Rosh Hashana, the beginning of the Jewish New Year, has come and gone here in Israel. As I wrote previously, Rosh Hashana is a holiday that centers around connecting with Gd. By coronating Gd “Our Father, Our King” (and overlooking any controversy those specific words may stir up), I am reminded that Gd is at the center of my life, ruling everything. I can think about how everything comes from Him and that He loves me, protects me and wants the best for me, like any parent would for His child. Unfortunately, it was not so simple for me this Rosh Hashana. While I wanted very much to be present for this day, I found it too painful to take part in much of it. I could not help but think about my mother at this time last year, praying that Gd would grant her another year of life, and it broke my heart. I was able to participate in the meals and to bring Yonah to synagogue to hear the shofar, but every time I tried to pray, I started crying. I left the service early this afternoon and, walking home, found myself in the middle of an intersection that had been closed to traffic for the holiday. It was just me and Yonah in this open space, the rolling hills of Jerusalem in the distance. I could hear the echo of men’s prayers and a shofar being sounded. Then, in an apartment above me, I heard a little boy calling, “Ima! Ima! Mommy! Mommy!”. I was struck by the metaphor of the moment: there I was, standing at an intersection of life, in the holiest city in the world, on one of the holiest days of the year, and wanting to cry out for my mother. While I did not spend hours in synagogue as many people did, I end this holiday knowing that Gd is there, that He is protecting me and that He loves me. I also know that, while the pain I feel comes from His decision, He is also crying right along with me. In happier news, we had lovely meals during the holiday. Friday night, Nechemia, Shloimie and Tovi came for dinner. Nechemia brought along all of the simanim (special foods eaten on RH) and bags full of unique fruits he had picked up from the Shuk (including dried dates that were pure ecstasy). Yesterday for lunch we went to my friend Rachel’s, which was lovely (save the little love slaps Shmuel Yaakov gave Yonah–don’t worry, only Yonah’s pride was hurt) and then we enjoyed Tovi’s company for the rest of the holiday meals. Now that Rosh Hashana is over and the kitchen is (relatively) cleaned up, I am thoroughly exhausted but ready to dive into the new week. Tomorrow I will be going on a trip with my school to Kever Rachel, the tomb of our matriarch, Rachel. It is considered a very holy place, where Rachel’s spirit prays on our behalf. The tomb is located in the town of Hebron, which has a very loaded political history (the Intifada moved in there about a decade ago) and has been known to be a dangerous place. Recently, however, the threat of violence has eased up a bit and people feel safer visiting. So, off we go. I am looking forward to spending a full day at school, getting to know some of the other women a little better and having Mommy’s Day All to Herself.

