The past couple of days have been a little loaded emotionally since Shira left. I think it’s to be expected that when one gets quality time with family and then it ends, one thinks about the importance of having family around and how hard it is to be far away. It is also understandable that one would start thinking (again) about unborn children and the experience of bringing said children into the world in a foreign country, wondering if it would be better to do it one’s home turf. So then one may end up wanting to go home and get settled into life there, as the great big Unknown of sticking it out here is way too scary. In case you happen to be on tranquilizers at the moment and didn’t get the above reference, “one” would be me, in this case stirred up into an emotion- and hormone-fueled thinkfest.

So that’s what I’ve been up to, mentally, at least. Physically, I’ve been seeing my tutor, going to my classes and figuring out a new nap schedule for Yonah, since he has shifted himself from one nap a day to two without consulting me first. I am actually quite opposed to this new development since it cheats me out of my afternoon nap, which I desperately need, and Yonah ends up having a mini-meltdown every afternoon around 4:45. I have resorted to putting him in front of Sesame Street for half an hour so he will stop freaking out, something I promised myself I would never do. I am trying not to feel like a failure for copping out but I comfort myself by remembering that he’s actually learning something.

My brain is a bit fried this morning so I am going to cut off here and perhaps pick up later. Wishing you all a good day and an easy Thanksgiving hangover.

The thing that I love most about you, my faithful readers, is how forgiving you are. Certainly you understand that I have been swept up in sisterly fun for the past few days and our internet has been moody (again), so I have not found the time to write. I know you’ll also find it in your heart to have patience for a poor young mother whose son is no longer interested in taking afternoon naps, so by bedtime the possibility of putting together a coherent thought is pretty slim.

Now that I’ve appealed to your highest selves, I am pleased to report that the past few days have been awesome. Shira and I have been having a ball, Jerusalem-style. Thursday morning (Shira’s first here after a late-night Wednesday arrival) I brought Shira to the Shuk, where she sampled olives, dried fruits and we got her some persimmons, a rare find in the States. We filled up my rolling suitcase with all kinds of gorgeous produce in preparation for Shabbat and then shlepped over to the Mercaz to get the rest of the fixings we needed. Shira loaded the rest of our treasures (including some Israeli chocolate and Bissli for her to take back with her) in her backpack and helped me haul everything home. It was such a delight getting all the shopping done by Thursday afternoon. As Shira said, “It’s always easier with two”. I suppose that’s true, unless one of them is under the age of 2.

Day two, Friday, found me cooking up a storm for Shabbat. Shira and Yonah spent most of the day playing together on the floor, continuing their beautiful lovefest which began when he was born. Shira gets a kick out of her nephew’s happy little personality and Yonah is LOVING his grown-up playmate. I was amazed that he was able to recognize her from all of our visits on Skype, but from the time Shira arrived Yonah acted like another one of the family was in the house. What can I say? My kid’s a genius.

Friday night we had my two brothers-in-law and our friend Chai for dinner and Shabbat lunch we took Shira to Rachel, Daniel and Shmuel Yaakov’s. The conversations at both tables was animated, of course, but I couldn’t help but be hyperaware of how Torah- and Judaism-centered they were. I suppose at this point I’m used to it, but having Shira at the table, I couldn’t help but remember that this world can seem like an anomaly to someone from the secular world. Shira, being the confident woman powerhouse she is, was more than happy to take it all in and even posed some challenging questions to the group, which of course made me brim over with pride.

One topic in particular made for some loaded conversation: Shidduch dating. In the Orthodox World, there is a custom that eligible young men and women are set up in a shidduch (match) to date with the intention of getting married. It is taught that it is “not good for man to be alone” and that an individual is unable to reach his/her fullest potential without being married. A wife is considered a man’s “ezer k’negdo” (a helper fit for him), meant to help him grow into his best self, and a woman’s ultimate realization is as a wife and mother. So, no wonder that Orthodox people are in a rush to hit the chuppah. The process of Shidduch dating can be an intense one; Families go through each other’s histories with fine-toothed combs to make sure they are getting the creme de la creme in-law situtation. Some couples go on only a few dates before deciding to tie the knot while others may date for a few months before opting to take the plunge. Once a couple gets engaged, they can be married as quickly as a few weeks later. One of the reasons that the process can go so quickly is that Orthodox Jews are Shomer Negiah, meaning they do not touch people of the opposite sex outside of their families. If a couple is engaged for an extended period of time without being able to touch each other, it can become very challenging. Details aside, it is a VERY different type of dating scene than the one in the secular world, where many people date with the intention of companionship (either long-term or temporary) and the approach is most definitely hands-on. This is not to say that people don’t date for marriage outside of the Orthodox world, but typically, people take more time and sometimes live together (and even have kids together) before making it official.

