Good Morning

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 I

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!

Local Elections

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.

Succot in Shlomi

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

Back to Work

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.

My Photos on Flickr

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

Supplies for Shabbat

The last time we were stuck in shelters for a long time was operation Grapes of Wrath in 1996 when the previous Mayor was in office. Then we received a leaflet at our door detailing the various activities available and even though the bombing was less constant, with army authorised ‘shopping breaks’, every Friday they came round with a box of rations including fruit and vegetables so people would have supplies for Shabbat.

On Wednesday we visited my parents so the children could say goodbye to their grandmother before she went to England. My Dad mentioned that another pick-up full of food packages had gone past.

Although the TV is always informing us that so and so has donated such and such to the residents of the North so far we have received nothing. And that didn’t seem right.

My parents’ neighbour works for the municipality and had mentioned that he was delivering donated supplies to various addresses. He was surprised that my parents, being pensioners, haven’t received anything but kindly dropped off the occasional leftover items.

I phoned up the town hall and asked why neither my parents nor I had been informed of what was available both in the form of supplies and activities. After quite a heated exchange the crux of the official’s argument was that they felt there was no need to inform residents of what was available, we would become aware by word of mouth and then phone the town hall to ask.

I pointed out that in the present situation there wasn’t must socialising and I could either stand out among the katuyshas to check on what my neighbours were receiving or I could phone the town hall every hour. Would he like me to phone the Town Hall every hour?

Naturally he didn’t like that idea and I pointed out that system of ‘by word of mouth’ meant that only people connected to, or neighbours to, people working for the municipality would hear what was available which was not an equitable way of distributing items that had been donated to all of the people still living in Shlomi.

I added that in such a small town with about 50% of the residents ‘gone south’ it wouldn’t be an impossible task to phone round to each house to check who was still at home so they could make efficient deliveries.

After my rant the official gave some bluster about me needing to be signed up even though I pointed out we were already signed up, from the trip to the water park. He said they would phone me.

Surprise, surprise but come 12:30 pm Friday and no one had called me. I heard one of my neighbours outside complaining that something ‘Just wasn’t right!’ It seems another pick-up had gone past laden with food packages but had delivered to no one in our road, even though the house opposite are government housing with many pensioners, new immigrants and one parent families.

At this point my husband arrived home from work and in order to prevent a meltdown, mine, I asked him to phone the town hall to find out what was going on. He was answered by a nice lady I know from the children’s after-school activities. She said we were definitely on the list so there must have been some mix up. She would sort it out and call back.

I also mentioned that many people were upset at the way the distribution was being handled and any perceived lack of fairness would not sit well with donors.

My Dad didn’t receive a call either. When he phoned to check they confirmed he was on the list but my Dad is not quite as proactive so he didn’t charge down to the town hall and despite their assurances nothing was delivered to him.

A few minutes afterwards they called back to say they had a food coupon for us, that could be redeemed at the local supermarket, but we would have to pick it up immediately. My husband jumped in the car.

When he got home he had the coupons as well as several boxes of supplies plus bottled water (I have never drunk so much bottled water in my life!)

He reported that the emergency centre was a chaos of activity with just about everybody who worked for the municipality manning the phones, including the mayor himself, in an effort to get the donations distributed before Shabbat. Seems they had finally realised that the ‘word of mouth’ system just wasn’t going to work and lack of organisation rather than nefarious intent was the cause of the distribution problems.

My husband is always the diplomat and went to personally thank the mayor for his efforts of those of the town hall staff.

ES

The Water Park

I got up at the crack of dawn. OK so it was 5:30 am, which is when my husband always gets up, but I’m just not a morning person. It wasn’t so bad yesterday as I haven’t been sleeping so well. I wonder why?

The artillery was already going strong or maybe they hadn’t stopped all night.

I dressed, checked supplies for the trip and having said goodbye to my husband woke the children. They were too sleepy to eat much but I got them dressed without incident and at 6:50am we set off for the bus stop.

As usual we were the first to arrive. I positioned myself on the road to look out for the bus with the children close to the shelter, in case.

My daughter’s teacher arrived with a large suitcase and her son. After a day at the park they were staying in Tel Aviv. Her husband has to work so he will be at home taking care of the house and their dogs.

