Freaky Friday

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.

Shabbat Shalom

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.

ES

Almost famous

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.

ES

Solider in the house

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.

ES

'After'

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

Soldier Soldier

This morning I woke up with a soldier in my bed.

Yes, my husband has been called up to Miluim (reserve duty).

It is not a surprise. He has been in touch with his commanders for the last week and yesterday evening he got the official announcement . Then he spent the next hour on the phone with his army comrades arranging who would travel with who, when, where and how.

His chimidan (army bag) was already packed, this morning he added a few last minute items and then kissed us all good bye.


ES

Just when I was relaxing...

Today has been pretty routine. So when my husband phoned a few minutes ago I assumed it was to tell me that he was coming home early.

But no! They are in the shelters. A katuysha fell near them, so near they actually saw it land. One aso landed near the factory in Naharia where my father-in-law works so he is in the shelters too.

My husband is not sure if they will carry on working or come home but he doesn’t have good reception from the shelter so I will have to wait for an answer.

Almost as soon as I put the phone down on my husband there is another call. My father-in-law. Yes, they are in the shelter but he has decided to go home to the relative safety of Acco. My mother-in-law and her mother have had enough of the situation so tomorrow he is taking them to Tel Aviv. Will they come back? We’ll see.

My father-in-law also tells me that in Shlomi some one has been injured by shrapnel. I’ll resist turning on the TV for a bit instead I’ll surf over to Ynet to check the ticker and the latest news stories.

Meanwhile the children are in the safety room supposedly doing some math but actually just making a lot of noise, yelling melodramatically every time there is a loud boom - which means frequently.

Where are my headache pills?

ES