vZt5jlLkVGi7qxFgw0rKR0SU5x3upL8sb02mQtUXj87e28BiQPEfKCdPYf8dv8gIEIvNVFNDaXzntTk41pWXDv_78SjeIRD7mtNWmX_zxd51p23G81QsWHcOkJam/s1600-h/168up.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6jycRlI30vZt5jlLkVGi7qxFgw0rKR0SU5x3upL8sb02mQtUXj87e28BiQPEfKCdPYf8dv8gIEIvNVFNDaXzntTk41pWXDv_78SjeIRD7mtNWmX_zxd51p23G81QsWHcOkJam/s320/168up.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259594900725144306" border="0" /></a><br />But the service itself held a touch of magic. In <span style="font-family:georgia;">cheder class th</span><span style="font-family:georgia;">e teacher explained to us about each element of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Four_Species">Four Species</a> letting us gently examine the lulav and etrog used in the synagogue and explaining a few basic rules of what made </span><span style="font-family:georgia;">t</span><span style="font-family:georgia;">hem kosher.<br /><br />What stuck most in my teenage mind was the symbolism of the taste and smell of the various elements.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">The lulav (palm) has taste but no smell, symbolizing those who study Torah but do not possess good deeds.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">The hadass (myrtle) has a good smell but no taste, symbolizing those who possess good deeds but do not study Torah.<br />The aravah (willow) has neither taste nor smell, symbolizing those who lack both Torah and good deeds.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">The etrog (citron) has both a good taste and a good smell, symbolizing those who have both Torah and good deeds.<br />All these elements must be combined for the Four Species to be kosher. If one is lacking then the mitzvah has not been performed. A good lesson in Jewish unity</span><span style="font-family:georgia;"> and heartening for those of us who weren't quite so expert in the laws and ritual of Ju</span><span style="font-family:georgia;">daism.<br /><br />I would sit alone at the service, my friends with their families, my fath</span><span style="font-family:georgia;">er in the men's section and my mother at home, glad to actually be able to understan</span><span style="font-family:georgia;">d something about this fascinating festival. As the lulav and etrog were shaken in my direction I would feel blessed by the power of these plants that had been grown in the soil of Israel and gave a wry smile as we half-heartedly repeated the prayer for the rain we could already hear pit-patting as it dripped through the roof of the Succah.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">When I first came to Israel I lived on a Kibbutz. I remember the parties for Purim, yellow cheese on Shavuot and the disco turned synagogue on Yom Kippur but although I'm sure they must have built a succah I have no recollection.<br />In fact I have few memories of Succot in Israel until my parents m</span><span style="font-family:georgia;">oved here. Their second rental was an 'arab' (ie built of local stone in the Ottoman era) house in Akko and we constructed a thoroughly non-kosher succah under their pergola. It</span><span style="font-family:georgia;"> was kind of n</span><span style="font-family:georgia;">ice and we invited friends but most of the decorations were shop bought. And the shiny Christmas-style decorations that had made us laugh in the shop seemed sort of tacky when combined with the fruits of the <a href="http://judaism.about.com/od/tubshvat/a/sspecies_tushv.htm">Seven Species.</a> For the next few years I always found building our succah a little disheartening and preferred visiting our friends in theirs.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNgsNs5ZPiwS3DOaAAoS2JrNiOtqf3YI9f0Kfxz_BCbqHFSEroLfUBNbf2_BmfjiF-VUTo0T3axBcua5_2P52e3QeGc5KEQEaNFpov9IDBBb22gjYvo54tdnffMEdsyEIMiV_k/s1600-h/Decorating+the+succah+2008.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNgsNs5ZPiwS3DOaAAoS2JrNiOtqf3YI9f0Kfxz_BCbqHFSEroLfUBNbf2_BmfjiF-VUTo0T3axBcua5_2P52e3QeGc5KEQEaNFpov9IDBBb22gjYvo54tdnffMEdsyEIMiV_k/s400/Decorating+the+succah+2008.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259593372954577170" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">My Dad fixing up the succah</span><br /></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;">And then we had children. The first year my daughter was in daycare she came home clutching a Succot banner and clear CD decorated with small circular stickers. By the time the both children were in kindergarten we had quite an assortment of banners and Torah scrolls, fruit and doves.<br />I threw out all the shop bought decorations, found</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD-M1Pr0vVUEXsA43tBuR6hZstiqhGY2e6YPsMwQ0n21-chzFeo_acECJEC8W7M6dPb-EUyFi_OLLp1YwXKQ33aG9EUPbR4Zsr47vGXpRt_2zeD1Rb1WxwwIzybHu5kPc1vqE3/s1600-h/Succot+2008+%289%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD-M1Pr0vVUEXsA43tBuR6hZstiqhGY2e6YPsMwQ0n21-chzFeo_acECJEC8W7M6dPb-EUyFi_OLLp1YwXKQ33aG9EUPbR4Zsr47vGXpRt_2zeD1Rb1WxwwIzybHu5kPc1vqE3/s320/Succot+2008+%289%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259594899612190226" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:georgia;"> a new</span><span style="font-family:georgia;"> set of lights adorned with pomegranates to make them look less like something destined for a Christmas tree, and decided that Succot was actually quite fun.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">This year, between work and Shabbat, we were a little delayed and ended up decorating the morning before the start of Succot. After building the actual Succah we dug </span><span style="font-family:georgia;">out the decorations. Or at least we intended to; problem was they seemed to have disappeared. Thinking back to last year we had vague a recollection of throwing out most of the children-made decorations, that had began to fall apart from years of use.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">As my father was going to cook the meal I made a detour to the local office/craft supplies shop on the way home and instead of dedicating my afternoon to </span><span style="font-family:georgia;">a siesta the children and I crafted doves, apples and Succot banners from card, crepe paper and glue.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC19qh3w0d5MPFy5TspsA313FpLczRY_sGL65Vc0ilxrQUecExHvv-01OSkL5MZ3aAXEgS-stghZV0raLLYkZfOQT_rsD468P49g-LoA4E0cx2QB9ySCfdpJWsCqrN3M6GGwQp/s1600-h/Decorating+the+succah+2008+%285%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC19qh3w0d5MPFy5TspsA313FpLczRY_sGL65Vc0ilxrQUecExHvv-01OSkL5MZ3aAXEgS-stghZV0raLLYkZfOQT_rsD468P49g-LoA4E0cx2QB9ySCfdpJWsCqrN3M6GGwQp/s400/Decorating+the+succah+2008+%285%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259593381472675890" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:georgia;"><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size:85%;">Even the cats 'help' with the succah</span></p>In the evening we went as a family to synagogue and enjoyed kiddush together with our friends in the congregation's succah. We listened to our Rabbi's, now traditional, Succot sermon reminding us that Succot is <i>zman simchateinu,</i> the time of our joy, and that the Torah commands us not only that <i>"thou shalt rejoice in thy feast"</i> but also <i>"thou shalt be altogether joyful".</i><br />When we pray for rain I though mean it with all my heart and am thankful for the cool breeze on my bare arms that brings with it the hope that the rain is not too far away.<br /><br />The only thing I miss is the shaking of the lulav. In our congregation such pleasures are reserved for those able to convince their families to get up early for the Shachrit (morning) service. So far I have succeeded only once and that was the year Succot coincided with Shabbat when the shaking of the lulav is not permitted.