I am resurfacing from the maelstrom of cooking going on in my kitchen to sit down for a well-deserved break. So far we’ve got 3 kugels and a bean salad down; we’ll see how much energy I have left before my body calls it quits. Picking Yonah up from Rivka’s today, I noticed that his face looked a little splotchy and was sprinkled with tiny, red dots. While tempted to stew up a pot of worst-case scenarios–a vicious Israeli germ running wild in his pampered little American body, Gd forbid–I talked myself down and made an appointment with Dr. Wolf, a British pediatrician whose office is right in the Mercaz (thankfully, our student insurance came through just this morning, so we didn’t have to pay out-of-pocket). Dr. Wolf, who had a delightful bedside manner and a characteristically British face–you know the one: eyes a little buggy, cheeks that flop a little, like Rowan Atkinson or the guy who played Gollum–quickly diagnosed it as a harmless skin virus that’s going around and which should disappear within a day or so. I am extremely grateful that it was nothing serious, though I get the feeling that this won’t be the last time that Yonah comes home from playgroup with some interesting little ailment. Some of you know that I was dreading having to cook and serve five meals in two days over Rosh Hashana, so I was very pleased when my friend Rachel (playgroup Momma of Shmuel Yaakov, Yonah’s new BFF) invited us to come for lunch for the 1st day. While I know the High Holidays are meant for connecting with Gd, I am also looking forward to the opportunity to connect with other people. A very interesting discussion arose at my school today regarding the topic of Tzniut (modesty in both dress and behavior). Out of consideration for my schoolmates’ privacy, I won’t go into the details of the discussion, but I will say that it gave me a lot of food for thought. Tzniut is something that I’ve wrestled with from the time I decided to become a Torah-observant Jew; it means I am obligated to dress modestly (Jewish law says knees, elbows, collarbones and in the case of married women, hair must be covered) and conduct myself in a becoming an not overbearing manner. Now, there is nothing wrong with dressing modestly if one wishes to do so. In fact, I will say from personal experience that I feel exponentially more feminine in my long skirts than I ever did in jeans (though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss them sometimes). I can also relate to the argument that when clothes are not distracting, there is more room for the personality to shine through. But being TOLD to do it is a completely different story. As someone who grew up wearing and saying pretty much whatever she wanted, it has not been an easy transition to where I find myself currently: modestly dressed, hair covered and no longer swearing (well, trying not to anyway). For a long time I resented being told what to do and how to do it. I’m a pure-blooded American, aren’t I? Eventually, step by step, things got easier, but I wrestle with the tide even today. The discussion I found myself in today gave me a very different perspective on the whole Tznius issue, one that I had never considered. Before my thoughts on the subject were centered on how it affected ME, my life and my choices. Today I was given the opportunity to think about how my dress and behavior affect other people. And like it or not, even in small ways, it does. This does not mean that I should make choices completely for other people, but that I need to remember that I am not the only part of the equation here. My choices have the power to inspire, to disgust, to change, to illuminate, and even to hurt others. It’s an important thing for me to keep in mind; in a me-centered world, it’s the easiest thing to forget.

Maybe it’s just me, but Jerusalem has always had a mythical quality. Maybe it’s the history of it, or maybe it’s just how beloved it is for people all over the world. That’s why it sometimes catches me off guard when I remember that Jerusalem is also just a city, like any city in the world: bustling, crowded and filled with all kinds of sights and sounds. The pulse of people coming and going, calling out from storefronts selling their wares, yelling into cellphones or at each other from their cars. The screech of bus brakes and the hiss of their doors opening and closing. And the smells. For some reason, everywhere I go in the city, I find one of two smells to be a constant companion: freshly baked bread or freshly smoked pot. Mingling with these are the tempting scents from the foodstands selling shwarma (roasted meat), toasted nuts, sticky baked goods (which, when displayed on the street attract a disconcerting amount of flies). There’s the occasional whiff of garbage, typical of any place where a multitude of people share a small amount of space. Sitting at dinner in the middle of Ben Yehuda Street, I looked at Shuie and realized, “We live in a city!”. Quite a culture shock from the quiet of Cape Cod. Thank Gd, Yonah is back to his happy self. He was able to go back to Rivka’s yesterday, where his baby friends were very happy to see him. Yesterday, I had an hour-long meeting with Lynn Finson, the education director of Midreshet Rachel. Although I’ve been attending the school for almost two weeks now, we hadn’t gotten the chance to sit down and talk about my schedule and, as it turned out, my story. Listening to myself tell her how I ended up in Israel–I’d been wanting to come, then I met Shuie and got married, had Yonah, then I lost my mother–it made me realize how much I’ve been through in a relatively short amount of time. “You’re a pusher,” Lynn said to me, meaning I was the type to be strong and move forward. “I am a pusher,” I conceded. I’m my mother’s daughter.

