My bed and I had some quality time today. In between packing sessions, cleaning the kitchen and rounds of laundry, I snuck in not one but two naps while Yonah was at Ruchama’s. Shuie went and picked him up so I could have a little more time to sleep. Even with the extra snooze time, 4:30 this afternoon found me lying on the carpet in our living room while Yonah played around my head and eventually came to lie down next to me for a cuddle. I chucked my evening plans to go with Shuie to a fundraiser tonight, opting instead for another date with my bed. We are having my sibs-in-law for Shabbat which means I get to cook. Ugh. I’m going to need all the energy I can muster.

I wish those Star Trek beam things actually existed in real life, as it would make our transit back to the States so much easier. We’re leaving at 1 a.m. on Tuesday Night/Wednesday morning, which will put us at JFK at 6 a.m. on Wednesday. All you geniuses out there who have done the math may be asking yourself, “What’s the big deal? It’s just a five-hour flight”. Not so much. The 6 a.m. arrival is including the time difference. 6 a.m. in New York is 1 p.m. in Israel. You got it: We’re in for a 12-hour airplane funfest. Now here’s the weird thing: our flight here was only 9 and a half hours. When I asked Shuie today why the trip back is so much longer he shrugged and said, “I dunno. Something to do with the wind”. I suppose I should be grateful that his answer was so simple; had I asked my father the same question I would have been in for a 45-minute lesson on aerodynamics, Galileo and probably something involving the Talmud. Just kidding, Dad…

When my mother was sick she wrote on a blog every day (I’m not as original as you thought), sharing with everyone who cared to read the ups and downs of her illness and how it felt to live battling Cancer. She had a huge readership and eventually the blog became our main source of keeping people informed about how she was doing. My father wrote me today to let me know that Mom’s blog has a new address: www.debbisjourney.com. I decided to revisit the blog today, reading entries she wrote around this time last year. It’s amazing to me how much hope she had for her recovery; there was even a point when she thought she would be able to go back to teaching preschool. She was so brave; all she wanted was to live so she could be with her children and grandchildren. As you read on, you can see her will to fight dwindling. And then, only six months later, she’s gone. There are moments when I still don’t believe she died. There are her thoughts, right there on the internet. There’s her voice in my head and pictures of her, so vibrant and beautiful, right in front of me. How can this person no longer exist? I know there are no answers to these questions. I wish I didn’t have to ask them.

Today I got a taste of the next phase of pregnancy, the one they tell you is coming after the first trimester, when the ungodly exhaustion and the nausea finally dissipate and are replaced with a burst of renewed energy. While I wasn’t scaling mountains or anything, I felt inspired after I picked up Yonah to trek up Mount Heart Attack to the park, where we played on the slide, the seesaw (his favorite), a spinny ride and this giant truck thing that doesn’t do much but somehow manages to make kids insane. It was nice to be out in the fresh air, especially since we’re enjoying a semi-warm spell, something akin to mid-fall in the States, and I was glad to give Yonah a chance to run around. He’s still getting used to trekking downhill; he took a little tumble on the pavement and bumped his head. He cried for about 30 seconds before deciding a bush was much more interesting. After our brief moment of drama, we headed over to the Mercaz Meschari to buy some groceries and check out the cute girls in their strollers. When we finally got home, I looked at the clock and was amazed to find I had pulled off a two-hour outing. Maybe there’s hope for me yet…

I find it ironic that it’s when we’re leaving that the light starts peeking over the horizon, but I believe that there must be a reason for that. I’m going to need my energy to build a life wherever we end up, be it in Cape Cod or in Sharon, MA or in Boston. In the past, I’ve had a habit of resisting investing myself in various communities in which I’ve lived, feeling that since it wasn’t where I was going to end up “forever” it wasn’t worth me expending the effort. After being here, I see the folly in that thinking; life is made up of the present moment and I will miss it if I hold off until some imaginary time when all will be exactly as I think it should. I did some thinking today I about the fact that Shuie and I don’t have a home of our own (yet). Like it or not, there is a lot of pressure in the States to be established and settled and quickly (i.e., you’re a failure if you don’t have mortgage by 21). I’ll admit that I have bought into that thinking and I’ve struggled with the fact that my life has not ended up fitting the mold. But this morning, in a moment of real clarity, this thought came to mind: “Home is with your family. Love your family and wherever you are is home”. It gave me so much peace. I am inspired now to dive in and really invest in the time and place that I’m in, temporary, not temporary, whatever. There is so much to learn and, I’m sure, lots of great people to meet. It’s amazing to me that an adventure on the other side of the world has given me the appreciation to have a quiet and happy and (dare I say it?) ordinary life with my family.