</span>SabraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02464008307768401223noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27678543.post-8295499280674010382008-10-15T07:52:00.000+02:002008-10-15T08:08:28.884+02:00This Morning I Washed My Face In Rain Water<span style="font-family:georgia;">The alarm went off at the usual time because even though this is still a holiday the children have their synagogue youth trip today. I lay there trying to regain consciousness and heard a car drive past - accompanied by what sounded like splashing puddles!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span lang="EN-GB">Yes, it definitely felt colder. Yes, my ears did seem to be hea</span><span lang="EN-GB">ring a pit-pat of raindrops. I took a deep breath. OMG was that the smell of damp earth? </span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span lang="EN-GB">I forced my eyelids up, grappled for my glasses on the bedside table, and rushed to the window. A flip of the shutters showed the tarmac outside to be a dark, WET, grey!!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span lang="EN-GB">I threw on some clothes and dashed outside, nearly slipping on the wet entranceway. This was no stray cloud sprinkling a few drops of rain on its journey across our bright blue horizon.</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6OtAEfiVgHxtMjE4tXgnIJeWgNRNLEuNddga725UGt0L-FtttoAvM6gKIw0nFw64O0m0IyLZXRCqMkQA9dhv1tlrYWrRur_4LqmAhDCT0oLZr9mXYbxK1shw6hs5oMxqI9-wd/s1600-h/DSCF0662.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6OtAEfiVgHxtMjE4tXgnIJeWgNRNLEuNddga725UGt0L-FtttoAvM6gKIw0nFw64O0m0IyLZXRCqMkQA9dhv1tlrYWrRur_4LqmAhDCT0oLZr9mXYbxK1shw6hs5oMxqI9-wd/s400/DSCF0662.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257255793945132722" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size:85%;">grey clouds</span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span lang="EN-GB">The sky is grey with clouds, there is thunder rumbling in the backgr</span><span lang="EN-GB">ound, and I can even hear the faint wa-wa of distant car alarms brought to life by the thunder and a violent c</span><span lang="EN-GB">ackle</span><span lang="EN-GB"> of lightening that my son claims woke him up.</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggP0aDM_LUGW_1zRxoT5lkbukao4GZdZHh5ogrodeQ6TBLwivDabfCv9NdG7ggFFkBOBDqmtVFTGyVsiaRqdkJsIKxJSbqpf01DfLt-pRDPr51kAzKzOUhUapmQbJgOOjaRSzb/s1600-h/DSCF0661.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggP0aDM_LUGW_1zRxoT5lkbukao4GZdZHh5ogrodeQ6TBLwivDabfCv9NdG7ggFFkBOBDqmtVFTGyVsiaRqdkJsIKxJSbqpf01DfLt-pRDPr51kAzKzOUhUapmQbJgOOjaRSzb/s400/DSCF0661.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257254934136716498" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size:85%;"> grey vista</span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p>Now I sit by my computer with the window wide open, inha</span><span lang="EN-GB">ling the delicious fragrance of rain soaked Israel and cooled by a chilly breeze that makes my skin tingle with the anticipation of winter.</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6abVa3YI1cw5mjkXIJUz_bFE7-tCXT49ViqtJZ8K3M5w9N8rLt6UxFEV8loZ2HMyQeK91SfO8PJXeW7R5HXiveGAB_Sxho_GcMe-AR1Ak-EelJ1z7drPStn7AGulFTz-VcqSK/s1600-h/DSCF0663.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6abVa3YI1cw5mjkXIJUz_bFE7-tCXT49ViqtJZ8K3M5w9N8rLt6UxFEV8loZ2HMyQeK91SfO8PJXeW7R5HXiveGAB_Sxho_GcMe-AR1Ak-EelJ1z7drPStn7AGulFTz-VcqSK/s400/DSCF0663.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257255797931189442" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size:85%;">Puddles!</span></p>SabraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02464008307768401223noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27678543.post-21856911297962409752008-10-10T16:40:00.002+02:002008-10-10T17:06:26.298+02:00Akko Shoots Itself In The Foot Once Again<span style="font-family:georgia;">Last night we joined with friends to break the fast after Yom Kippur.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">As we walked through the door our friends, knowing that my husband comes from Akko, asked if we had heard the news.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">We cut ourselves off from TV and computer during Yom Kippur so we had no idea that during the fast <a href="http://www.ynetnews.com/articles/0,7340,L-3607052,00.html">riots had broken out</a> in my husband's hometown.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">Of course, my husband immediately phoned his parents. Although they live in the North of the modern city his brother lives in the eastern housing</span><span style="font-family:georgia;"> area when the rioting starting.</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-_-Wtut4-1ofHyRk69FSye1jrCZuGED3M5FNE-RMjvwRenbZOke2MansF4wXsKDgdAgpmxq_QM9sOoj6pOIXQuVacqbE-b5Ml_bPA3q6zyl0Q1LOlud7iZ3wjumOjgxLXGynr/s1600-h/Akko+04.2005+%2812%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-_-Wtut4-1ofHyRk69FSye1jrCZuGED3M5FNE-RMjvwRenbZOke2MansF4wXsKDgdAgpmxq_QM9sOoj6pOIXQuVacqbE-b5Ml_bPA3q6zyl0Q1LOlud7iZ3wjumOjgxLXGynr/s400/Akko+04.2005+%2812%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255541631398944690" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Akko Harbour, the Old City, in happier times</span><br /></div><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Acre,_Israel">Akko</a><span style="font-family:georgia;"> is built around the old crusader city of Acre. The Old City, situated on a headland, is mainly populated by Muslims with the modern city to the north where there is a mixed population of Arab Christians and Jews. As the city has grown, the Jewish population has spread out to the East. In recent years with massive over-population and renovation of the Old City, Moslems have also moved from the Old City to the housing area in the East.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">On Yom Kippur in Israel, almost all traffic ceases. The occasional car in mixed citied like Akko negotiates its way slowly and carefully though the Jewish residents who, whether fasting or not,</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"> take advantage of the traffic-free streets to stroll along the boulevards in large groups enjoying the cool evening breeze while the children of the less religious race around on bikes and rollerblades.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">This Yom Kippur was different. According to my in-laws and other local residents - in the eastern housing area of Akko an Arab drove through the neighbourhood, music blaring. When neighbours asked that he respect the sanctity of Yom Kippur he just became more provocative.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">The situation then escalated, other residents were drawn into the conflict and some began throwing stones at the car. (Tell me: if all labour is forbidden on Yom Kippur doesn't that include stone throwing?)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Rumours then spread among the Arab community that the driver had been killed and residents of the Old City marched the couple of kilometres across town to retaliate.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">A riot ensued and several people were injured. It was eventually broken up by the police who had been totally unprepared and slow to respond</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Once 'order' was restored, the Arabs were allowed to return home to the Old City. En route they marched through the shopping centre systematically vandalising every Jewish run business.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">As a result, on Thursday evening when the fast was over, the riots broke out again. Jewish residents complained that they were being restrained by the same police who had done nothing to prevent the Arab vandalism the previous night.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Now there are police and border guards positioned every few hundred meters throughout Akko.