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.

America is a country obsessed with health and fitness. On every block you’ll find a gym of one sort or another, and all the weekly trash mags are constantly touting the latest health craze (”The Stairmaster Colon Cleanse!”, “Arctic Yoga: Build an Igloo and Strengthen your Heart Chakra!”). But I’ll tell you something: even the fanciest, most high-tech gym in the ol’ U.S. of A. ain’t got nothin’ on the hike up my street.  I am not exaggerating when I say that Ramat HaGolan curves sharply into at least a 65 degree incline, which continues for a quarter mile.

Now, I’m not a gym rat by any stretch of the imagination, but I thought myself in remotely decent shape. Ha. This morning, I left my house particularly confident in my new hot pink skirt and carefully applied makeup, but by the time I pushed Yonah’s stroller up to the top of the street, I looked like Sigourney Weaver in “Ghostbusters” after she gets possessed by a demon.  Still, there was a distinct sense of satisfaction after I made it to the top of Mount Heart Attack, probably because I burned three days’ worth of calories and didn’t have to pay a cent.

I have a new best friend in Yossi Reter, my landlord from upstairs. We’ve had a little trouble getting money out from the local Bank HaPoalim, so Yossi has been driving me to the one in the French Hill, about 5 minutes away. During our little tiyulim (trips), Yossi talks a blue streak in Hebrew, telling me all about his family, his wife, pontificating on everything from the number of Jews who have won Nobel prizes to the convenience of EZ-Pass (which was patented in Israel, by the way). I understand almost everything he says, and I am becoming more confident in my ability to respond. At the bank today, he called Carmela on his cell phone to discuss their plans for the afternoon. Almost immediately, I could hear her talking a blue streak to him. He tried to break in, saying, “Ani Yachol Ligmor? Ani Yachol Ligmor?” (Can I finish? Can I finish?) he said. After they hung up, he shook his head and chuckled. “She’s the general,” he said. “Yeah,” I replied. “It’s the same in English as it is in Hebrew.”

I had a nice surprise this afternoon in the form of Seth Perkins, my sister Shira’s best friend, who’s made Aliyah to Israel seven months ago. Though Seth and I have met a few times and Skyped on occasion, we never had the chance to just sit down and talk. Today we got to do just that, and it was an absolute pleasure. I don’t want to embarrass him too much, but I will say that I completely understand why Shira loves him so much. Seth’s parents, Marlene and Gary, have opened their home many times to Shira, and I’m so happy to return the favor now for Seth.

In other news, I’m starting to settle in at school. It’s a nice mix of married and single women from all over the spectrum of Orthodoxy where a funky personality like me can make a niche for herself. Morning text study alternates between Chumash (The Five Books of Moses) and Navi (Prophets), followed by a shiur (literally “quantity”, but is used to describe a portion of learning, usually given in lecture form). Today was a Navi day, in which we studied the story of Chana.

Chana was a woman who suffered terrible pain due to her inability to conceive a child; desperate, she went to pray in the city of Shiloh, where the High Priest Eli saw her and accused her of being drunk (in those days, it was customary to pray out loud; Chana went and prayed in a whisper, which made her look like she was talking to herself). She explains to him that she is not drunk, but is praying from the depths of pain and anger. Eli gives her a blessing that she will have a child, and Chana goes home in peace. Later, she conceives a child, Samuel, who would later become a prophet of Israel. I was moved by this story for a many reasons, but the most poignant one is because it reminded me of my mother. For eight years, she and my father suffered from infertility. When doctors told them they would never have children, they were heartbroken. And then, miraculously, they had not only one child, but four. My mother raised us with immense joy, so appreciative was she that she had had children. Reading the story today, I could picture Chana’s happiness in finally having her son, the same happiness I saw in my mother every day of my life.

And finally, we have an American phone line! This means that you folks can call us without paying astronomical rates, if you so choose. Our new # is: 646-300-9951. Now that our phone and internet are all set up, I think we can officially say that we are all moved in. Hooray!

Quite a bit has changed in my life since last I wrote. After losing my mother to cancer three months ago, I was given the opportunity to reevaluate my life and look hard at the things I wanted. Having carried the dream of living and learning in Israel for over five years, I realized that now was the perfect time to make it happen. My baby is young, my husband’s job is portable (Thank Gd for the internet), and so, once afternoon, I looked at Shuie and said, “Let’s do it!” One month later, we’re here.

