Sabra Prickles

Bat Mitzvah

2009-02-24T19:54:00.007+02:00

Our daughter has her bat mitzvah coming up soon.
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).

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.
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.)

But there are more banal aspects to a bat mitzvah:
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.

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!)

Luckily for us Daughter decided to pass on a fancy party as she preferred a trip to England.
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.

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.

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.

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.
For the boys of the family we must check they have smart trousers and matching shirts, neatly ironed and ready to be worn.
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?

Election Day

2009-02-10T10:57:00.002+02:00

Today is Election Day in Israel.

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.
However the children are home as their school is being used as a polling station - our polling station to be specific.

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.

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.
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.
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.

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.
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.
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 this combination.

But after the laughter there is a serious decision to make.

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 National Front on the news.
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.

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).

By the elections of 1987 was 18 and not only did I vote but I joined a party and actively campaigned.

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.

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.
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.

This being Israel I have voted in many elections since then but despite many hard decisions I have never been so undecided.

Enough procrastination - I must go and vote!

Good Morning

2009-01-08T17:51:00.007+02:00

Craaaaakaboom!
is the sound that woke me up this morning almost immediately followed by 'Eeemma!' - Mummy in Hebrew.
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.

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.
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.
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.

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.

My body leapt into action even before my brain was able to process the recognition.
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.
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.
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.

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, checking the news on the internet and TV, trying to recognise where the missiles have landed from news photos.

My daughter stayed calm by phoning all her classmates to exchange a few words of comfort while my son relaxed with the Sims.

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.

Then I began to reassess our plans for the day.
School was cancelled so I insisted the children tidy their rooms.
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!

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.
Basically a normal day at home except for our dash into the security room when the sirens went off just before midday

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.
Was the new reality that we now expected every 'booming' to turn into Lebanon III?

Not quite - life still goes on in a limited fashion; ballet was off, the bat mitzvah party was on.

So as soon as I finish writing this I need to get ready for a party

Hanukah Cookout Part III

2008-12-30T17:16:00.011+02:00

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)

I didn't have any particular recipe in mind so I turned to my favourite solution - the internet.

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 this one.

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.

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.

Meanwhile I decided that the lady I was visiting

later that afternoon would appreciate something sweet and fluffy - Chocolate Mousse.

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.

It is also popular with my guests, though its popularity can lead to its downfall as making enough can be an expensive proposition!

Chocolate Mousse

4oz (125g) bittersweet chocolate

4 eggs

Melt chocolate in a bain-marie or in the microwave. Cool.

Separate eggs. Beat whites until stiff. Beat yolks until thick and creamy.

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.

Chill in fridge for a couple of hours. It may be necessary to padlock the fridge door.

As far as possible I like to make my cakes and desserts non-dairy as I make them for Shabbat and holiday meals which are 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.

Take 4floz (125ml) of whipping cream, beat it until stiff and then add it to the chocolate mixture before the egg whites.

After that short chocolaty interval, back to the doughnuts.

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.

Despite that fact, the dough still seemed quite light so I fired up the fryer.

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.

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.

Hanukah Cookout Part II

2008-12-30T14:38:00.014+02:00

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.

However, I was still nervous about that recipe.

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.

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)

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.

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.

I used ½ the yeast, ½ kilo of flour and it made 2-3 dozen smallish sfinge.

The day was sunny if cold and the dough leavened quite happily in the light of a sunbeam shining through our window.

The next thing was the deep-frying. I have a pathological fear of deep-frying. Don't ask me why, it is illogical.

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.

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.

For us at home a compromise would be an electric deep fryer but we have never got round to buying one.

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.

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.

I pulled down the fryer and set it on the marble counter top. That was when I encountered a major problem - No oil :0(

We hummed and hahhed as the nearest open shop was a 10-15 minute drive away.

Then we had a brainwave and asked my parents to buy some on their way back from an ice-skating trip with my children.

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.

My Recipe

25g dry yeast

1/2 kg plain flour

1 tbsp sugar

2 tsp salt

2 cups (16 floz) water

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!

Hanukah Cookout Part I

2008-12-30T12:35:00.006+02:00

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.

But then some how my plans go awry.

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.

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.

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.

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.

First of all I now possess a deep fat fryer which is great as I have a phobia of deep frying.

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.....

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.

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!)

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.

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!'

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.

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.

A transcript of our discussion

Her: 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.

Me: How much water?

Her : 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!!!

Invigorated with enthusiasm for Hanukah baking I decided to make .....

latkes

(Look to the top of this post. It says something about me being contrary:0)

Actually I was going to make both doughnuts and latkes but I remembered to buy potatoes and forgot the yeast!

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.

So I watched a couple of videos on making latkes to relax.

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.

Success!

They were really tasty and after munching through a kilo of latkes my family decided they didn't need any supper.

Latkes for the win!

Unfortunately I was being so nonchalant I forgot to take a photo!

Doughnuts

2008-11-16T14:22:00.001+02:00

Yes, 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.

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!)

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.

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.

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.

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.

Local Elections

2008-11-11T23:40:00.000+02:00

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.
I didn't have to ask where we would be voting even though my husband managed to misplace the election cards. 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.

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.

Today when my husband got home from work we drove up to the school. As usual the place was packed and 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. 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.
The gate was surrounded by a herd of people chatting with the guard but we had no problem getting through.
Inside the school gate it was a little calmer: the ground 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. 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.
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.
Outside we chatted to a previous mayor for a while and then made our way home.

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.
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.
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.

It says "The Second Lebanese War: We won't forgive or forget" Despite the fact that two years have past since the war, it is clear to anybody who was resident in Shlomi at the 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.

Holiday in Eilat

2008-10-23T01:01:00.000+02:00

When my husband started planning a holiday for the end of October, I wasn't too sure. We were going to Eilat so there was no worry about the weather 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.

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.

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.
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.

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.

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!

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!

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.

For the last few years the factory where my husband works has giving us a weekend in Tel Aviv as a 'birhtday present.'
We would ensure that we were booked for the same weekend as his friends and I soon had made great friendships with the wives.
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.
We will be about 30 couples plus children.

So tomorrow, no today, we are leaving the house at 5am to drive to Eilat.

Succot in Shlomi

2008-10-21T14:25:00.001+02:00

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.
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.

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.
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.

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 communal space under and around the block.

An alley lined with a wild variety of succot

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.

One family built a succah in their parking space

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.

A succah with political tendencies

Succot

2008-10-21T11:50:00.006+02:00

"Welcome" to our succah

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.

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 younger classes would troop in after a while to hang their decorations. Inevitably it would rain at some point.
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 shuffe out again. It was all a bit of an anti-climax.

But the service itself held a touch of magic. In cheder class the teacher explained to us about each element of the Four Species letting us gently examine the lulav and etrog used in the synagogue and explaining a few basic rules of what made them kosher.

What stuck most in my teenage mind was the symbolism of the taste and smell of the various elements.
The lulav (palm) has taste but no smell, symbolizing those who study Torah but do not possess good deeds.
The hadass (myrtle) has a good smell but no taste, symbolizing those who possess good deeds but do not study Torah.
The aravah (willow) has neither taste nor smell, symbolizing those who lack both Torah and good deeds.
The etrog (citron) has both a good taste and a good smell, symbolizing those who have both Torah and good deeds.
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 and heartening for those of us who weren't quite so expert in the laws and ritual of Judaism.

I would sit alone at the service, my friends with their families, my father in the men's section and my mother at home, glad to actually be able to understand 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.

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.
In fact I have few memories of Succot in Israel until my parents moved 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 was kind of nice 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 Seven Species. For the next few years I always found building our succah a little disheartening and preferred visiting our friends in theirs.

My Dad fixing up the succah

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.
I threw out all the shop bought decorations, found a new 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.

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 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.
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 a siesta the children and I crafted doves, apples and Succot banners from card, crepe paper and glue.

Even the cats 'help' with the succah

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 zman simchateinu, the time of our joy, and that the Torah commands us not only that "thou shalt rejoice in thy feast" but also "thou shalt be altogether joyful".
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.

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.

This Morning I Washed My Face In Rain Water

2008-10-15T07:52:00.000+02:00

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!

Yes, it definitely felt colder. Yes, my ears did seem to be hearing a pit-pat of raindrops. I took a deep breath. OMG was that the smell of damp earth?

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!!

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.

grey clouds

The sky is grey with clouds, there is thunder rumbling in the background, and I can even hear the faint wa-wa of distant car alarms brought to life by the thunder and a violent cackle of lightening that my son claims woke him up.

grey vista

Now I sit by my computer with the window wide open, inhaling the delicious fragrance of rain soaked Israel and cooled by a chilly breeze that makes my skin tingle with the anticipation of winter.

Puddles!

Akko Shoots Itself In The Foot Once Again

2008-10-10T16:40:00.002+02:00

Last night we joined with friends to break the fast after Yom Kippur.

As we walked through the door our friends, knowing that my husband comes from Akko, asked if we had heard the news.
We cut ourselves off from TV and computer during Yom Kippur so we had no idea that during the fast riots had broken out in my husband's hometown.

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 area when the rioting starting.

Akko Harbour, the Old City, in happier times

Akko 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.

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,
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.

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.
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?)

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.
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

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.

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.
Now there are police and border guards positioned every few hundred meters throughout Akko.

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.
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.

The Old City is hit hardest. The merchants rely on tourists and Jewish Saturday shoppers for most of their trade. The annual Succot Fringe Theatre Festival, a valuable source of income, has just been cancelled.
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.

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.

On Reflection

2008-10-08T16:05:00.014+02:00

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.

However, I have spent the last hour or so translating this week's drasha (sermon).

The Torah portion this week is Ha'azinu 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 water and the rock incident.

What caught my attention as I was reading out the Hebrew version was the phrase במי מריבה- 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

I 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.

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.

Return to School 2008

2008-09-25T10:53:00.004+03:00

I know I said I wouldn't talk about the return to school but I just couldn't resist.

I worked Sunday so I was free for the 'Welcome to 1st Grade!' ceremony on Monday morning - both my son and daughter were playing in the orchestra. In addition my daughter and the other vavs (6th graders) taking part in the actual ceremony.

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.

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.

Speeches!

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.

After the official speeches there is always a kind of rhyming prose poem, an Israeli specialty, about the delights of returning to school.
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.
Lather, rinse, repeat four or five more times until all the participants have either danced or spoken.

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.

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.

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.
After a few minutes of patient waiting the headmaster, a stickler for discipline, calls them to order. Setting a great example 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.

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 shade, straining to hear what is being said and doing their best not to miss their progeny's 15 seconds of 'fame'.
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.

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.

Parents milling around the school gates

Rosh HaShanah Approaches

2008-09-22T14:41:00.005+03:00

I'm not sure why but Israeli holidays always seem to sneak up on me.

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.

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.

Another welcome sign that the holidays are imminent is my husband arriving home with gifts from work.
In England I remember people hoping for a Christmas bonus and there were always the staff parties but that was it.
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.

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?)

When my son asked 'what's that?' as he opened the door for my husband I knew there were goodies to be had.
After the usual greetings hubby carefully placed the box on the coffee table and I positioned myself as master of ceremonies.
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.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.

Baking Buns

2008-09-15T14:25:00.002+03:00

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.

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)
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 Goldstar makes me feel better and the Doc approved it as a treatment!

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 make a decent substitute.
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.

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
There was a major problem - The recipe involves yeast dough.

Now I am fine at baking basic bread and have even purchased a
Kenwood Patissier to aid me in my endeavours. However I never seem to have the time or patience for bread and can rarely roll it thin enough for cakes and cookies, resulting in an item that is all bread and little filling.

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 my 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?

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 my first serious doubts.
I was not reassured when I tried to 'stuff' them with pieces of marzipan and even the slightest squeeze turned the fruit flesh into puree.
Determined not to be defeated I knocked back the dough and divided it into sections.

Now I will be the first to admit that I am a failure at measuring by eye - size, weight, length, speed - I do not have the foggiest.
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.

Such considerations aside I divided the dough as evenly 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.

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.

Eventually I had to fold the dough over the plum filling and pinch the edges into adhesion.

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.

This plate was actually full a few minutes before the photo was taken

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

Back to Work

2008-02-14T18:23:00.001+02:00

Well I can tell I have truly returned to the workforce - Yesterday I was on strike!

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.

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.

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.

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 milllion dollar homes in Jerusalem, this is what we need to provide the basics for our families.

The Orchestra

2007-11-30T23:22:00.000+02:00

I have already mentioned that both my son and daughter are taking part in a wonderful orchestra project that has been started in Shlomi.

They enjoy playing their instruments and both of them are aware of the fact that they must practice to develop their embouchure and produce a clear sound.

My daughter has been playing a couple of months and already has a good sound.
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 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.

The Trumpet

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 about 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.

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.

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.
I knew I had paid everything required so wondered what more paperwork I would be signing.

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.
Then 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.

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.
I don't really do the 'mother hen' thing. I blew kisses through the window and waved goodbye in the expectation that my children would have a fine time.

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!
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.

The Flute

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.

Pretending to be a librarian

2007-11-29T18:16:00.000+02:00

I have been volunteering at the local 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.

So the last year when the local librarian 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.

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 trying decipher Russian names, mumbled names and names that turned out to be first names.

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, 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.

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."

This week the librarian attended a conference and asked me to cover for her again. 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'.

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.

The first afternoon the library was quite empty to begin with and my children joined me straight from school.
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.

"Find something for me," they asked.

"Exactly whose homework is it?" I replied.

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.

I made several attempts to fix it, with the boys pestering me that I had to fix it because they needed to print.

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.

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!"

I replied that he must be more polite and more patient.

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.

"Where's that?" He asked

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.

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'.

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."
I replied that when there is a queue each child has a turn of fifteen minutes so it was perfectly fair.

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.

The second day I just put a notice on the printer saying it was broken, saving 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.

Pump it

2007-11-28T23:33:00.000+02:00

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.

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.

This morning my mother requested my company when she went to pick-up my Dad from hospital (Thankfully, he is feeling fine.)

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.

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.

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'.

The Arnolfini Portrait

2007-11-27T22:19:00.000+02:00

As a child I lived quite near to London and made many visits to the wonderful galleries and museums.
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.

Luckily the internet, as always, can help out.

The National Gallery in London has a wide and varied collection and they have created a beautiful website.
The paintings are arranged by artist or by collection. There are tour and guides and even podcasts. I particulaly like the 'Painting of the month' .

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.