At 7am, when the bus should have already arrived, more people rolled up and there was quite a crowd when the bus finally put in an appearance at 7:15am

We drove on to the next shelter to pick up more people. And there we stuck. I have no idea what the problem was or if there really was any problem but people hovered outside and got on and off the bus. After half an hour something was resolved and we finally swung into action – only three quarters of an hour late!

The journey was reasonably uneventful with only light traffic. There was the obligatory pit stop that always takes longer than it should because some people have no sense of time (or just no sense) and can’t resist the urge to shop. This made a long journey even longer but the children were happy and had a school friend to play with.

When we got into Tel Aviv, and the inevitable traffic jams, we discovered that the driver had no idea where to go. He ended up asking directions from a passer-by in the Old Port. Of course we were going in totally the wrong direction so he had to phone the other drivers, who had already arrived. Finally we joined the long, slow queue to entrance.

We had been told lunch would be provided and when I inquired they said that there would be an announcement but they sounded a bit vague.

There was no one we really knew on our bus and the children were more eager to jump in the water than socialise so I found some chairs in the shade for our things. I was a little concerned about leaving our bags unattended although in an enclosed place like a water park they do a thorough security check at the entrance so there is not usual security panic connected with unaccompanied packages. I never take any valuables but losing my cell phone, particularly at this time, would be annoying. Normally we go to these places with my husband’s work and sit in an enormous group of friends and colleagues so there is always so one hanging around, resting.

Not that I got much rest this time. My son adored the wave pool so we went three times. At first we stood in the middle but the waves were quite gentle. We moved over to the side were the rise and fall was much more dramatic. The lifeguards were pacing up and down the side whistling constantly to insure that minor infringements of the safety rules didn’t become major incidents. There were bars on the side and my children hung from them like orang-utans I tried but it was too much strain on my biceps. I am always amazed at how strong and athletic my children are. Not my genes I’m sure.

There were several slides but my children were only interested in the ‘toboggan style’ and I guessed it was the only one suitable for my 7 yo son - he was just above the 120cm height restriction.

The queue was frighteningly long but moved pretty fast. One boy in front kindly informed us that the white run was fastest with red a close second. The blue was for scaredy cats and the infirm!

My son was in a brave mood and chose white, my daughter was perfectly happy with red and so I went blue.

I have been on several of these slides and they are great fun. Normally you can sit or lie flat to control your speed but here there were gallons of water making it too slippery to sit and it was fast. So fast that on the corners I almost flipped over. It was exhilarating but I was a little concerned that it might have been too exciting for my children. They were ecstatic and my son hardly paused for breath as he told me, and demonstrated with arm movements, how he had gone swoosh, swoosh and vroom vroom voom.

When lunchtime came I could hear plenty of announcements but none for us. However I did see people collecting food portions. I went on a look-see and found several worried people crouching over coolers: They had run out of food. There were a few portions left for the children but nothing for the adults. Whether more people came along than signed up or the person in charge had forgotten simple arithmetic, I didn’t stay to ask. I wasn’t really surprised.

Anyway the portions we received were adult-sized which was plenty between the three of us especially as my appetite is not up to par.

I also saw a woman I knew vaguely from the pool. She greeted me with a grin and started to chat about how they had had enough and relocated to Tel Aviv. I was a little confused so I asked whether it was happy coincidence she was here with every else from Shlomi. How naïve!

‘No,’ she told me, ‘the bus picked us up. When I heard about the trip I phoned the municipality and said “Don’t we deserve a little fun too?”’

Apart from being curious how she had heard about the trip from Tel Aviv when most people in Shlomi didn’t know, I had to bite back to urge to say ‘Well no, actually. These trips are not just as ‘a little fun’ but a breathing space for children stuck in shelters 24/7. Not for those who have gone to Tel Aviv have access to activity camps and can play outside and move around as freely as they wish.’ But I didn’t want to start a fight.

I wouldn’t have been so furious if the trips had been more openly advertised but unfortunately it seems Vitamin P is still a necessary supplement when dealing with Shlomi’s municipality.

(Vitamin P = protectzia i.e. it’s not what you know but who you know)

After lunch we investigated a pool I’d noticed on the other side of the park. This was an adventure pool. There was a tree-house style ‘island’ with slides, hidey-holes and water sprays. I particularly enjoyed the vertical sprays, which give a firm back massage.

On the way back for ice cream I found a friend wading cautiously into the wave pool. She is as myopic as I am and was without her glasses so I helped her spy out her daughter. She was also unimpressed with the organisation of the trip. She too had only found out about it by accident and had had to fight with them to sign her up. Then when the bus arrived they weren’t on the list and the bus organisers were all for leaving her and her two children behind. No chance!