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">As this will doubtless be classified as nationalistic violence, the cost of repairs to cars, homes and business will be met by the government. But Akko once again, as in the Second Intifada, is deserted and its tourist based economy will suffer.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">A friend who owns a local restaurant has had to let most of his staff go home and is considering closing up for a while.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">The Old City is hit hardest. The merchants rely on tourists and Jewish Saturday shoppers for most of their trade. The annual <a href="http://www.ynetnews.com/articles/0,7340,L-3607207,00.html">Succot Fringe Theatre Festival</a>, a valuable source of income, has just been cancelled.</span><br />After the Second Intifada it took more that six months for people to feel safe enough to return to the Old City and by that time many businesses had gone bankrupt.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">On a personal note: none of our family was injured and my in-laws say that it will be safe for us to visit tomorrow. </span>SabraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02464008307768401223noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27678543.post-28046740535896366272008-10-08T16:05:00.014+02:002009-02-24T21:07:23.842+02:00On Reflection<div style="text-align: left;font-family:georgia;">This evening is the start of Yom Kippur and although I am certain that my usual problems with dehydration and low blood sugar levels, brought on by the long summer and exacerbated by the vicious virus that is still plaguing my body, will prevent me from fasting the whole 25 hours I will be refraining from TV, knitting and the computer until late tomorrow evening. <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr" style="font-family:georgia;"><span lang="EN-GB">However, I have spent the last hour or so translating this week's drasha (sermon).</span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr" style="font-family:georgia;"><span lang="EN-GB">The <a href="http://dictionary.babylon.com/weekly%20Torah%20portion">Torah portion</a> <span style=""> </span>this week is<a href="http://www.jtsa.edu/PreBuilt/ParashahArchives/jpstext/haazinu.shtml"> Ha'azinu</a> </span><span lang="EN-GB"></span><span lang="EN-GB">in which Moses is informed he will not entering the Promised Land. Supposedly, this is a punishment for his disobedience to G-d in the <a href="http://www.bibleview.org/en/Bible/Moses/SayRock/">water and the rock incident</a>.</span></p><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family:georgia;"><o:p></o:p>What caught my attention as I was reading out the Hebrew version was the phrase<span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" dir="rtl" lang="HE">במי מריבה- <span style="font-family:georgia;">waters of contention. The phrase is used frequently in Hebrew when discussing an argument. Moreover, I know the story of the rock and the water quite well. But until now I had never connected the two<br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p><br />I </o:p>am not quite sure why but I am always delighted when I discover the source of idioms in common use in Hebrew especially when the source is Biblical. Israelis casually pepper their conversations with these thousand-year-old phrases in a way that most English speakers do not anymore.<br /><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In the same way that many Israeli pop singers quote prayers or refer to G-d in their songs without every considering themselves an Israeli version of 'gospel' , these biblical quotes are used without any reference to whether the speaker is religious or secular or Reform.</span></div>SabraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02464008307768401223noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27678543.post-60492544245306588732008-09-25T10:53:00.004+03:002008-09-25T11:37:58.702+03:00Return to School 2008<div style="text-align: left; font-family: georgia;">I know I said I wouldn't talk about the return to school but I just couldn't resist.<br /></div><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" ><br />I worked Sunday so I was free for the 'Welcome to 1st Grade!' ceremony on Monday morning - both </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">my son a</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" >nd daughter were playing in the orchestra. In </span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" >addition my daughter and the other vavs (6th graders</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">)</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" > taking part in the actual ceremony.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" >To start the ceremony there is the entry of the first graders to lots of singing, flag waving and clicking of camera shutters. They do a round of the basketball court, in the style of a mini-Olympics, either looking scared and tearful or waving happily to their parents.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" >Once they are seated there are the speeches (why oh why does every single event involves speeches?) by the Headmaster, the chairman of the local council and the chair person of the parents' committee.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5oedE2IVIiCoLbjEGyuE0QlJQ7ls-IhVDju4p5k0BDKUaunYr-A8X9ruhlpC97Ed8F3GyddkCYiVSdGr34sr2uR9pNiZZHEh5m9gyeZSo74eqSJA88wIQIxT6Hpg2DDYc33h7/s1600-h/Kita+Alef+2004+101.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5oedE2IVIiCoLbjEGyuE0QlJQ7ls-IhVDju4p5k0BDKUaunYr-A8X9ruhlpC97Ed8F3GyddkCYiVSdGr34sr2uR9pNiZZHEh5m9gyeZSo74eqSJA88wIQIxT6Hpg2DDYc33h7/s320/Kita+Alef+2004+101.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249864635390751362" border="0" /></a><p style="text-align: center;font-family:georgia;" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size:85%;">Speeches!</span><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">Luckily it is election year so the chairman of the local council kept his speech to the bare, boring minimum. Normally he arrives half an hour late then spends forty minutes thanking his cronies and telling us all the wonderful things he is doing for our town, in general, and our children, in particular. Brilliant for insomniacs.<br /></p></div><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" >After the official speeches there is always a kind of rhyming prose poem, an Israeli specialty, about the delights of returning to school.</span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" >Each child reads a line or two, which involves some complicated shuffling of the microphone and a lot of unintelligible mumbling, until they reach the end of a row: about half a dozen children. Then there follows an interlude with dancing and singing to badly amplified music.</span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" >Lather, rinse, repeat four or five more times until all the participants have either danced or spoken.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" >This year participation in the entertainment was allocated according to gender with the boys speaking and the girls dancing. Although one group of boys from a lower class gave a short display of their gymnastic ability.</span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" ><br />Throughout the ceremony the class teachers do their best to keep the lower classes quiet as they wriggle in their seats. But by far the greatest disturbance comes from the parents.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" >When the first graders make their entrance their parents are so totally overwhelmed with emotion they run amok, squeezing both cheeks and shutter buttons with almost hysterical enthusiasm.