Yonah has been sick the past two days, which means Mommy had to play hooky from school. Nothing serious, thank Gd, just a runny nose and slight fever (I’m putting my money on some new teeth brewing). Being stuck in the house is not something I do well, and was probably a big contributor to my over-thinkiness/temporary downturn in mood. Gd willing, Yonah will be in better shape tomorrow and we’ll be able to get back to business as usual.Playgroup was a smashing success. The three other mommies who were supposed to make an appearance cancelled at the last minute, so it turned out to be Yonah, me, our hostess Rachel and her son, Shmuel Yaakov. After some initial hesitancy on Shmuel Yaakov’s part (”Who is this kid, and why does he have his paws all over my toys?”), the two boys became fast friends. I’m hoping that Shmuel Yaakov, who stands and walks beautifully, will inspire Yonah to get walking, too. Then again, I should probably treasure his limited mobility while I have it. I felt an instant kinship with Rachel, who is very warm and down-to-earth, which made me very happy. Now I have not one, but two friends here in Ramat Eshkol. Not bad for being here only two weeks.One of the things I’ve noticed is that Israel is to stray cats as America is to squirrels; cats are typically not domesticated here and prowl around as if they own the place. This came to my attention during my last visit five years ago, but yesterday I had a particularly cat-ful day. I must have seen 20 of them. My favorite was the gray one who popped his head up from behind a stone wall, looked at me, and then slowly lowered his head back down, keeping his eyes on me like one of those animatronic robots on a Disney World ride. I feel like he camps out there, waiting to entertain every person who passes by.I am secretly sad (though, I guess not so secretly anymore) that my sister has opted to spend 3 weeks traveling around Europe instead of coming to stay here, as was her original plan. I can’t say I hold it against her–she’s hitting almost every major city on the continent–but I was looking forward to seeing her. While I am very lucky to have as much family around as I do (Tovi will be staying with us for Rosh Hashana), I still miss mine. Speaking of Rosh Hashana…no, forget it. I don’t even want to think about it. It starts in three days, kicking off a series of high holidays that come as quickly as machine gun fire. This means that, basically, I will be cooking for the next two weeks. I’m planning an apple-themed dinner for the first night of Rosh Hashana; everything after that I’m pretending doesn’t exist.

Last night, I sat on my living room couch with a question flashing across my brain as bright as neon: “What did I DO?!” Ladies and gentlemen, I am officially having buyer’s remorse. For those of you who don’t know, buyer’s remorse is the feeling of regret or panic after making a major purchase–a house, say, or a car–or in this case, a huge, life-changing move across the globe. Our decision to come to Israel was a quick one, but it wasn’t impulsive; it was actually five years in the making. Still, it feels like I set a whirlwind tearing through my life. This is not to say that I am unhappy here–I am so enjoying my learning and the adventure of being someplace new–but there is also a part of me that misses the States, misses my family, and regrets pushing off that feeling of being “settled” for one more year. I know this is all part of the adjustment process and that, one day at a time, I’ll ease a little bit more into life here. For today, the emotions are up and I just need to ride them out.