My teacher Leah gave an amazing class yesterday about this week’s parsha, Vayigash, in which the sons of Jacob learn that the vizier of Pharaoh to whom they are appealing for help from famine is in fact their long-lost brother, Joseph, whom they had sold into slavery 22 years before. The moment when Joseph reveals his identity to his brothers is truly a touching one, as is the happy reunion they share afterward. Leah gave particular attention to Joseph’s reconnection with his brother Benyamin (his only full brother, both being sons of Rachel), whom he had last seen when Benyamin was 9. The list of Benyamin’s sons later in the parsha (he had 10) are names that all suggest how deeply he missed his brother, and how he tried to fill the hole inside with the love he had for his own children. Leah illustrated this point by describing the loss of her own father when she was just a teenager, and how the 40-year hole has never completely filled, no matter how much she loves her husband and six children. The she told an incredible story:

A few years ago, Leah’s friend Zahava lost her son Aish Kodesh in a terrorist attack during the Intifada. Along with his parents, Kodesh left behind a wife, Inbal, and a little girl, Talia. While Kodesh was in the army, all of the men in his elite unit paired off into deep friend/partnerships. Kodesh’s partner was a man named Ofer, who was also his best friend. Ofer and Kodesh promised each other that if something should happen to one, the other would take care of the other’s family. Ofer was not married and when Kodesh was killed he devoted himself to Inbal and Talia. After a time, he fell in love with her and asked her to marry him. At first she was wary, telling him, “But Kodesh is waiting for me in Shamayim (heaven)”. “Well,” Ofer replied, “Someone must be waiting for me in Shamayim, too. While we’re here we might as well be together”. So they married. As a wedding gift, Leah bought them a tree. She chose a tree because in order for a tree to grow, you have to dig a hole. The holes we have inside after losing people we love, while a source a pain, can also be a place where new life can grow. Leah blessed them that from their loss they should grow and build together.

For obvious reasons, I was crying by the time Leah finished her story. As I looked around the room, I saw that everyone else was crying, too. The losses we experience can be devastating, but they also provide all of us with opportunities to reach out, to comfort each other, to connect, and eventually, Gd willing, to grow. I believe that each day I survive the pain of losing my mother is not only making me stronger, but also a more open and compassionate person. I am not afraid of other people’s pain now, and I believe what I’m going through will enable me to help someone else one day. I also know that my mother’s memory is honored in the family that I’m creating, every time I give love to my husband and my child(ren, Gd willing), and in the whole person I’m becoming, day by day. I pray that all of us out there with holes inside merit to use them to create a more loving and beautiful world.

I’ve just arrived home to find my landlord and his son tinkering around my apartment. Between issues with the fuses, mold in our bathroom and prepping the place to be seen by prospective renters, we have had a lot of activity in our place of late. I’m trying to be gracious and patient because they’re being more than understanding with us. Not only are Yossi and Carmela not penalizing us for breaking our lease — “The most important thing is your health,” they said — but they are planning on returning our last month’s rent to us as soon as they get someone new in here. I honestly don’t know if such kind landlords exist outside of this country.