<br />After a few minutes of patient waiting the headmaster, a stickler for discipline, calls them to order. Setting a great exa</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" >mple for their children the parents ignore him. After several more minutes, with the help of a few teachers and judicious use of the microphone, the parents are herded to the back of the crowd.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" >In my day, oh so many moons ago!, parents sat on chairs while children sat crossed-legged on the floor. Not so in today's Israel. The chairs are all reserved for the children while the parents must stand at the back, shuffling round in the semi shad</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" >e, straining to hear what is being said and doing their best not to miss their progeny's 15 seconds of 'fame'.</span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" >As time wears on they become more and more restless until they huddle in groups discussing in muted, and not so muted tones, various subjects only marginally related to their children's education and bemoaning the waste of a morning's holiday from work. A few give up altogether and go to sit under a shady tree.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">Finally it is all over, the children disperse into their classrooms, the mothers of the first graders blow kisses and shed a few tears and the rest of us hurry off to be getting on with whatever it is we get on with.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzw_5Nn_GQ1vIhRv56uJeKaGJiBME-UCqdakhoPll-0Q1jzUqUkFL_qoumYnfuIBE_qvWkdIxylqu78AdVCIdmhPCkrHV-ZHHRRmaB1KDsU6A6uh4EfCU8AvHZLUd7JEjZBydR/s1600-h/Kita+Alef+2004+12.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzw_5Nn_GQ1vIhRv56uJeKaGJiBME-UCqdakhoPll-0Q1jzUqUkFL_qoumYnfuIBE_qvWkdIxylqu78AdVCIdmhPCkrHV-ZHHRRmaB1KDsU6A6uh4EfCU8AvHZLUd7JEjZBydR/s320/Kita+Alef+2004+12.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249864549634273010" border="0" /></a><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size:85%;">Parents milling around the school gates</span><br /></p></div></div>SabraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02464008307768401223noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27678543.post-25971821233079970742008-09-22T14:41:00.005+03:002008-10-21T12:16:30.603+02:00Rosh HaShanah Approaches<span style="font-family:georgia;">I'm not sure why but Israeli holidays always seem to sneak up on me.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">It might be the slightly schizophrenic nature of the Israeli calendar where business life, doctors' appointments and the long summer holiday are calculated according to the dates of the Gregorian calendar. But the yearly cycle of festivals, minor school holidays and family celebrations is lived in harmony with the Jewish lunar calendar.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">At least now we attend synagogue regularly the prayer of thanks for Rosh Hodesh (the beginning of the month) gives me some sense of my bearings as I make my annual trek through the seasons.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Another welcome sign that the holidays are imminent is my husband arriving home with gifts from work.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">In England I remember people hoping for a Christmas bonus and there were always the staff parties but that was it.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">In Israel it is traditional, even if your workplace is so small you are the only employee, to receive gifts from your employer at both Passover and Rosh Hashanah.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">My husband's employer is quite generous and in addition to the gift vouchers which provide some welcome wiggle room in a budget well stretched by festive meals, they also send him home with a gift basket which maybe not be as useful as the vouchers but is much more exciting.(Did I ever mention that I just love opening presents?)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">When my son asked 'what's that?' as he opened the door for my husband I knew there were goodies to be had.</span><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8GA6zElEAY7LWd-ovJOTJZRWrXp1x3uckdQem6_aR8kVnbb099G1tkjm_rKVAKA7JQA5fzJHKFDUf5uWWn9J3CncGkzc16tSuJsaSPXRUQLneVHmUI4uAOjViS6EofmPAP7mr/s1600-h/Rosh+Hashanah.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8GA6zElEAY7LWd-ovJOTJZRWrXp1x3uckdQem6_aR8kVnbb099G1tkjm_rKVAKA7JQA5fzJHKFDUf5uWWn9J3CncGkzc16tSuJsaSPXRUQLneVHmUI4uAOjViS6EofmPAP7mr/s320/Rosh+Hashanah.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248809875052322834" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:georgia;">After the usual greetings hubby carefully placed the box on the coffee table and I positioned myself as master of ceremonies.</span><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMR2HwdFU5VwAGmQzInNJjy_nyHnQOxViAwmsPh-NkjHIH7Dh0je9JERi_EYwGw6mePmL4shbMr_m_L1xgRtTBnwZdorVBW3fBhjfMHiW_gJZLYVsurUxdeS1ehAkDUrdHLdIS/s1600-h/Rosh+Hashanah+%281%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMR2HwdFU5VwAGmQzInNJjy_nyHnQOxViAwmsPh-NkjHIH7Dh0je9JERi_EYwGw6mePmL4shbMr_m_L1xgRtTBnwZdorVBW3fBhjfMHiW_gJZLYVsurUxdeS1ehAkDUrdHLdIS/s320/Rosh+Hashanah+%281%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248811632689885506" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:georgia;">Once we had thoroughly inspected the various delights and sampled some of the chocolates the children became fascinated by the hive shaped honey pot and wooden honey spoon.</span><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtfqgiHUu4Adxv20RIGUqUsDOVagdJ_46jCt6hNLzSonzB6E6QDYHDSF3B_sTdJ-6hzQX4gxVXcqr-ORyEDk3aIel8v-yivGhxIhOIdEo7ErZWowrU3U9bTx5KC41q8sAqKcPw/s1600-h/Rosh+Hashanah+%282%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtfqgiHUu4Adxv20RIGUqUsDOVagdJ_46jCt6hNLzSonzB6E6QDYHDSF3B_sTdJ-6hzQX4gxVXcqr-ORyEDk3aIel8v-yivGhxIhOIdEo7ErZWowrU3U9bTx5KC41q8sAqKcPw/s320/Rosh+Hashanah+%282%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248812310400422738" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:georgia;">They filled the pot and spent the evening twirling the spoon in the honey and then letting it drip onto their tongues, I permitted this hedonism with the excuse that the honey was medicinal as an antidote to sore throats brought on by the autumnal night temperatures.</span><blockquote style="font-family: georgia;"></blockquote>SabraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02464008307768401223noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27678543.post-65989373771844453422008-09-15T14:25:00.002+03:002008-09-15T15:43:26.930+03:00Baking Buns<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family:georgia;">I thought I would start the season by blogging about the return to school. But so many other bloggers seem to have had the same idea and this year has been relatively sane if a little busy for us.<br /><br />As we glide towards the end of September and Rosh Hashanah I am, as usual, totally fed up with the heat. I feel sick most of the time and have non-specific food cravings (basically, I crave anything but what I am actually eating)</span><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family:georgia;">My very sweet GP diagnosed it as 'an allergy to the Israeli Summer' and thinks the cause is psychological rather than a dietary deficiency. At least<a href="http://www.winedepot.co.il/Upload/goldstar.jpg"> Goldstar</a> makes me feel better and the Doc approved it as a treatment!<br /></span><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family:georgia;">However, with a job and children to look after consuming large amounts of beer during the day is not an option and if I can't have beer baked goods </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family:georgia;">make a decent substitute.<br />Unfortunately, our friendly local baker has moved his bakery to a location at the entrance to Shlomi, not within a distance I fancy walking in this heat. Over priced, over sweet synthetic cakes from the supermarket just don't do it for me.