Right now I feel like Dorothy at the end of “The Wizard of Oz” when she realizes that home is only a click of her heels away. I went to visit Nishmat today, a school that has come highly recommended by women I respect. The building was beautiful, the faculty friendly and the student body clearly very intelligent, but I knew almost immediately that it wasn’t for me. On the bus ride home, I realized that I missed Midreshet Rachel and the classes I was taking there, and that I wanted to go back. Other schools that might fit me are either too far away or not right for my schedule. So the answer is obvious: coupled with my extras at Simchat Shlomo and the art class I am planning on taking, I think I’ll be able to find the balance I’m looking for at MRC. It says in the Gemarra that the greatest joy is clarity of direction. In this case, I can wholeheartedly agree: my forays outside made it clear that I was in the right place all along.

The latest development in the life of Yonah is that Rivka, his morning mitapelet, is moving away, which means we had to find someone new to take him. Well, we did, and guess where she lives? ACROSS THE STREET. Literally, the house across the street from ours. You have no idea what a big deal this is, especially now that the rainy season is coming. Even Shuie was excited when I told him. “Baruch Hashem (Praise Gd)!” he said into his grilled cheese sandwich. I feel badly moving Yonah from place to place but he doesn’t seem the worse for wear. Thankfully, he is a happy, friendly little guy (”gentle” was a word Perel used to describe him) and seems to get along well with everyone. He takes after his father that way. Let’s hope he’s so easygoing when his new brother or sister arrives.

We have at least three guests coming for dinner Friday night so the menu planning has already begun: Garlic and Potato Soup, Sweet Potato, Walnut and Bean Salad, Mustard and Dill Roasted Chicken, Sweet Potato and Beef Stew, Kugel, Veggie Stir-Fry, and for dessert, whole wheat almond cake. My newlywed friend Chava is coming with her husband, Stephen, and their friend Pesach, who has just made aliyah. Chava and a few other friends of mine are asking me about cooking healthy, where I find my recipes, etc. My dear friend Rachel even offered to bake me spelt challah when we come for Shabbat. I hope that by laying a nice table with healthy but yummy food, I can spread the health-awareness to other tables in Israel and beyond. What can I say? I just don’t feel right plying people with dishes laden with oil, sugar and fat. There is nothing wrong with them in moderation for most people, but I cannot tell you how many Shabbat meals I have sat through where, at the end, people look glazed over with the toxins running through their system. You CAN eat well without sacrificing your arteries and your rear ends, people! Trust me on this one. I should probably get off my soapbox while I have at least a handful of friends left, but I would be remiss if I didn’t mention it just once.

Okay, I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want it to look like I was rubbing it, seeing how there has already been snow in Massachusetts. But there has been a heat wave here for almost a week, longer than any most natives can remember, that has been sucking the moisture and energy out of everyone. The strange thing is, it’s not only expected to break tomorrow, it’s supposed to start raining and get cold. You should know that this is not typical Israel weather. Chalk it up to global warming if you want to, but I heard a mystical take on it that I thought was pretty cool. In my “Living in the Times” class yesterday, R. Silber was saying how the world reproduces the energy of the weekly Torah portion, as it originally happened. The rabbis say that the water from the flood was exactly like the water of the dead sea, filled with minerals, uninhabitable by life, and turning the ground beneath it into what is chemically recognized as salt. The earth was cleansed physically and spiritually during the flood by being burnt by the chemicals in the water (this is one explanation for the reason scientists believe the world is millions of years old when Jewish tradition maintains it is only 6000: the water from the flood aged it so that it looked older than it was). While the earth was essentially being re-created, some Rabbis say, time stopped. Therefore, each time the parsha of Noah reappears, the energy of the world repeats the same pattern, thereby making time, matter and space flexible. The current weather pattern certainly indicates a warp in the natural order of things, and we are certainly being burnt, if not to a crisp, at least to a crust (my lips feel like paper grocery bags). Noah’s 120-year project of building the ark was not just to provide him with shelter during the flood, but was also an opportunity for people to ask him what he was doing so he could inspire them to change. “If somebody tells you you need to work on something this week,” R. Silber said, “You’d better listen!”. In my case, I’ve got some work to do on the attitude front, as was pointed out by my sweet husband last night. Interesting that he happened to mention it yesterday, no?

As the weather has tapped me out, I am early to bed. Wishing you all the clarity to see opportunity when it comes.