Last night I prayed to Gd for clarity about our decision. I want so much to do the “right” thing all the time, though there are so many circumstances in which I can’t really know what “right” is until much later down the road, if there is even a “right” at all. As I went to sleep last night, I meditated on the prospect of both staying and going. While the idea of staying has its perks (being surrounded by a rich, Jewish world, more opportunities to learn and grow) when I thought of coming home I felt a sense of Shalva (peace) inside that indicated to me clearly that this was the choice I need to be making now. Then this morning, I was reading from a meditation book and came across this passage: “I realize that God’s will for me is not to make the “right” choice, but to feel free to make mistakes; to be sane”. I felt it was a message directly for me. Life is fluid, as my mother-in-law says, constantly moving and changing form. Our job is to flow with it as best we can in each moment with the resources we have at our disposal. I am quietly building up my trust in the current of life and my ability to follow it. For today, it is taking me in the direction of home.

If you happen to be wandering around Jerusalem at night and find yourself wondering where all the couples who are expecting babies are, you’ll probably find them all at Misgav Ladach hospital in Katamon, waiting to get ultrasounds. Shuie and I headed there last night around 8:30 and the place was hopping. We had an hour wait before we were able to get into our ultrasound appointment, and the whole show lasted no longer than 10 minutes. However, the wait was definitely worth it. We got to see the baby’s kidneys, spine, femur, hands and even the face in a 3D picture. Thank Gd, everything looks good. Apparently my hormonal trapeze swinging has not had any affect at all :). Afterward, Shuie and I stopped over at Ben Yehuda so he could have an overstuffed Shwarma sandwich and I could have a bottle of water to celebrate. L’Chaim!

I received an email from my sister, who has arrived safely in London despite the snowstorm, Thank Gd. She and her boyfriend Leo will be traversing the European continent for the next three weeks, visiting all the major hotspots, including London, Amsterdam, Munich, Rome, Prague, Paris, and many more that I can’t remember. For a split second I was jealous, remembering the fun I had on my adventures almost a decade ago (!) when I lived in Holland and traveled all over Europe. I quickly gave myself a mental kick, remembering that I have, in fact, spent the last four months residing in an exotic foreign country. Besides, the kind of running around she’s doing, while exciting, would be pretty much impossible with Yonah in tow. Not that he wouldn’t dig seeing the Mona Lisa, but I remember that after only two days of shlepping him around Tzfat I felt like I was under general anesthesia. It’s not always easy to accept that you’ve passed a certain phase of life and that your choices are a lot more complicated. Sometimes I wish it was just as simple as picking up and going. True, we did something to that extent by coming here, but the practical, day-to-day experience of living that choice was not a simple one. There was still childcare and expenses to think about, not to mention all the other grown-up stuff that I sometimes wish didn’t exist. But this is life, I guess, and while it does get more complicated as time goes on, it also becomes much richer.

Wonderful news! I submitted a short piece to “Mishapacha” magazine (a pretty well-known Jewish publication) and I’ve just been told that it’s going to be published! I don’t know any of the details about when it’s going to print but as soon as I find out I will let everyone know.

Not to brag, but while the East Coast is getting slammed by a full-scale blizzard, we here in Jerusalem have been enjoying some of the most beautiful weather we’ve had in months. One could say it was almost Spring-like, but one wouldn’t want to rub it in. It’s been so pleasant that while riding on the bus with Shuie yesterday, I felt an uplift of spirit that prompted me to second-guess our decision to go home. My head started swirling with maybes and what-ifs that eventually got me so stressed out I felt like I needed electro-shock treatment. So much for enjoying the weather.

Either way, we have made our decision and now the challenge is to accept it, embrace it and do it b’simcha (with joy), even though there will always be maybes and what-ifs tagging along. My good friend Billy says that sometimes the line between My Will and Gd’s Will is so blurry that sometimes you have to just make a decision and do the best you can with what you’ve got. I would say that in this case, I can completely relate. I go back and forth about making the “right” decision, fearful that I will make some kind of monumental mistake, either giving up a once-in-a-lifetime experience or setting myself up for a potential stressful and isolating pregnancy, while shouldering the pressure of trying to make it here financially. So even though things are not 100% clear, it is time for action, and in this case that means going home. I can continue learning in the States, maybe not in such a structured way, but it is possible. Right now, my focus has to be on having a safe and happy rest of my pregnancy and prepare to bring LB into the world.