But here’s the question: Does Shidduch dating really produce happier marriages? Can a couple who have dated for only a couple of weeks really know each other well enough to decide to spend the rest of their lives with the other person? Isn’t taking time to get to know someone a wiser move before committing to them for the rest of your life?

The answers to these questions are certainly not simple. Statistically speaking, there is a significantly lower divorce rate in the Orthodox world than in the secular world. The families are typically close-knit units that, ideally, rest on spiritual foundations with specific, shared goals. But that may not mean that every marriage is necessarily a “happier” one. Some people may marry and a few years down the line feel it wasn’t the best choice for them, but with a few kids and a mortgage it is easier to stick it out. Not that that doesn’t happen in the secular world, too, but in the Orthodox world, divorce is considered a last last resort. Some would even say that there is a stigma around it (just ask my husband). But is it that much better outside of Orthodoxy? The divorce rate has reached 60 percent today. There are couples who live together for years and then divorce months after getting married, couples who are engaged for long periods and then break it off within weeks of the wedding, people who spend years moving from partner to partner, trying to find that “right fit” that constantly seems to elude them.
That said, I also happen to know of several beautiful, extremely loving and happy marriages in both camps, young frum kids who married only a few weeks after dating, and couples who dated for years before getting hitched.

I wish I could tell you that the dilemma was resolved in one single lunchtime conversation, but it wasn’t. Those living a Torah life hold that shidduch dating is a vital part of building strong, stable marriages that create families steeped in Torah values. Those who don’t live a Torah life may see it differently. My personal experience is a quirky one because although we were both Orthodox (or getting there), Shuie and I met and fell in love secular-style, right out of some goofy romantic comedy and we’ve been blissfully happy ever since. However, we also got engaged and married VERY quickly, within six months. We felt that since we knew without a doubt that the other was our soulmate, there was really no point in waiting to spend the rest of our lives together. Marriage is a gamble no matter when you decide to do it. Life changes people, things happen and challenges come up, and it’s going to get hard sometimes. No amount of waiting is going to protect me from that. From my experience, the storms of life are easier to bear knowing that the person I am meant to be with is one-hundred-percent committed to riding them out with me. And for me, knowing clearly what kind of family and life my husband and I are trying to build together makes the journey there much more joyful.

Sunday morning I went to my first Veil Painting class, taught by Miriam Leibowitz, the wife of Shuie’s rabbi at Sulam Yaakov. In Veil Painting, you use watercolors on wet canvas, the first layer very light and then each subsequent layer a little darker to create texture and explore what images come up. It was initially very difficult for me because there was no set form; we were told to just play with it, like kids with paint. I like having direction and structure. I am also intimidated by art classes in general since I was never the fine artist in my house; my mother was a pastel artist and my sister draws beautifully. However, after a while, the process of painting took over and I was able to just enjoy it. I am a big believer in the therapeutic power of art, and this class was no exception. By the time I left, I was as mellow as a summer afternoon. Shira and I spent the rest of the afternoon watching Bug make trouble and reading him his new favorite book, “Reading Makes You Feel Good” about 3 dozen times.

This morning I went to a meeting and met with my tutor, who says I am currently on the cusp of the “Sefer Barrier”, meaning, within a very short time I’ll be able to start learning myself! Elana brought me to her house today, a funky old two-story building in Givat Sha’ul that she bought 26 years ago, when the area was completely underdeveloped and inhabited mostly by Yemenite Jews. Since then, a massive bakery and high-rise apartment buildings have sprouted up around her, making her place looks like a dusty, stone dollhouse. I couldn’t help but think of the movie “Up”, when the old man’s tiny, decades-old house is sandwiched between two skyscrapers. When I asked Elana if she’d ever think about moving, she told me that buying a place as a single woman in Israel is a traumatic beyond traumatic experience because everyone will take advantage of you. As much as she would love to go someplace else, she will never subject herself to it again. With the little experience I have of relocating in Israel, I can completely understand her reluctance to move.

Tomorrow I am dragging Shira along with me to Leah’s class so she can see what I’m so obsessed with, and then she and Shuie will watch Yonah while go to therapy in the afternoon. Can I just say I am loving having an extra pair of hands around? Now if I can convince Shira to stick around just a bit longer…

In the Orthodox world, the standard response to “How are you?” or “How are things?” is “Baruch Hashem” (Blessed is the Name of Gd), which essentially means that no matter what the circumstances, one acknowledges that Gd is The Source and all that comes from him is essentially good. “Baruch Hashem” is also used when one hears good news or when things work out well (”I found my keys! Baruch Hashem!). I’ve been trying out the expression for a while but I’m still a little wobbly with it, kind of like a kid on a bike. It’s not that I don’t agree with the expression but, at the risk of sounding idiotic, it’s a REALLY Frum thing to say. Yes, I am a Frum woman, but comparatively, at three years in, I’m still new at the Orthodox game. There are still little things in this world that I look at and I just know I’m not there yet. The “Baruch Hashem” thing, however, has started to grow on me. Although I don’t use it every time someone asks me how I’m doing, I do drop it once in a while.

