At the moment I am feeling immensely guilty because I just dropped Yonah off at Ruchama’s, even though all I’m going to be doing this morning is sleeping and, if I can build up the strength, go to the grocery store (Dad went to yeshiva with Shuie today). To my credit I did go to bed last night with chills and nausea and I genuinely do need more sleep, which I won’t get if I keep Yonah with me. It’s only for a few hours, right? I’m not the worst Mommy in the world. And I did give him an extra peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich…

Dad arrived on Monday evening full of his usual boundless energy — for the record, my father is a superhero; he wears spring jackets in blizzards, walks with the speed of a high-powered Vespa and sleeps maybe 4.6 minutes a day — and ready for shwarma. Pretty soon, he and Shuie were off to the Mercaz and came back with dinner. Dad’s booming “Hello” gave Yonah a little scare so Bug is still tentative around his Zadie. Dad has resorted to bribery by buying Yonah an order of french fries last night; I’m hoping Yonah will go to him without a fuss by the time Dad leaves.

On Tuesday morning, Dad decided he wanted to go to Bet Guvrin, a national park and archaeological site our family visited when we were here almost fifteen years ago. Dad recalled seeing special burial sites there that he just learned about in the Talmud and wanted to see again, as well as a columbarium where pigeons were bred for use in the holy temple. So, off we headed to rent a car first thing in the morning. I immediately thought to myself, “Five bucks says we run into some kind of trouble renting the car…this is Israel, after all.” But I decided to keep my mouth shut to avoid bringing negative energy to our trip. Well, whether I said it or not I was onto something. We had to wait almost half an hour for the car. First, there was damage to the outside that they needed to write up. Then, the gas tank wasn’t full. Then, they had to wrestle the car seat into the back. By the time we left, Dad looked at me and said, “I’m tired. Let’s go home.” Of course we didn’t, but maybe it would have been a good idea.

We got to Bet Guvrin and found a series of rolling, rocky hills. All of the sites were off the main road, so we parked and tried walking around to find them. We did manage to see an ancient olive oil press that looked like a chunky stone doughnut that you roll in what looks like a giant saucer. There was also a log with a few loops of rope tied to it to which the pressers would tie rocks and crush olives. Dad tried lifting the log alone, without the rocks, and said it was really heavy. Dad then decided we should walk up the main road and see if we could find any of the other sites we were looking for. I got the feeling that the main road was just that — a main road — and that we probably wouldn’t be able to find much by sticking to the path. Plus, it curved uphill, which made pushing the stroller oh so much fun. Within five minutes, I was totally tapped out so we headed back to the car and tried to driving to the other sites.

Contrary to popular belief, fifteen-month-olds are not so into archaeology. Around this time Yonah decided that this trip was lame and it was the perfect opportunity for a meltdown. Dad and I drove around in circles for a while before he ran into the information booth to figure out where everything was. They didn’t offer much help; this is Israel, after all. On our last go-round, Dad managed to find a tour guide who told him that the burial sites he was looking for were not at Bet Guvrin, but at Bet She’an. So much for reliving memories past. By then, we were ready to book out, go home, and sleep off our big adventure.

I’ve been feeling badly because I want to show Dad a good time around Jerusalem, but between Yonah not feeling well, me being tired, pregnant and not feeling well, I haven’t been able to show him much more than our guest room. But he assures me he’s very happy to just hang out, sleep and spend time with me. He has been here a number of times before doing the touristy thing, so I have to assume he’s telling me the truth.

Yesterday, while Dad went to return the car, I went to a session with Elana and then we headed to a class given by Avivah Gottleib Zornberg, an intellectual powerhouse with a fantastic Scottish accent. Avivah is an interesting character. Her father was the head rabbi of Edinburgh and an amazing mind. He never had sons, only two daughters, so he raised them to be huge Torah scholars. Avivah’s knowledge is amazing, but she also knows a lot about psychology and the arts, so she tends to tie in outside references to everything she is teaching and gives the characters in the Torah a very human feel. She talked about how although it says in the torah “Veyeshev Ya’akov” (And Jacob Settled), the settling was less a physical one and more a wishful thinking on Jacob’s part. Very quickly, we see that he became unsettled when his sons told him that his beloved Joseph was killed. As much as we think we’ve accomplished everything we need to accomplish, that we’ve reached a plateau in our lives where we can just relax, those things are really not up to us. At any moment, life can be turned upside-down all over again. Avivah suggested that perhaps it was precisely because of Jacob’s decision that everything was “settled” that Gd overturned his life. I enjoyed her class very much, although I had to skip out early to pick up Yonah. I got home to find Dad fast asleep. I was hoping we could go out to dinner but could not manage to pin down a babysitter. It ended up working out because I started dropping big time in the evening and, as I mentioned, ended up going to bed with the chills.