Speaking of the pregnancy, my husband and I went to Misgav Ladach hospital yesterday for our second-trimester ultrasound, where they told us that they had booked us for the wrong appointment and could not see us. Being my hormonal, fiery self, I was pretty ticked that we had to haul all the way to Katamon just to be turned away. As I launched into a mini temper-tantrum, Shuie, ever the angel, took my hand and whispered, “Ein Od Milvado”, (”There is nothing besides Him [Gd]), assuring me that everything happens for a reason. In my art class yesterday, my friend Idit told me that our husband’s voices are the voice of Gd, meaning that Gd speaks through our life partners to help guide us and give us clarity. In that moment my husband’s voice spoke the truth with equanimity and love, but I had only one response for him: “Shut up, Shuie”. Ah, the delights of pregnancy…

My husband’s voice also gave me another slice of truth the other night when we sat down to write our plan for when we get home. I brought up the possibility of taking the job in Cambridge, the one that would call for a 3-hour commute each day. On a piece of paper, in bold writing and highlighted by a dark square, Shuie wrote, “COMMUTING IS NOT AN OPTION”. In my head, I think I can do everything. I think I can be five months pregnant, care for a toddler and commute 3 hours a day while working a demanding job. In reality, that is actually insane. I got for a five-minute walk and I am ready to sleep the rest of the day away. But every time I tried to argue the possibility, Shuie referred me back to the square: “COMMUTING IS NOT AN OPTION”. This is really hard for me to accept, but accept it I must. Harrumph.

Yonah turned 16 months old yesterday and has graduated from “Cutest Kid in the World” to “Cutest Kid in the History of Mankind”. Along with his penchant for reading — he asks very nicely, saying, “Book”, “Read” and “Please” — Yonah now wears multiple hats at once (this is not a metaphor), walks all over the place and gives his Mommy delicious baby kisses. He also loves to dance and can recognize his favorite song, “Popcorn!” by saying, “Pop! Pop!” as soon as it starts. Yonah loves Elmo; every afternoon Mommy lets him watch 10-15 minutes of Sesame Street so he can have his fix. His hair is so long now it hangs in his eyes so his father went out and got him special clips that have a soccer ball and a dreidel on them because I was adamant about him not looking like a girl. Of course, Yonah pulls them out the minute I put them in, but if I grab his hands and sing him a song, sometimes I can distract him long enough that he’ll forget I put it in (Listen, you gotta do what you gotta do). Despite his chronic cold, Yonah is almost always in good cheer (unless Mommy is on the phone and can’t pay attention to him). I think he is going to make a FANTASTIC big brother.

It is now 10 a.m. and I have begun cleaning out the fridge. It’s amazing what kinds of things end up living in there when you don’t stay on top of things. I still catch myself in those moments when I find myself asking, “Who’s going to take care of…?” and then I remember, “Oh, right. I’m the Mom. I guess I’m supposed to do it”. The art of running a household is a very subtle yet demanding one, tackling an ever-growing list of household chores, keeping bellies full, clothes clean, children and husbands happy, cabinets stocked. It’s kind of like playing a constant game of whack-a-mole (And that’s if a mother is blessed with the ability to devote her energy solely to her home. Add a job on top of that and we’re talking Wonder Woman). For the ones who aren’t running the show, it may seem as if these things just magically accomplish themselves. My mother, for example, was always doing, but it never registered with me that she was actually keeping everything together. Now that I’m on the other side, the truth has become as clear as day: If Mama don’t do it, it don’t get done.

We have just reached the tail end of what was my first official vegetarian Shabbat, and I must say that my husband/guest (Shloimie) seemed none the worse for it. On the menu was Rice and Bean Soup, Zucchini and Eggplant Lasagna, a Tofu/Veggie Quiche, Sweet Potato Pie and my whole-wheat Challah. While it was definitely a change from the norm, it was really refreshing to do something different. So, yay.