In the age of Obama’s health care reform, many Americans think that greener pastures lie beyond our nation’s borders. Other countries look like health insurance utopias. Let me tell you something, Americans: Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Getting insurance in Israel, as a tourist, can be very tricky business. Unless you’re planning on making Aliyah (becoming an Israeli citizen), you have to buy either international insurance or private Israeli coverage. You can also buy into Kupat Cholim, the Israeli Government insurance plan, but it doesn’t cover everything if you’re not a citizen. Needless to say, it’s been an adventure trying to figure out coverage for us. I’ve spoken to a few different people who have offered me a myriad of suggestions (examples: get a student visa and hope things work out retroactively, get “smuggled” onto the regular Israeli Kupat Cholim, give up and go home), all of which have left me more confused than before. However, after my baffling experiences dealing with Israeli real estate agents, phone companies and banks, I can at least say that this no longer surprises me. I just pray that we will figure everything out soon or some of you may be seeing us sooner than we’d planned :). In the meantime, Shuie and Chaim pillaged a dirt-cheap toystore this afternoon and came home with all kinds of goodies for Yonah, including stacking cups, marracas, a squeaky ball, farm animals, bath toys, and of course, Hebrew magnet letters for the fridge, which Yonah proceeded to pull off and throw on the floor. Shuie decided that Ohr Somayach was not the best fit for him so he’ll be starting at Sulam Yaakov, a one-year smicha (rabbinic ordination) program in the center of the city, tomorrow morning. From what he tells me, the crowd at Sulam Yaakov is less buttoned-up and a lot more “heimish” (family-like) than the warm, albeit intense Ohr Somayach scene. I have been very lucky to hit on a school I love the first shot out; I’ve heard of women coming here and trying out different places for six months or more before finding the perfect fit. Thank Gd, the learning at Midreshet Rachel is great and I feel very comfortable with the women there. I will be changing one thing, however. The focus on text study in the morning has left me feeling a need for shiurim (lectures) on more abstract ideas: faith, being a Jewish woman, prayer, spirituality, etc. While my afternoons are occupied with Yonah, I am planning on taking 1-2 evenings a week to attend shiurim after little man goes to sleep. Tomorrow is the first day of Yonah’s playgroup, great news because it gets us both out of the house in the afternoon. Here’s hoping we both make some nice friends. In other news, I have discovered a shortcut up Mount Ramat HaGolan. Between the top of the hill and the bottom there are a few hidden stairways that are much quicker and easier. The problem? Yonah’s stroller. The steps are made of wide cobblestone which, while beautiful, make it impossible to roll the stroller up one step at a time. This leaves me with one of two options: A) Fold up the stroller and carry it in one arm and Yonah in the other, or B) Carry the stroller with Yonah in it. Both options leave me just as spent and disheveled as my hike up the hill (though they do save me a bit more time). I guess Gd is determined to whip me into shape this year, whether I like it or not.