Yesterday I spent the afternoon at Yeshivat Simchat Shlomo, the school named after Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach. I sat in on three classes given by an amazing teacher named Rochel Rena Silber, one on Tehillim (psalms), one on Torah and Healing and one on Jewish Current Events. This last one in particular completely blew my mind because R. Silber spoke about this week’s Torah portion, Noach (the story of Noah), and how his building of the ark has messages that pertain to us, today, in our own lives. For example, she taught that the “Gopher Wood” that Gd asked Noah to use had special significance because the word “Gopher” in Hebrew has the same root as the word “Gophrit”, sulfur. This is essentially trying to tell us that the things in which we put our trust and reliance (wood being the substance from which we construct our homes and “security), can also destroy us from the inside. Not that I believe in coincidences, but I found it very interesting that she happened to give that particular example. So, thank Gd, I know where I will be spending my Monday afternoons from here on out.

It’s a strange feeling knowing that you’re physically in the place you wanted to be, doing the things you thought you wanted to be doing, and still feeling stuck. I never would have guessed that I would have to work so hard to feel inspired here in Israel, or that I would feel so ambivalent about everything. I am completely jealous of my husband who is taking off like a rocket, overjoyed with the opportunity to be learning again, drinking up every second of being here and is just so, so happy. I wish I could be like that, but historically speaking these things have never come easily for me. Maybe it’s just dealing with everything that is going on — grief, transition, pregnancy, wife- and motherhood — and maybe not. I suppose when the year is over I will look back on this time and see that it had something to teach me, but for right now I just feel like I’m in the dark, reaching blindly ahead to make sure I don’t fall.

The first installment of my Rosh Chodesh women’s circle was a big hit, Thank Gd. There were six friends from Midreshet Rachel, plus my friend Chava, which made for a nice mix and a great, introspective vibe. Between that and the whole wheat muffins, we had some magic brewing. Everyone got really into the writing and the sharing, and I get the sense that we all came away with it with a new sense of direction, or at least something to chew on as we go into this new month. I’m looking forward to hosting another one for Rosh Chodesh Kislev.

In other good news, I found an awesome mitapelet for Yonah in the afternoons; her name is Perel, she’s American and she is incredibly warm. Yonah loved playing at her place so much yesterday he didn’t want to leave! I am really pleased that we’ve found her, not only because she rocks but also because she’s right up the block, which means — you guessed it — no more stairs! No more wrestling Yonah’s stroller up Har Ramat HaGolan and no more expending my entire day’s energy by 8:30 a.m. Can you tell I’m excited?

Today I’ll be attending afternoon classes at Yeshivat Simchat Shlomo, the Carlebach yeshiva, and see how I like it. This is not the kind of place I would go to every day, but they host a series of classes one or two days a week that are a little more spiritual, making for a nice balance with the heavy, text-based stuff. We’ll see how I like it. Other than that, Yonah and I will be playing (and hopefully, napping) this morning until it’s time for Mommy to go to school. Wishing you a great day!

Okay, I’ll admit it: I take cabs way too often. It’s not that I don’t like the bus, but there are moments when the prospect of extensive walking threatens to keep me housebound, especially now that I am getting pregnant-er. At this point, I would rather shell out the extra cash for door-to-door service than stay wedged into my living room like cork in a bottle.

That said, I get the biggest kick out of Israeli cab drivers; every single one of them is some kind of interesting character. One, for example, asked me how long I had been in Israel; when I told him two months, he proceeded to quote me a price for the ride that will probably equal the first year of my son’s college education. “I may be new,” I told him, “But I’m not stupid”. Another went through a whole song and dance with me about the exact location I was going, did I know how to get there, and then when we finally worked it out, told me he couldn’t take me because he was waiting for someone else. Go figure. Last night, I was driven by a gentleman who spent the ride dancing in his seat to the radio and yelled out, “There is no place like Jerusalem! There is no place like Israel!”. He asked me which way I wanted him to take to Katamon, I told him, “Whichever way is fastest”. He pointed up to the sky and said, “Only HaKadosh Baruch Hu (Gd) knows…”.

His comment made me chuckle, but then it got me thinking. Lately I have been praying to Gd to give me some sort of sign that He’s really there. After all, if He’s the One I’m meant to turn to for comfort in all of this, it would be nice to get some kind of feedback. I have heard it said that Gd talks to us through other people. I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe this music-loving cabbie wasn’t a messenger of some sort.

Later on, I got a ride home from Katamon with J, an American Jew from New York with 24 years of sobriety and some awe-inspiring wisdom. We chatted about reconciling being “religious” versus “spiritual”, something I struggle with constantly. Out of nowehere J looked at me and said, “How did your mother die?”