<br /><br />So, during a momentary lapse of reason, in the middle of +30C temperatures I decided it would be a good idea to use up some ripe plums by making Marzipan Plum Buns<br />There was a major problem - The recipe involves </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family:georgia;">yeast dough.</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBQkVPPfhU8oLvz4Y2yHle7gsnOJB7mltj8abO7E3ZYsTpVqKxxzGPB31BZKhlfYD8cvahQAWTIE47hEhyphenhyphene3tnTX7bsJlNFqq6PcuWIwbF3dNJ1YYlTTPiXqeeZxGZUSm-V4DU/s1600-h/DSCF0503.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBQkVPPfhU8oLvz4Y2yHle7gsnOJB7mltj8abO7E3ZYsTpVqKxxzGPB31BZKhlfYD8cvahQAWTIE47hEhyphenhyphene3tnTX7bsJlNFqq6PcuWIwbF3dNJ1YYlTTPiXqeeZxGZUSm-V4DU/s200/DSCF0503.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246209940962177826" border="0" /></a><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family:georgia;"><br />Now I am fine at baking basic bread and have even purchased a<br />Kenwood Patissie</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family:georgia;">r to aid me in my endeavours. However I never seem to have the time or patience for bread and</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family:georgia;">can rarely roll it thin enough for cakes and cookies, resulting in an item that is all bread and little filling.<br /><br /></span><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family:georgia;">The rolling seems to be more successful if I make bread while annoyed. The kneading and knocking back take on the function of a punch bag. But I have to be rather intensely irritated for m</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family:georgia;">y bad humour to last through the hour of waiting for the dough to rise and I'm concerned that if my children only get to eat baked goods when their mother is feeling belligerent they will be scarred by some irreversible childhood trauma. - Do I really want them to hyperventilate whenever they encounter a doughnut?<br /><br />So I was in a relatively pleasant mood when I made the dough and left it to rise. Then I stoned the plums and soaked them in wine. Once the dough had risen, I drained the plums. They were already suspiciously soft and I began to have m</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family:georgia;">y first serious doubts.<br />I was not reassured when I tried to 'stuff' them with pi</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family:georgia;">eces of marzipan and even the slightest squeeze turned the fruit flesh into puree.<br />Determined not to be defeated I knocked back the dough and divided it into sections.<br /><br />Now I will be the first to admit that I am a failure at measuring by eye - size, weight, length, speed - I<a href="http://idioms.thefreedictionary.com/don%27t+have+the+foggiest+idea"> do not have the foggiest</a>.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Luckily uneven portions are not a problem in this household where we all have slightly different appetites, but it can leave to more than a slightly hotchpotch effect when I am baking things in batches.</span> <p dir="ltr" style="font-family:georgia;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p> <p dir="ltr" style="font-family:georgia;"><span lang="EN-GB">Such considerations aside I divided the dough as evenl</span><span lang="EN-GB">y as possible, rolled out each section, popped the marzipan stuffed plum on to the dough, and tried to massage it back into a bun shape. </span></p> <p dir="ltr" style="font-family:georgia;"><span lang="EN-GB">This is where everything came unstuck - literally. The plums were so soft and wet they slid around on the dough which refuse to stick to itself. When I gently tried to shape the dough plum juice leaked out everywhere.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="font-family:georgia;"><span lang="EN-GB">Eventually I had to fold the dough over the plum filling and pinch the edges into adhesion.</span></p> <p dir="ltr" style="font-family:georgia;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p> <p dir="ltr" style="font-family:georgia;"><span lang="EN-GB">The doughy disaster cooked up quite quickly though most of the plum juice leaked out without making any attempt to soak into the dough and impart some flavour. Worst of all when I finally tasted the buns the marzipan, my main reason for endeavouring to bake these buns, was non-existent.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="font-family:georgia;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-gEqg1M-85NVdtMEJ_0AAIIzcb5qeJW9YrJ6U_1v62osdwxiBVaDl1XRoXOPthGQ5z55GHH-ZYfH7vdTytKVAXu44A4_ouofulq37RNCCiqrI7Ek_eB4CNkx7Yiz8tEOt66a2/s1600-h/Plum+Marzipan+Buns+%281%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-gEqg1M-85NVdtMEJ_0AAIIzcb5qeJW9YrJ6U_1v62osdwxiBVaDl1XRoXOPthGQ5z55GHH-ZYfH7vdTytKVAXu44A4_ouofulq37RNCCiqrI7Ek_eB4CNkx7Yiz8tEOt66a2/s320/Plum+Marzipan+Buns+%281%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246211834120159346" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size:85%;">This plate was actually full a few minutes before the photo was taken</span><br /></p> <p dir="ltr" style="font-family:georgia;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p> <p dir="ltr" style="font-family: georgia;"><span lang="EN-GB">I have to admit that although I was disappointed with the results of my baking my daughter and husband were more appreciative. They consumed quite a quantity before I remembered to take a photograph and in the evening my husband begged me to hide them after he had already eaten half a dozen </span></p> <p dir="ltr" face="georgia"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p>SabraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02464008307768401223noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27678543.post-4423561707919398062008-02-14T18:23:00.001+02:002008-02-14T18:28:08.135+02:00Back to WorkWell I can tell I have truly returned to the workforce - Yesterday I was on <a href="http://www.ynetnews.com/articles/0,7340,L-3506095,00.html">strike</a>!<br /><br />It is one of the advantages of working within the local system that although my children were home because the school was on strike I was at home to look after them because the local Matnas (community centre), where I now work as librarian, was also on strike.<br /><br />The reason for the strike? As the posters say 'The Government is Losing the North'. In a play on words in Hebrew it also means 'The Goverment is Losing Direction'. Neither are sentiments with which I have great argument except that maybe to lose something you have to have had it in the first place.<br /><br />Hizbullah has been relatively passive for the last year and so in its wisdom the Goverment has come to the conclusion there are no security concerns in this area, unemployment has come to an end and life is peachy.<br /><br />Personally my life is quite peachy and I like living in Shlomi but if the Government removes tax relief and other subsudies we will not be able to afford to eat. This is not money for luxuries such as foreign holidays, sports cars or <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/09/24/AR2007092400475.html">milllion dollar homes in Jerusalem</a>, this is what we need to provide the basics for our families.SabraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02464008307768401223noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27678543.post-675878378906430372007-11-30T23:22:00.000+02:002007-12-01T00:05:59.999+02:00The Orchestra<span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">I have already<a href="http://mysabraprickles.blogspot.com/2007/11/paperwork-not-music-to-my-ears.html"> mentioned</a> that both my son a</span><span lang="EN-GB">nd daughter are taking part in a wonderful orchestra project that has been started in Shlomi.