One of my favourite paintings is 'Portrait of Giovanni Arnolfini and his Wife' by van Eyck. This is a painting we studied at school. I still find it fascinating

Books - Night by Elie Wiesel

2007-11-26T23:40:00.000+02:00

Today I worked in the library so I though it would be appropriate to post a book review.

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.

Despite having read many books and seen many films on the subject I had never read Elie Wiesel's Night. 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.

Here is my review:

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.

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 or films I see on this subject I am still left incredulous that people could do such things.

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.

Procastinating is Fun

2007-11-25T13:22:00.000+02:00

It is amazing the wonderful amount of things I am getting done in the name of procrastination. I will do anything except writing!

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.
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.

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.
I am also enjoying the comments I received and my chosen procrastination for today is looking through some of my friends' blogs.

Tropical Screamer has two blogs. On one she blogs about her knitting, quilting, cats - life. On the other 'Tropical Screamer Writes', she is doing an excellent job journaling her writing for NaNoWriMo and seems to be well on her way to winning this year.
I am enjoying reading about her progress even if I am a little jealous.

Ponders of Two Guinea Pigs 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.
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!)
They are so cute and remind me of my lovely Pitzi Ephraim who passed at the beginning of the year.

In addition, Wiggley blogged about my music post!

Cello Centred is another blog that caught my attention today.
In this post maricello discusses readability and how to make your blog more accessible to others. I found her blog definitely accessible - a very pleasant and soothing read.
I loved the discussions of her music interspersed with her various other activities.

Shabbat Music

2007-11-24T22:03:00.000+02:00

I previously mentioned Israel's version of Pop Idol - A Star is Born.

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.

My daughter actually prefers Shiri who came runner-up in the first season and went on to represent Israel in the Eurovision Song Contest.

Here is the song which is pretty good and the dress isn't bad either

Oneg Shabbat

2007-11-23T23:12:00.001+02:00

Today has been a little weird.

I am not hosting the meal tonight but still had to cook a couple of dishes. No problem except that in my usual fashion I had left the purchasing of certain vital ingredients until this morning and then I didn't feel well enough to go out.

After a while I began to feel better. Luckily as I was about to go out my Dad came round, delivered the lemons I needed and gave me a lift up the hill to the shops.
By this time it was 10:30 and I had to be home by 11:40 for the children.

I had good luck in finding the birthday present I needed pretty quickly. Then I walked to our small shopping centre keeping my eyes alert for any sign of the children as they walk through the centre on their way home.

Nearly forgot one vital ingredient in the supermarket but remembered at the last minute and got out of there quickly as my efficient friend was working the till and when she is around the queue moves fast.

Then to the greengrocer who also had just what I needed and finally to the cafe where they sell the eggs. Lucky again - I bought the last tray of eggs.

I arrived home and began to cook. The children turned up after about 10 minutes and as I was putting the quiche in the oven, my husband walked through the door.

He was home earlier than usual because today was the azcara (yahrzeit or memorial day) for his paternal grandmother.

He helped the children practice on their musical instruments to keep them occupied and out of the kitchen while I made a chocolate mousse and then, while they tidied up, I finished off the tabouleh. I have been a little cautious about making tabouleh recently as the quick couscous often becomes lumpy and tasteless. Today I added the seasoning first, with lots of fresh lemon juice and olive oil. When that tasted good and the couscous was well separated, I added the chopped mint, and finally the tomato and cucumber. According to my husband, this house's expert taster, it is delicious!

I changed quickly and we left for the cemetery. We travelled the road through the Arab villages, Kfar Yassif, Yarka etc. The traffic was heavy and when we got to the junction the traffic coming from the direction of Akko was blocked solid for more than a kilometre. We phoned to warn my in-laws but luckily it was a problem traffic light, which was at that moment being sorted out. The traffic dissipated quite quickly so no one was delayed.

The original Akko cemetery, like the one in Nahariya, is next to the sea on what used to be the edge of town. When they ran out of space a new local cemetery was created far out of town, along the road to Carmiel. It is impossible to reach without a car as there is no public transport and there is a steep walk uphill from the main road. However, it does have a lovely view across the fields to Haifa.

In some cities the Chevrat Kadisha (burial society) makes a lot of fuss about anything non-Hebrew on gravestones. In Akko I think they have given into the inevitable: Along with the Hebrew there was plenty of Russian as well as a smattering of English and Amharic (Ethiopian).

Next to the grave of my husband's maternal grandfather there was a grave with a chessboard etched into the covering slab and there were several graves where the corner of cover slab and been cut away and flowers planted beneath so they poked through - pretty if a little creepy.

One grave had been turned into a rock garden. There was no flat covering stone. Instead there was a mountain-shaped chunk of rock, roughly carved on one side and 'terraced' on the other. The 'terraced' side was covered in smooth stones and nestled in the stones were small pots of hardy but colourful plants. It was quite beautiful.

After paying a quick visit to the grave of my husband's maternal grandfather, the relatives arrived. There were the hugs and hellos, then we made our way to the grave of my husband paternal grandmother and my father-in-law read the appropriate prayers followed by a few moments of reflection.

Then we washed our hands and ate some cake.

As we got in the car and drove home the sky was already starting to darken even though it was only 3:30pm.

We drove past Regba, which is between Akko and Nahariya, and maybe I subconsciously recognised her but my eye was caught by a young woman at the bus stop trying to hitch a lift. At that time of a Friday afternoon there are still plenty of cars but no buses or taxis.

A glance at her long sleeves and long skirt told me she was religious. She was definitely cutting it fine to get home in time for Shabbat. I almost told my husband to stop for her but we would have had to pull across three lanes of heavy traffic. Instead she got a ride with someone who took her to the main junction into Nahariya.

She immediately started trying to hitch another lift from the drivers stopped at the red light. Again, she attracted my notice and when she caught my eye she asked if we could take her to Shlomi. Of course! I immediately called her over and her face lit up with relief.

As she settled into her seat she thanked us profusely. My husband remarked on the lateness of the hour and the fact that Shabbat came in at 4:15pm. She replied that she had though she had until 4:15 pm but her mother had just phoned in a panic because Shabbat started at 4:05 pm. Either way she had been worried she would be stranded somewhere in Nahariya.

My husband drove along at his usual smart clip and we chatted with our pleasant hitchhiker. Shlomi being so small it was no problem driving her to her doorstep and we left her there at 4:01 pm.

It was a pleasing way to start the Shabbat.

More Rain = More Knitting

2007-11-22T23:09:00.000+02:00

Yes it rained again today! As usual the hardest rainfall was between 3-4pm when the children have to walk home from school.

By the evening the rain cloud had puffed off somewhere else and I enjoyed a walk out in the cold, fresh air as I accompanied my son to his karate.
While he is in lessons I pass my time in the library, organizing the English section on a voluntary basis - but that is a story for another time.

Normally I spend my first half hour repairing the ravages of the high school English class. The Israeli teachers have been on strike for a month now but strikes rarely seem to affect teachers in Shlomi. However, the high school English teacher decided to join them today so the English section of the library was in immaculate condition.

Instead I sat and chatted with my friend the librarian. I often knit while I'm waiting so she immediately asked if I had knit my scarf. When I answered yes her next question flummoxed me - she asked why I had knit it so small!

To be honest the scarf is quite short because I insist on wearing scarves as often as possible during the short Israeli winter even when it is not cold enough for me to bear to wrap the scarf round my neck.
In such a situation 'English length' scarves become entangled in my jackets and bags so I made this one 'Israeli length' - just long enough to hang to my waist when draped decoratively round my neck.

But she was referring to the width. In her mind a proper scarf should resemble a wrap.
It is another one of those culture gaps.

For the first 18 years of my life I lived in a country cold enough to require the use of a scarf during winter months. For me a scarf is a draught excluder, filling in the gap between the neck and the coat collar, sealing out the chilly breezes that sneak down the back on a cold day and leave you feeling stiff and sore.

For an Israeli, raised in a country where even a heavy winter coat is rarely a necessity, a scarf is pure decoration to be draped over the shoulders, falling off with annoying regularity and providing little in the way of warmth.

Anyway here is the scarf.

The yarn is jewel coloured cotton chenille recycled from a couple of sweaters I had worn until they were falling apart but still couldn't bear to be parted from. The yarn was quite thin so I combined two colours. To make it extra soft and squidy I knit it in double rib.
The imperfection of the yarn gives it a slightly ragged look but it feels lovely and I adore the colours. (which unfortunately don't show up too well in these pictures)

Winter is the time for knitting

2007-11-21T23:28:00.000+02:00

It has been raining not stop all day long. My husband even brought home photo of the hail that fell where he works.

Perfect weather for winter pursuits .... like knitting. I wait eagerly all year for the cooler weather. Impatience to start knitting is probably part of the reason I get so irritable when Winter takes in time in getting here.

This year I decided to knit some baby items for a friends' newborn granddaughter and got a little carried away with the 'bite-size' fun of baby bootees.

They only take an evening to whip up. Problem is they take almost as long to sew together!

Finally I convinced myself I must face the music, or rather the bootees, and, after several failed attempts, I have one finished bootee.

one finished bootee

one more to go

The pattern is Saartje's Bootees. The first free pattern on the right-hand side of the page.

Shake, Rattle and Roll

2007-11-20T23:18:00.001+02:00

As if this little corner of the world doesn't suffer from enough man-made excitements today we were at nature's mercy.

The week started with and increase in temperate which caused an increase in my irritability (I mean really, too hot for jeans in mid-November - Who wouldn't find their temper more than a little strained?)

Last night with a crack or thunder and a flash of lightening the heavens opened, soaking my laundry before I could rush out and haul it in off the line.

The storm has rolled around the skies all day (as my laundry rolls around inside the dryer) thought there was a slight respite when my daughter and I made our way out of the house to her ballet lesson. As we waited at the bus stop, the storm rumbled back into position overhead turning the road and the drainage ditches into a raging torrent. I was trying to reassure my daughter that we weren't in mortal danger when the man keeping us company under the bus shelter informed me that on a beach only a few miles from us a fisherman had been stuck by lightening and killed.

Although I have felt the earthquakes on previous occasions, it was probably due to the storm that I didn't feel anything this morning.

My daughter was running around outside at break so she also didn't feel it but her friends did and the teachers called them together to explained what was happening.

The epicentre was in the Dead Sea. But they weren't large quakes.

However, we are on the Syrian African rift and the news tonight was full of scare stories of what will happen when the 'Big One' hits.

Pen and Paper

2007-11-19T23:44:00.000+02:00

I love my computer. Anyone who knows me will tell you this. But I have a confession to make.

I tend to do most of my writing while waiting, at bus stops and while my children are at after-school activities. I do not have a laptop so I write using pen and paper.
The main problem, in addition to occasional losing these precious pieces of paper, is that I then have to copy up all my notes on to the computer.

This November I signed up for NaNoWriMo. Faced with the prospect of writing at least 1,667 words per day I decided that I couldn't afford to waste time copying out notes. It would be more efficient writing straight on the computer.

To be honest I have tried before and the result has been banal prose at best, total writers' block at worst. I thought I could work through it, get used to the glare of the screen, be inspired by electrons.

Unfortunately it has not worked. The problem is not the banal prose. One of the mantras of NaNoWriMo is just write even if what you are writing is crap. During November you put down 50,000 words and then spend December, or the next year, editing to reshape them into something elegant and beautiful.

My problem is that, however self satisfied or recursive it may sound, I am inspired by my own writing.

Or rather, to be more accurate, my own characters. Long before I ever commit my characters to paper they are running round inside my head, acting out scenes from their lives. They keep me amused when I can't sleep or during a boring car journey.

As appalling as my handwriting is, the physical act of writing is automatic and requires little concentration, especially when I let standards of spelling and legibility fall by the wayside. My mind can trailing off in a day dream following round my characters as they develop inside my imagination.

Typing however requires slightly more concentration and although I can edit electronically with alacrity and pizazz my brain is to occupied with the physicality of typing to be creative.

Today I finally gave into this reality and sat on the sofa with pen and paper. It took me less than a couple of hours to write the required 1,667 words and then another hour to type them on my computer. Even better I am satisfied with what I have written and eager to continue.

Now I just have to discover how to ward off writers' cramp as I try to catch up with my word count.

Toad in the Hole

2007-11-18T22:43:00.000+02:00

For the English speaker in Israel there is much humour to be obtained from the appalling English so frequently encountered on signs and labels.

Finding the 'vegetal' sausages on special offer at the local supermarket inspired me to prepare
the very British and , normally, very non-kosher dish of Toad in the Hole.

Shabbat Music

2007-11-17T21:21:00.000+02:00

Israel, just like everywhere else on the planet, has a version of Pop Idol. We call it A Star is Born.

Although, obviously, only one person wins each season the top three tend to become successful.

Harel Skaat didn't actually win in his season of A Star is Born however he has become extremely popular and in my opinion is the best romantic ballad singer in Israel at this time.

This is my favourite of his songs.

Of course, video clips are all very well but for me a ballad singer is truly measured by the effect his song has in a more intimate setting - just him and the microphone, and several million adoring fans!

So for those of us interested in a live version here is the link

Knitting - Baby Blanket

2007-11-16T16:49:00.000+02:00

I knitted this for a friend's baby a little while ago and was pleased with my efforts.

Hopefully it will the first of many post about my completed knitting projects though at present my pile of UFOs (UnFinished Objects) is growing larger by the second!

Argh!

2007-11-15T21:35:00.000+02:00

I looked in the mirror as I was brushing my hair today and I noticed not just one but several grey hairs!!!!

I suppose I should have been prepared - My mother has been going grey ever since I can remember and my husband even has a few grey hairs in our wedding photos, he was 23.

I suppose I will have to start behaving like a grown up now?
Maybe not!

Sabra Prickles

2007-11-14T23:35:00.000+02:00

Maybe it is about time I explained the name of my blog.

A Sabra is an Israeli born Israeli.
I was born an Israeli thanks to Dad, but because I was born in England, thanks to Mum, I am not a Sabra. However, my husband and my children are Sabras.

Sabra is also Hebrew for prickly pear. It is said that like the fruit Israelis are tough and prickly on the outside, soft and sweet on the inside.
This generally holds true. The problem is how to get through that tough prickly outside.

I have been struggling with this problem since 1988.
After long, painful experience I am now able to peel the actual fruit almost to perfection, so that the recipient suffers no stray prickles in their tongue or throat.