That said, today, when Shuie asked me how my first day with my new tutor went, I gave him a whole-hearted, “Baruch Hashem!”. It was absolutely amazing. Elana and I met at an adorable cafe in Nachlaot and immediately fell right in step with each other. She read me so clearly, she knew almost immediately that I should supplement my text study with Chassidus (inner spiritual teachings within the Torah). This means that I’ll get my mix of skill building and spiritual brain candy, which is exactly what I came here to do. Elana is absolutely the teacher I have been looking for; in fact, I stand convinced that one of the reasons I came to Israel was to learn with her. So, what else is there to say but, “Baruch Hashem!”?

My sister Shira is arriving in about four hours and my apartment has never been cleaner, not even when we first moved in. My lovely husband rearranged our guest room and set up a full-sized bed with new down bedding, courtesy of Chaim. I must admit, having a charming-looking guest space makes me feel like we’re actual grown ups. I’m also relishing the feeling of open space uncluttered by toys, dishes, pots and pans , etc. When everything looks like this it seems so easy to keep it this way, and it would be if I was single, childless, independently wealthy and had huge windows of free time. But alas, I am none of those things, so for right this second I will enjoy my lovely home until tomorrow, when my son will inevitably trash the place and my kitchen will clutter up by breakfast.

Now about Yonah. Maybe I haven’t been clear about it up until now, but I really like that kid. One of the things I admire most about him is how he walks: he takes a few wobbly steps, sometimes even making it across the room, and then falls. But he doesn’t cry when he falls, he doesn’t fuss, he doesn’t get down on himself or despair of every learning to walk. Not his style. Yonah just picks himself up and keeps on walking, fully confident that he’ll get it eventually. It’s an amazing thing to watch; it makes me think about how I rarely ever handle my falls as gracefully as he does. What if I was able to just dust myself off and move on whenever I stumbled? I’d save a lot of time feeling sorry for myself, that’s for sure. And I may even accomplish my goal a lot faster. I guess this is what they meant by parents learning from their children. But don’t tell Yonah I said so; last thing we need is this going to his head.

For those who are interested in Bean updates, the Dr. Rachmani was very happy with the results of my blood tests, except my iron levels, which he said were low. So on top of my prenatal vitamins he wants me to take an iron pill. We saw the baby on the screen again, dancing and partying away. We were disappointed because it was still too early to tell what the sex is but Dr. Rachmani says we’ll know for sure at our 21-week ultrasound. He also mentioned another test called the Triple Protein that he told us to think about taking. The Triple Protein test determines at 17 weeks if a baby has Down’s Syndrome or not. This particular time window still leaves time for parents to decide if they want to continue with the pregnancy if, Gd forbid, the results turn out positive. Dr. Rachmani said that many Orthodox couples opt not to take the test. This is because of the belief that everything comes from Gd; if He wants to send them a Down’s child, then parents trust that Gd will give them what they need to take care of it. While that belief speaks to me, when Shuie and I spoke about it later, I found my approach to be a little more practical. I know that if the test found that the baby was Down’s positive, Gd forbid, I could never go through with an abortion. In fact, having an abortion has actually been a nightmare of mine for many years, an experience which, thank Gd, I have never had to go through. I also know that if I go through the process of carrying this child to term and give birth to it, I don’t think I could find it in myself to give the baby away afterward. This is not to say that it’s not difficult to raise a child with special needs — I’m a SPED teacher, so I know a lot about it — but I know that this baby is ours, no matter what. Shuie and I agreed that there’s really no point for us to take the test since we would keep the baby regardless and we don’t need the stress of it on top of everything else. We’re moving forward with the prayer that, Gd willing, everything is moving along normally and the baby is healthy.

We’re back into hostess mode this Shabbat. Shira, Nechemia, Shloimie and our friend Chai will all be coming for dinner, so it is back to the kitchen for me. Thankfully, Rachel is having us for lunch so I only have one meal to worry about. Shira and I may or may not be heading to the shuk tomorrow for provisions, depending on both of our energy levels. If not, I’ll let Shuie do the dirty work since he goes to school right near the market. Right now I am going to crawl into bed until my sister gets here and then I’m going to hug her a lot and try not to cry. Too much.

The standard greeting on Rosh Chodesh (the beginning of the new month) is “Chodesh Tov” or “Have a good month”. All I can say is, I hope it will only go up from here. I was completely pumped for my day at Moshav Modi’im for their women’s Rosh Chodesh celebration, but things got a little…mucked up. My ride decided she wanted to sit in the back with her baby, so she directed me to drive and then proceeded to get us lost for an hour. By the time we arrived I had missed two classes and Hallel (the series of special prayers recited on Rosh Chodesh). We had a 45-minute class (led, incidentally, by the woman I came with), followed by lunch. When the next class started up again, my ride looked at me and told me she was ready to go home. I was longing to stay but I had Yonah with me and felt myself getting exhausted so I agreed. Back behind the wheel I went and when I asked my ride if it would be okay if we dropped me off at home first, she gave me a flippant, “No”. By the time I got home from her place an hour later, after shlepping Yonah, stroller and bags, I was so exhausted I burst into tears. Some Rosh Chodesh, huh?