We are t-minus 9 days to Operation Homecoming and I now have one suitcase three-quarters packed. I am starting to get really excited about coming back to the States but am trying to temper myself, knowing that while change can be exciting, the initial rush does wear off and routine sets it, bringing with it all the challenges you were able to ignore in the chaos of travel. Still, the joy of seeing my family and settling back into someplace familiar I hope will be a balm of sorts for me and offer some sense of settling before the new baby comes.

Amongst the mini-library that Yonah received from Uncle Josh and Auntie Katherine for Channukah was a book by P.D. Eastman (one of Dr. Suess’s pen-names, by the way) called “Are You My Mother?”. It’s a standard favorite which many of you have probably read, but if you haven’t, the Cliffs Notes version is that a baby bird emerges from his egg to find his nest empty and goes on a journey to find his mother. He asks a variety of different animals if they are his mother, which they are not, and eventually finds himself back at his nest, where his mother comes home bearing grub for him. Yonah handed me the book to read to him yesterday and in the middle of it, I suddenly burst into tears. I am that baby bird, traveling around the world and seeking for that sense of “home” that only my mother could provide for me. The only difference is that when I come home, she won’t be there waiting for me. However, the home she made is still there and waiting to be filled with family. So I’ll do the best I can with mine.

I’m reading a fantastic book called “Bread and Fire”, an anthology of essays by Jewish women about the experience of being a Jewish woman. These women are from all different facets of life, some observant, some not, some straddling the line. Some are career women, others stay-at-home mothers. But each has something incredibly deep and touching to say about this identity into which we have been born, and all the power and responsibility that comes with it. I found one essay in particular to be so sweet and moving; it was about a woman who has been struggling with infertility for over six years, and finally, having tried everything, she is down to one last option. Based on a teaching of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, the author makes the decision to mentally put herself in the place she wishes to be, meaning, instead of identifying herself as a “childless woman struggling to have children”, she thinks of herself as “a mother of a large family, Thank Gd, who is waiting for her children to come home”. The essay is really a testament to the power of positive thinking. Now, I know this doesn’t guarantee that this woman will ever have children; she says so herself in the essay. But imagine the sense of peace and contentment that must come with a decision like that. Imagine truly believing that your goals have already been accomplished; you’re just waiting to see them in front of your eyes. So, I’ve decided to take it on for myself. I have been telling myself, “I am a person who fully trusts Gd and who knows she is being taken care of”. By placing myself in that reality, I can slowly ease myself out of the fear-based freak-outs that come when I think about money or jobs or the welfare of my family and all of those future phantoms over which I really have no control. Also, the good thing about my goal is that it’s already true. Deep down, I am someone who has faith and knows she is being taken care of; I just forget that when my mind gets in the way. But for today, I will try something different and see if I can bring that inner reality into my outer reality.

I’ve just arrived home after an outing to dinner with my husband and sibs-in-law at El Vaqueiro, a South American/South African steakhouse near downtown Jerusalem. The restaurant offers an all-you-can-eat option that includes a parade of different meats that you are encouraged to try (they bring each to the table, one by one) and then you can choose more of your favorites. There was South African beef sausage, roasted turkey breast, chicken wings, veal and turkey rolls with dried fruit, beef stew cooked in a traditional South African clay pot, entrecote steak, corned beef, barbecued veal, and asado, South American roasted steak. Oh yeah, and in case you’re still hungry, endless plates of Israeli salads, bread and oven-roasted potatoes. Sounds delish, no? It turned out to be the most unsatisfying meal of my life; I didn’t eat a thing.

At first, it was easy to just sit there and watch everyone sample what was obviously a delicious display of food; my body was completely not interested in having anything like meat to deal with, and I was content to sip my hot water with mint. However, as time went on the dishes became more and more fragrant and the food started beckoning to me. Finally, I decided I would eat. But the minute I thought of putting even a bite in my mouth, all the thoughts of everything I’ve just read about factory farming came rushing back and I just couldn’t do it. I literally could not eat it. For those of you who know me, this is definitely a new one.