The metaphorical Sabra is still a challenge. I manage to avoid most prickles either by careful handling or, in truly desperate situations, by just avoiding the Sabra all together.
Occasionally I still get stuck by a prickle which it normally more hair-pullingly irritating than painful, but most of the time I get to taste the sweet, soft centre.

Pita Party

2007-11-13T23:32:00.000+02:00

Today my children were invited to a friend's party.

We started getting ready at 4pm, late afternoon but the sun was still shining. It was relatively cool outside but I was still concerned that I might be too warm in my long -sleeved shirt. I always forget just how cold it gets in winter once the sun disappears.

By the time we took the bus and started walking along the road to the party's location the sun was setting and it began to get cold.

The place we were heading for is called Taboon BeLul, which literally means Oven in a Chicken Coop.

The northern area of Naharia is still quite agricultural and most of the properties are still small holdings or small farms.

This particular farmer had turned his chicken shed into a location for holding children's parties. The large space was equipped with a kitchen and a play area decorated with rugs and colourful wall hangings. With sofas and chairs against the walls for waiting parents and tired children.

About 50 children turned up for the party and they got a little out of hand but there were people paid to take care of that. I sat on a sofa in the corner, gently sipping some wine and chatting with friends. However, we were sitting by the door and every time someone walked through the cold blasted in so soon we were wandering the room, edging closer to the warmth of the oven.

The main attraction of the 'lul' is the taboon which is a domed oven containing a flat metal plate over the open flame.

The children were all given balls of dough and rolling pins. They rolled out the dough into a vaguely circular shape. The 'pita' were then slapped on the hot plate where they cook quickly. On another table there was labane, za'atar or chocolate spread to put on the homemade pita.

Strange to think that when my father was growing up all his bread was cooked in a similar way.

The Sopranos meets .... well you'll see

2007-11-12T16:40:00.000+02:00

[Hat tip to Jules on Facebook]

Where has the weekend gone?

2007-11-11T23:21:00.000+02:00

I have lived in Israel nearly 20 years, more than half my life, but there is still something I can't get used to: the one-day weekend.

In Israel Saturday is the Sabbath and on Sunday we all return to work. It is true that most people work a short day on Friday but it is still depressing when your day of rest is sandwiched on both sides by work.

Both my husband and I have tried various ways to fix our working week so that it includes a full day off on Friday but it is a rare occurrence. Even though I work from home and have quite a lot of control over when I work, I always seem to need to meet with someone on Friday or rush to get something finished because suddenly the week is over and this is our last chance to find an hour of free time.

I did work part-time with a five-day week for a year but for most of that time I was pregnant with my son and so resting through any free time, and as I was normally home alone it didn't have the feel of a weekend.

Of course working on Sunday is a pain for international companies. They would never let you stay at home because you can always spend Sunday 'preparing' for the rest of the week. However, all business is put on hold becuase nobody in Europe or America is reading the faxes or answering the phones.

For us, personally, it means that that our favourite MotoGP races are Assen and Qatar because they take place on Saturday and Laguna Seca, which is so many time zones distant we can watch the race live late Sunday night.

The hardest struck victim is our social life. We are not completely secular so Friday evenings are reserved for synagogue and a meal with the family. If we do go out it is afterwards, at 11pm. That is fine when you are18 or even 25. But when the big four oh is looming close and you are weighed down by a heavy meal which was, naturally, accompanied by wine, and have been on your feet since 6am when you staggered off to work, going out on a Friday becomes a special event rather than a weekly routine.

Saturday is no better. You maybe well rested having lazed away the better part of the morning but you have to stay the sensible side of a wild time in consideration of the fact that you must be fit for work on Sunday morning.

However, there is a rather dim, wavering, but recurrent light bobbing on the horizon.

The religious sector, who have disproportionate clout in the Knesset, are fed up with everyone in the Jewish Homeland shopping on the Holy Sabbath. They have joined with the factions that support workers rights', in trying to convert Israel to a five-day working week.

There are many economic objections and some orthodox Jews demand that the second day of holiday be on Friday because it is just not Jewish to be like everybody else. As a result, the law has so far been rejected.

But I have hope that in the not-too-distant future the combination of economists on one side recognising the problem caused by the lack of a universally acceptable shopping day, and the religious elements on the other side trying to assert their power by protecting the Sabbath will ensure the rest of us can enjoy a two-day weekend.

Shabbat Music

2007-11-10T22:11:00.000+02:00

This Shabbat my husband has spent most of the day watching car magazine programs so I have been left to prowl the internet in search of music. Luckily, there is plenty out there to provide for my listening pleasure.

My favourite rapper is the Israeli rapper Subliminal. Not only is he a great rapper but also a Zionist, anti-violence and proud to have served in the army. What more could a girl want?

The following is a popular in our house as it is based on our regimental song.

Here is the original from the 1970s

In addition, here is a link for those of you desiring a more intellectual analysis of the song, including the definitive answer as to the songstress in the original version.

The Quiche

2007-11-09T15:59:00.000+02:00

Tonight we are having a pot-luck supper at our congregation to celebrate the birth of a grandchild to one of our members.

My contribution is a quiche.

Shabbat Shalom!

Paperwork - (not) music to my ears

2007-11-08T22:47:00.000+02:00

One of the annoyances you most often hear people complaining about in Israel is the bureaucracy. I have been here long enough to become inured to a certain extent and there is no doubt that in the 19 years I have been here government offices, the major source of irritation and bureaucracy, have improved their customer service by about 1000%.

However, I still occasionally encounter some pencil pusher who believes that the world economy will collapse if every form is not filled out in triplicate and passed through at least a dozen hands before finally coming to rest.

At the end of last year they started a wonderful project here in Shlomi - an orchestra.

The moment she heard about it my daughter became extremely excited, pondering daily about which instrument they would chose for her and how difficult it would be to play.

I was also ecstatic because not only is the project subsidised, most of the lessons take place during afternoon school so there are no scheduling clashes with other activities.

I always sang in the choir and played, if rather badly, in orchestra and even though I never had the slightest chance of making the concert circuit, creating music gave me many hours of pleasure.

Darling, the husband, was a skilled trombone player in his youth and has happy memories of time spent with the orchestra.

Trombone didn't seem a likely instrument for my daughter and although I still have my own clarinet from my days of mangling 'Sloop John B' at band I was sure that my daughter was destined to be a flautist.

So all is perfect. Well not quite. Although the lessons are during school, the project is run by an outside entity through the local community centre. The payments are made at the community centre but unlike all other activities there, I was given the paperwork to take home.

A fortnight later, after the first lesson, the teacher demanded that all the children must bring a receipt to show payment. All other teachers working from the community centre ask for the printout of the names but for some reason the music teachers must have the actual receipt.

I made a copy to ensure I have the receipt in my records and then sent my daughter to school with the piece of paper tucked into her diary, hoping it will not get lost among the thousands of other bits of paper crowding her school bag.

Next, the teacher said the children must bring in the liability form I had signed for the rental of the musical instrument. I made a copy of that and sent the form to school with my daughter. In the evening my daughter returned still in possession of the aforesaid form. The music teacher didn't have a suitable instrument for her and would only accept the form in exchange for the instrument.

That miserable piece of paper visited school with my daughter once a week for a month until they finally gave her the flute. I think congratulations and full marks go to my daughter for organisation. If that form had been in my school satchel for so long it would probably have ended up as a calculations sheet for my math homework.

After all the fun time we had playing with the paper work the orchestra actually got down to business and I was cast in the role of 'Proud Mummy' in September when the orchestra, including my daughter on flute, played at the First Day ceremonies of both the local schools.

I was also pleased to hear that this year my son would also have a chance to join the orchestra. I had a feeling that the trumpet would suit him best.

Like a good little parent, I arranged for payment as soon as possible. A week or so later I get a call form the community centre:

'You need to come and pay for you daughter's music.'

'I've already paid.'

'You've paid for the lessons but at first they decided only new students would pay for the rental of the instrument now they have changed their minds.'

'Brilliant! I can't get there to pay before the next lesson. They had better not hassle my daughter about the payment.' When things are not done on time my daughter gets anxious, not the state of mind most conducive to producing beautiful music.

My son went to his first music lesson and again they demanded receipts and forms.

I copied the forms twice this time; once my daughter and once for my son, but my son is not quite as organised as his sister and managed to misplace the form. In addition, he was so concerned about the teacher's warning to bring the receipt and forms he didn't go to the lesson. When he got home and told me this, I flipped.

After I calmed down I paid a visit to my friends at the community centre who agreed that the orchestra is peculiar among all courses held there in that they insist the child brings the receipt and form to the lessons rather than keeping them on file at the community centre.

Moreover, it seems they are so into the bureaucracy they have their own secretary.

I obtained the secretary's number from the nice lady a reception.

Next day I had a little word the secretary.

'No, my son will not be arriving at the lesson with his receipt as it has been lost due to his having to haul it round school with thousands of other bits of paper. You will go the community centre reception, just like every other teacher, and with the help of the printout confirm that both my children have paid and then you will inform their teachers.'

She grudgingly agreed to do that, all the time emphasising the fact that she could only do so IF I had actually paid, in a tone that suggested she had the gravest doubts that I had.

Then she informed me that my son would still have to bring the liability form to the next lesson in order to be able to take the instrument home.

Well that was not going to happen either. Remember that bit about my son losing papers?

I suggested that like every other activity they open a file at reception where I could hand in the form to be stored safely until it could be retrieved later on by her or one of the teachers. She didn't like that idea but eventually conceded that the day before they had arranged to have a drawer at reception and I could leave the form there.

Unbelievably it's only taken them 7 months to figure put that having a place at reception, where the parents fill in forms and make payments, to store the paperwork is more sensible than having primary school children traipsing round school with important paperwork wrapped round their sandwiches or stuffed in a pencil case.

Podcasts - Israelisms

2007-11-07T23:05:00.000+02:00

So what does a girl do when she first discovers podcasts?

Well in my case, I searched for all podcasts connected to Israel. There were about half a dozen at that time and I tried to listen to most of them but one of the first I started listening to and still listen to today is the Israelisms podcast.

Charley and Carol, with rare appearances from one of their daughters or a special guest, try to explain to the outside world just what life in Israeli is truly like.

Once a week they sit together to discuss whatever has cropped up in the news during the previous week interspersed with a sprinkling of personal and family news and the occasional anecdote highlighting the craziness that is life in Israel.

Carol careful explains the situation and then Charley puts forth his solution.

Sometimes they discuss the peace process however they also include other stories that rarely make the international new media but are just as important to Israelis, such as the newly formed Israeli baseball league and the teacher's' strike.

From time to time they agree, more often they don't but it is always fun to listen.

Whether you are a new immigrant, old immigrant, Israeli or not, or just someone interested in learning something more than a sound bite about this tiny Middle-Eastern that spends so much time in the news - this is the podcast for you.

edit: I nearly forgot something important - Carol is beautiful!

Daily Amusement

2007-11-06T23:40:00.000+02:00

Today was hot yet again. So I spend another day trapped in the house, crouched over the computer screen, with hair as straight and as dry as straw as a result of washing my hair during the heat wave which is raging outside the closed windows.

As a stay-at-home Mum who works part time from home, I divide my time between the computer and housework.

I love cooking and don't mind laundry but cleaning and tidying is a punishment thought up by the devil and all chores can be boring when executed in silence.

As to my work: I am a bookkeeper. There are few things in life that give me more pleasure than reconciling accounts but due to years of experience and computer automation most of the work does not require the 100% participation of all my brain cells.

Television is no good as a distraction. I need my eyes for the computer screen while working and it would be a temptation too far for my self-discipline especially when competing with the dubious attractions of washing floors.

Radio could be an option except that endless pop music is not my thing and Israel talk radio does not appeal to me.

As always, my trusty computer came to the rescue. One day I was surfing the net searching, in vain, for the perfect RSS reader when I stumbled across podcasts.

After a short flirtation with ipodderx, iTunes became podcast friendly and I switched even though I have never owned a Mac or even an iPod.

Now I am subscribed to about 70 podcasts. Some have fallen by the wayside due to lack of time or lack of interest but there are still many gems that keep me company during the day.

If nobody objects (and even if they do - this is my blog after all :0) each week I will recommend a favourite.

Tomorrow I will return with my first recommendation.

Guy Fawkes and a heatwave

2007-11-05T23:47:00.000+02:00

Once again, the weather hit the headlines.

Having had a reasonably unproductive day yesterday, I knuckled down to work early in the morning, even before the children left for school.

I crouched before the computer working on yet another financial report but despite being transfixed by the number crunching I soon noticed that it was unbearably warm. There was a horribly hot, dry wind wafting in through the windows - a heat wave.

The north facing rooms were nicely dark and cool but the sitting room was trying it's darned to resemble a kiln.
I closed the windows, as keeping the warm air out is the best remedy in this situation but decided against air conditioning as I was working in the other room.

I also rushed to launder a large load of jeans. The clothes on the line were already bone dry and such a hot wind is more efficient than any tumble dryer.

Heat waves are typical of the Israeli autumn but November the 5^th did seem a little late in the year. The news confirmed my suspicion that it was unusual. They have only recorded such high temperatures in November twice since the establishment of the state.

Oh for November 5^th in England. Guy Fawkes Night with bonfires and fireworks and weather so cold we had to wear a coat, scarf and hat! Here it is nearly midnight and I am too hot in long sleeves!

Sunday Bloody Sunday!

2007-11-04T23:54:00.000+02:00

I can't believe that I woke up from snoozing in front of the TV and nearly missed today's deadline.

Must post now or today will be over!!

Shabbat Music

2007-11-03T18:02:00.000+02:00

This is a little strange, as I normally don't post on Shabbat.

We aren't particularly religious in the Orthodox sense and although we use the car, surf the net and listen to the TV; our Saturdays are reserved for family activities.

We spend a lot of our day reading and resting so when we turn on the TV we aren't in the mood to be mesmerised by a feature length film.

Instead, we often tune in to Channel 24 the Israeli music channel that plays only Israeli music. Unlike MTV it actually shows music videos almost non-stop and on Saturday they have, at least in our opinion, an excellent play list.

In the spirit of Channel 24, I will make my Saturday post about Israeli music.

When I first arrived in Israel, in 1988, there was a song on the radio that entranced me. It was both beautiful and a little sad and I just couldn't hear it enough.

In fact I heard it rarely as living near Kiriyat Shmona the airwaves were jam-packed with transmissions from Syria and Lebanon and frequently the reception from both Galei Zahal (army radio) and Reshet Gimel was so appalling I would give up and listen to cassettes.