</span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-GB">They enjoy playing their instruments and both of them are awar</span><span lang="EN-GB">e of the fact that they must practice to develop their <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Embouchure">embouchure </a>and produce a clear sound.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-GB">My daughter has been playing a couple of months </span><span lang="EN-GB">and already has a good sound.<br />My son has only been playing a month and at first he complained that after only a few minutes his mouth went 'wobbly'. We explain that this is what will happen until his muscles become strengthened though practice. He has taken this very seriously and once he has finished his homework he wanders round the flat trumpet in hand, even</span><span lang="EN-GB"> when he is watching TV. He practices for a few minutes, then rests, then practices again. Depending on her mood and how interesting the TV program my daughter tolerates the loud blasts or chucks him out of the room.</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWqpWckhaY-lOcRg395eM91AOu8iho3km4TKJSzZJnCrkVFBs-HY_m3YwybCa0C5pi9X2AeE2kDLP9NQIUseOy6oPdsz6eYScJjAcjSh2NT6CKJw_77j1iim8hK18_mtp4mZHI/s1600-r/Music+2007016.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimBYi4pvW5dDni6rIVcK_d-9_ogT2fnW-whPw7WYj8AlLk4RFnb-5Suxe8YnmII53H1lSZbxcZIqQE6otYmHz0h7GOGsikhyphenhyphenilcZbb58rNm20G9ashVgU3ZqKPbAWTFv5cKGGP/s320/Music+2007016.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5138757599200842210" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size:85%;">The Trumpet</span><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p>A couple of weeks ago my daughter came home with the announcement that the orchestra was going on a trip. Everyone was going to a hostel in a small community a</span><span lang="EN-GB">bout 15 miles away and they would be spending the night. It would be an opportunity to practice together and create a spirit of cohesion among the members of the orchestra who are of different ages and from both of Shlomi's schools.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-GB">I was excited for her. Both my husband and I have taken part in musical trips and we know what a fabulous experience they can be.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-GB">Last Wednesday my son came home from school, and his trumpet lesson, and informed me that he was to join his sister at orchestra practice that evening and the teacher had asked that a parent also put in an appearance.<br />I knew I had paid everything required so wondered what more paperwork I would be signing.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p>When I got there, the conductor informed that I had been asked to come because they wanted my son to join the orchestra trip. I checked with my son that it would be OK; although he had never been on an over-night trip before he would be with his sister and although most of the children were older than him, he is quite friendly with the boys from his sister's class.<br /><o:p>Then </o:p>I wandered off to pay for the trip and then phoned my husband to ask which restaurant he intending taking me to on our childfree night.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-GB">They set out yesterday afternoon. All the parents were crowding round the bus, some of them crying, others saying they would have to pay a visit later in the evening.<br />I don't really do the 'mother hen' thing. I blew kisses through the window and</span><span lang="EN-GB"> waved goodbye in the expectation that</span><span lang="EN-GB"> my children would have a fine time.</span></p>They returned home this morning full of stories about how much fun they had had mainly telling stories and playing games in their rooms until late in the night. They even played a little music!<br />My daughter was also proud to tell us that she had helped a younger girl learn how to hold her flute properly and place her fingers on the right keys.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ7k0ys2H30Y_ra4zjmwAxYRdq3xsoY4vmAtaUTMBOTr5kYtb1M5CP7UsbrYgcOQz6_yNteh-AEBGd6ZLcJOQguTjXInWE-dLru-CrQYRVgTVac9oLgT7v1M36ucnZjnLYELvy/s1600-r/Music+2007013.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcin1xGQT0NKbzxqCAj4dGFAFMfhKOZZd4LovTUku8FGSdoljsYijjRwwAk2aYOz_4L-ZvYDzEKJhJLOookt43ZUKH05VLDQQpX6faa6Dk-5nItuGBg6mIZA3Fr1g4L_xbbcLx/s320/Music+2007013.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5138757594905874898" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">The Flute</span><br /></div><br />Of course are so much fun they were pretty tired out this evening but they still had enough energy to show off their instruments to the guests at my parents' for Shabbat meal.<span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span>SabraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02464008307768401223noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27678543.post-24380720265484578892007-11-29T18:16:00.000+02:002007-11-30T08:32:35.921+02:00Pretending to be a librarian<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span style="">I have been volunteering at the local</span><span lang="EN-GB"> library for several years now, organizing the English section. I am also a familiar face around the community centre as a result of the various children's activities and local initiatives</span><span style="">.</span> </p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span lang="EN-GB">So the last year when the local </span><span style="">librarian</span><span lang="EN-GB"> was struck down by a vicious bug that barely left her able to breathe, they asked if I could man the desk for a few hours so local bibliophiles, desperate for the next literary fix, could make a quick exchange</span><span style="">.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span style="">With my fondness for computers I soon figured out how to enter lent and returned books on the program that I had previously only used for cataloguing. More problematic was </span><span lang="EN-GB">trying </span><span style="">decipher Russian names</span><span lang="EN-GB">, </span><span style="">mumbled names</span> <span style="">and names that turned out to be first names.</span> </p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span lang="EN-GB">Most of the visitors were children and Russian pensioners with the occasional mother who, recognizing me from various activities with my children and after inquiring how I came to be working in the library</span><span style="">, would launch into an enjoyable review of the latest bestsellers while I would try to translate the titles from Hebrew to English in order to reference their comments against my own opinion or other reviews I had read. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span style="">After two afternoons of such pleasant occupation they asked me to take a third turn at the librarian's desk However, obviously due to such frequent contact with the librarian, I had become infected with the same dreaded lurgy and could hardly summon enough breath to gasp, "I can't."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span style=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span style="">This week the librarian attended a conference and asked me to cover for her again.</span><span lang="EN-GB"> The timing was a little complicated as my father was going into hospital, meaning that not only was my mother not available for babysitting but we would also have to be 'on call' for any night-time pickups and any animal emergencies. On the other hand, it would be a good thing if I were occupied with no spare time to fill with considerations of hypothetical 'worst case scenarios'.</span><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span style="">I managed to arrange, with the help of my hubby, that my daughter would be able to take part in her ballet lesson without having to go either there or back on her own. And I felt that several long stints in the library might encourage my son to read.