Still, I refuse to let it get me down. At least I got to the Moshav and at least I got to see my friends for five minutes. At least we got there and back safely and at least Yonah was on his best behavior, as usual. I will say this, though: next month I am not going to bring Yonah, and my former friend can find another driving companion.

My sister is arriving tomorrow so I will be spending the afternoon cleaning the apartment which will become a mess again about five minutes later once Yonah starts getting into his toybox. In the morning I have a doctor’s appointment and then I’m meeting with my tutor for the first time. Hooray!

On a random note, I am soliciting advice for natural remedies for sinus infections. Homeopathic treatments, herbs, whatever. I can’t take aspirin or any of the normal stuff because of The Bean and it has been torture; I feel like the front of my face is going to rip off. I did the math and I realized that I have been sick in some form or another for over two months now. I think that’s some kind of record. Maybe someone will reward me with a spa day. Ha.

I got in touch with my new tutor yesterday (recommended to me by Leah Golomb) and immediately we both sensed it was a good shidduch (match). What I liked about her is that she not only has a wealth of textual knowledge, but she also has a store of factoids about different rabbis and when they lived, which will add some extra depth to our learning. She also happens to remember every single one of Reb Shlomo’s classes, so I will definitely be picking her brain for those. We decided to get together a couple of mornings a week to learn text (we’ve settled on the story of Joseph and his brothers) in a coffee shop in Nachlaot. I hung up the phone knowing I was moving in the right direction.

And then a miracle happened. I went to an OA meeting this morning and shared a little bit about what’s been going on with me, and after the meeting was over a woman came up to me and said, “I think I’m your tutor”. I couldn’t believe it! Out of all the people in Jerusalem, this woman is the one who is going to be teaching me AND she’s in program. It was like Gd gave me a Birthday, Channukah and a Just Because present all in one: not only will I be able to learn Torah with her, but we can give each other program support. I try not to drop the “M” word indiscriminately, but in this case, I will say that this was most definitely a miracle.

I have been everywhere today. First Har Nof for the meeting, then to Geula to buy sneakers for Yonah and a book for Mommy, home for lunch and then to Nachlaot for therapy and to pick up some educational toys for the Little Man. It must be nice to be Yonah; he scored some major gifts today without ever leaving his daycare. It’s an interesting experience for me walking through Geula and Me’a Shearim now, as an Orthodox woman. No joke, four years ago those neighborhoods scared the crap out of me. I think I expected a siren to go off, everyone to freeze, point at me and yell at me for not being “religious enough”. I have since learned that there is no such thing as “religious enough”, since each person is on his or her own journey, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t still have some insecurities about it. However, I’m in a much more comfortable place now, so much so that I can actually enjoy a walk through these bustling neighborhoods lined with stores. Geula and Mea Shearim are kind of the center of the Orthodox world, and they really are a world in and of themselves, even if they only stretch some city blocks. Within only a few paces, there is every kind of Jewish store you can think of and all kinds of colorful characters in ultra-orthodox garb. I actually found myself entertained by my outing today.

Tomorrow Yonah and I are off to Moshav Modi’in for the Rosh Chodesh celebration. I’ve decided to be gentle on myself and not host my own thing tomorrow night; I get the feeling I’m going to be mucho exhausted. That said, I am going to drink up all the fabulous female spiritual energy in one of my favorite places in the world and just enjoy being a guest instead of a hostess.

Tonight is the second session of my women’s chabura and I am majorly wrestling with myself about going; it’s cold, I have a brutal sinus infection and I have to be careful about doing too much. Rachel and I had a good laugh the other day after I told her that I think I have a lot more energy than I actually do, to the point that I exert myself until I literally get sick. We got off the bus and I said, “I’m not ready to go home yet; I think I’m going to go for a walk…” and then proceeded to almost fall over from exhaustion. So I’m not the best barometer of my energy level. However, my friend Chaya who runs the group just called and mentioned that the group is earlier tonight, so I’m taking it as a sign that I should get my butt there.

I don’t know what it is about Shabbat here, but every week, without fail, I find myself homesick. It’s the most ironic thing because Shabbat is at its peak here in Israel, especially in Jerusalem. Even the air is infused with a holy energy. You’d think I’d want to stick around and drink it up. But, no. In the spiritual capital of the world, on the highest day of the week, all I want to do is go home. Shuie says that in such a loaded environment it’s to be expected that emotions will get stirred up. I suppose that’s true. In my case I’ve got a few extra balls going than your average juggler, between the pregnancy and dealing with all the grief stuff.