So today, Dad and Shuie are off learning, Yonah is at Ruchama’s and I am going to rest. We’re going out for dinner tomorrow night, Thank Gd, so I don’t have to cook. Tomorrow is the first night of Channukah and my birthday. I have yet to get presents for my husband and son, which should be a good indicator of my energy level. I am praying I’ll be able to get myself out of the house for at least a little bit today and hopefully find something for them. It might also be nice to get some provisions since we barely have any food left in the house.

Okay, enough writing. Bedtime.

For the past three days, Yonah has had a high fever, runny nose and today broke out in an adorable rash. Dr. Wolf says it’s just a virus and that the rash (Roseola) is the final stages of the germs leaving the body. Well, thank Gd. While Yonah’s recovery is first and foremost on the gratitude list, I am also glad that three days of being stuck in the house are hopefully coming to an end.

Since I have been housebound for three days I don’t have any big adventures to report (unless you call wiping rivers of snot an adventure). My father arrives tomorrow afternoon. Normally I would try to come up with some kind of itinerary to keep my guest occupied throughout the week but I can guarantee that my Dad has a million people and places here that he wants to see; chances are, he’ll be off as soon as he sleeps off the jet lag.

Last night Shuie and I went to our friends Adiella and Binyamin Yitzchak’s Sheva Brachot (Sheva Brachot [Seven Blessings] are a series of dinners that take place each night for a week after a Jewish wedding). I had really wanted to go to their wedding, but one of the Jewish laws of mourning prohibits me from going to any sort of celebration for 11 months following my mother’s death. It was a double bummer because Adiella is my friend and because I really wanted to go to a wedding in Israel. Disappointment aside, the Sheva Brachot was lovely. It was thrown by Shuie’s yeshiva so all of his friends and their wives (my friends) were there. The thing I like about this chevra (community) is how chilled-out it is. One of the less pretty sides of the Orthodox world is the competition people have to make THE MOST FABULOUS wedding, bar-mitzvah, Sheva Brachot, etc. Instead of a fancy, catered shindig like some people would turn themselves inside out to throw, Adiella and Binyamin Yitzchak’s Sheva Brachot was a vegetarian potluck and the dress code was “Whatever”. Instead of some lavish catering hall, it was held at Kol Rina, the Carlebach shul in Nachlaot that used to be a bomb shelter, and everyone just relaxed, danced and enjoyed each other’s company.

I was touched by two things in particular during our evening out. The first was how gorgeous Adiella looked. It’s not that she wasn’t beautiful before she got married, but there was an unmistakable glow about her that I saw the minute she walked in. There is something special about being a bride, and I think even more so when you’re a Jewish bride, or “Kallah” in Hebrew. From the time you get engaged, you have Kallah status, and you keep it all the way through the first year of marriage. A Kallah and her Chatan (groom) are considered like a king and queen and are treated as such by everyone (hence the “thrones” they sit in at their wedding and the “feasts” thrown for them for seven nights afterward). The perks of Kallah-hood are that people fawn all over you and ask you how wedding plans/married life is and you’re not obligated to host any Shabbat guests for the entire first year so that you and your husband have ample quality time. I loved all the attention when I was a kallah and sometimes miss the romantic whirlwind of engagement and newlyweddedness (yes, it’s a word now).

The other thing I found particularly sweet was when Reb Aaron, Shuie’s rabbi, said after the meal, “Chevra, I think we should spend the rest of the evening singing and offering blessings to the Chatan and Kallah”. I have been to so many simchas (celebrations) where it just seems like one long cocktail hour with boring small talk and maybe a sliver of holiness before everyone attacks the smorgasbord. But this small group created a holy, joyful little gathering, and the blessings offered were so, so beautiful. Unfortunately, Shuie and I had to sneak out early to be home for the babysitter before we could offer one of our own.