Even when I did hear the tune on the radio my Hebrew was so non-existent I couldn't catch the name of either the song or the artists. As luck would have it the song was never played whenever there was a Hebrew speaker within listening distance.

The other day I was clicking round YouTube, tracing a rich vein of Israeli music I had recently discovered, when I came across some unexpected treasure.

Enjoy!

Freaky Friday

2007-11-02T16:03:00.000+02:00

I can't actually believe I have time to sit down and write this.

This week is my son's birthday and so I have invited all the family to Kabalat Shabbat.

The family includes my parents who celebrate Kabalat Shabbat every week with a meal which we share with them, either at our house or at theirs, a couple of times a month.

The family also include my in-laws. The ma and pa in-law who are extremely secular and rarely celebrate Shabbat or in fact any Jewish festival, and the bro-in-law plus roommate who rarely eat anything but rice and lentils unless someone else is cooking.

Despite the differences, all are appreciative of my cooking and extol the delights of the various dishes I provide. Which is enough of a boost to my ego to make it all worthwhile.

Also since the purchase of a decent oven these family meals have been relatively easy as I just have to plonk seasoned chicken on the oven tray, set the timer and voila!

For once I have kept to my plan of organisation and by last night I had the birthday cake prepared as well as the home baked challah. In addition, the cabbage salad and spiced carrots were waiting patiently at the bottom of the fridge.

I was left with only the chocolate mousse to prepare and a ton of potatoes to peel.

Due to the shmitta year vegetable prices are already ready rising so instead of spending hours hacking expensive cucumbers and tomatoes into the tiny pieces required for an Israel salad I opted for frozen broccoli.

The Mediterranean diet is all very well but a girl brought up on curly kale and brussel sprouts does yearn for the occasional green vegetable. Even the cabbage in Israel is white.

Friday looked to be a pleasant day. In addition to my relatively light workload the hubby announced he was taking the day off work.

Technically Israel has a 5-day working week from Sunday to Thursday. Nevertheless, everybody we know works half day on a Friday. If my husband takes the work's bus he gets home around 2pm which gives him time to eat lunch, take a nap and shower before we leave for synagogue at 5pm.

Having him at home all day is a luxury, he can pop into town for last minute shopping, lend a helping hand with the cleaning and generally keep me company as I prepare the house for Shabbat.

Unfortunately, he came home last night with high colour and dopey eyes. By this morning he was feeling infinitely grottier and almost had a temperature. He slept late but at one point got fed up with being in bed and went out to do a little shopping.

He returned so exhausted he crawled straight back into bed and didn't surface until 2:30pm when he wandered into the kitchen in search of food.

As much as I appreciate sandwiches, I didn't feel they were appropriate nourishment for a sick man so I removed him from the kitchen and prepared some noodles. The eating of which exhausted him and he is now dozing yet again , this time on the sofa.

Of course, crazy woman that I am, I didn't feel that even the additional work of tidying and cleaning the house unaided and taking care of a sick hubby was quite enough to keep me occupied so I decided to make meatballs with peas which has recently become a favourite, especially with the hubby.

Despite tempting the fates they must have been on my side. I managed to roll the meatballs without great chucks of mince sticking to my hands, I managed to fry them without creating an impromptu burnt sacrifice and I even managed to remove them from pan to plate without too many disintegrating all over the kitchen floor.

The same luck pervaded my other cooking and housecleaning endeavours so having determinedly resisted the temptations of the internet, a comfy bed and my knitting all morning I had a prepared meal and a clean house by 2pm.

Now I am going to wrap a present and take a nap before we assess just how my poor sick spouse is going to handle the rest of the evening.

NaNoOhNo!

2007-11-01T06:56:00.000+02:00

Today is the first of November and I have signed myself up for a whole load of trouble!

The 'trouble' most connected with this blog is the fact that I have signed up for NaBloPoMo - National Blog Posting Month.

I have pledged that throughout the month of November - each day and every day - I will post something to my blog.

So far so good!

The second bit of trouble will be much more time consuming in that I, like another 90,000 aspiring writers around the world, have signed up for NaNoWriMo - National Novel Writing Month.

I have pledged to do my darnedest to finish a 50,000 word novel by the end of November. Yikes!

I have a word count up here on my blog and if anybody reading this has also been foolhardy enough to sign up for one of these endeavours please feel free to contact me so I can add you to my friends lists.

Starting the Stormy Season with a Bang

2007-10-19T07:13:00.000+02:00

I am surrounded by blinking lights and my computer has just rebooted - yes we have experienced the first storm-induced electricity cut of the season!

Yesterday I awoke to a cool, clear morning but after a while the temperature began to climb and by mid-morning the Hamsin was in full swing. My lips felt dry and sore, I suffered from a constant thirst and my skin felt like it was being slowly baked. The trees sway like the prelude to a tropical storm but the wind is hot and instead of refreshing you, it sucks all the moisture from your body.

We went out last night and the wind cooled a little making it bearable through the car window but at midnight I was still able to walk outside wearing a sleeve-less shirt.

This morning was still warm but the sky was dark with storm clouds and at about 6:15 am the rumbling started. A few minutes later a flash of light jumped in the corner of my eye - lightening. The rain started, gently at first but then there was streak of brilliant white slicing through the sky to touch Matzuba and with a crack the skies opened. I rushed out to let the cold, fat drops fall on me but it was so cold I had to take shelter.

I dialled Dearest's number to see if it was raining near him but with another crack all the lights went out and the cordless phone went dead. Suddenly I remembered my laundry drying on the line. It was soaked and the rain was pounding down so hard I could hardly pull the clothes off the line without getting soaked myself.
My husband asked why I cut off the phone call. 'It wasn't me it was the lightening. I am in the middle of a thunderstorm.' He was amazed - up near him all was dry and quiet.

I am shivering with cold now so I have fetched a jacket and closed the windows on the side of the apartment where the wind is blowing the rain in through the nets.

After a few minutes the rain weakens and within half hour it is all over the cloud has moved on and the temperatures are climbing back up to normal. I stand outside and inhale the lovely sweet smell of rain-washed earth.

Pretty in Pink

2007-10-16T08:29:00.000+02:00

My daughter, the Ballerina, occasional flirts with fashionable turquoise and claims she likes purple as an act of filial loyalty but basically she is pink. Lots of it and in various shades and hues. Luckily for her room I managed to steer her towards a pale and neutral pink that would be easier to match with furnishings and would not give me a migraine.

Having managed to remove the frieze from at least a section of her wall, I washed the dust off the walls and then called in the plaster expert, Dearest, to repair some of the damage inflicted on the walls during previous bouts of decorative activity.

I returned a few minutes later to realise he had filled in every hole not containing a rawlplug.

"Dearest, you need to support the shelves at both ends."
"Yes, Darling"
"Well, Dearest, you are missing a hole this side for the second shelf."
"But it didn't have a rawlplug"
"Because the rawlplug fell out when I removed the shelves. It needs to be replaced." In a hole that doesn't exist anymore!
"Oh."

So I disappear off to do something in the kitchen, laundry room etc while he liberates the hole. I return to find several other holes now unplugged.

"Dearest, why the others?"
"For the shelves." Notice he is not calling me Darling anymore.
"But they only need one at the bottom and one at the top, on each end. If you look carefully they line up."
Our conversation did carry on for a little while after this but it's best just to say that despite the decorating we are still happily married.

Plaster dry, I began to paint. Ballerina was eager to help and after a few wild swings with the paint roller, Dearest tried to explain to her the fine art of home decoration. A little while later his only audience was the wall. Soon he suffered an attack of lumbago and after cruelly ridiculing the amount of paint already decorating my skin he returned to his car magazines.

No, it was not finger painting

At first the pink looked a bit splotchy and I did wonder if the fact that the original paint was supposedly washable would affect the coverage.
Dearest insisted that we were being too stingy with the amount of paint on the roller but more paint on the roller increased the amount of spatter over my body and caused drips down the wall. So I decided to be patient, do a first coat and then examine the results.

There was a pleasant breeze drifting through the open window and by the time I had performed gymnastic feats on my kitchen stool in order to reach all the high spots and corners the main part of the wall was dry.
The paint looked good but there were definitely places were the former colour peaked through. It needed a second coat.

Left on my own I poured out some more paint and quickly covered the main expanse of wall. It took little time and effort with the paint covering much more easily now it had a bottom coat to grip on to.
After a few minutes the result looked satisfactory and when I returned, after a well deserved snack, to check the dry paint my conclusion was confirmed - two coats were plenty.

I delegated Dearest and Ballerina to clean up the brushes and roller while I cleaned myself before we went out in the evening.

Unfrieze

2007-10-05T12:31:00.000+02:00

Apart from promising myself more blogging in the new year I also made a pact to finally get my daughter's room decorated with the paint that has been slouching on our sitting-room floor for the last 5 months or so.

I took full advantage of the Succot holidays and convinced my daughter to clear out her room and stack all her knick-knacks in the sitting room.
Her idea of clearing and mine originate on different planets but eventually we got to a state where I could move her bed and other furniture far enough away from the walls.

Then I had to deal with the frieze. Last time I decorated Ballerina's room she was a newborn. I chose a waterproof paint for practicality and a neutral sand colour as a compromise with my Israeli Dearest who was still stuck with the conviction that white walls are the only option.
To liven the room up and make it more baby-friendly I added a frieze. Big Mistake.

I mean it looked lovely with the pastel colour scheme and the pretty bears.
However, after a few years it began to curl at the edge and is, I now discover, a nightmare to remove.

The Unfrieze is about to commence

The homemade frieze I created for my son's room was printed on A4 copy paper and attached to the wall with wallpaper paste. With a little water and a few encouraging scrapes it was gone in a few minutes leaving the wall below in almost pristine condition.

Not so with your factory made self-adhesive frieze. Even though it is curling off the wall. When you grab an edge and pull, the top layer of picture detaches from the backing paper leaving a dirty cream coloured strip still stuck to the wall. Not only that - the picture tears off in strips leaving remnants of picture in the middle of the frieze.

In an effort to remove the dirty cream strip I dampen the wall and set to with my scraper. It takes elbow grease but the water does soften the backing paper making the job mildly easier and lessening the frequency with which I accidentally dig the corner of the scraper in to the wall.

But the frieze is vinyl and in the middle where the picture remains the water doesn't soak through. I gently ease up the edge of a picture scrap, trying not to gouge more holes in the plaster, and pull. Then I repeat until that section of frieze is bare so I can dampen and scrape, dampen and scrape.

But that it not the end of this unfriezing story. Oh no! The frieze used a rubber based adhesive, impervious to my dampen and scrape technique. Now I have to go back along the wall trying to figure out how to deal with this horrid sticky mess.

I attack it with a scotch pad, which does the work, but after an inch I am exhausted and the wall is looking a little miserable. Then I try with the scotch pad and soapy water which is hardly an improvement. Eventually I think of vinegar. The room stinks and at first my eyes water but it does reduce the stickiness and make the job go a little faster. Mind you, it still requires and inordinate amount of elbow grease and I have a crick in my neck from standing with my head cocked on one side to check if the glue has been cleaned from the wall.

Unfrieze in progress.
You can see the gluey mess on the right, glinting menacingly in the light.

Back to Blogging

2007-10-05T11:35:00.000+02:00

So the holidays are over.

As we start this new year I keep saying to myself 'I must write on the blog. I must write on the blog!'

And to be fair I had written some pretty cool posts in the last couple of weeks. Problem is they most have stayed in my head, a few have made it on to scraps of paper which are now lost in some scrap paper black hole and I still haven't added a new post to the blog.

Well I believe that the best way to deal with something is just to deal with it so I am committing myself to a blog-filled future and posting this.

Wish me luck!

Borocko Bomber

2007-01-09T17:40:00.000+02:00

I have a passing interest in US politics but rarely delve deeper than the headlines. Israeli politics is plenty sufficient to induce a migraine and the less said about UK politics the better.
However, some of the podcasts I have been listening to deal with US current affairs and politics, and I kept hearing about 'Borocko Bomber'. The name conjured a mental image of a cartoon raccoon replete with flight goggles and silk scarf, possibly neighbour to Deputy Dawg (a favourite cartoon character).

Eventually my curiosity was piqued and I Googled to discover a rather serious young gentleman who seems to be the darling of certain sections of the US electorate.
Now I just wonder why he is called Lightening (Barack in Hebrew).

2007

2007-01-08T16:57:00.000+02:00

Finally I poke my head out from under the pile of end of year reports and other fun activities that have delayed my first blog post of 2007.

We celebrated in the usual way – my husband fell asleep on the sofa while I watched a truly dreadful selection of TV programs. Just before midnight I nudged hubby awake and we gave a toast to the New Year. A few seconds later my parents phoned with their best wishes.
In Israel New Year like Christmas is pretty much a non-event unless you are Russian, Argentinean, a Kibbutz volunteer or a Tel Avivian.

For some weird reason Israelis name the celebration Sylvester, after a saint, giving it a Christian connotation which leads to objections from the religious and confusion among Olim (new immigrants). To me Sylvester is, and always will be, the black and white cat that is forever trying to make a snack out of Sweety Pie.

2007 is pretty significant for me personally as it is the first year I have started the year having lived longer in Israel than in England. The actual half way point was sometime in October. It is strange to contemplate how distant I am in every way fro the country of my birth.
I wish we were able to visit more often but I don't think I could ever go back to live there permanently.

In other news Shlomi started 2007 on a good omen. On last night's news we we top of the league for rainfall - 104 mm fell over the weekend!

ES

Snow

2006-12-27T16:43:00.000+02:00

My husband just phoned me to tell me it is snowing where he works!

It has been very cold all day and has rained a lot here in Shlomi. My children actually wore hats and scarves to school this morning as well as taking their umbrellas and thick coats.

My husband works in a factory in Tefen a modern industrial park. It is on top of a small mountain and colder than here due to the elevation. He has been enjoying the cold all week and regaling me daily with stories of the fog.