I had a moment today that I have not had in a long time, but before I describe it I should probably give a little background. Many of you know I am in Overeaters Anonymous, a twelve-step program for people with eating disorders. I am a compulsive overeater (which means I binge and graze throughout the day) and a bulimic (which means I purge after I eat). I used weigh about 250 pounds, but thankfully, as a result of OA, I have dropped the weight and have been living in a normal-sized body for over four years. Part of the way I recovered physically was by letting go of my drugs of choice, namely flour and sugar. Experience has shown that if I take even one bite I am not able to stop eating them, so today I don’t eat them.

The thing about being an addict, though, is that you can take the drug away, get into a program and recover, but you will never, ever be CURED. That means that each day you have to struggle not to pick up your drug, no matter what happens. Some days are easier, some harder. For me, it’s ironic that throughout everything with my mother, I never once considered eating anything I shouldn’t, because today, when there was no crisis going on, I let my brain go into a fifteen-minute fantasy binge-fest. In my mind, I visited all the stores in the Mercaz that sell my favorite foods, brought them all home and went to town. As I said, this is not something I have done in a very long time. Normally, if a thought like that surfaces, I swat it away like a mosquito. But today, I gave myself permission to go there, knowing full well I wanted to check out of reality for a while, even if it was just in my mind.

Thought patterns like these are usually a red flag: something is going on. Well, we all know what’s going on so there’s no big surprise here. But I did realize something last night that seems obvious now but I didn’t quite get until it fully crystallized: I’m afraid to have the baby here. There’s the aspect of giving birth in a foreign country that is overwhelming, especially dealing with insurance and doctors and hospital protocol and all that, but I’d have to deal with that in the States, too. There’s also the idea of my family being thousands of miles away while I’m giving birth, but my mother-in-law, my aunt and possibly my father will be coming at some point. What’s really scaring me is that my Mom won’t be there. A mother has an innate gift of making everything feel instantly safer just by being there. But my mother won’t be there, and I’m scared of going through this without her.

I told my friend Chaya the other day that going through a loss like this is kind of like having your life turned over and everything shaken out. You have to pick everything up and arrange it so that it sort of resembles your old life, but in reality your old life is gone and you have to start from scratch in this new one. Every experience is like learning all over again: “Okay, this is getting my eyebrows done without calling Mom after”; “This is buying clothes without showing them to Mom”; “This is cooking a five-course dinner and figuring out how to do it myself”. In many ways you’re figuring out how to be a different version of yourself. And this version has never had a baby without a mother to support her. It’s a very scary thing.

So can you blame me for indulging in a brief flight from reality? I am fully aware that there is a big difference between fantasy and reality, so no, I will not be bingeing on a dozen bagels, a pie of pizza and the requisite tub of Ben and Jerry’s, because I know it won’t stop there. What I will do is make myself a nice cup of tea, curl up with my book and try to shoulder through these feelings as presently and soberly as possible.

Tomorrow, bright and early, I am heading over to the Misrad HaPnim, the Passport and Visa office downtown to apply for Bituach Leumi, or National Insurance, which pays for all hospital bills for new immigrants to Israel. This means that, Gd willing, the birth will be covered. Now, before you get excited, no, we DID NOT make aliyah (immigrate to Israel). Bituach Leumi is also available to those with student visas or those who have been “added” to the list of new immigrants (for a fee). Note that I am not telling you which category we fit into. I’m a little nervous because from the initial meeting it takes 183 days for the BL to kick in, so we’re going to be cutting it pretty close to the birth. The good thing is, if it hasn’t come through yet, our representative gives a check for the hospital that will be paid back to him later by the insurance company. So here’s hoping everything works out.

I’ve taken on a new phrase: “Kol Bidei Shamayim” (Everything comes from Heaven). I’m using it kind of like push-ups, only I’m building my faith muscles. For example, if I miss the bus, I remind myself, “Kol Bidei Shamayim”; there must be a reason I was delayed. If Yonah wakes up in the middle of the night, I can say, “Kol Bidei Shamayim” and remember that I am being given opportunities to grow as a mother. I figure if I make it enough of a standard practice, it will be easier to say when things get tough. I’ve never been good at sticking with workouts, but I figure I have a better shot with this one because I can do it sitting on the couch.

Walking on the streets or riding the buses of Jerusalem, as in any city, can sometimes feel like a fashion extravaganza. After almost three months here, there is one thing I can say for sure about Israeli women: the ones who know how to work it know how to work it. The style among secular, non-observant women is a bohemian look with lots of scarves, intricate jewelry and long, dark wild hair left long and untamed like the heroine in a romance novel. There more adventurous religious women will also lean toward the bohemian with lots of flowy layers, a kaliedescope of colors and patterns, and tichels (head wraps) worn high and proud, making them look like queens. Little by little, my wardrobe is looking more and more like theirs, especially now that I’m on the market for more belly-friendly threads.