“Cancer,” I told him. “She was diagnosed March 2008 and died May 2009″.

His face broke into a wide smile. “Cancer’s great isn’t it?”

I was dumbfounded.

“You got all the time you needed to say goodbye. You got more than a year with her, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. An amazing year. I lived fifteen minutes away when I was pregnant, she was at the hospital when Yonah was born and for the last two months of her life we got to live together.”

“So what are you so sad and angry about?”

“I miss her. I want to call her, talk to her…”

“So call her. She just might answer and scare the crap out of you,” J laughed.

“I’m angry at Gd for taking her away.”

“Are you kidding? He gave you all that time to be with her, to make amends to her, to give her nachas (joy) from you and your baby. She was done. Gd gave you everything.”

When he said that, I felt something click on inside. I couldn’t help but smile when I realized how right he was. Still, I couldn’t let it go just yet. “What about when the new baby comes? I want her here for that.”

J gave me a big grin. “She’ll be there. She’s here now, watching out for you, rooting for you, making sure you’re alright. The rabbis teach that when you get married the ten generations that came before you are there. Reb Shlomo (Carlebach) teaches that the ten generations that come after you are there, too. Where do you think she’s gonna be when her next grandchild is born?”

He said it all so frankly, which such humor and conviction, that I couldn’t help but believe him. In a flash, I felt my mind open and the darkness lift. Gd did give me everything: an amazing mother, time to build my relationship with her, to make her proud of me, and the opportunity to take care of her, so that I could pay back a decimal of a fraction of what she did for me. I got to have her with me when my baby was born, and I got to share him with her for the last few months of her life. I got to say goodbye to her, many times over. In truth, Gd made losing her as easy and beautiful as it could have possibly been. So who am I to complain about it?

J sensed that I was catching on. “Don’t go around sad and angry. It’s not productive.” It’s also, I realized, a spit in the face of all the gifts I’ve been given. I walked into my apartment a thousand pounds lighter, calmer and more serene than I’ve been in months. I guess that’s what happens when you get messages from two angels in one night.

Our quiet Shabbos (brought in with my new hand-painted candlesticks) was marked with one exciting episode: Yonah walked! Early this morning, Shuie called me into the living room to show me how Yonah stood up and took two tentative little steps to Shuie’s open arms. I was so excited I wanted to pull out my camera right there, but of course I couldn’t because it was Shabbat. Throughout the day Yonah repeated his feat (no pun intended) three times more. I can’t believe how quickly he’s growing up; every day there’s a new change. He is constantly on the move, climbing all over everything (and everyone) and taking the apartment apart. He waves and says “hi”, “doggie” and he holds up his letter Alef magnet and says, “Aggie”. He also officially graduated from bottle to sippy cup this week. I think it’s safe to say that my little Bug has entered Toddlerhood. It’s only a matter of time, really, before he starts reciting entire blat of Gemara (a page of talmudic law) by heart, or — a man after my own heart — Shakesperean soliloquies in iambic pentameter. After Yonah goes to bed in about an hour I am heading out to a meeting and then coming home to start baking for my Rosh Chodesh Women’s Circle tomorrow. Shuie and I are going on a tiyul with the other couples from his school tomorrow morning, and in the afternoon my tentative plans are to go meet with a new babysitter for Yonah and then visit Nishmat, one of my prospective schools. The more baking I get done tonight, the easier it will be tomorrow.In other news, after a full month of not being about to look at vegetables, I was able to eat an entire bowl of pureed cauliflower-zucchini soup last night. I am now in week 13 of the pregnancy, which means the first trimester is over. Perhaps there is some sunshine on the horizon…?

People can be such idiots.

Can you tell that I’m in a majorly ticked-off mood? This morning I took Yonah to the grocery and as we were checking out, one of the clerks stood by watching me as I packed all of my stuff into bags. Yonah was kvetching and the woman behind me was already moving her stuff into my section, so I asked the clerk if she would help me — this is the essential difference between American and Israeli customer service, by the way: In the States they practically carry you through the store on a palanquin; in Israel they treat you like they’re doing you a favor by letting you shop at their store. She chuckled a bit and started to help me. Then she said to Yonah, “Maybe Grandma can come and help”.

I almost decked her.