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span style=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span style="">The first afternoon the library was quite empty to begin with and my children joined me straight from school.<br />Then a couple of six grade boys came in and began searching the Internet for the history of Hanukah. Soon they began calling for my help. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span style="">"Find something for me," they asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span style="">"Exactly whose homework is it?" I replied.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span style="">A little while later a teacher tried to help them but they couldn't even be bothered to click through on the links Google gave them so she soon gave up. Eventually, after lot of fuss, they found something suitable and printed it out. However, one of the boys being too impatient grabbed a page it before it had printed and the printer had a hissy fit.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span style="">I made several attempts to fix it, with the boys pestering me that I had to fix it because they needed to print.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span style="">After ten minutes a lady stood at the desk waiting to be served. I didn't want to keep her waiting as I knew her books would take only a minute while the printer seem to be un-fixable.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span style="">As I was talking to the lady one of the boys barged in. "You must hurry up. I'm going to be late for sport!"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span style="">I replied that he must be more polite and more patient.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span style="">Eventually they showed me that they had already printed one copy so that photocopying was their solution. An end to the problems? Not quite. One of the boys had no change to pay me for the copies so I directed him to reception.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span style="">"Where's that?" He asked<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span style="">I explained to him, but even though reception is the main feature in the community centre lobby he had to return twice for directions until one of his friends took him. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span style=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span style="">Next two little girls needed help with their homework. As I moved over to the computers I noticed two small boys were playing games on the Internet computers even though one of the games computers was free [Don't get me started about computer games in the library] When I asked them to move their mother gave me an 'evil glance'. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span style="">About ten minutes later another child came in and inquired politely when a computer would be free so she could play. I replied that the children already at the computers had another five minutes at which 'evil glance' mother piped up "That's not fair my children have only been playing for ten minutes."<br />I replied that when there is a queue each child has a turn of fifteen minutes so it was perfectly fair. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span style="">Somehow the turns sorted themselves out without me having to interfere any further. However when 'evil glance' mother decided to go home both of her boys threw a temper tantrum at being removed from the computer which gave naughty me more than a little satisfaction.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span style=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span style="">The second day I just put a notice on the <span style=""> </span>printer saying it was broken, saving <span style=""> </span>myself a whole load of hassle. A few children came into play games and use the Internet but they were well behaved and I was able to concentrate on dealing with the positive flood of people coming to exchange books. At one point I had to chase out a few children who had drifted in from the Hanukkah fair with doughnuts in hand. But otherwise I spent all my time checking books in and out on the computer while the returns piled high around me waiting for the librarian to return them so their shelves in the morning. It was a busy but very pleasant way to pass the afternoon. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>SabraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02464008307768401223noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27678543.post-59614423702495202962007-11-28T23:33:00.000+02:002007-11-28T23:35:10.137+02:00Pump it<p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" dir="ltr"><span lang="EN-GB">In England, when I was a teenager, it was always my job to wrangle the petrol pump at the self-service stations and it was a chore I enjoyed.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span lang="EN-GB">Fast forward to my life in Israel and even after self-service had began to take over from the full-service in the mid-nineties it was always my hubby who dealt with the petrol, after all, he is the driver.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span lang="EN-GB">This morning my mother requested my company when she went to pick-up my Dad from hospital (Thankfully, he is feeling fine.) </span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span lang="EN-GB">On the way we stopped to get petrol. Due to my mother's minimal amount of Hebrew, she has no chance of following the self-service instructions so she always pays extra for full service. Today she offered to 'get the man', but with determination and a little trepidation, I stepped up to the pump.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span lang="EN-GB">The instructions flashed on the screen and the only minor hiccup occurred when my mother had to scrabble in her bag for her ID card as she has yet to learn her ID number by heart.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span lang="EN-GB">Finally, the pump clicked off and I returned the nozzle to its position. Feeling a little ridiculous the sense of victory that surged through me I was also pleased to reflect that despite wifehood, motherhood and imminent middle age I had not become totally dependent and 'girlie'.</span></p>SabraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02464008307768401223noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27678543.post-70012097432830421842007-11-27T22:19:00.000+02:002007-11-27T22:56:18.928+02:00The Arnolfini PortraitAs a child I lived quite near to London and made many visits to the wonderful galleries and museums.<br />One of my regrets living so far from the centre of Israel is that I now rarely get a chance to visit museums or national art galleries.<br /><br />Luckily the internet, as always, can help out.<br /><br />The <a href="http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/collection/default.htm">National Gallery</a> in London has a wide and varied collection and they have created a beautiful website.<br />The paintings are arranged by <a href="http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/collection/artist/default.htm">artist</a> or by <a href="http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/collection/glance.htm">collection</a>. There are tour and guides and even <a href="http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/podcast/default.htm">podcasts</a>. I particulaly like the '<a href="http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/collection/features/potm/nov/default.htm">Painting of the month</a>' .<br /><br />What makes this website special is the zoom-in feature that allows you to examine the paintings. More closely than you are able to do at the actual gallery.