Our second Shabbat here in Jerusalem has come and gone. Last night we had a fun dinner at our friends’, Judah and Ariella Katz, and for lunch today we hosted our first Shabbat guests: my bro-in-law Shloimie and three of his friends from Yeshiva. Growing up a Conservative Jew, I never got to mix much with the yeshivish crowd. Until a few years ago, I had stereotyped all of those black-suited talmidim (students) as quiet, reserved boys, just a shade awkward, who would speak only words of Torah and nothing else. Surveying the animated, personable guys joking around my shabbat table, I couldn’t help but laugh at my old perception. Of course there was some Torah talk, but we also got into a lively discussion about popular music and the genius of Johnny Depp. One of the boys, Akiva Shapiro, is currently serving in Tzahal, the Israeli Army. I knew that there was a significant religious contingency in the army here, but it was wild to hear this polite, white-shirted guy talking about sharpshooting and the best strategies to kill the enemy without getting killed yourself. Needless to say, it was a very entertaining lunch. Our visit to the Kotel yesterday was emotional, as expected. When we got to the wall, majestic no matter how many times I’ve seen it, Shuie and I both made a small rip in our shirts to commemorate the destruction of the Temple. Yonah had fallen asleep in his stroller so Shuie took him over to the men’s side while I made my way over to the women’s. I grabbed a siddur (prayer book) from the bookshelves in the back of the section and made my way up to the Wall. It was exactly as I remembered it, the stones still cool to the touch, tiny bits of paper stuck into every available crack and crevice in the stone (it is a custom to write notes to Gd and stick them into the wall). I began to pray quietly, while behind me a beautiful Israeli woman began praying out loud in Hebrew, asking for health, salvation and many other blessings for all of the people of Israel. Every time she made another request, the rest of the women in the group responded, “Amen”. By the end of her tefilla (prayer), all of the women around me were saying “Amen” to her passionate prayers. At one point, she asked for all people who are sick to be made healthy, and that all people who cannot stand on their legs be enabled to do so. I couldn’t help but think of my mother, who seven months before was standing right where I was, asking Gd for mercy, to send her a full recovery from cancer. I began to cry, not just for her, but for myself, my family, and for all of the Jews in this world who may feel lost, distant, and far from home. I asked Gd to comfort all of us, and to bring us together soon. After our visit to the Kotel, we walked around the old city for a bit (poor Yonah had quite a bumpy ride over the cobblestone streets!), and then headed out to Me’ah Shearim. Me’ah Shearim (Hebrew for “One Hundred Gates”), is the most religious neighborhood in Jerusalem, and all visitors are required to dress modestly before passing through. The streets are VERY skinny, so much so that you have to almost flatten yourself against the wall every time a bus passes through. I wish I could say that Me’ah Shearim is beautiful, but I’d be lying. It’s dirty, cramped and overcrowded, but the people who live there seem to be oblivious to all of it. In fact, the charedim of Me’ah Shearim look like some of the most contented people I have ever seen. We visited a store called “The Olive Wood Tree”, which sells a variety of inexpensive home decor and Judaica all made out of wood. I had to take a few steps down from the streets to get into the store and I found myself in another world: a rustic, woodsy little nook that reminded me of Frodo’s house in “The Lord of the Rings” (that is, if there was a chain-smoking Israeli Jew hanging out in Frodo’s house). After Me’ah Shearim was Ge’ula, a hotspot on Friday mornings and early afternoons, where everyone gathers to run last-minute pre-shabbat errands. We arrived at the tail end of the rush, but still managed to run into my sister-in-law, Tovi, and get a good picture of all the seminary girls and yeshiva boys hanging out before heading off to their hosts’ homes for Shabbat. By the time we got onto the bus in Ge’ula to head home, we realized we had walked almost 3 miles. I don’t need to tell you that last night we slept like babies. Israel is known to be a country of miracles where people run into each other in very crazy circumstances. “You don’t need to take anyone’s phone number,” one of the boys at lunch said today. “You’ll run into them eventually”. We are living proof of this, as we have had three crazy run-ins already. The first time was the other night when we ran into our friends, the newlyweds Leah and Gershon. I had been looking at their wedding pictures not three hours before and wondering aloud to Shuie when we were going to see them, since they lived in a town a half an hour away. A few hours later, we ran into them on Ben Yehudah street. Then, yesterday, we saw Gershon again in the Old City! As we were leaving Jaffa Gate, we heard someone beeping at us. We looked in the car and realized it was our friend Eitan from Teaneck, who just moved back to Israel with his wife and twins. Yesterday morning I had said to Shuie that we should get in touch with Eitan so we could see them. Even if I was a skeptic (which I’m not), I wouldn’t be able to deny the high spiritual frequency here after three auspicious run-ins like that. Back to school tomorrow morning. Sunday is not Sunday in Israel; weekends are Friday and Shabbat. It’s an interesting adjustment, but I find that the weeks go much faster this way. Shuie starts his first day at Ohr Somayach tomorrow, where he’ll be learning in the mornings. It’s only a short distance away, so Shuie bought a bike to take back and forth to school. Despite his excitement, I couldn’t help but grumble that he was able to get a bike but he wouldn’t let me get a scooter. I know it’s not the same thing, but every woman’s entitled to a good, old-fashioned temper tantrum once in a while.

Who’d have thought it? Here I am, living out a dream in one of the most beautiful places the world, and yet I found myself overcome with a wave of homesickness today.

I was chatting on Skype with my sister Shira, who was telling me that it’s already getting cold in Boston. Despite my happiness about getting to sit out a New England winter here in the Holy Land, I couldn’t help but miss the crisp autumn air, the turning leaves, the smell of woodsmoke, and of course, my family. It’s a loaded time for all of us after the loss of our mother/wife, trying to understand our lives–and ourselves–without her in it. While we each have our own journey (mine an entire ocean away) one thing remains constant: they are the most important people in my life, along with Shuie and Yonah. I miss them very much and wish I could have them nearby. Thank Gd for Skype; we get to stay connected and Auntie Shira gets her Yonah fix.

Adventures in Yonahland grow more exciting each day. This morning, he pulled a package of wipes (one of his favorite toys) down off the shelf, popped open the top, and proceeded to pull out the wipes, one by one. I found him sitting on a cloud of wipes, happy as a clam. He gave me his gorgeous, megawatt smile, and all I could do was laugh.