It was with that in mind that Rachel, Shmuel Yaakov, Yonah and I went over to Ben Yehuda Street yesterday. Rachel, who is a very beautiful, dark-haired, green-eyed yeshiva wife whose style tends to stick to variations of basic black. While she wears her sheitl (wig) most days, she’s been inspired by my colorful headwear to start trying to incorporate tichels into her wardrobe. Our errand was primarily to help her find a unique yet staid new kerchief as a first step in her evolution.

Before I continue, I should probably explain something about sheitls and tichels to those not as familiar with them. For today, we are going to ignore the myriad of opinions about the Jewish law stating that all married women must cover their hair and just talk about the women who follow it. The universal rule of fashion dictates that you wear says something about what you are. In the case of Jewish women’s headwear, I would say this is absolutely true. Of course, one of the most important things I have learned on my spiritual journey is that what we see on the outside is not always an indication of what is really going on on the inside; everyone’s connection to Gd is between her and Gd. However, on a purely superficial level, you can learn a lot about an Orthodox woman by what she puts on her head. For example (and there are always exceptions in every case) most women who make the commitment to wear a sheitl on a daily basis tend to lean more to the right ideologically; many ultra-orthodox women will even wear hats or tichels over their sheitls to ensure that others don’t think their real hair isn’t covered. Women who wear funkier, more colorful headwraps may fall into a more spiritual/experiential camp while maintaining a firm commitment to Torah. There are other women (the popular term now is “Modern Orthodox”) who may wear hats, headbands and bandanas that show some of their hair, and some may not cover their hair at all, suggesting a more progressive approach, meaning that they honor and keep the Torah while balancing life in the modern world. Again, these are all huge generalizations and there are countless women who don’t fall into any specific category (I’d like to think I’m one of them), but I mention them only to illustrate exactly what Rachel’s and my outing was about.

Okay, back to business. So Rachel decided to spice things up by getting a funky new tichel, so I took her to the Bat Ayin store on King George St. in the center of town. Bat Ayin is a Orthodox Hippie community in the West Bank where Shuie and I almost ended up living. The population is comprised of the spiritual/experiential, earthy types I described above, and part of the way they make money to keep the community going is by making and selling gorgeous, top-quality clothes. The store is an intoxicating swirl of colors and fabrics, the kind of place where I almost never leave empty-handed (”I feel like this is your store,” Rachel said to me as soon as we walked in). One of the things the store features is two wall-sized shelving units with tichels of every color, texture and description you can think of, which I knew would give Rachel a lot of options. While she hunted, something caught my eye that I knew was going to get me into a lot of trouble: a calf-length shift of cerulean velvet and netting with a sign on it –I swear– that said, “Rea’s Dress”.

“Uh,oh.” I said to Rachel. “We have a problem”.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, thinking something was up with one of the boys.

“I can’t leave without this dress”.

So while Rachel scored a lovely black kerchief with some silver piping (although I was dying to get her into something royal purple. Baby steps…), I left the Bat Ayin store with a flowy brown chiffon tunic with cream stitching (with plenty of room for Bean), a flower-print A-line dress that is perfect for layering, and the Blue Velvet Dress, my new favorite thing in the whole wide world. And the best part? The tunic and A-line were HALF OFF. I felt like Napoleon when he conquered Elba.

I am fully aware, by the way, that I have just devoted the whole of this blog post to a shopping trip, but a good fashion extravaganza is an integral part of what it means to be a woman. Jewish tradition even holds that it is to the merit of a woman that she make herself look beautiful for her husband because it promotes healthy, happy marriages. Plus, men are encouraged to spend a significant amount of money on clothes and jewelry for their wives to make them feel beautiful and happy (pretty sweet, no?). One midrash I love takes place during the time when the Jews were enslaved in Egypt. The men were downtrodden and exhausted from their backbreaking work each day and the Egyptians, to discourage them from being with their wives, would force them to sleep out in the fields, away from their families. The women decided to take the future into their hands and would look in their mirrors to make themselves beautiful before sneaking out to the fields at night in order to seduce their husbands and conceive more children. Later, when the Jewish people were building the Beit Hamikdash (the Holy Tabernacle), the women offered their mirrors to be melted down and used as part of the building materials. At first Moses refused them, saying he didn’t want to use things that promoted vanity. Gd stepped in and told him that those mirrors were “Beloved” to him since they helped keep the Jewish people alive. Not only should Moses use the mirrors, but the brass should be used to make the laver, the washing basin the the Kohen (High Priest) used to wash his hands in the Holy of Holies. So don’t tell me that my Blue Velvet Dress is just some piece of material. If the Temple was rebuilt tomorrow, it could make a fabulous curtain in the new Holy of Holies.