T-minus twelve days (!) until we leave for home. After our doctor’s appointment this morning, Shuie and I took Yonah to the mercaz and sat at a cafe and chatted. Shuie is thankfully very peaceful about our decision to go now and encouraged me that I shouldn’t feel badly about leaving. “Everything happens on Gd’s timetable,” he said. “There’s so many things that affect so many other things, and Gd knows the reason why it’s time. Maybe us going will enable something good to come that might not have been able to happen while we’re still here.” Can you see why I married this man?

My current brain buzz is about what we’re going to do when we get home. Shuie has a couple of great options waiting for him in Cape Cod (More on those when they’re finalized), so it’s possible we’ll be sticking around there for a while. As for me, I’ve got a very likely job possibility teaching in Cambridge, MA. The timing works out because I’d be filling in for a maternity leave who will be coming back at the end of April, exactly when I’m due. The problem is that if we stay on the Cape, that would mean I’d be commuting an hour and and a half each way. I know people do it all the time and sometimes you gotts do what you gotta do. But I honestly don’t know if, physically, I would be able to handle it. As my husband says, right now I go on a five-minute walk and I’m ready to sleep for the rest of the afternoon. So, we’ll see. I’m going to go and visit the school when we get back and I’ll get a better sense of what things would look like and if, realistically, it could work. Now if only I could think hard enough to speed up time…

Shira called me on her way to the Cape, where our dog since childhood, Jazz, is being put to sleep. Jazzy was a beautiful golden retriever with a puppy’s energy, even into her teens. After we moved out of the house, Jazz became Mom’s baby; she was constantly with her and followed her everywhere. I guess it’s fitting that now she’ll follow Mom again to wherever she is. It’s a strange thing; I haven’t lived with Jazzy for years (after my parents moved to Manhattan she went to live at our friend Billy’s farm on the Cape, where we were free to visit her whenever we wanted), but this feels like such a huge loss. It’s not just saying goodbye to this wonderful animal, but also to the piece of my childhood/adolesence/young adulthood of which she was so vital a part. The tinkle of her leash throughout the house and the tap-tap-tap of her paws on the wood floors were part of the soundtrack of our house, and she is present in so many of the memories I have of my family. She’s even in some of our formal family portraits.

And of course, it’s like losing Mom all over again. Losing that part of my life is so painful because it’s just one more piece of Mom I can no longer hold onto. It’s been seven months, but moments like these make the pain feel so fresh. Even watching my father haul his luggage up the stairs the other day brought tears to my eyes because it was like saying goodbye to her, too. How can someone who is no longer here still be so present, so vivid in my mind? Sometimes I can actually hear her talking. It’s a strange, sad thing, letting go of someone you love so deeply. You don’t lose them all at once, but piece by piece. Eventually, all you have of them to hold onto are what is living inside of you.

I hope Jazzy’s last hours on earth are painful and free of pain. Thank you, Shira, for being there to take care of her.

I have a friend named Sara Benincasa who I have known for almost a decade, since our days tromping around Europe as part of Emerson College’s Kasteel Well program. Even then I knew Sara was not only a delight, but she was dangerously smart and laugh-until-you-lose-consciousness funny. So it was no surprise to me that, nine years down the road, she would be doing her brilliant stand-up all over the country, appearing in magazines and rounding up a bevy of famous, funny folk as her friends. Well, today I got an email from my lovely friend telling me that she wrote about none other than YOURS TRULY on her blog! I am truly honored and way excited. Does this mean I’m actually legit? If you’d like to read Sara’s two cents about Reezie, check out http://sarabenincasa.wordpress.com/. Check out the rest of her site to see some of her outrageous standup and short videos (her Sarah Palin stuff is too good).

Dad is leaving this afternoon (sniff…) but I’m not as devastated as I was when Shira left because I’ll be seeing him again, Gd willing, in about two weeks. I have to admit that I have been a sorry excuse for a hostess. Sick, tired and childcare-less, home is where I’ve been parked for most of this week, save for our archaeology expedition and the occasional trip to the park and the grocery. Dad has been content to go out on his own when the mood strikes (yesterday he spent the day at Kever Rachel, Maarat Hamachpelah and Kever Rut, all burial places of our foremothers), or hang out here with me and watch Rodney Dangerfield on YouTube. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to escape what I am calling the Curse of 43 Ramat HaGolan; if you stay in this apartment for more than 48 hours, you are going to get sick. You all know about me and Yonah; Shira left here with a lovely case of Conjunctivitis and now poor Dad has a stomach flu. At least I know it’s not just me.