I need to brag about Yonah for a minute in case someone doubted for one second that he wasn’t a genius. When I picked him up from Ruchama’s today she told me that when the other kids play with blocks, they just throw them around or line them up. Yonah used them to build a tower. I was so proud.

I can’t believe tomorrow is Thursday already. They say that Shabbat starts coming in on Wednesday night and builds over Thursday before coming to full flower on Friday evening. For me, Wednesday night means menu planning, Thursday means shopping and Friday means cooking my tush off. We may or may not have guests to stay this weekend and the Edens are coming for lunch. To be honest, I hope our potential overnight guests bail; I kind of want to keep things quiet even though I had last Shabbat off. It’s been a tiring, emotional week and I don’t really want to host anyone. Since nothing has been confirmed yet, is it impolite to tell them to seek lodging elsewhere? Bluch.

I am craving America. I want to drive my car and go to massive supermarkets and buy stuff I don’t need, in bulk, like a good American girl. I want to turn on the radio and hear people speaking in English. I want to pay for things in dollars. I want to see my family. I hope seeing my father next week will give me a temporary fix.

I am one of those people who don’t do well when underslept; I get cranky, short and completely scattered. It was no surprise to me, then, after two nights of waking up with Yonah that I felt like an overturned mobile home in after a Kansas hurricane. I considered skipping my meeting and session with Elana but at the last minute kicked myself out the door. When I got back, my beloved husband took over Yonah duty so I could have a delicious two-hour nap to set myself right again. I have also officially called off my Monday Chabura because shlepping out at night is just getting too hard for me. It is so uncomfortable for me to go into hibernation mode — I get a buzz from lots of activity and social interaction — but I also know what happens if I push myself too hard, and it ain’t pretty.

I had a some really encouraging conversations last night with two midwives and a doula (birth coach) to find out some more information about home birthing. It sounds like a monumental experience that takes a lot of bravery, especially in the medically-obsessed culture we live in. Women have been taught that giving birth is a dangerous experience that requires medical intervention, like an illness or an injury. The philosophy behind home birth is that women were created specifically to have babies and with minimal guidance and encouragement, they can do it on their own. I’m currently seesawing on the idea. I wanted to do it with Yonah but I was too nervous about it since it was my first birth. This time I feel like I might be ready to try it, though the prospect of ruling out the option of painkillers is a scary one. I am all for natural birthing; research shows that it is the healthiest option for babies and mothers. But my last labor was 19 hours long and I never would have gotten through it without some help. So we’ll see.

My father arrives in six days and I am really excited to see him. Incidentally, his visit coincides with my birthday and the first day of Channukah. The little girl in me is happy to have him here to celebrate with me and hopes he’ll spring for a present or five. Speaking of which, ’tis the season for Channukah present shopping. I am completely at a loss as to what to buy my husband; unfortunately telling him that brewing his second child is gift enough doesn’t fly. Thankfully, I live in the Mecca of Judaica stores (is that a contradiction in terms?) so I should be able to find something that tickles his fancy.

Living in a country whose language is not your first means that, pretty regularly, you are going to find yourself feasting on a thick slice of humble pie. In general, I can understand what people are saying to me after a five-second delay, and with my third-grade Hebrew skills I can pretty much get across what I need to. However, the language barrier has made for some pretty priceless moments over the past few months.

Take today, for example. It is not a rare occasion for my doorbell to ring in the evenings with some person or other asking me for tzedakah (charity); here in Israel there is ALWAYS someone in need. However, the interesting thing is that the people who come are usually collecting on behalf of someone else: a poor family, an underfunded yeshiva, a couple about to be married. I’ve heard all kinds of stories on the other side of my intercom. At first I was taken aback by the whole arrangement, but now I’m pretty much used to it. In fact, I’ve even taken to dropping my loose change in a vase near the door so it’s handy when the needy come a-knockin’. Tonight, when I heard my buzzer around half past five I figured it was Shuie, keyless again. But when I picked up the intercom and heard a stream of Hebrew in my ear, my ears perked up.

“HebrewHebrewHebrewHebrewHebrewHebrew,” said the voice on the other end.

“Mah?” I said. What?

“HebrewHebrewHebrewHebrewHebrew,” was his retort.

“Od Pa’am?” I asked, buying myself time to figure out what was going on.