I am a teacher by profession, and as such, a big believer in positive reinforcement. When working with my little ones, I try my best to lavish them with praise and reward them with prizes for a job well done (As any seasoned teacher will tell you, bribery is one of the tricks of the trade). Now that I’m back on the other side of the teacher’s desk, I can totally appreciate the rush of being acknowledged. I am proud to say that during our week’s review, I was able to give not one, but TWO correct answers from the text. After working so hard to reacquaint myself to learning in Hebrew again, I felt like a rock star. And the best part? I got two stickers! You better believe I stuck those bad boys right in my notebook (experience has shown that stickers stuck to clothing quickly disappear).

This week flew right by and Shabbos is round the corner again. Unbelievable. Shuie and I will be taking Yonah to Ge’ula tomorrow morning, a very charedi (religious) neighborhood with all kinds of Judaica stores, to pick up some additions for our house, followed by our first visit to the Kotel since arriving in Israel. Five years ago, when I stood at the Western Wall, I rested my forehead against the cool stone and began to cry. I was on a Birthright Israel tour led by an incredible guide named Natan, who walked alongside me after we left the old city. He told me about the concept of the “Orlah” (foreskin), which, in Jewish tradition, is cut off during the circumcision ceremony when a baby boy is eight days old. Natan explained that while the circumcision is a physical act, it also represents the removal of the “Orlah” over the heart, which blocks people from being in touch with their emotions (something which men typically struggle with more than women). While women do not have to go through a circumcision because their hearts are naturally more open, the hardships of life can cause many of us to close off. We each have the challenge of removing our “Orlah”, to open our hearts to ourselves, each other and the world around us, no matter how painful it might be sometimes. Natan smiled at me. “It looks like your Orlah has been removed,” he said. He didn’t know it, but his words marked the beginning of a journey for me back to Judaism, and hopefully, with time and Gd’s help, to a more fully realized version of myself. May all of our hearts be opened this year.

The craziness of the past two weeks–rushing to find a new place, jumping into school, mountain-climbing on a regular basis- caught up with me around noon today, and I hit a major wall. I could barely keep my eyes open, which was a little awkward since I was sitting in the front row of a lecture. I quietly excused myself from class and headed home for a good, long nap. Good thing, too, since tonight was date night.

Shuie and I left Yonah with Uncle Shloimie and Uncle Nechemia and headed out to Ben Yehudah Street for dinner. Ben Yehudah is a tourist hotspot with lots of cute, overpriced stores and restaurants, and is a great place for people-watching. You can see everyone from a Black-Hat Chassid selling amulets to a twentysomething girl shaking her patoot to a Shakira song. While we were eating at Cafe Rimon (Hebrew for Pomegranate–fitting, no?), a modestly-dressed woman set up a karaoke stand in the middle of the square and gave a full concert of American top-40 hits (Beyonce like you’ve never heard her before…).

During our date, we ran into our friends Leah and Gershon, two VERY newlyweds (only a week!) who just arrived from the States and are setting up their new home in Bat Ayin, the town Shuie and I were planning on living in before we ended up in Jerusalem. Leah and Gershon seemed very happy and also very tired, which I completely understand. I remember that crazy whirlwind feeling of the week after Shuie and I got married, a time out of life when we were running to Sheva Brachos every night, trying to figure out our next step, and then later, getting our new place set up. Eventually the dust did settle (Or did it?), and life carried us forward. I hope Leah and Gershon’s transition is an easy one, and that they have much mazal (luck), simcha (joy) and hatzlacha (success) in their new life together.