Having Dad around for the past week has made for a nice distraction but as soon as he leaves it’s down to business. I have 15 days to pack up this place, sell anything we’re not taking with us (basically everything except the clothes we came with) and get ready for life back in the States. This may sound exhausting, but I am actually getting a charge out of actually DOING something. As my husband says, “She’s the type of girl who says she’s going to do something, she does it”. So let’s roll.

Over the past year or so I have been educating myself about natural living, organic farming and the complete disaster area that has become the food industry in the United States. Some favorites are “Animal, Vegetable, Miracle” by Barbara Kingsolver, “In Defense of Food” by Michael Pollan, and now I have a new favorite, thanks to my brother and future sister-in-law. For my birthday, they sent me an amazing book called “Eating Animals” by Jonathan Safran Foer. I (forgive the pun) gobbled it up in about 24 hours. The book is an expose about factory farming, which is the standard system of raising animals for slaughter in the United States. While I don’t want to give everything away, some of the highlights of factory farming include: packing thousands of animals into small compartments and depriving them of fresh air and sunlight for their entire lives, letting them live in their own excrement, genetically manipulating them so they’ll grow faster (to the point where their legs can’t hold them up and they are unable to procreate on their own), feeding them antibiotics (which also affects our resistance and immune systems) and physical abuse. 99% of meat sold in the US, including kosher meat, is raised this way.

After reading this fantastic/horrifying book I am ready to pack it in, buy my own farm and live off the land for the rest of my life. However, that’s probably not going to happen today. So in the meantime, I’ll have to start slowly. First order of business: whether or not to go vegetarian. It’s an idea I’ve been toying with for a while. I haven’t been able to eat much meat during this pregnancy anyway because my system is so sensitive, but now I find that when I do eat meat, it just doesn’t feel right. While I was having cholent (beef stew) at lunch on Shabbat, for example, all I could think about was the poor living conditions the cow I was eating may have had, and all the hormones and antibiotics that had been pumped into its system and was now making its way into mine and my unborn child’s. Now, I know what you’re thinking, and unfortunately, Israel is not exempt from the factory farming craze. According to CHAI (The Concern for Helping Animals in Israel), the Israeli PETA, “Agricultural trends in Israel closely parallel those in the rest of the world”. The U.S., or more specifically, the conglomerates who control 80% of the world’s food supply, set the standard for everyone. That said, I have a choice of whether or not I want to support them, which quite frankly, I don’t.

So what would it mean if I gave up meat? Well, during the week I eat vegetarian anyway (right now, tofu for lunch and dinner are all my body can handle). I eat tons of fruits and veggies, a good amount of dairy (though that will also need consideration at some future point) and whole grains, preferably organic. My son is not a meat eater; he just doesn’t like it. And my husband will eat whatever I put in front of him. The challenge is that while I have these change-the-world, progressive leanings, I am also an Orthodox Jew. And for Orthodox Jews, a beautiful chicken or beef dish is the crowning glory of every Shabbat and Holiday table. What would my guests do if they came for a meal that was lovely, nutritious, plant-based and completely flesh-free? Would they throw down their napkins and storm out? Would they smile politely while vowing to themselves never to come back? Is it possible to be a vegetarian and still be a good Jewish mother? I guess there’s only one way to find out.

Dad just left. Yes, I cried.

I had a really sweet moment last night after I crawled into bed (too late, I’m afraid). As I lay on my side, my body hugged around my belly-friendly tube pillow, waiting for sleep to take over, I felt LB’s weight in my belly. I thought of the baby curling up and falling asleep inside of me and, suddenly, I felt this sweep of love for this little person I have yet to meet. It was a moment of pure sweetness, a welcome window of joy that I desperately needed. Things are not easy today, but this baby gives me hope that the future holds something better.