“HEBREWHEBREWHEBREWHEBREWHEBREW,” said he. Apparently he knew the rule that when you speak to someone who doesn’t know your language, all you need to do is talk louder and they’ll understand.

“Atah Rozeh Tzedakah?” I finally replied. You want Tzedakah?

“Lo!” came the voice, exasperated. “Dryer!”

Oh! He came to fix the dryer! Although I was thrilled to see him (we’ve had a two-month long washer/dryer saga that would make you weep) I left the door open, busying myself with Yonah so I wouldn’t have to make eye contact with someone who clearly thought I was an idiot. In he went to our Machsan (storeroom) to tinker with our masochistic dryer, followed soon by Yossi, who loves to check out the scenery when fix-it people come by. While I was reading to Yonah I heard the dryer guy chatting with my landlord. “She asked me if I wanted tzedakah,” he chuckled.

Okay, I know some Israelis can be jerks. I know he’s a stranger and I will never see him again in my life (unless my dryer has another nervous breakdown). I also know his opinion matters naught in the scheme of things, but I was totally embarrassed. I guess today’s humble pie came a la mode. As a side note, just as I was writing this story a Chassidish man just buzzed, asking for tzedakah for a poor family. I should have given him my dryer.

Today was a bit of a whirlwind since we went away for Shabbat to Shuie’s childhood friend Zelig Barr’s in Ramat Beit Shemesh. By the time we got home last night I was too exhausted to do any prep (including giving Yonah a bath), so I was moving like a rocket from the time I got up this morning. Morning meditation was out the window as soon as I heard Yonah calling me (”Meema! Mommee!”) from his crib and before I knew it we were packed up and on our way to Ruchama’s. Thankfully, I was still able to get some quality quiet/me time during my walk through Nachlaot on the way to my art class. There is something invigorating about walking through a city first thing in the morning as everyone is getting ready for the day, like everything is brand-new and ripe with possibility. As I weaved through the merchants unloading trucks and wheeling their wares out for display and on through the winding stone alleys of Nachlaot, I caught myself in one of those moments when that “newness” feeling, the crisp air and the sun on my face make for unfiltered delight.

I hate to sound cliche, but I am really learning a lot about myself in my Veil Painting class. The whole idea of this type of art is that it’s a slow, organic process meant to unfold in tiny steps. I began today’s painting still in that “rush” mode, residue from the morning, and within a few minutes I was trying to coax some kind of form out of the painting instead of building a foundation and letting the form emerge. I wanted to get to the finished product, then end result, without going through the process. My teacher Miriam caught on pretty quickly and gently directed me to go back to basics. When I remembered to breathe and let go, I could relax into the process and just enjoy.

I hate to say it, but that little episode is typical me. I’ve never been good at waiting, and I would prefer to skip the process and the just get to the end result. Like, “I want to be more patient…RIGHT NOW!”. Even when it comes to my learning, I want to be able to learn independently today and move forward to be able to teach other people. I want to zoom through the grieving stages and just be used to not having my mother around anymore. I want to rush home so I know I have my ducks in a row before Little Bean comes instead of waiting to see what Gd has in store for us. So today’s lesson is a reminder to just breathe and be where I am, as hard as it is. If I can manage to let go and unclench every muscle in my body, I may even end up enjoying what the present moment has to offer.

Seriously, November is over already? I can’t believe how quickly time is flying. I’m already 19 weeks along in the pregnancy and Little Bean is apparently auditioning for David Beckham’s old spot on Manchester United. I try to remember to enjoy this pregnancy; it’s much different when you have another kid to run after. When I was pregnant with Yonah I could savor every single move he made in my belly; this time, I’m lucky if I notice anything going on. Still, just like every child is different, every pregnancy is different, too.

On that topic, as the result of a few horror stories I’ve heard about the midwives in Israeli hospitals, I’m strongly considering having the baby at home or in a birthing center. I actually wanted to do it with Yonah, but there were no birthing centers near where we were living at the time. There’s a huge movement of women who homebirth here as well as some amazing, loving midwives. I just wonder if I’ve been so indoctrinated by the whole “The Hospital is Safest” thing for me to actually be able to relax if I was laboring at home. It’s definitely something to consider, and if anyone has any experience one way or the other I am soliciting birth stories and advice.

Wishing everyone a happy rest of the weekend.

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.