I just told him to keep an eye on the bus driver as the descent from Tefen is quite steep on a deceptively curvy road where everyone drives too fast. (I once worked in Tefen and depending on the driver the descent from work could easily become a white knuckle-ride in addition to the ear-popping altitude changes)

My children have just arrived home with a friend. The friend had gloveless, and therefore frozen, hands so I have already supplied them with mugs of hot tea. (Not proper English tea, mind you. This is the weak Israeli stuff, hardly distinguishable from coloured water as far as I am concerned but the preferred liquid warming agent for Israeli children. Personally I prefer Earl Grey)

Seems my children spent playtime dodging hailstones and my daughter claims one nearly hit her in the eye.
In England I think I only once experienced hail and the stones were tiny - just larger than rice grains. In Israel we have hail at least once every winter and last year my daughter and I got caught out in a storm where the stones were the size of golf balls. We had to take shelter under a canvas awing and it was quite terrifying.
It started off as a normal hail storm but the torrent got stronger and stronger and the hailstones got larger and lager. Every time we thought the downpour was weakening it gained renewed strength and the force of the storm increased. It about half an hour and by the time it was safe to venture out the pavement was so thoroughly covered in hailstones we have to cautiously skate along on the top. We couldn't push our feet through to the pavement and just trying caused us to loose our balanced on the hard, slippery hail.

My husband says that the snow near him isn't settling but the news reports say there should be snow on the Golan at the weeked (Did you know Israel actually has a skiing resort?) so maybe we will be making a trip.

Karate Kid

2006-12-06T14:34:00.002+02:00

Sunday was my son's karate competition. It is the fourth year he has participated.

The Sensei doesn't allow parents to sit in on lessons as they present an obvious distraction (especially with the Israeli obsession with cell phones) so the first year I really have no idea how my son was progressing and was extremely surprised when he came second in the 'kata' (a set form of different karate moves – with a different set for each level).

The second year he was suffering from a lack of concentration and enthusiasm. I began to wonder if he wanted to continue with karate at all. As the tournament approached he began to practice everyday and came third in the kata. He had gained his yellow belt at the end of the first year which meant he participated in the sparring as well as the kata. Although he loves the forms of the kata he doesn't like to attack in the sparring which I suppose is a blessing but caused him to be eliminated in the first round.

Even so that year was my favourite as instead of going up through the belts they started with the black belts and we were treated to an exhibition of the best in local karate. It was particularly interesting as the young national champ was participating as a judge.

By last year my son was already an orange belt but although he was still practising eagerly at home it was not for the competition but in order to gain his green belt. He was out of both the kata and the sparring in the first round but didn't seem that worried.

Despite his relaxed attitude to competing he seemed to be extremely focused on other aspects of his karate. Not only did he gain his green belt in winter, by the end of the summer term he had also gained his blue belt. At first his sensei felt that at 7^1/2 he was too young for a blue belt but when she discussed it with the other sensei and they took into account how long he has been studying karate they changed their minds and let him try out.

This year he is the youngest blue belt in his class, and at the competition, by more than a year but I think he enjoys the challenge. The problem is finding an opponent his size for the sparring. I have no worry about his safety because discipline is strict but on one occasion my father watched a class and was laughing at the fact that my son's kicks had improved because his opponent was so much taller than him the only way he could touch him was by kicking!

What I particularly like about Karate is the community. For the students, especially the older ones it is not just a class - they are also expected to help instructing, leading the warm up and 'organizing' the younger children.

This is particularly noticeable at the competition. According to the Sensei there were 200 children, and 300 spectators, at the competition last year. By the look of it there were even more this year. That is an awful lot of children to herd around.

The sports hall is divided into three competition areas so all the instructors are occupied in judging the various events. As a result the organization of the children, both to keep the children in their groups and then getting them queued up in order to compete, is dealt with by the older students. All the students are pre-army, even the judges are in their early twenties and at least two thirds are males. It is charming to see these strong, athletic young adults gently directing a slightly confused six year old or soothing a child that that has been on the wrong end of a misplaced spar, subtly shielding them from the crowd and their competitors so there is no loss of 'face' should a few tears be shed.

All this organization is made slightly more difficult by the language barrier. Karate is very popular in the Arab sector and about two thirds of the children competing are Arabs or Druze, from villages and towns between here and Haifa. Arabic and Hebrew as second languages are not taught until the children are in their teens and many of the female relatives do not understand Hebrew so all announcements are made in both Hebrew and Arabic. Because the winter competition is held in Shlomi about half the older students are Hebrew speakers with only a smattering of Arabic so they have to direct the younger children with hand signals, body language and a gentle 'hands-on' approach.

But back to this year's competition. It started at 16:30 with all the students to be there by 16:00. This meant my son had to go straight from school. The competition lasted a long while and by the time my son competed it was after 19:00 so he was a little bored and extremely hungry (for my son no snack compensates for supper).

The problem was that they started with the older black belts at one end and the younger white belts on the other then worked towards the middle grades. The green and blue belts, grouped together to give a good range of ages, were some of the last to compete.

Anyway my son didn't do anything spectacular though he has made a noticeable improvement in the sparring and he enjoyed himself.

NaNoWriMo

2006-11-06T11:19:00.000+02:00

So I decided to take the plunge and sign up for NaNoWriMo.
I always write better with the pressure of a goal and a 50,000 word novel seems like one heck of a goal with a large dollop of pressure on top.
November is hardly an ideal month for me with my son's birthday right at the beginning - I was bound to get off to a bad start. But even if I only manage a few thousand words it is ,as my grandmother would have said, better than a kick in the teeth.

I am known as a bit of a daydreamer many because as an only child I often had to find ways to occupy myself.
Sometimes I would pretend that I had to give an accurate description of some passerby to the police. Instead of a generic "She had nice eyes" I would use the words to draw their exact shape and colour and position in her face.
Other times I would examine a political or philosophical point of view, discussing it , in my head, taking first one side then the other, trying to set forth a reasonable logical, argument so I could understand my own opinion on the subject.
Due to travel sickness I can't read or knit while travelling so I examine the people around me or create stories to wile away the time.

As I got older I tried to focus my thoughts rather than leaving nebulous impressions and vague stories floating around inside my head - I began to put my thoughts into words.
At first when I managed to write down my musings I would incorporate them into letters for friends and relatives. As the letters got longer and longer people began to say I should write a book.

But a whole book takes a much more concerted effort than scribbling down a few impressions on the back of an envelope. And I am so used to translating my thoughts into indecipherable handwriting on a rough piece of paper that sat in front of a keyboard and screen my mind freezes or becomes banal, describing the world in ways that would send a chronic insomniac into a coma.
But practice makes perfect and even if this first attempt at a novel turns out crass and boring it will be a start. I can always edit it afterwards and at least I won't have to contemplate that petrifyingly blank screen.

The High Holidays - Yom Kippur

2006-10-20T16:15:00.000+02:00

For all the holidays in the Jewish calendar and on Shabbat there are restrictions on working and kindling fire. Among other things this means no driving and no electricity. But in Israel the majority of people are secular and with a 6-day working week the only time for family trips is Shabbat. So although certain religious areas block the roads to motor vehicles most streets have light traffic.

Yom Kippur is the exception. The streets in all residential areas, except in the Arab villages, are empty of traffic and the vehicles on the main roads are scarce.
As people go back and forth to synagogue or just stroll around to pass the time they walk fearlessly down the middle of the street. Traditionally children congregate on the streets to ride their bikes.

It is a remarkable experience but for us it presents a problem – our synagogue is a 15 minute drive away. People living in less traditional areas might risk a short drive but in Shlomi, though most of the good citizens are resting at home or praying dutifully in synagogue, there is always a couple of extremist hooligans who throw stones at passing motorists.
We have tried to visit the local synagogues for the closing service but my husband isn’t interested in praying with a group of strangers while I am stuck up in the women’s gallery hardly able to hear the prayers and too distracted by gossiping women and whining children to be able to follow the service.
Thankfully this year a generous friend from our congregation invited us to spend the fast at her home.

I am always a little nervous about fasting due to the fact that I have low blood pressure and low blood sugar, in addition to a tendency to dehydrate. One year I fainted on the way to synagogue so my husband now insists that I drink some water and tries to get me to eat if he thinks I am looking faint.
I chose a couple of books that I think will be both interesting and easy to read, while still suitable for such a serious day. And my lightest, most comfortable clothes. It is still summer in Israel and getting heat stroke does not make the fasting any easier, though this year was a little cooler, not the usual Yom Kippur heat wave.
In England it was already autumn by the time Yom Kippur came around and as we travelled to the synagogue light rain would be falling. I would resist my thirsty urge to stick out my tongue and catch a few drops but I felt a guilty pleasure as the refreshingly cold moisture cooled my skin. It seemed to renew my strength for the long closing service.

We arrived at our friends’ house an hour or so before the fast in order to join them and another guest in the pre-fast meal and then before Yom Kippur started we drove round to the synagogue.
Normally the congregation is about 70 strong on Friday evening, which causes no seating problems. However from previous experience we knew many more people would turn up during the High Holidays and especially on Yom Kippur.
To cope with this and other Holiday requirements the seating was rearranged with the first five rows reserved for members and ushers to assist the visitors.

Even though we arrived early, because my husband had been volunteered as an usher, there was already quite a large group of people waiting outside.
Among this group were some people from Nes Ammim, a local village populated by young Christians from Germany and Holland.
They like to join our congregation to experience Jewish holidays. Because most of them don’t stay here for a long time only a few speak Hebrew so my husband’s English came in particularly useful.

While my husband was ushering I rushed around greeting all our friends and then sat saving seats for the rest of our family. After a while it became obvious that even if my children didn’t join in the organised activities they would be playing outside with their friends so I gave their seats to an older couple. I moved over to give the couple the aisle seats mistakenly thinking this would be more convenient, forgetting that our children like to pop in and check on us during the service. The next day I ensured we had aisle seats.

Once the service started I was naturally engrossed in the prayers and didn’t look round until we were about halfway through. I was stunned. Many people had arrived after the start of services and the place was packed. We estimated it at about 250.

After services we greeted other members in the congregation with wishes for an easy fast. There were so many in the congregation that it took quite a while to get out then we rounded up the children and walked home. Despite the serious nature of Yom Kippur it is also very sociable. All the major TV and radio stations close down, even those on cable, so people take to the streets, wandering round town, meeting with friends. It was surreal to stand idly chatting in the middle of a large junction.
The children take advantage of the traffic-less streets to joyride on their bikes; this year rollerblading was also popular. We arranged a play date with some friends so that our children would be occupied while we were attending synagogue and then we retired to bed.

As a teenager I always slept my way through most of Yom Kippur. Nowadays I am not so lucky and I woke just after 6am with the children. They were sleeping in the room used by our host’s grandchildren so had plenty of toys and games to occupy them. I read to pass the time until my husband was ready to get up.
We dressed, gave the children something to eat and then left for the play date. We discussed where we would me up after morning service because although my husband had his mobile for emergencies I didn’t really want to phone him unless absolutely necessary. We stood in the middle of a roundabout discussing this, which was definitely surreal, and then I walked to synagogue while he went to supervise the children.
The anarchist in me felt the urge to walk down the middle of the road but the sun was becoming stronger and the pavement was in shade.

There were several dozen people already in synagogue, most of them draped in talitot. I felt silly for not having brought my own decorative tallit from my bat mitzvah. I wasn’t sure whether I would felt comfortable wearing it and whether the decoration would be too colourful for the solemnity of Yom Kippur. My memory of Kippur in England is of dark blues and greys and other muted shades, though that was probably more due to the English Autumn than anything else. I will wear my own tallit next year.

Due to transportation issues I have never been to the opening service or morning service of Yom Kippur and it was a special experience to look round at so many friendly faces. Many people were surprised to see we were able to attend.

I walked home with my hosts. At home we found my husband alone. The children had joined with their friends and gone to another friend’s house. It seems they were biking and rollerblading all over town, pit stops kindly provided by the other friend’s mother. I felt a little guilty letting someone else entertain my children but I could hardly start cooking for a whole gaggle of children in my host’s house and I was starting to feel a little weak so I was glad to rest.

We set off to closing services a little early so my husband could do his duty as an usher. Going by previous years we could expect around 300 people to turn up.
We met the children and their friends outside. My daughter was on rollerblades and doing quite well even though we walked up a slight incline. Our son was trundling up and down the street on a corquinette (scooter in English, I think!). They accompanied us to the synagogue and then stayed to play outside, later joining the other children in the organised activities.

I settled into my seat preparing myself for the long closing service. I always remember it as a sort of endurance test with much of the service spent standing just at the end of 25 hours of fasting when you are at your weakest.
Now that I can follow the service the standing seemed more bearable though of course I could have sat down if I needed to.
The Memorial Service was quite emotional with several members of the congregation in tears and then there was excitement as we starting the closing service and could feel the fast drawing to an end. Finally the lights were dimmed and the children processed from the back of the synagogue waving around small torches, the shadows reflected on the walls and ceiling. Then they joined with the cantoress calling out to the Rabbi as he blew the Shofar!

Some people rushed straight out, others stayed for a few announcements and comments by the Rabbi. I was in no state to rush anywhere and after the elation of the Shofar realised I was feeling a bit faint and dizzy.
We had left the car near the synagogue so we could drive home quickly at the end of the fast but I think it was a mistake as my dizziness was augmented by the car ride and I began to feel rather strange.

Back at our host’s house I had a drink and sat down and began to feel a little better. The meal was delicious and there were other guests so there was interesting conversation but by the end of the meal my body was not dealing well with the sudden spike in blood sugar and I had to lay down for a while.I recovered a little after a while but unfortunately I wasn’t able to stay and be sociable.

The journey home wasn’t a lot of fun as feeling faint always exacerbates my travel sickness but I was able to roll down my window and enjoy the cool air.
Once home I went to lay down and after a night’s rest I was fully recovered.

The High Holidays - Holiday Services

2006-10-18T16:14:00.000+02:00

This year Rosh HaShanah was on a Friday so we went to services as usual and after a Shabbat of rest it wasn’t too difficult to convince my husband to wake up for the 9 am service on the second morning. The service is longer than the usual, at just over 3 hours, and by the end we were more than ready for our lunch. However our patience was rewarded with the sounding of the Shofar (Ram’s Horn).

For me the songs of Rosh HaShanah have a vague childhood familiarity. This is not the comfortable familiarity I have with the prayers from Kabalat Shabbat, where I find the tunes gliding into my mind during mid-week daydreams.

My remembrance of the High Holiday tunes comes from when we lived in England, too far from the synagogue to visit every Friday - an ordinary working day.
Although I attended Sunday school and understood the elements and history of the holidays I had little grasp of the order of the ceremonies and prayers. During services I often felt lost and alone – my father in the man’s section, my mother at home and my few Sunday school friends with their families. As I struggled to follow the text the heartrending harmonies of ‘Avinu Malkenu’ and 'Adon Haslichot’ were a beautiful mirage in a desert of confusion.