I haven’t officially mentioned the debate that has been going on in my house for the past several weeks on the blog because I felt it was best to keep it mum until a final decision was made. Well, we finally did it: Last night, Shuie and I agreed to come home. I booked our tickets today and we fly back to the States on Wednesday, December 30th. For those of you who didn’t see this one coming, all I can say is that this trip has been a lot tougher than I had thought it was going to be. I didn’t know I was pregnant when we planned our year in Israel, nor did I know I was going to be sick for almost our entire stay or that I would be wrestling with impairing depression and doubts. I also didn’t know that it was going to cost so damn much to live here.

I wish I could say that this decision was a simple one, but it wasn’t. My husband is very happy here and feels like he has a community he belongs to. However, he is able to complete his program in the States and Gd willing will do so by the summer or next fall the latest. For Shuie, our time here has been a long-needed shot in the arm. For me, it has been the opposite.

I have often chided myself for being too weak or not passionate enough about my goals here to keep pushing for them, or that maybe I don’t have enough faith that things will get better and that I’m a coward for not sticking it out. I also wonder if I’m being selfish for dragging my husband across the world, asking him to leave his daughters and then changing my mind about the whole thing. But after almost four months of wrestling, I feel wrung out. All I want now is the comfort of home and the faces of people who know and love me, and to have some sense of peace before this baby comes. I guess sometimes you have to travel to a foreign country to realize all you really wanted was home.

But I’m not naive. I know a lot of the feelings I have been wrestling with here will follow me to America. I also know that it will still be isolated for me at the house in Cape Cod, where we’re going to be living until we figure out our next step. But I have to hope that going home will provide some sense of comfort for me and that maybe it will be easier to heal with a network of support instead of trying to manage it on my own.

Other than our flight being booked and our ultimate destination determined, the plan is still up in the air. Shuie will be finishing his program, though where yet I’m not sure. As for me, I have no idea what I’m going to do. Getting a job is tricky because I’m having the baby in four months, so at this point I’m focusing on getting our stuff sold or packed and shipping out. I’ll have to deal with the rest when we come to it.

So, my friends, I’m afraid that my blog will not be nearly as exciting as it had been or might have been, had circumstances been different. But if there is still a demand, I’ll be happy to write life back in the States, pregnancy, Mommying, dealing with grief, whatever. You’ll let me know.

There’s this thing I’ve heard once or twice that you’re not supposed to complain about Israel, it being the gift to our people from Gd and everything. Word on the street is you may even sacrifice your chance to be here if you’ve got beef and advertise it. Well, today I’m willing to risk it because this country is ticking me off, big-time. Well, maybe I should rephrase. The country itself is not bad; it’s actually quite beautiful when you look past the collective bad attitude of its residents and the ridiculous policies that make everything, from transportation to picking up a package, a complete balagan. But eventually, one comes to think of a way of life as inherent to the country.

Allow me to illustrate. Yesterday I got on the bus and waited to hand the driver my card. I was standing within the door frame and could not move forward until the girl in front of me moved on. The driver decided to re-open the door, which caught my arm and gave me a good, painful jostle. When I looked at him incredulously — of course he knew I was there — he started snapping at me as if it was my fault. This, by the way, is a typical Israeli attitude: it’s always YOUR fault. I lost it on him. “I can’t move!” I yelled at him. “And I’m pregnant!”. I refrained from using a few choice names, but only because I didn’t know them in Hebrew.

Today, I went to pick up a package from my brother Josh, which apparently could only be held in one central location far, far away. Not the biggest deal, but I’m not quite sure why they couldn’t hold it at our local post office. So I arrived at this huge warehouse in Givat Shaul and was pleasantly given my package. That is, after I paid a delightful 300-shekel tax, of course. Not even the sight of my brother’s familiar left-handed scrawl or Katherine’s fantastic wrapping paper could cheer me up after that one.

I know individually these little incidents don’t seem like much, but they pile up. So, while I’m grateful that Israel is open and available to everyone who wants to risk it, today is just one of those days where I wish I’d passed.