She said her children have been on the slides about a dozen times and she highly recommended the inner tubes.

When we had sated ourselves with ice cream we stood in line for the inner tubes. It was a short slide and not as creative as the one at Luna Gal in Tiberius but it was fun. My skinny daughter ended up with a large tube, which she fell out of and she had to be assisted by one of the hundreds of staff looking after us all. Because I was heavier and lower in the water than everyone else I seemed to create twice as much splash.

After that I collapsed in a chair with my book while the children played in the spray pool nearby.

It was announced that the Shlomi buses would leave at 5:30pm so at 4:50 I got the children out of the pool and a little after 5pm we were ready to leave. I felt a little foolish being ready so early but an English childhood still conflicts with the Israeli habit of being late. We weren’t the first people on the bus but it was quite empty and we settled into our seats.

By the time the bus was set to leave there was another furore. For some inexplicable reason people had decided to play musical buses and almost everyone had chosen to travel with us. In addition some adults had decided they were tired and stretched out over two seats to sleep.

As a result, even though several passengers had stayed in Tel Aviv there was not enough room on our bus. The female soldiers in charge of the bus were very sweet but totally ineffective in sorting out the situation. One little boy had a total melt down and sulked all the way home while a couple of families moved over to the other half-empty buses.

We’d scarcely left Tel Aviv when the bus pulled in for a pit stop. It was decided we would only stay 10 mins for a bathroom break but some cocky teenage boys decided they were hungry and we spent half hour waiting for them. The driver wanted to leave them behind for the other bus that was taking a longer break but their mother wouldn’t let him even though she refused to go and hurry them up.

At least the driver made good time and we got home some time after eight o’clock: a little sunburnt, rather tired but, despite all the craziness, very happy.

ES

Bringing you up to date

Here in Shlomi we are used to the occasional '‘boom’', I have nicknamed them ‘love-messages’ from Hizbollah.

So the first boom on Wednesday was no big deal. Even when a friend from Shlomit, the new part of Shlomi which is closer to the border, phoned to say she couldn'’t come round because they had been ordered into the shelters I wasn’'t too concerned. It’'s not that unusual and I knew the summer camp staff would be well versed in safety procedures.

But I did turn both my Internet and the TV to the news and then I began to appreciate that this was serious.

At 11am the Matnas phoned to ask us to take the children home from summer camp. I don'’t drive but my father offered a lift and we kept to our plan of visiting my parents for lunch.

They live only about 1 km from the border and can see that green ridge of separation from their house. We spent most of the afternoon in their security room in the company of several terrified pet dogs, eyes glued to the TV news with the constant boom and rattle of gun and artillery fire in our ears. Whenever there was a particularly loud explosion my daughter would leap into my arms.

On his return from work my husband came to pick us up and as we drove home we could see the brown smoke of battle billowing up from behind the ridge and there was strong smell of gunfire in the air.

Our home is about 2 km from the border on the other side of Shlomi and it was a lot quieter than at my parents'. We could only hear the loudest booms and, of course, all the air traffic. Even so our children slept in the security room.

Thursday morning the boom of the katuyshas woke me as they passed over us on the way to Naharia. After checking the internet and TV news there were phone calls: some to friends in Naharia and many from friends elsewhere in Israel offering us help and a place to escape. Even our friends from the Reform Movement in Jerusalem phoned to show their support and to ask if they could help in anyway. Our friends abroad also sent emails to check we are ok.

One pleasant surprise at 9am: my husband arrived back home. All places of business had been closed so an impromptu holiday.

Later in the evening a quick check in our kitchen brought the realisation that our supplies just weren'’t up to the task of feeding 4 people at least 3 times a day for heaven knows how long. We would need plenty of snacks to munch our way through the boredom of being stuck in the house.

We ran through a mental list of all the supermarkets in the area getting further and further away until we decided that the Kirion (The Mall of the North) was far enough away to be safe.

Naturally as we wandered round we met most of my husband's family and about a dozen of his work colleagues so it took a lot longer than expected. I had great time in the supermarket, armed with an unassailable excuse to buy all those special treats that are really beyond our budget.

When we got home we rushed the children into the security room and even before tidying away the shopping we turned on the news.. and heard about the missile landing in Haifa.

ES