Now I speak fluent Hebrew and regular synagogue attendance has made following the service second nature. The biblical Hebrew that still confounds me is explained by my Israeli husband and the lovely voice of our cantoress guides us through the Holiday harmonies with pleasure and confidence.
When I look around I am surrounded not only by my family but also by familiar faces many of them belonging to my closest friends.

The High Holidays - A Festive Meal

2006-10-17T13:04:00.000+02:00

This year I decided to host our Rosh Hashanah meal.

My brother–in-law and his roomate have taken to celebrating holidays at least in so far as they join with various family members for the festive meal. They have also discovered, after recent birthday meals, a sincere appreciation of my cooking. So this year we decided that the family they would celebrate with would be ours.
Of course it was also given that my parents would join us for a meal. As usual I left it to the last minute to inform them and they had already invited a friend. This was great news as she was also a friend of ours.
However there were now nine people to seat round our table that comfortable accommodates six.
Problem solved – I would cook the meal but the venue was moved to my parents’s house or rather their patio. This also meant I could waste less time on my least favourite occupation (housecleaning) and devote more hours to the pleasures of cooking.

Although I cook a meal most days and can create a decent dish from whatever I find in the cupboards, for celebratory meals I indulge in ‘extreme cooking’. Just when most is at stake I try new and totally untested recipes.

In this meal I wanted to include pomegranate, apple and honey – the three main culinary elements of a Jewish New Year.

For once I was organised and started to make the dessert on Thursday. The honey is normally eaten in the form of a honey cake but despite my fondness for spices I find traditional honey cake boring to eat and even duller to make. Fortunately a previous year’s googling had uncovered a spiceless apple cake flavoured with honey that is light to eat and easy to make.
Naturally in the spirit of ‘extreme cooking’ I also tried two new recipes – for appleflap jacks and honey biscuits.
The flapjacks were a little disappointing, though nobody else seemed to mind. I think it might have been the quality of the oats that let me down.
In contrast the honey biscuits were just as I desired. A golden ball of a biscuit that crumbled in the mouth with an explosion of honey aroma.

Our family doesn't indulge in the traditional gefilte fish because my husband is allergic to fish, my mother hates gefilte and my father is from Algeria so it isn’t actually our tradition.
I eliminated the first course altogether as I surmised, correctly, that after the Rosh HaShanah service we would all be ravenous and eager to tuck in.

For the main course I stuck to the Israel classic chicken. To provide for nine people required two chickens and as my father doesn’t like sweet sauces I decided to make two dishes – both newly discovered.

One set of chicken pieces I decided to roast in a honey mustard sauce. On my shelves I had a choice of frankfurter mustard which is only edible when drowned in ketchup or Colman’s English mustard powder which is liable to permanently damage the tongue cells of those not used to its strength. I opted to purchase a decent Dijon.
The honey resident in my cupboard was produced by bees fed on avocado flowers, which gives it a surprisingly strong taste. Insread my festive foray to the supermarket provided a more neutrally flavoured honey.

The second chicken I casseroled in pomegranate juice. I countered the sharpness of the juice with spices and some wine rather then add more honey.
Luckily for me both recipes turned out well, the honey mustard sauce was quite delicious and the meal was a success.
The weather had cooled pleasantly but there wasn’t the blustery wind that so often signals the start of the Israeli Winter and causes havoc in my parent’s garden. Everyone joined in the blessings over the honey, pomegranates and other symbolic foods and partook of the meal while the wine and conversation flowed until we realised with a shock that it was past midnight and time to go home.

The High Holidays – intro

2006-10-17T13:01:00.000+02:00

End of the Holidays

Sukkot is over and the children are back to school. I finally have time to play ‘catch up’ and post my thoughts on the High Holidays.
Please excuse the delay.

Sharav!

2006-09-30T17:26:00.000+03:00

We spent yesterday trapped in the house with all the windows shut. However this time we were not sheltering from katyushas but from the weather.
Outside there was a sharav (a heat wave) heralding the change of seasons, the harsh death rattle of summer as it yields to winter.

As the heat inside became intolerable I turned on the air conditioning but after a while it was unequal to the challenge so I turned it off again.
When I ventured out of doors the heat smacked straight into me. The thin, brittle air roasted my skin and a gentle breezed was transformed into an oven blast.
After only a couple of minutes outdoors the house felt refreshingly cool, a sanctuary from the torment outside.

By nightfall our swollen skin was aching and we were nagged by a constant thirst. The darkness didn’t bring a respite from the heat rather humidity which stuck to us as we walked from synagogue.

Sleeping was a trial as we tossed and turned trying to find a cool patch on the sheets and the most effective angle from the ventilator. Eventually it was too tiring trying to sleep so I got up to read and potter round the house. The children were also restless, taking turns in our bed, on the sofa and even on the floor.

Eventually about 9am we felt a cool breeze through the window and we opened it wider to take full advantage. By 10am the breeze had gained force and was jiggling the pictures on the wall, cooling our feverish skin.
We turned our faces to enjoy it before the strengthening sun warmed the air again towards midday.

First Rain

2006-09-24T17:36:00.000+03:00

On Friday morning as I was preparing the Rosh Hashanah meal my daughter yelled ‘It’s raining!’
I dashed outside but the few drops had already fallen and had hardly left their mark on the parched pavement. I returned to the kitchen.

A couple of minutes later my daughter was yelling again. ‘It’s raining – really raining’.
She was right, it was really raining. Not the usual first sprinkle of water – a few fat, dusty drops that splash on the ground and evaporate again before we can register their presence. It was raining, raining hard, pouring with rain.

I stood outside and my daughter joined me as I held out my arms to experience the liquid blessing on my bare skin.
I phoned my husband and held the phone skywards for him to hear the rain.

After only a minute I was actually wet and went to stand under the roof of our entrance ocasionally poking out my head to feel the rain on my scalp. My daughter rushed back into the flat for an umbrella and Wellingtons then she paraded up and down our road.

Soon there were puddles on the ground and after just a few minutes our whole roadwas an inch-deep puddle such that we had to step back from the pavement as a car past incautiously fast throwing up a spectacular spray.

Our neighbour came home with his holiday groceries and smiled indulgently at our wild antics and when the wind and pushed the rain cloud from over our heads I too continued preparing for the New Year holiday.

Preparing For School

2006-09-10T11:17:00.000+03:00

Since the day after the ceasefire my son has been concerned about when I was going to buy all the school supplies. We are lucky that we don’t need to purchase textbooks, instead we pay the school a set amount and they provide everything.
Even so we have an A4 long list of exercise books, pencils and other various equipment. I stalled for a while until, as I had suspected, a representative of the parents’ committee phoned to inform med that a school bag filled with supplies had been donated for every child in the north.

The last week of the holidays the Matnas had organised a proper summer camp for the children with trips and plenty of group leaders. After dropping them off I went to the school to collect the bags. They were piled up relatively neatly on the floor but there was a bit of a scrum as parents swapped items between bags to ensure that their son didn’t get a Bratz pencil and their daughter didn’t get a motor racing diary.

When I got home I checked through the contents of the bags. There were squared exercise books, which are useful though I think they gave us enough to last to the end of the decade. Unfortunately the lined books were with wide lines which the children haven’t used since first grade. They hardly cost a fortune but the pure waste pains me especially when you consider that thousands of these bags were donated. What really astounds me is that most people don’t understand why I even care. They just throw the useless books in the rubbish and buy replacements.
What shocked me most was the diary. It centred on a popular teenage star and was definitely targeted at teenage girls. Apart from the pages of coupons for feminine products the diary was liberally decorated with pictures of this girl in a bikini and other skimpy clothing. In addition the pages were peppered with boxes of beauty and dieting advice and there where whole page inserts with advice about relationships and other teenage concerns a in a that superficial ‘pop’ tone. And don’t get me started on all the advertising.
I would imagine it could be quite useful for a girl aged 14 but whomever thought it was suitable for primary school girls (grade 1-6) needs their head examined.
My daughter took a quick look at the diary and handed it back to me in bemused disgust remarking that it was no use because there was too much rubbish cluttering up the pages. She much preferred the Bratz diary I’d bought her. So did I.

Although the bags contained many useful items there was still a long list to buy.
On Friday I made a determined effort to get organised and we actually got out to the mall quite early. All the sales were in full swing and my children were very patient as I tried on some clothes and indulged in some successful retail therapy.
Next we went to the cinema to get tickets for Over the Hedge. The thought of being stuck in a cinema with hordes of chatty fidgety children gives me the heebie jeebies, which is why I don’t take my children to the cinema so often. I guessed the Friday morning show would be pretty quiet.

We had an hour left to brandish our school supplies list at the poor assistant in the stationery shop.
By the time we had finished I had a pain in the credit card and two heavy bags full of goodies.
I hauled it all back up to cinema where we had only a few minutes to wait. We were the only people in the cinema. At first my children sat in their assigned seats, eager for the film to start but in the break they ran up and down the stairs and between the seats in an effort to discover the optimal viewing position.
The film was fun, not a masterpiece but very enjoyable and when we emerged from the darkness my husband was just walking towards the cinema.

So What Did You Do During The Ceasefire?

2006-09-06T14:53:00.000+03:00

(Sorry this is late. I forgot to post it)

So now there is no background noise of artillery fire and we can walk freely outside.

On the first Sunday of the ceasefire my son’s classmate had a birthday. Her mother wanted to hold the party at the local beach. I thought it was a great idea but warned that other parents might still be nervous of an outside event.
The party was held in a local burger joint.
It was a surprise party and for once most people turned up in time and the birthday girl was truly surprised.

Of course just burgers are not enough, every party must have an entertainer. This guy introduced himself by explaining how pleased he was to be back working at children’s parties – he had spent the last month as an infantry solider in Lebanon.
He was a small, wiry guy with an animated expression and the birthday girl’s parents towered head and shoulders above him, the Dad was almost twice as broad.
It made for great comical effect when he asked the parents to help him blow up the balloons. They huffed and puffed to no avail then he bounced over and in a couple of quick breaths inflated each balloon. An opening gambit that had us all laughing.

After more balloons and some games he told the children of a night he’d spent in Lebanon. In the middle of nowhere carrying heavy equipment they had crouched under some bushes for cover while Israeli and Hizbollah fire crisscrossed the night sky above them. The blazing colours had, he claimed, inspired him to create a new game. The children liked the story and loved the game.

My children were quite tired when they got home. They have got out of the habit of socializing and find it quite tiring.

The Matnas (local community centre) arranged an activity program for the children in the morning of the first full week after the ceasefire. Sunday they just met up with their friends and on Monday there was a trip to Kfar Maccabbiah (home of the Jewish Olympics). Because the activity program was organised informally parents had to accompany the children for safety reasons. Oh the sacrifices we make for our children!

It was nice for once to be with my husband and not just alone with the children, especially as I showed my usual aptitude for choosing the bus with the slowest driver and the trip took forever.

Kfar Maccabbiah had invited groups from several towns in the north as well as from Sderot (main target for Qassams from Gaza) in the south. They were very organised. As we walked through the entrance they handed us a snack breakfast and the lead us to the area reserved for Shlomi. Our friends were already there (different bus) and had saved us seats. We also received Kfar Maccabiah T-shirts and caps in a Kfar Maccabiah bag.

There were hot and cold drinks on tap. We were supposed to received coupons for the snack but somehow that didn’t work out. It didn’t matter as there was a plentiful supply and the servers were easygoing. When the children rested between dashing around all the different pools they refreshed themselves with iced lollies and candyfloss.

We accompanied the children to couple of the pools but mostly we lazed around chatting with friends. There was a Jacuzzi which we were too hot to try but the Olympic pools was ‘adults only’ so we escaped to the calm and quiet and swam a few lengths in company of a large group of pensioners.

Lunch was also well organised. They arranged shifts called each town to eat by name. The food was laid out on tables buffet style with staff serving at the hot platters. There was a wide choice of food and it was tasty. Even though we piled our plates high we went back for seconds. After a month of bland army food my husband really enjoyed the spicy stir-fry noodles.

In the afternoon there was a performance by the stars of the children’s channel and a couple of pop stars. There was some highly amplified singing and an insane amount of bouncing around on stage.

Meanwhile the parents had a heated discussion about the failures and corruption of local government during the war. Stories communal to all of the inability to obtain food parcels while warehouses were packed full, trips to 5 star hotels that nobody knew about except those close to the Mayor, donated electronic goods that had never been distributed and the total disregard for the majority of the population stuck in security rooms. The more you hear the worse it gets. Children with special needs or health problems who were told that there was no relocation of any sort while donor organisations tell a totally different story of trips and relocations.

I thank everyone for being so generous but I think from now on organizations will have to supervise their assistance programs much more closely.

After the children’s show we all made our way to the buses. Again it was very organised with staff holding signs to direct us to those buses parked further away.

Once on the bus we received ‘supper’ – a fresh, delicious sandwich. They also distributed a goody-bag of sweets and snacks for each child.

I always prefer travelling in the dark but cannot understand why drivers insist on going through Yokeneam rather than straight through Haifa. Haifa traffic is heavy but only congested at rush hour and even on the new roads if you get stuck behind a semi-trailer in Yokeneam the journey can seem endless.

My mother claims it’s the scenic route but what is so scenic about flat, dusty fields, scrubby Arab villages and the occasional quarry or industrial area. The Haifa road parallels the coast and then winds through the shabby chic of the downtown port area. Even the shortcut my husband takes that leads through what was once the city landfill has now been beautifully landscaped.

Tuesday we had our congregation board meeting. We spent half the time discussing various initiatives to help members of our congregation deal with the aftermath of the war.

First order of business was to confirm that we had made the necessary repairs to the Matnas where we meet for Friday services. A katyusha had fallen in the yard damaging an aircon unit and some railings as well as shattering the windows. The Matnas is a government building but we had decided that the bureaucratic red tape would tie us up forever and so we took on responsibility for repairs. This ensures a quick return to normal services for us and we hope will build goodwill for the future.

The other half of the meeting was spent discussion preparations for Rosh Hashanah (Jewish New Year) which was, as usual, mildly contentious. There are also questions concerning whether we should relocate to accommodate the extra people. The rental of most locations answers that question for us.

We are again feeling the need for a building of our own but we need somewhere central with ground floor access and a central room big enough for services. Not so easy in Naharia.