Listen, I know she didn’t mean anything by it. How was she supposed to know that my mother died 5 months ago? But that doesn’t mean it didn’t feel like a sucker-punch right in the gut. It can still hurt like hell, even if it wasn’t on purpose. I decided not to say anything because (a) I didn’t want to deliberately make her feel bad and (b) I couldn’t guarantee that I wouldn’t start screaming and throwing packs of gum at her.

After we got home I attempted to clean out the week-old food from our fridge while Yonah pulled at me and then tried taking stuff off the shelves. Then the milk bag spilled everywhere and I had to clean out everything. Shuie came home and I snapped at him about getting laundry done, even though I was really just upset about the grocery store lady. Can I just say that today is one of those days when I just don’t want to be a mom, I don’t want to be a housewife, and I sure as hell don’t want to clean a damn thing.

I’m hoping that by getting this out of my system here I’ll be able to have a modicum of serenity for the rest of the day, but I’m not sure how likely that is. At least I know that phase, too, will pass. I just hope it hightails it out of here sooner than later.

Whew. That was a trip.

We intended to get going early yesterday morning but our plans were delayed when someone who will remain nameless (Yonah Yaakov Bochner) decided to hide the keys under the mini-fridge, where we discovered them after almost an hour of looking. During our hunt, Mommy got stressed out and burst into tears while Yonah had to be confined to his playpen because he kept trying to pick the half-grown oranges off of Simcha Leah’s tiny tree. By the time we found the keys and checked out of the B&B, I was ready to cry uncle.

But of course, we were on vacation and still had much to do. Our first stop of the day was to Adam and Tamar Bodenstein’s, a sweet couple around our age who own a paint-your-own-pottery place. Shuie and I decided to be artsy and try our amateurish hands at painting, and the results, I would say, were pretty good. I painted two candlesticks to use for Shabbat and Shuie painted a plate for us to put challah bread on after we cut it. Shuie’s and my approaches to art are very telling about our differences in personalities: I took one look at my candlesticks, grabbed some paint and just went for it, while Shuie spent two hours stencilling, erasing, retracing and then, finally, choosing his colors and painting. Instinct versus Intellect. While I waited for Shuie to finish, Adam and I had a long chat about the community in Tzfat and what it’s like to live there, while he rocked their newborn son, Malachi Yitzchak, in the sling. By the time Shuie wrapped up, it was mid-afternoon and neither of us had the energy to do much more exploring.

Instead, we packed into the car and headed over to Teverya (Tiberias), which we both hated the minute we arrived. Set on the Kinneret (The Sea of Galilee) the town is a strip of hotels and neon-lit stores that reminded me of so much of Atlantic City I turned the car around, lest Israeli mafiosi jump out from behind the parked cars (For the record, I hate Atlantic City. I’m using the word “hate” here). There was a tumahdik (impure) feeling in the air, which after spending the past couple of days in Tzfat, made us both super-sensitive. We made our way back northward, finally finding a rustic horse ranch/spa called Vered HaGalil (”Rose of the Galilee”), which just happened to have a little villa open with a spectacular view of the Kinneret, our own backyard and a jacuzzi, and not a neon light in sight.

We got settled in and took Yonah out to dinner at the restaurant in the main building where, while Yonah put his French fries in his hair, I enjoyed the best kosher hamburger I have ever eaten in my life. After a short visit to show Yonah the horses at the stables outside, Shuie went to get a massage at the spa and Yonah and I passed out after I put our keys away where he couldn’t get them.

We all woke up bright and early this morning. Shuie davened outside while the sun rose and Yonah played in the yard. After breakfast, I left the boys to hang out with the horses and get dirty on the playground so I could get a massage. Sadly, the therapist told me that massages for ladies less than four months pregnant are a big no-no, so I had to settle for a Reiki treatment instead, which I cried all the way through. For those of you who haven’t read between the lines yet, between my wacky hormones and missing my mother I have become an increasingly greater wreck over the past few weeks. In my best moments, I become an adorable cross between a fire-breathing spider monkey and Joan Rivers (no, they are not the same thing). My sweet, patient husband sat me down today and firmly told me that I need to get some help, so I’ve agreed to up my weekly attendance at 12-step meetings and find a grief counselor to talk to.

After a quick stop back in Tzfat to pick up our pottery, we began our trek back to Jerusalem. Between a few wrong turns and an adventure to find some gas, we finally got home 3 and a half hours later. I was happier than I thought I’d be to see the streets of Jerusalem again, especially since the inspiration of Tzfat tempted both of us to stick around longer. But I’m starting to get a sense of home here and I even know my way around a bit now after my many bus and cab rides. I was able to direct Shuie home from the center of the city, and even took myself on a solo drive tonight to Katamon and back without incident.