Last night Shuie and I had our weekly dinner date and then walked around Ben Yehuda for a bit. We bought him some new yarmulkes and a colorful one for Yonah, too — Yonah has a new obsession with hats and is LOVING his new present (pictures to be posted on Facebook soon). Between his shmutzy face (he always has crud on him no matter how many times I clean it), his new yarmulke and his new favorite word, “Todah” (Hebrew for “Thank You”), Yonah could definitely pass for an Israeli kid. I’m so proud. — Then we headed over to Coffee Bean where we sipped our drinks and talked for over an hour. It’s an amazing thing, marriage. You fall in love with someone so deeply so that you want to spend all your time with them. So you make a commitment to build a life together which, ironically, gets busier and busier so that it becomes harder and harder to actually have time together. But when you actually manage to steal some time and get a chance to talk , it’s like re-meeting your best friend. And then he smiles just the right way and you have a laugh together, and you fall in love all over again. I bless everyone that they should find that person that they can fall in love with over and over again throughout their lives, and that those who already are married never stop seeing what made them fall in love in the first place.

Another quiet Shabbat for us. I have transitioned from stomach bug to cold and literally cannot stop sneezing, so it’s a relief not to have to play hostess tonight. I’m sending Shuie out now to buy groceries and am throwing together an easy shabbat dinner: chicken soup, crunchy chicken legs (recipe: put in pan, throw in oven at 450 for an hour, take out, eat), salad, ratatouille and brown rice. And then it is to bed for Mommy.

A wise person once told me that getting sick is the body’s way of telling you to slow down. I conveniently forgot that piece of sage advice until today, when after a particularly frustrating morning, I called my teacher Leah to vent about pretty much everything. I told her about the tough transition to this new place and how hard it is being pregnant and running around every day. I told her about how I’m not excited about my classes at MRC but am pushing myself to go because I want to learn how to learn text. The problem with that is that I’m completely exhausted and am sometimes too sick to concentrate. I told her how I want to be inspired but feel like I’m not getting anywhere. And then I told her I want to go home.

“Well, first of all, sweetie,” said Leah. “You are doing way too much. You’re chasing after one baby and you’ve got another baby growing inside of you. You’re completely worn out.”

Alright, I would give her that.

“Second of all, you are in Eretz Yisrael, the land of Israel, which is the headquarters of learning. If you’re not jazzed about your midrasha, don’t go there anymore. It sounds to me like you need to slow down and stop running all over the place. Maybe you could find someone to learn with you one-on-one, even two days a week, to build your skills, and then the rest of the time just find classes that get you excited”.

Could it be that simple?

Leah gave me some suggestions and we talked some more about how hard it is to be in Israel. She reminded me of what we learned last week about Avraham Avinu, our patriarch Abraham, and his adventures with the three visiting angels on the third day after his circumcision. Most authorities agree that third day is the most difficult day in terms of post-op pain, which makes Avraham’s eagerness to welcome guests into his home on that day all the more praiseworthy.

“When you first come here it seems like such a great idea,” Leah told me. “But there are a lot of third days in Israel. It’s really hard, but don’t give up just because you’re having a third day. Just try something different. Remember, Eretz Yisrael is the land of emuna. Even when you come here and you feel distant and you’re not sure you’re getting anywhere, you are. Stick around and let the land work its magic on you”. By the time we got off the phone I felt like a new woman.

So it is time for a learning makeover. I’m now on the market for a new tutor and am scavenging the area for different classes that strike my fancy. I’ve already signed up for a few art and Torah classes, so we’ll see what else is in store for me. It is such a relief not to force myself to do something just because I think I “should”. Something else I had to learn, I guess.

My sister is arriving in less than a week and she’s ready to hike Jerusalem. On Shabbat, she wants to walk to the old city and explore: “It’s only two miles away”. Gd bless her, the naive, childless girl. I tried to break to her gently that long-distance hiking is not so simple with a toddler and when you’re pregnant but I’m not sure she got it. Instead, she directed me to Babies R Us so I could buy a new carrier to hitch Yonah to my back instead of shlepping the stroller. Interesting. I’ve decided that if she makes me walk too far I will be forced to hit her with something heavy and stuff her into a cab.

The Rosh Chodesh celebration at Moshav Modi’in is next Tuesday and I am so excited. I’m trying to arrange a caravan of friends to go together in a sherut (a giant taxi-bus thing) so we don’t have to deal with the tricky bus situation back to the city. I’m also hoping that if I get enough of my single friends to come they will help me entertain Yonah all day (sneaky, sneaky). I could be purely selfish and arrange to have the sherut leave from my house, but maybe I’ll be generous and have everyone meet up in the center of the city. Maybe.

Last night I went to the first installment of my Women’s Chabura Intensive in Nachlaot. The Chabura is basically a discussion forum in which the women work together to discover their own personal avodah (task or work) in the world. Our group is small, only 7 or 8 women, and all are wives of men studying at Sulaam Yaakov, Shuie’s yeshiva.