On Thursday I picked up the children at 13:00 and we had just finished lunch when my friend phoned, “When do you think you will be here?”

It had totally skipped my mind that we had a project-funding meeting with the Director of the Reform Movement. Thankfully my friend had phoned early so I still had an hour to get ready before we needed to leave. We had arranged that my children would stay home with hers.

The meeting went reasonably well.

When we returned to my friend’s house we fed the children then my friend’s husband offered to drive us home; my friend’s daughter came with us as an overnight guest for my daughter.

My husband got home about 5 minutes before we did, the guys chatted while the children settled in and I watched a great Sci-Fi program.

My husband was at home for most of the week as the army had given him extra days to catch up on sleep before he returned to work. At work they were desperate for him to go back and he was greeted with great celebration when he returned on Thursday.

You would think that with the children at the Matnas and my husband at home to run errands I would have had plenty of time to work. But husbands, however pleasant they maybe, are time-consuming. They needing feeding and clothing and occasionally you have to talk with them and pay them some attention!

By the end of the week I had mountains of laundry. All I seemed to be doing was cooking and washing dishes, eating and keeping my hubby company as he consumed the news.

On Friday I had planned to take the children out but they were happily occupied with their guest and I was absolutely exhausted from doing nothing all week.

In the evening we went to services in the Matnas, through the newly repaired windows we could see the children playing in the courtyard and the shrapnel marks peppering the walls.

Back In The Heart Of My Congregation

2006-08-24T08:12:00.000+03:00

On Friday, for the first time in six weeks, we drove to Naharia for Friday night services.

We parked in the street and looking round saw the scars of the war; chunks gouged from walls and pockmarks sprayed across concrete from the ball bearings in the warheads, broken shutters, shattered windows and black singe marks where the explosions had caused a fire.

It seemed illicit to be outside, vaguely reprehensible to allow my children to wander so freely.

The community centre where we normally hold services had suffered blast damage: Windows had shattered showering glass all over the hall and damaging the air conditioners. Instead we held services in Wizo.

We arrived early and the room was already packed. Even those congregants who attend less regularly had responded to hurried phone calls that had occupied most of our morning as we tried to inform every one of the renewal of services and the change of venue.

For most of us this was the first time we had been together for more than a month and for many it was an affirmation of their return home. We greeted one another with hugs and smiles and a few tears.

As we joined together in celebration of the end of the war we sang songs of peace and friendship and prayed for the dead and bereaved, the injured and the kidnapped and most especially for those personally affected within our community.

This loss was most symbolically represented by the two youth members who assist the Rabbi in leading services. One of them had just returned from a host family because their home had been destroyed in an attack and the other young member had lost his aunt in the first attack on Naharia.

Suddenly the prayers for peace that we say routinely every Friday held a more personal significance.

When it came time for the Drash and the congregation notices the Chairman and the Rabbi thanked the members of the congregation who had helped keep people informed and in contact with one another.

Deepest thanks was for our community coordinator who spent so much time and effort organising for people to leave the North and find host families. In his ‘free-time’ he gave many interviews to the Spanish-speaking media explaining Israel’s side of the conflict and showing them what was really happening in the North.

As the service drew to a close we all joined hands and sang the Tikva.

ES

It’s So Quiet

2006-08-19T15:28:00.000+03:00

This week I have been as quiet as my surroundings.

On Sunday we went to sleep wondering what we would wake up to. The booming continued throughout the night and then just before 8am Monday morning there was quiet.
By midmorning the ceasefire seemed to be holding so I braved the outside world and took my children along the road to the shelter.
There were dome female soldiers running the activities for the children. One was demonstrating origami, which kept us occupied for quite a while.

An older lady who had spent the whole month in the shelter started to prepare lunch for all of us. The children were more than happy to stay.
After lunch the soldiers packed up and said they would be back at 5:30pm.
We cleaned the room and the children lay down on mattresses while we watched the news.
We discussed the abysmal organisation of the municipality. A couple of mothers phoned to inquire whether the next day’s trip had been cancelled. It had not been cancelled but there were shouted conversations as the women insisted they had signed up and the municipality insisted their names did not appear on the lists.
At 5:30pm the soldiers returned. They read a story out loud and then the children drew pictures. At 6:30 we all went home. It felt so strange to walk freely along the peaceful street.

Since then life has gradually returned to normal.
Tuesday my father-in-law picked us up and we spent an evening at their house.

Thursday I decided it was time for a trip out. The sheroot taxis (service taxis that run like a bus) were back in business and we bumped into Naharia. The town was slowly coming back to life with the shops and restaurant opening again. It was hot so we dived into the aircon in Hamashbir (an Israeli style department store). After sniffing the perfumes we made our way up to the children’s department where they were having a sale. With Israel’s 6 day week I normally can’t get to the sales accompanied by the children so I took full advantage and got the children some clothes they needed.

Opposite Hamashbir was a fancy children’s shoe shop. I had only planned on window-shopping but they too had a sale. A 1+1 deal, in fact. I bought some pretty, sparkly sandals for my daughter to wear on Shabbat and a practical pair for my son. He doesn’t need any sandals at the moment but knowing his track record he will by the time he’s been back at school a month.

Next we looked in a curio shop where my daughter discovered another fairy statuette she had to add to her collection.

After that we were hungry and had falafel and swarma at Lusky’s, the best falafel in Naharia.

The first time I eat here was years ago when I was in the army and a group of us ended up hungry and in Naharia. I was, as usual, the lone girl with a group of boys from the ‘fighter’ artillery base where I met my husband. In fact my husband was in the group and coming from Acco he is a bit of a connoisseur of falafel so the guy who recommended Lusky’s was trying to impress him. We were impressed; the falafel is excellent as is the swarma.

We arrived home tired and happy. I tidied up the house in preparation for the imminent arrival home of our family warrior. At about 9:30pm the door pushed open and there he stood. Tired and tanned he was demobilized and again a civilian.

Not a Lazy Sunday Morning

2006-08-15T09:17:00.000+03:00

After the quiet of Saturday my husband was allowed a few extra hours at home, which we utilized to go shopping.

We travelled to Naharia in hopes of finding fresh meat. Several shops had their windows boarded up especially those near the bus station and none of them seemed to be open. However Naharia was showing signs of life with a few cars on the road and people walking around in particular near the clinic, which was open.

There were lights on in the large supermarket but the doors were padlocked and a young man working inside signalled that they werent open for business.

We headed in the direction of the Arab shop. What had been a run down fruit and vegetable stall behind a petrol station tehn expanded into a dingy supermarket and had recently been refurbished into a modern supermarket with a delicatessen though they still kept to the unusual hours and low prices. It had stayed open through the conflict despite the fact that a katyusha had fallen nearby.

For one I had made a list and I managed not to forget anything.

They had no fresh meat but plenty of fruit. I didnt hesitate to buy what I needed and then some. Who knew if the cease-fire would hold out?

As we got to the car with a trolley full of shopping the sirens started wailing. I herded the children back to the shop but the skies were clear so we loaded the shopping into the car.

My husband had taken the beach chairs with him to the army so they wouldnt have to sit on the dirt but they took up a lot of space in the boot and it required some arranging to get all the shopping packed in.

About 5 mins had passed from the sirens sounding and we had heard no booms so we put the children in the car and raced home.

As we came up the hill to Shlomi we heard a loud pop behind us and then saw a group of soldiers beside their cars craning their necks to search the sky. We heard another pop and something like a flare dropped through the sky. As we created the hill we heard a third pop. And then the sound of helicopters.

At home we rushed the children straight into the security room and dragged the shopping inside as quickly as possible. Whatever had happened we had no electricity again. Not only could we not check the news the lack of electricity presented quite a problem for putting away the shopping as I had bought frozen items and other foodstuff that needed refrigeration.

I went through all the bags of shopping and sorted it into dry goods, fridge and frozen. I put away all the dry goods put the electricity still hadnt returned. So my husband stood by to hand me the items and I opened the freezer for about 20 seconds and shoved everything inside. Then we did the same with the fridge.

I had left out the food for our lunch: fresh pita with humus and some delicious cherry tomatoes and the children didnt object to lukewarm cola.

While we were eating I realised the standby light on the TV was winking at me: the electricity had returned. We turned on the news and they talked of sirens but made no mention of Shlomi.

We were about halfway through our lunch when the sirens started up again. The children marched to the security room pita in hand. We heard the loud ratat of helicopters firing and booms as katyusha fell in Naharia.

Swishswoosh BANG. A katyusha flew just over our heads and landed in the field nearby.

Several katyushas have landed in banana fields at either end of the valley but this is the first time it was so close.

My daughter gave a yell and I dashed in to the security room to find her crouched underneath the table cola in one hand, pita in the other and still chewing. She knows that the security room is safe but still feels the urge to dive for cover whenever there is a loud bang.

She climbed onto my lap for quick hug and them her maternal instinct kicked in and she had to hug all her dolls and teddies so they wouldnt feel afraid.

My son stood beside us flexing his muscles to demonstrate why he wasnt afraid. Then he climbed up to his bed and threw down more teddies to his sister so they could all participate in the group hug.

I returned to my husband in the sitting room and realised just how close the landing was.

The TV news still made no mentioned of Shlomi but the Internet told me that one man was killed.

After that it calmed down again and then my husband packed up his bag and returned to the army.

Shabbat Shalom

2006-08-14T19:29:00.000+03:00

I woke at 6am even though there were no booms.
I checked the news, tidied up a bit, hung out some washing and played with the children.

My father-in-law phoned from Tel Aviv. He had given up on work on Thursday because, just like at my husband’s work, people turned up and then spent 8am to 5pm in the shelter.

With so many sirens we remarked on how difficult it is to get a shower. My father said that as he was about to get in the shower the sirens had gone off so he had run, stark naked, to stand in their entrance (closest to the stairwell so the safest part of the flat.). When he told his wife she had laughed that he should at least put on some clean underwear ‘just in case’. We joked that even though we are stuck in the house all day, wearing night gowns and house clothes, as soon as the siren goes off we make sure we are wearing clean underwear ‘just in case.’

I started the washing-up from the night before. Because we had eaten meat my daughter didn’t offer to help me although on Friday afternoon she had insisted I show her how to wash-up properly. She stood on the stool-steps and did most of the dishes, with me on hand for quality control and water rationing.
As I hung up the dishcloth I heard the sounds I had been waiting for. I dried my hands, rubbed in some hand lotion and opened the door.

After a few seconds my soldier-husband appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He had been put top of the list to receive a pass because of his birthday.

His hair had grown even longer and he looked less exhausted even though they hadn’t slept in the previous 24hrs. I kissed him ‘Happy Birthday’ and he handed me his dirty laundry. Then he stripped off his uniform so I could do all the laundry while he showered.

Once he was clean I sat him down with cheesecake and coffee and he told me about the wonderful Shabbat meal they had eaten. The parents of a girl in their unit had cooked for them all: carrots, cabbage, schnitzel, oven-cooked potatoes and chicken drumsticks – “All perfectly cooked and spiced. Just like you do.”

While my husband rested I watched an interesting war film with Natalie Woods, Frank Sinatra and Tony Curtis and a friend from Italy phoned to check how we are.
Then we enjoyed a black&white Agatha Christie film, which for once was quite close to the book. My husband doesn’t generally like black&white films but he particularly liked Charles Laughton.
Then I introduced him to the joys of Steven Sondheim with ‘A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum’. I couldn’t believe he had never seen it before. I still remember the first time I saw it I was about ten. It was late because we had come back after a day trip to London. Frankie Howerd was playing the lead.

The whole day was quite quiet with no booms from us, no bangs from them. In the evening I noticed there were quite a few people outside, walking around. There were even some children playing and on bikes. SO I called to my children and letter them run around on the street. There were almost no cars to disturb them and I kept them within eyesight. It is the first time they have played outside in Shlomi for a month.

A New Experience

2006-08-13T09:29:00.000+03:00

Friday morning was not so very different, a few sirens, the constant booming, email, news and, of course, house cleaning in preparation for Shabbat.

As I thought through the preparation for the meal I realised that my daughter would probably not eat much as all I had left were chicken pieces but no breast. The accompaniment didn’t take much thinking about rice, of course, and the only fresh vegetables I had left – some carrots and a cabbage. Also I realised I had no challah and no yeast to make any.

My daughter seemed to have lost interest in her favourite cottage cheese so before it went bad I made it into a cheesecake. Cheesecake was no use as a dessert for a meat meal and I hadn’t enough enthusiasm to make another cake but I remembered there was sorbet in the freezer. Unfortunately I didn’t check to see how much.

Arranging the table felt very strange as that is normally my husband’s job but the children helped and then we all showered and dressed.

We lit the candles said the blessing. I set extra candles out so both of the children could light them and say the blessing with me.

At the meal I sat at the head of the table and took on all my husbands duties: serving the wine, breaking the bread and leading my children in the blessings. It was all very quiet and strange.

They enjoyed the meal but when I came to serve the sorbet there was only a spoonful each.
Luckily in the afternoon my daughter had decided she wanted to make chocolate shapes using a sun shaped mould. She had wanted to use milk chocolate but it contained nuts, which I guessed would ruin the shape. Instead I directed her to the bittersweet (parve) chocolate I use for cooking.
So along with a sorbet we nibbled on a chocolate sun, which had set successfully and looked lovely, for a few moments at least.

After the meal I sat with the children on the sofa chatting and watching some TV. When they had gone to bed I found some enjoyably mindless films to watch and actually managed to stay awake. In fact by 3 am I had got my second wind and had trouble convincing myself that I really must go to sleep.

Almost famous

2006-08-11T14:10:00.000+03:00

My husband phoned this morning.

They had a quiet night and he managed to get ‘3 good hours’ of sleep. The barbeque was a great success. The boys had visited several local companies (local for them) who donated the meat and all the other foodstuffs and then Fiat lent them a vehicle for 24hrs so they could transport everything up north.

There were more reporters visiting the encampment, this time from Latvia. Because my husband spoke the best English they interviewed him (he is a Sabra not an Anglo like me).
Of course we have no idea where it will be published.

Later

My husband just phoned again.
Before they went back on duty he was called over to one of the tents.
‘Surprise!’
Today is his birthday and they had got him a cake and a bottle of decent wine.

I’m all ears

2006-08-10T20:36:00.000+03:00

Ears in this conflict are very important.

Foremost I listen to hear if it’s a boom (outgoing) or a bang (incoming).
I listen to the jets overhead but if the whine is too slight I worry that it might be a drone sent to spy on us or worse.
When I hear a plane I know there is a fire raging nearby and the plane is carrying water to assist the fire fighters.