We are laying low this Shabbat; we cancelled our plans for guests and turned down an invitation to go away. Shuie said it best: We need a vacation from our vacation. Now, if only we could get a jacuzzi in here…

I am currently writing in the darkened room of our B&B in Tzfat. After one afternoon and a full day of exploring the winding alleys of this amazing city, Yonah and I opted to take a nap while Shuie visits the cemetery which houses the remains of many renowned rabbis. While it is considered auspicious to pray at the graves of some of these holy men, for obvious reasons I decided that I was not in the best place emotionally to spend time hanging around a cemetery. That, and I’m really freakin’ tired.

Tzfat has a rich history of torah study and mystical experience, so much so that for many years it drew some of the leading Jewish sages from all over the world. A few of them even left Jerusalem to taste the inspiration that this city has to offer and never came back. In fact, one of the things I learned from a guidebook in our room is that for a long time, there was rivalry between Tzfat and Jerusalem, as both vied for the title of “holiest city in Israel”. As a visitor from Jerusalem, I can vouch for the fact that the energy here is something completely different from anywhere else I’ve been in Israel (one of the local natural healers described Tzfat as “wind” and Jerusalem as “fire”). The crisp air is loaded with some kind of spiritual power that you can feel the minute you arrive. I remembered it from my two previous visits, and it is hitting me very strongly this time around. From the moment we arrived, I have been constantly on the verge of tears. Something about being here touches your soul and opens up everything.

Our trip began a little later than we planned because at the last minute we decided to rent a car. The delay was worth it, since we are now much more portable to sights outside of the city and don’t have to worry about entertaining Yonah for a 3-hour bus ride. We picked up a car seat from our friends Judah and and Ariella and after a few initial mishaps (missing our exit out of Jerusalem twice after turning around), we were on our way. The ride up, which included a drive through some Arab villages along the main highway, went flawlessly, Thank Gd, and we arrived in the Galilee in about two and a half hours. We immediately stopped at Simcha Laya’s B&B in the middle of the artist’s quarter, where we reserved a very cool room decorated in blue (Tzfat’s signature color) with domed cielings, a courtyard outside with a grapefruit tree, the company of a dog (Daisy), a cat and a turtle, and our hostess, Simcha Layah Hoffman, along with her two sons.

After settling in for a bit we decided to check out the artist’s quarter, which houses galleries of all types, and some of the most beautiful pieces of art I have ever seen: oil paintings, blown glass, Judaica, pottery. Of course I wanted to buy everything, but after falling in love with a painting that cost $20,000, I was able to convince myself to look but not touch. The artist’s quarter is all cobblestone alleyways with doorways right off the trail that lead into homes, studios, and even abandoned holes. We ran into an elderly gentleman named Masha who told us that he had been living in Tzfat since 1948. He fought in every single war here in Israel, and is also a Holocaust survivor. He led us down into his gallery and showed us a certificate of appreciation awarded to him by the Israeli government for everything he’s done for the country. Aside from being an art dealer, he is also known as a storyteller who entertains tourists with tales of Tzfat’s history. After meeting him and a few other local artists, I started getting the sense that most of the people who settle here have some kind of story behind them.

While Shuie went to daven maariv (the evening prayers), I wrestled Yonah’s stroller through the cobbled alleyways of the old city, which are lined with galleries, jewelery stores and synagogues that are hundreds of years old. Yonah and I decided to stop at a small playground so he could stretch his legs. We met a girl there who was also named Yona (here in Israel girls have his name as well — in fact, many Israelis, when they learn his name, ask me if he’s a girl. Awkward.). The sun was setting and as Yonah played at my feet, I took a moment to breathe in the air and realize that I am actually HERE. The first time I came was fifteen years ago, on a trip with my family (As it turns out, the hotel where we stayed, the Ruth Rimonim, is around the corner from Simcha Layah’s). The wild layout of this city makes it difficult to remember, but over and over I find myself in places that I know as well as the house I grew up in. I suppose that’s the essence of this city: the sense of homecoming it offers.

After we met back up with Shuie, we walked up to the Rechov Yerushalayim (the Jerusalem Road), the main road with restaurants and touristy shops. And by the way, when I say up, I mean up. Bisecting the hilly city between the artist’s quarter and the Old City, is a set of stone steps called Ma’alot Olei Hagardom (”Those who went up to be hung”). The steps, which number probably 200 (thank Gd for my hikes up Ramat HaGolan!) were used by the British in 1948 to separate the Arab section of the city from the Jewish one. The name of the steps refers to 12 prisoners that the British killed in the nearby town of Akko and then brought here to be buried. Nowadays, these steps exist merely to offer citizens and visitors a good workout and frustrate the hell out of parents pushing baby strollers.