While this blog was originally meant for musings of the musical persuasion, it will be evolving into a travelogue of sorts during my year in the Holy Land. Not only will it give me an outlet for all of the wonderful things I’m seeing and learning after only a week here, but I’m hoping it will also give the people I love some sense of being here with me, and some peace of mind that I’m actually accomplishing something, not just chewing peote and dancing naked in the Sinai.That said, allow me to fill you in on our current events here in Israel.

After running around like mad for the past week, looking for a place to live, we’ve finally settled into a gorgeous apartment in what is apparently “THE” neighborhood of Ramat Eshkol. Though I was willing to live in a concrete block like most other Jerusalemites, I harbored a secret dream of having a view and maybe even some greenery. Well, I got it. And more. Our apartment not only has a backyard with pomegranate, lemon, fig, olive and sheset trees, but we have an incredible view of a nature reserve. As I stand on our back porch and smell the sweet air, I can’t be anything but grateful.

I’ve started my first day of school at Midreshet Rachel V’Chaya, which is a half-hour bus ride and short walk away in the neighborhood of Kiryat Moshe. I didn’t get much of a chance to socialize since I’m just there for the mornings, but I was able to sit down and start learning almost immediately. They’ve placed me at the top of the second level (there are 4), which I’m grateful for. I was afraid that my reading skills went out the window along with my common sense and short-term memory after Yonah was born.

Getting to school wasn’t too hard. I was too chicken to take on the Israeli bus schedule this morning and cabbed it after dropping Yonah off at Rivka’s, his mitapelet (daycare provider). However, the high fare made me happy to take the bus on the way back. It wasn’t so hard, as it turns out. Most people are happy to help, especially if you know Hebrew, which I like to pretend I do. Actually, from what I’m told, my Hebrew is not so bad, but I’m looking forward to picking up more of it day by day. My goal is to be fluent by 30, and as my 28th birthday approaches, I think I may have a shot. My favorite new expression is “Chaval al Hazman!”, which literally means, “A Waste of Time”, but is used to express appreciation of something really great. For example, Shuie he took a bite out of one of my oatmeal-honey muffins and cried out, “Oy! Chaval al Hazman!”. I like the phrase so much I’m trying to come up with reasons to use it: “That refrigerator is so cold! Chaval al Hazman!”

In the meantime, Yonah had a great first day at Rivka’s, where he has a new baby friend named Tzvi. Apparently he slept for two hours, drank from his sippy cup and played nicely. I knew he was a doll, of course, but she got a two-hour nap AND the sippy cup? I have to wrestle that thing into his mouth! Rivka smiled at me. “HaMitapelet osah nisim (The mitapelet works miracles)”, she said. You’re telling me…

Shuie may have found a program where he will be able to learn in the mornings and which has a kiruv (jewish outreach) component. If he chooses this route, there is also a weekly class for wives that I will be attending. I’m sure they will be interesting, as long as they’re not along the lines of, “How to cook for fifty people in half an hour”.

As I sit on the bus, weaving through the streets of Jerusalem, or I sit on one of our chaises, looking out at the trees (or in one memorable moment, spotting a gazelle), I am amazed at how quickly life can change, and at how miracles truly are possible, if I make room for them. My mother was able to see the little miracles in life every day, and I know she’d get a big kick out of this one. It wouldn’t surprise me if she put in a good word for me upstairs.

I love Paula Cole. Her 1994 album Harbinger was on constant repeat during my senior year of high school and This Fire (for which she won a grammy) is my favorite album of all time. She has one of the most powerful and beautiful voices I have ever heard. Her music is raw, honest and so so beautiful. Back in 1999 her hit “I Don’t Want to Wait” was all over the airwaves and even became the theme song of “Dawson’s Creek”, the fabulous TV Drama/guilty-pleasure that I still miss to this day. Paula shot to superstardom in about 30 seconds and was overwhelmed with attention and offers of money. But instead of milking the cash cow, Paula quietly released 2000’s Amen and disappeared from view for seven years.During her break, Paula became a yoga instructor, had a baby, and spent some time just being a real person. She finally released a new album in 2007 called Courage, which I just discovered. There is one song on it called “14″ that I literally cannot stop listening to. You can visit www.paulacole.com to give it a listen.Paula Cole inspires me because she made a decision to have a life and maintain her integrity as an artist. She didn’t want the glamorous rock star world; reality suited her better. Rock on, Paula!