Right now I am standing close to the window and I hear helicopters whirring above us. But I am a little worried because they are staying overhead not flying towards Lebanon. The boom of artillery seems to be louder and I’m not sure but was that a pop of helicopter fire amongst the booms.
Has someone tried to infiltrate the border?
Suddenly there is the sound of heavy gunfire – they have found a target. The firing stops for a while and I hear an army vehicle chasing down the road. They fire again and again and another army vehicle rushes past.

I check Ynet but there is nothing.

Instead I watch the news leading with the sad story of 15 dead soldiers. As their beautiful young faces appear on the screen my heart seems to shrink.
Then more sorrow as they move on to the story of a mother and children killed by a katyusha that fell on an Arab village.

My Photos on Flickr

2006-08-10T18:33:00.000+03:00

I have put some photos up on flickr:

- Old photos of Shlomi in quieter times.
- Photos of the affects of the war.
- Photos related to things mentioned this blog

The link is in the side bar.

ES

An Army Marches On Its Stomach

2006-08-10T18:14:00.000+03:00

After my husband went back to base yesterday he phoned to say he had arrived and then he phoned in the evening to say ‘hi’. He sounded tired and told me they had been too busy to eat all day but a woman had just arrived to make them fresh pita with zatar

My husband just phoned me and said that yet again they had been so busy all day they were going to eat for the first time at 17:00. At least he sounds less exhausted today.

The brothers-in-law of a friend we served with have turned up with meat, hummus and all the trimmings and are doing a barbecue for nearly 100 soldiers. Sounds delicious.

They may not eat often but they eat well!

Solider in the house

2006-08-10T17:31:00.000+03:00

I was sure I heard the door while I was still in the shower. I yelled to the children but as usual no one paid any attention. Through the frosted glass I saw a dark shadow open the door, too tall for a child – and there was my husband.

At first he was quiet, just pleased to see us all and surprised by the normality of life on the home front.

With no time to shave he’d grown a beard and the dust had relaxed the curl in his hair. His eyes were brown with fatigue but twinkled from a tanned face. He looked extremely attractive. Ahh men in uniform.

He emptied his bag on to the sitting room floor along with some straw and a good deal of the gritty local volcanic dirt. The constant pressure surges from the blasts had busted the zip on his bag. He’s had the bag since he went to basic training 17 years ago.

He returned the snacks I’d sent with him 10 days ago – they don’t have much time to eat but when they do the food is excellent. They have a hot meal at least once a day and in between they snack on army rations, which are a great improvement on the army rations from our service days.

I shoved his clothes in the machine while he enjoyed a long shower. Although the IDF provides field showers the soldiers only get time to utilise them every couple of days.

Once he was clean my husband lay on the sofa and switched the TV to the news. They have almost no opportunity to keep up with the news and except for information about the missions they are involved in have little idea of what is happening. (In the Gulf war our communications officer gave us a news briefing every few days in case we didn’t have time to keep updated)

He was starving so I rushed in to the kitchen to whip up some delicacy. Instead I was confronted by a lamentable state of supplies. My fridge held a few yoghurts, jam, several bottle of waters, a dozen eggs and four pears. The freezer wasn’t much better. There were the chicken pieces I was saving for Friday, a pack of cold cuts and some frozen sauces.
My cupboards are filled with rice and pasta from the municipalities boxes and a rapidly diminishing supply of sweet corn but not much in the way of protein and soon I will been lacking all fruit and vegetables apart from 3 cans of pineapple.
The logistics of a shopping trip are a bit complicated but I will manage however I do wonder what is happening to people whose food cupboards were barely filled even before the war and who can’t get to the few shops that are open.

Finally I dug out some sausages and rolls from the back of the freezer which my husband devoured with plenty of mustard. Supper involved large quantities of pasta.

After his meal my husband dozed for a while in front of the news.
When he awoke he regaled me stories from the army; how much they fired and when and the triumph when they carried out a mission to perfection. He expressed his pride in the fact that such ‘old’ men, almost 20 years out of the army, were able to perform their duties with such vigour garnering much admiration from the younger soldiers.

He said that during breaks they discussed the war and put the world to rights or made quick phone calls to loved ones before they were called back into action. Sometimes they worked through the night or guarded. If they were on ‘rest duty’ they might be able to sleep for 3 hours, ignoring the noise and the blast, which can physically lift you in the air so you hover above your mattress for half a second.

There were lots of reporters and photographers visiting the encampment. He talked to two photographers one from Reuters and one from AFP. He wasn’t impressed.

He also mentioned the kindness of so many people. The group before had been given massage and aromatherapy under the trees at their encampment while my husband’s group received packages from a lady in Alaska filled with sweets, shampoo and underwear. One man came from the centre of Israel and made them all malabi (also known as sahlab) with the addition of sesame and it was, according to my husband, delicious.

In the afternoon we headed for Naharia, as I needed to find an open pharmacy. No one was answering my calls not even the number I been given by the municipality but there is one pharmacy that has a reputation for always being open and I had even seen a notice on the Spanish-speakers list confirming this. While I popped into the pharmacy my husband phoned a friend who lived nearby but he was at work.

As we drove off towards home the sirens started. We didn’t hear any booms but as we came along the road we saw smoke rising from one of the fields round Shlomi.

In the morning I woke early and finished putting the laundry through the dryer. My husband complained that some of his army socks were not comfortable. They are wool and when I checked most of them were felted and stiff. I threw the out and instead he took his thick cotton sport socks. They’ll doubtless be ruined by the time he gets home but at least he’ll be comfortable.
He threaded his belt through his army trousers, buttoned up his shirt and tucked his trousers into the ‘gumiot’ over his army boots. Then he slung his rifle across his torso and he was ready to go.

He gave both the children a hug and then I accompanied him to the car. When I hugged him I really didn’t want to let go but I forced myself to kiss him and let him get in the car.

I waved and blew kisses as he pulled out of the parking space and watched as he bumped gently down the road.

Not just in Israel

2006-08-10T11:33:00.000+03:00

There was quiet until midmorning when the sirens started wailing. They continued all morning and my daughter is most put out that her favourite TV program has been interrupted 3 times. She is convinced Nasrallah is monitoring her viewing.

At 11am a friend phoned and told me to turn on the international news. British airports are in chaos due to a bomb threat and everyone is being searched and hand luggage is been severely regulated.There are pictures of terminals absolutely heaving with passengers due to extensive delays.
Simon Hughes is on Sky trying to blame Israel and the War in Iraq for Islamic terror. So what’s new?

All flights from Tel Aviv have been cancelled so it seems my Dad got to England just in time.

War photo

2006-08-10T09:46:00.000+03:00

War photo, originally uploaded by levensohn_pascal.

“The Hizbollah organization places Lebanese civilians as a defensive shield between itself and us while the army places itself as a defensive shield between the citizens of Israel and Hizbollah’s terror. That is the main difference between us.”
Lt. General Dan Halutz - IDF chief of staff

'After'

2006-08-08T16:19:00.000+03:00

My husband has just got home on an 'after'. This is what the IDF calls a very short holiday. In this case 24hrs.

So I won't be posting for at least 24hrs.

ES

Food, art and sirens

2006-08-08T16:12:00.000+03:00

Yesterday I woke to find two small mammals snuggling me.
Even with the ventilator I was rather hot and realised I had slept late – no bombing.
I felt a vague possibility form in my brain - maybe it was over? I ignored the thought before it was fully formed in order not to jinx it.
I took a quick look at my email and carried on with the improvements to my blog template that I started the day before.

My father popped in during the morning with something I’d left behind and to say a final ‘Lehitraot’ (see you) before he leaves for Beer Sheva.
He‘d heard from his sister in Beer Sheva that my cousin from Naharia was now living on a kibbutz because her house in Naharia had been destroyed. When I phoned she told me that her husband’s work is paying for the stay at the kibbutz for the meanwhile but afterwards they will have to live with family and friends until their house is rebuilt. It is the house where they brought up all their children and I remember it from my first visit to Israel in 1979.

I also phoned to see what had happened at the municipality. They said no deliveries had been made the day before because of all the sirens. When I inquired the lady confirmed that that there were no more toys or activity kits for children.

Fortuitously just as I finished speaking to her my friend from the Reform Movement’s Keren BeKavod phoned to ask directions to the municipality – they were making another delivery. She also asked for an update on our community’s needs. I replied that apart from the constant need for food staples and canned goods they had run out of toys and games for the children.

I went outside for a little while. The sun burned my skin and heat beat up off the road. There was no refreshing breeze and world seemed nakedly exposed to the unremitting heat. A couple of people were walking around and a group of old people were chatting under the building opposite. Suddenly there is the most tremendously clatter. One of our neighbours with a ground floor garden flat had decided to mow the lawn. He was not rushing and even stopped to have a heated discussion with his wife.

Interruption

10:53am and there goes the first siren of the morning. My son scampers in to the security followed by daughter trying not to spill a bowl of cereal and grumbling that she is missing her TV program, yet again.

The first sirens went off about the same time yesterday. There were several loud bangs so I checked the news and sure enough someone in Shlomi had been injured. It said a man, though later this was corrected, and I phoned Dad to check he was OK.

My father-in-law also phoned. A work colleague lives near me and said one of his neighbours’ houses had played host to a katyusha the previous day. I hadn’t known.
I feel so isolated from reality. Being solely responsible for the children I can’t even leave the house.
My father-in-law reiterated his offered of help and added that his collaegues from Shlomi had also offered to help.
Also one of my husband’s colleagues phoned on his return North to work to remind me he was only a call away if I needed any assistance.

So far I am OK and not in desperate need of anything but it is comforting to know I have so many people on call – just in case.

Early afternoon the sirens calmed down a bit so I was able to give the children a late lunch. I made the Israeli classic - Schnitzel. No, not Viener Schnitzel. I couldn’t afford veal even if I did buy it, which I don’t on principal.

And a quick digression. I have tried to find out how veal is produced in Israel but have had difficulty obtaining any information. Anytime I’ve spoken with animal rights campaigners they just give me the usual dogma about becoming vegetarian. Waste of breath guys, waste of breath!

To digress even further I was pleased that Kashrut authorities have decided that fois gras can’t be kosher because it involves cruelty to animals and now the practice of force-feeding is banned.

But back to Israeli Schnitzel, which is chicken or turkey breast beaten into thin slices then breaded and shallow fried.
I don’t actually do it a lot because although the children like my homemade breading I find it a bit bland no matter how much seasoning I add.

Now I am part of the ‘slow food’ movement not because it is fashionable but as someone descended from a family of cooks it is genetic. I can remember first peering over the edge of the mixing bowl and my joy when at five my grandmother judged me old enough to help with the weekly cake making. I prepared my first roast dinner aged 9 and even helped my parents cater my own wedding.
I don’t quite understand the point so called shortcuts like cake mix – you still have to add most of the ingredients and it takes just as long – and ready made portions are so tiny I can’t regard them as any more than a snack, a very expensive snack. I cook at least one meal a day and save processed foods – like frozen pizza and those dreadful sausages the children love so much – for days when I’m pushed for time.
Naturally I regard prepared schnitzel coating with more than a little suspicion. It took a war for my will to weaken and last week I hurriedly threw a packet into my shopping basket before I could change my mind.
It was a great success. The children snaffled up their schnitzel with glee and I was pleased to have relatively little mess to deal with. I have to admit that I have been convinced but I still don’t see the point of a cake mix.

During the afternoon it was quiet enough for the man from the municipality to drive round and drop off a box of supplies. Of course I am grateful for anything to help eke out the rations I have at home but it is obvious that they are running low on supplies. Apart from the ubiquitous bagele and petite beurre biscuits there were some basic supplies like oil, pasta and drink concentrate and a positively industrial quantity of green tea with mint. But no treats for the children or anything that could provide the basis for a nourishing meal.

It was relatively quiet until the evening when so many sirens went off I lost count and it seemed that every time the children asked if it was safe to come out the siren went off again.
Finally it calmed down and we just heard the boom-boom of artillery in the background.

I made toasted cheese sandwiches which are popular with the children and so easy.

Later on my Dad phoned to say he’d reached Beer Sheva safely and was having a pleasant time with his sister and her family.

I decided to take a rest from the computer and watched a film about Modigliani. I hadn’t realised he was Jewish. I loved hearing all the Italian though I was surprised at how much I understood.
Just a question to anyone who speaks Italian – What is all this Mo DIG liani? Has Italian pronunciation changed since I learnt the language in the 1980s?
Mind you, my ears were too numb from all the bombing for the pronunciation to really annoy me especially as I was so swept along by Andy Garcia’s passionate portrayal of the painter.

I went to sleep dreaming of fine art.

A More Positive Note?

2006-08-07T23:48:00.000+03:00

Here is a nice article on the local hospital - The hospital where my two children were born. Of course it is not nice that a hospital was hit but it was good to hear they were so well prepared and no one was hurt.

13 thoughts from Yair Lapid.

As I surfed around I happened on Pravda. I remember learning about it during history lessons on the Soviet Revolution so it seems almost anachronistic for it to be online. It definately has a quirky style and is not as vehemently anti-Israel as I would have expected. And who new llamas were part of the war effort? Maybe I could knit some llama wool army socks for my husband.

At least there is something positive going on in the Israeli economy. I think this is the computer chip they were talking about on the TWiT podcast ( 63).

Something sweet to finish? Elite is donating chocolate 'hugs' to our soldiers. Huggle Time!

ES

Naughty Reuters!

2006-08-07T23:29:00.000+03:00

Reuters have been caught with yet another doctored photo.
You begin to wonder how much the media got away with before blogs.

Cox & Forkum having an amusing cartoon.

ES

Audio visual experience

2006-08-07T17:15:00.000+03:00

If anyone would like a more audio visual experience of life in Israel under fire I found a couple of videos on Google.
Just a warning – turn down the volume so the sirens down freak out your neighbours.
In the shelter
An attack and the aftermath

ES

Israeli soldiers on Lebanese soil.

2006-08-07T15:23:00.001+03:00

Hizbollah leaders have sworn to fight as long as Israeli soldiers remain on Lebanese soil.

That’s fine by me. We’ll leave Lebanese with all our soldiers, including the two you kidnapped!

Just one question Hizbol – If you are so desperate not to have Israeli soldiers on Lebanese soil what exactly did you think you were kidnapping, Puppy dogs?