So Jerusalem is officially chilly. I didn’t think it would happen so quickly after we arrived, but I was definitely in need of a sweater tonight. The days are still hot, however, and hopefully will stay that way at least through Sukkot. It is not fun sleeping outside when you’re freezing. Which reminds me, the high holidays, or the Yamim Nora’im are approaching quickly. It’s amazing how quickly this year has come and gone, and how much has happened in twelve short months: having a baby, moving to Cape Cod, losing my mother, coming to Israel. I can’t help but think of the prayer we say during the High Holidays, Unetaneh Tokef:

“On Rosh Hashana it is written, and on Yom Kippur it is sealed…How many will leave this world, and how many will be born into it? Who Will Live and Who will Die…?”. We all ask these questions, and only the passage of time answers them. In one year, in one second, really, a whole life can change. The Yamim Nora’im are a loaded time, a time of introspection and an opportunity for change. I hope that celebrating them here in Israel will be a meaningful experience that helps me connect to Gd and to the person I am striving to become.

For some reason, I was under the impression that Israel was some kind of third world country where the cost of living was laughably low. I was enchanted by the thought of heading to the shuk (outdoor market) and trading bits of string or an old Debbie Gibson tape for my weekly groceries. Not so much. Rent prices are the same you’d find in any major American city, and food? Forget it. A 10-ounce block of tofu set me back almost four bucks. When I told the lady at the store that it was much less expensive in America, she shrugged at me and said, “That’s the price”. Guess she wasn’t a big Debbie Gibson fan.

My school is hosting a shabbaton this weekend for all of the students in Har Nof, a nearby section of the city, but Shuie and I have opted to spend this Shabbos at home. Though I’d like to get to know some of the other young marrieds I’m learning with, we still need some time to catch our breath after all the moving around we’ve been doing. Thankfully, we have an invitation for dinner Friday night at our new friends’, the Katz’s, so I won’t have to do as much cooking as usual.

Speaking of new friends, I have been searching the streets of Ramat Eshkol for potential posse-mates. The Mercaz Meschari (commercial center) is always filled with young mamas pushing strollers, so I’ve been taking The Bug out in the afternoons to check out the scenery. People here (mostly Anglos, by the way) are friendly enough, but many of the women are settled into their lives and may not feel the need to reach out to a stranger. I don’t take it personally, but the afternoons can sometimes stretch long with just Yonah to talk to. This afternoon in particular was a toughie; I was ready to climb the walls (which I was probably going to have to do anyway to get Buggy down from there). Then I remembered an ad that Shuie showed me last night in the local paper: a new playgroup starting in the neighborhood for 1-2 year olds. I dialed the number on the ad and spoked to a woman named Rachel, a lovely American from San Diego with a 15-month old son. While she wants her son to interact with other babies, Rachel confided to me that she had ulterior motives in forming the group. “I looked around and realized that yeah, I’ve been here for two and a half years, but I don’t really have any friends,” she told me. I practically shot my hand up into the air and said, “Oooh, oooh, oooh! I’ll do it!”. So, on Monday afternoon Yonah will hopefully make three new baby friends and I’ll make some new mommy friends.

My brother-in-law Shloimie is attending a Yeshiva a few doors down from us, and two of Shuie’s other sibs, Tovi and Nechemia, are both learning here in Jerusalem. While it’s difficult for me sometimes to be so far away from my family (I had my first brief bout of homesickness today), it’s a comfort to have my sibs-in-law so closeby. Last week, we had them all over for dinner, and Shloimie comes by nearly every day just to visit or throw in a load of laundry. In exchange for the free grub and courtesy washer/dryer, we are guaranteed a weekly babysitting gig, free of charge. Date night!

In Yonah news, many of you know that it’s been a struggle of sorts to get Yonah to use the sippy cup. Yesterday, Shuie had the brilliant idea of buying a bottle with handles. Voila! Yonah is rocking! Of course, Mommy has to warm up the milk first or The Prince won’t drink it. Besides babbling a blue streak, Yonah is also pushing himself up onto his knees and thrusting his torso into the air, his first efforts to stand himself up on his own momentum. Yonah has also discovered yelling. When he doesn’t want something, he scrunches up his face and lets you have it: “DADADMANADADADAAA!”. I don’t need my Babyspeak dictionary to know what that one means, but dang it, even when he’s angry, he’s the most delicious thing in the world.