We found a shwarma place on Rehov Yerushalayim where Yonah decided to sample off of Shuie’s plate and crawl out of the restaurant to visit with passersby on the sidewalk. He has been waving “Hi” to everyone (although his wave is actually directed toward himself) and has said the word “Hi” to both me and Shuie. Of course he charms everyone he meets, and although I will admit it is really hard travelling with a baby, especially in a hilly, stair-y place like Tzfat, the fact that he is such an easygoing kid makes it a lot easier than it could have been. After we came home Yonah partied in his crib until 9 p.m. (!) before finally passing out.

This morning we all got up around 7 and Shuie headed out for shacharit (the morning prayers) while Yonah and I visited with Simcha in the courtyard. She is a single mom with two boys and is raising them herself by working a myriad of jobs. When she told me her story, which began in Winthrop, MA and ended with her buying this amazing house while pregnant and in the middle of a divorce, just to realize a lifelong dream to live in Tzfat, I was completely in awe. This is the stuff that we women are made of. I’d like to think that if someone can survive an upheaval like that, I will be able to get through this rough time in one piece (and maybe even the stronger for it). Simcha laid out breakfast, including fresh grapefruit from her tree, which Shuie ate happily when he came home. Once we were all fed, we headed out to the Old City.

We wandered the alleys of the Old City without any real plan, stopping in a few of the famous old synagogues. A bunch of them were locked, but the one that stays open constantly is the shul of R’ Moshe Alschich. We came in to find it empty, as if it had been waiting for us to come. In the middle of the high-cielinged sanctuary is a blue-painted bima (raised platform), from which prayers are led and the Torah is read. The cielings are painted with a Spanish mosaic, while cushioned benches line the walls and surround the bima. While Yonah slept in his stroller I prayed a bit (and of course started crying) and Shuie read aloud from the weekly Torah portion, Bereishit (Genesis, the first torah portion of the cycle). Afterwards, Shuie read an article on the wall about a Torah scroll in the synagogue that once belonged to R’ Alschich himself. When 10 men tried to remove it from the synagogue, they all died. Later on, during one of the few famous earthquakes that struck the city, the Torah scroll disappeared. “It was sent back to where it belonged,” the article said.

Down the alley from the Alschich shul is the Abohav shul, another holy synagogue. Between the two of them is a women’s learning center called Tzofnat, where I was interested in doing some learning. While I was ringing the bell, a local woman told me that during the Lebanon war, a Ketusha rocket hit Tzofnat and destroyed the building. There were men praying in both the Alschich and the Abohav synagogues, but by some miracle, none of the students were in Tzofnat at the time the rocket hit it. It was a miracle, she said. Something tells me those sort of miracles are pretty commonplace here.

After some more alley wanderings, including an aborted mission to the Tzfat Cheese Factory (the steps were too much for the stroller and the pregnant lady), we went up to Alkabetz, one of the Old City’s main roads, and got some drinks at Ashira, a small Kabbalah cafe run by a Yemenite man named Ronen Jarufi. The walls of the cafe were lined with books in several languages all about kabbalah and other mystical topics, and sitar-heavy, meditative music played in the background. I was ready to curl up and fall asleep right there on my bench. Ronen chatted with us from behind the counter while he made Yemenite bread dishes (sort of like little pizzas, only with funky spices and no cheese) with his crescent-moon shaped knives. The knives have handles on both ends so he can rock them back and forth without risking getting his fingers caught.

Underneath the cafe we visited an art exhibit about Torah and Science. There were vibrant photographs on the walls with accompanying articles that talked about the connections between various scientific issues and halacha (jewish law). For example, one halacha says that Jews are not able to eat food that comes from a non-kosher animal (like milk from a pig). Why, then, can we have honey? Bees are not kosher. The article explained that bees actually have two stomachs, one for digesting their food and the other specifically for making honey. The honey tummies have no digestive enzymes, so the honey remains bee-free. Hence, it is a kosher food. In the days of modern science this seems pretty cut-and-dry: pop the bee open, do a little snooping, and you find two stomachs. Hooray. But the law regarding eating honey was written 2000 years ago, before the days of dissection. The rabbis said (I’m paraphrasing here), “The honey has no trace of the bee in it”. That they were able to know something like that back then was pretty mindblowing. Another cool article was about the halacha that baby boys must be circumcised on their eighth day of life, never before and not after (extenuating circumstances aside). For thousands of years, people just went with it, assuming that Gd knows best. But now, modern science has found that babies do not produce a certain protein (the name of which escapes me at the moment) that enables them to heal from wounds and/or surgeries until they are –you guessed it — eight days old. If babies were circumcised any time before that point, they would die. Gd did know best, obviously, and in this case, we can see how.