<br /><br />One of my favourite paintings is '<a href="http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/cgi-bin/WebObjects.dll/CollectionPublisher.woa/wa/work?workNumber=NG186">Portrait of Giovanni Arnolfini and his Wife' by van Eyck</a>. This is a painting we studied at school. I still find it fascinatingSabraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02464008307768401223noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27678543.post-31158912096939417622007-11-26T23:40:00.000+02:002007-11-27T01:02:13.235+02:00Books - Night by Elie WieselToday I worked in the library so I though it would be appropriate to post a book review.<br /><br />Normally when I like a book or film my reviews are short - 'Wonderful', 'Great', 'I loved this'. it is when I don't like something that I become more eloquent. However I did think it best to start with something positive, if not terribly upbeat.<br /><br />Despite having read many books and seen many films on the subject I had never read <span style="font-weight: bold;">Elie Wiesel's Night. </span>Although I am always cautious about the books that become so hysterically popular after featuring on Oprah's Book Club I did feel that this particulr book deserved the benefit of my doubt.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Here is my review:</span><br /><br /><span class="userReview"> It would be easy to say everyone will feel compelled to this book 5 stars because of the subject matter but Night receives top marks from me because of it's straight forward writing style and clear narrative.<br /><br />Night was a quick but by no means easy read. The subject was not new but during the first half when people are been ripped from their homes and families I could feel tears prickling in my ears. When they arrive at the camps horror soon dries the tears but no matter how many I read <span id="freeTextreview5757448" style="">or films I see on this subject I am still left incredulous that people could do such things.<br /><br />The book is quite short and clearly written. And you can feel Elie Wiesel's pain reaching out to you across the text - A must read. </span></span><br /><br /><br /><iframe src="http://rcm-uk.amazon.co.uk/e/cm?t=mysabra-21&o=2&p=8&l=as1&asins=0374500010&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="width:120px;height:240px;" scrolling="no" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" frameborder="0"></iframe>SabraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02464008307768401223noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27678543.post-5778763720792888622007-11-25T13:22:00.000+02:002007-11-25T14:58:41.604+02:00Procastinating is Fun<p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst"><span lang="EN-GB">It is amazing the wonderful amount of things I am getting done in the name of procrastination. I will do anything except writing!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p>I normally do well on deadlines. Tell me, 'I need two thousand words by tomorrow!' and I will probably get it done. But a month is too much time. The laundry needs doing today and the meal needs to be ready in an hour, this letter needs posting, this email need answering. They all have deadlines less than a month away and therefore take priority over NaNoWriMo.<br />Suddenly we are nearing the end of the month and my motivation, and time, has evaporated. I am like a deer in the headlights - I know I should move but I just cannot seem to snap into action.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p>In contrast NaBloPoMo, with its daily deadline, is going OK. My posts are hardly great works of literature but I enjoy talking about my knitting, the weather and my life in general.<br />I am also enjoying the comments I received and my chosen procrastination for today is looking through some of my friends' blogs.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/01125852784624281411"><b><span lang="EN-GB">Tropical Screamer</span></b></a><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span>has two blogs. On <a href="http://tropicalscreamer.blogspot.com/">one </a>she blogs about her knitting, quilting, cats - life. </span>On the other '<a href="http://tropicalscreamerwrites.blogspot.com/">Tropical Screamer Writes</a>', <span lang="EN-GB">she is doing an excellent job journaling her writing for NaNoWriMo and seems to be well on her way to winning this year.<br />I am enjoying reading about her progress even if I am a little jealous.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p><br /></o:p></span><a href="http://twoguineapigs.blogspot.com/"><b><span lang="EN-GB">Ponders of Two Guinea Pigs</span></b></a><span lang="EN-GB"> is a blog written by ... two guinea pigs. Everyday stories of their adventures and those of their mum. For some reason I am reminded of Beatrix Potter.<br />The photos are wonderfully colourful and clear. (How they hold the camera and press the buttons with those little paws and claws, I'm not sure!)<br /><span style=""></span>They are so cute and remind me of my lovely Pitzi Ephraim who passed at the beginning of the year.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p>In addition, Wiggley blogged about my<a href="http://twoguineapigs.blogspot.com/2007/11/have-you-heard-of-shabbat-music.html"> music post</a>!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span><a href="http://maricello.blogspot.com/"><b><span lang="EN-GB"></span></b></a><b><a>Cello Centred</a> </b><span lang="EN-GB"></span><span lang="EN-GB">is another blog that caught my attention today.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In <a href="http://maricello.blogspot.com/2007/11/im-genius-youre-genius.html">this post</a> maricello discusses readability and how to make your blog more</span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">accessible to others. </span><span lang="EN-GB">I found her blog definitely accessible - a very pleasant and soothing read.<br />I loved the discussions of her music interspersed with her various other activities.</span> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>SabraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02464008307768401223noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27678543.post-27375908584041750822007-11-24T22:03:00.000+02:002007-11-24T22:06:57.852+02:00Shabbat Music<p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" dir="ltr"><span lang="EN-GB">I previously mentioned Israel's version of Pop Idol - A Star is Born. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p>To be honest I only saw a few episodes of the first season and I watched those because my husband kept telling me how wonderful Ninette was. She was pretty cool then but since winning has become hysterically popular, stars in some telenovella, has lost a ridiculous amount of weight and in the process seems to have also lost her singing talent.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p>My daughter actually prefers Shiri who came runner-up in the first season and went on to represent Israel in the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eurovision_Song_Contest">Eurovision</a> <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio2/eurovision/2007/index.shtml?refresh">Song Contest</a>.</span></p><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span><br /><span lang="EN-GB">Here is the song which is pretty good and the dress isn't bad either</span> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" dir="ltr"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p><object height="355" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/htlxqo-g98s&rel=1"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/htlxqo-g98s&rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"></embed></object></span></p>SabraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02464008307768401223noreply@blogger.com3