In the few years since I became frum (religious), I’ve developed a sense of ease around other religious women, even the ultra-orthodox. It ain’t no thing to shoot the breeze with a buttoned-up, wig-sporting Rebbetzin. That said, religious women like the ones in my Chabura–hippie earth-mama types who are freely spiritual yet grounded, creative, purposeful, strong and with full, dynamic lives outside of wife- and motherhood–intimidate the hell out of me. Mostly it’s because I aspire to be just like them. Not to mention that many of them give their kids sugar-free, wheat-free and/or vegetarian fare and have wardrobes I would kill for. So I was pretty nervous heading into the group last night, especially when I realized that all of them live in Nachlaot and socialize together, some going back quite a ways. I was the newbie, the stranger, and it threw me right back into third-grade when I would have given away a year’s worth of Ring Dings to have just one friend. Somehow, I mustered up the guts to tell them so when the session started and they actually didn’t eat me alive. In fact, they were all quite warm and welcoming, so here’s hoping I’ll eventually to find a place for myself among them.

Today was my favorite day of classes with Leah Golomb at Simchat Shlomo. In order to get there, I have to walk through the Shuk, where the sights are enough to keep you entertained for hours (however, the mingling smells of car exhaust, sticky pastries and fish are enough to urge you through pretty quickly). Aside from the usual spectacle of vendors calling out their wares to passersby, truck drivers in heated arguments with shop owners and the parade of hot Jewish mamas in fantastic tichels (head wraps), I happened to see something today that managed to make my mouth fall open. Literally. As I made my way through the market, I saw a craggy older gentleman holding an egg in his hand. It must have been fresh, probably plucked from one the cartons of eggs in a tower next to him. He tapped a hole into one end of the shell, tipped his head back and drank the yolk through it with the kind of relish you see in a Coca-Cola commercial. I didn’t know whether to applaud or puke.

For those of you who demand consistent Yonah updates, he is thank Gd feeling much better and is busy saying his new favorite word: “hat”, while pulling mine off my head and putting it on his. He looks just fabulous in my magenta crocheted beanie with a flower on the side. He has also taken to walking across the kitchen floor, but only when he thinks we’re not looking. The minute he feels our eyes on him he pops back down. Stinker. I am also pleased to say that he is graduating to more adult fare, including whole wheat pasta with cottage cheese, sauteed garlic and mushrooms (the noodles were a hit, mushrooms, not so much), and his new favorite, brown rice and lentil burgers (Mommy’s latest invention) which he sucked up like a vacuum.

Mommy is also feeling much better after her stomach bug, though I’m still struck with random bouts of nausea throughout the day. One thing I realized was how important it is to hydrate, especially when you’re pregnant, and especially when you’re living in a desert. Even when it’s chilly, Israel just sucks the moisture out of you. Today, my therapist Sara was doing some kinetic energy work with me (short version: using my body to get messages about my current state of being) and almost immediately said, “Have you had enough to drink today?”. I sheepishly admitted that I probably didn’t. So now you want me to juggle myself, a husband, a baby, learning, keeping a house together, managing some modicum of a social life, maintaining a creative outlet AND stay hydrated? How much does a woman have to handle already?

My father is coming to visit! He’s arriving December 7th and staying for a week, during which we will be celebrating my birthday AND the first day of Channukah, which just happen to fall on the same day (Can we say, PRESENTS?). So I’ll have a week with my sister, a week off and then a week with my father. My cup runneth over :).

Looks like my prayer for help has been answered in the form of my wonderful husband. Shuie took the day off of school and has tended to Yonah all morning so I could sleep. He took Yonah to the doctor to get a throat culture (Shuie said he cried :(); so far the verdict is that it’s probably the onset of a flu (As for me, there was a stomach bug floating around MRC last week, so it’s probably found its way to my vulnerable tummy. Trust me, this is not just morning sickness). In the meantime, Shuie made a stopover at Anise to pick up liquid vitamin C, probiotic powder and two huge bottles of pomegranate juice. After he gave Yonah a probiotic cocktail and put him down for a nap he brought me a cup of Vitamin C and ordered me back to bed. All I can say is, Thank Gd.

This is a big lesson for me and one I have to learn over and over: It is okay to ask for help. For some reason, my brain automatically assumes that if I ask for help I am going to hear, “No”, so I just try to shoulder everything myself. I remember one time this past Spring when I was frantically trying to get Shabbat ready for everyone while tending to my mother and to Yonah. Time was running out and I had no idea what to do. “Don’t worry,” Mom said. “Someone always helps in the end”. She was right, as usual. At the last minute, my brother Aaron and his wife Stephanie swooped in to finish dinner to I could take a shower and Shuie grabbed Yonah to give him a bath. If I actually give people a chance to help me, they just might actually help me. If I don’t ask them to help me, I think we can reasonably assume that I’m not going to get help.

Now for some more sleep.