By the time we got about three-quarters of the way through the exhibit I was tapped out and hungry, a lethal combination. Shuie and I headed through the rest of the old city, passing through a natural foods restaurant (where, unfortunately, all the food made me want to gag), and headed back up to the Midrachov Yerushalayim to have lunch a Cafe Baghdad, a cute dairy place with tables that overlook the city. Yonah shared our omelettes and brown bread and before long made it obvious that he was (a) tired of being strapped in his stroller and (b) ripe for a nap. Back we headed to Simcha Leah’s, where he and I both turned in for a much-needed snooze.

After naptime Shuie returned home and we headed out for dinner. On the way, Shuie led me through some of the lower alleys of the artist’s quarter, where we marveled at all the empty, abandoned spaces just screaming for refurbishing. How we wished we could claim one of those spaces as our own. Since we got here, Shuie and I have been toying with the idea of ditching Jerusalem and coming here to stay for the rest of the year. As I said previously, the energy here is something remarkable and even while there is life going on there is a sense of calm and quiet that forces you toward introspection. It’s a nice mix of people, very relaxed. However, I’m not sure we would be able to find the kind of learning we want here, and this constant, intense spiritual feeling is a lot to handle. Plus, all these stairs are a killer. It’s certainly an option, but I’m going to table the discussion until further notice, or at least for the next fifteen minutes.

Now it is bedtime again. Tomorrow morning we are going to make our own pottery at a gallery nearby, visit a few more places and then (as of now), our plan is to head over to Teverya (Tiberias), which has a slew of hotels along the Sea of Galilee and healing hot springs. We’ve decided to take our last night of vacation to just be tourists and treat ourselves with something nice. I laughed when I thought about us leaving this city of all things spiritual just to indulge our materialistic sides. Nature of man, I suppose.

Holy crow. This post turned out to be a tome. From now on, call me Charles Dickens.

Just a quick one this morning because in a couple of hours Shuie, Yonah and I will be leaving for our first gin-u-wine Israeli tiyul (trip). We’re heading off to the mystical city of Tzfat, a small hilly enclave up North with a long tradition of Kabbalah study, Jewish art, and spiritual uplift for visitors and residents alike. When Shuie and I we first met we discovered a shared love for Tzfat; Now we actually get to go there together!

I’m hoping that the change of scenery and the air that just crackles with energy will give me the shot in the arm of inspiration that I need; quite frankly, I’ve been much more ambivalent about everything than I anticipated since I arrived here. I think much of it has to do with the fact that I have been nauseous and mind-numbingly exhausted for the past month or so (thanks, little Bean), but also with the reality of losing my mother. The pain and anger can be paralyzing sometimes, so much that I feel blocked off from any kind of inspiration or desire to grow. From what I understand, this kind of thing is normal but I don’t want my time here to pass by without having taken as much in as I can.

In Jewish tradition, a first-born boy (who must also be the first fruit of his mother’s womb — that means no previous miscarriages or abortions) is considered the property of the Kohanim (the High Priests) of Israel. When the newborn boy is a month old, we hold a ceremony called “Pidyon Ha’Ben” (Redeeming of the Son), in which we literally pay a Cohen to “give” us our son back. We had one for Yonah a year ago (!). The other day, a friend of a friend asked if his sister could host her Pidyon Ha’Ben in our Sukkah, since it had room for so many people. We gladly agreed. What an honor! So, this past Friday morning, about 50 people packed into our Sukkah for the Pidyon Ha’Ben for baby Yehudah. It was so nice to see family and friends gathered together for such a happy celebration, kids running around outside in the garden, mothers nursing, everyone catching up. And the baby was so little! His mother, Shoshana (who is admirably together considering that she has been sleep-deprived for the past month) and I hit it off immediately; she and her husband Ayal were so grateful to us, they commissioned her brother, Reb Osher (Shloimie’s teacher) to make us a cut-paper sign for our front door (It’s a picture of the front of a house with an open door and a welcome mat. Written above, in Hebrew, is “Mishpachat Bochner” (The Bochner Family). It was beyond nice and completely uneccessary, but a lovely addition to our Israeli home.

Packing calls. Here’s hoping Yonah is on good behavior during the 3-hour bus ride.

Mazel Tov, Mazel Tov! I’m an auntie again!My beautiful sister-in-law Riki gave birth to a beautiful 7.5 lb baby girl Friday morning in L.A. Thank Gd mother and baby are both doing fine. From all the way across the ocean, I am sending love and blessings to this new little bearer of holy woman power, her amazing parents, and her new big brother, Elchonon. Welcome to the World, Baby!

For those of you who have been Reezie-less for the past two days, not to worry. The site was being a little moody and then I got swept up in a maelstrom of cooking for the last days of Sukkot (we had guests, of course). Shabbat has just ended here, and with it the last Yom Tov of the holiday. Tomorrow is what is known as “Isru Chag” (sort of like a “bonus day”, post-fest), and then back to business as usual. As nice as the high holiday season has been, I am not sorry to see it go. All the entertaining aside, it tends to be a very loaded time both spiritually and emotionally. I am ready to pull up my sleeves and start school shopping come Monday.

My women’s kumzitz has come and gone, and I think for a first foray it was a definite success. There was a turnout of about 10-12 people, some friends from my school, some from Tovi’s school and some of my girlfriends from around town. It certainly wasn’t the wild party Shuie threw for the menfolk (for which we received the stamp of a truly good party: a noise complaint from the landlords), but we had our singing, our inspiration and the enjoyment of each other’s company.

After the party I was able to enjoy some down time with my friends Ariella and Chava (who is also a new bride) about the lessons we’ve learned from marriage, and what it means to be a wife and mother. I talked about how important it is for me to have things going on outside of my house, how I need to cultivate relationships and abilities beyond just childcare and housekeeping (like writing, for example) or I’m left feeling frustrated and unfulfilled. It was an interesting jumping off point for discussion since Jewish tradition maintains that a woman’s highest purpose is to raise children and to build a loving Jewish home. Ariella cited this, saying that the things she does outside of her house are supplements to her true calling: being a wife and mother. I agreed with her, but when I thought about it later, I realized that I felt there was more to it than that, for me. It is true that by pursuing other interests I become a more fulfilled person and in turn, a better wife and mother, but I don’t feel that that role is my be-all and end-all. Of course my husband and son are the most important people in my life and I place the utmost value on my roles as wife and mother, but it would be dishonest of me to say that I don’t also value the other roles I play in life in and of themselves: individual, friend, teacher, artist, student, sister, daughter, Jew, etc. I don’t consider their value only in relationship to the Wife/Mother component. When I look back on my life, the accomplishments of which I hope to take pride are having raised good, menschdik (decent) children who are connected to Judaism and Gd, having sustained and happy, loving marriage, and also having developed myself into a person of whom I can be proud. I guess I’m really starting to get that first dose of the struggle every mother has, wanting to be there for her children and also to be there for herself.

As Sukkot draws to a close, I feel I can take away one lesson in particular from this holiday, and that is about faith. As I wrote previously, the idea behind building a Sukkah and living in it is that by living outside, amongst the elements, we declare our total reliance on Gd. But why should my dwelling in particular say anything about faith? I thought a bit about what my home represents to me: aside from material comfort and a place to keep my stuff, my home provides me with a sense of physical and emotional security because I have a place to come home to. My identity also hinges on my home; what kind of person I am based on the neighborhood I’m living in, the role I play in my home (that wife/mother thing again), and what my daily life and routine looks like (cooking, cleaning, etc). By stepping out of that comfort zone, I have to reevaluate EVERYTHING about my life and who I am. Everything physical that I place my security in and seek my identity from — my family, money, my home, my appearance, my talents, everything — they are all really just obstacles between me and Gd. They’re just incidentals. I realized that my avodah (work) for this year is to let go of the physical crutches that block me from total faith in Gd. Some of them have been removed already; my mother, for one, was a huge sense of security for me and now I don’t have her anymore. My family is also far away right now. My job and daily routine by which I define myself (and on which I depend on steady income) have changed. The security of living someplace where I’m comfortable and known is suspended now that I’m in Israel. I am a virtual stranger in a truly temporary world. The experience of Sukkot has never been more real for me than it is now, and I hope, with Gd’s help, that it will give me the strength to really dive into building my emunah (faith) and connection with Gd. Maybe with an increase of faith, I’ll stumble into a little more joy, too.