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.

It is 8:17 in the morning and I am already done for the day.

I went to bed violently ill and in the middle of the night was woken from my sleep for an olympic puking session (sorry to get graphic; all complaints can be forwarded to my PR team). Falling back asleep, however, was pretty difficult since Yonah was also waking up every couple of hours with a fever. This morning, unfortunately, my nausea has not gone away and Yonah, having fever will not be going to gan.

I’ll tell you something: being sick like this sucks. But being sick and being home with a sick kid double sucks. I have been praying that someone miraculously show up to help me (Shuie has to go to school), but my friends in Ramat Eshkol have babies who I’m sure don’t need Yonah’s germs. Yonah is fussy as ever, the phone line at the doctor’s office is busy, busy, busy, and I don’t think I can do today myself. I have no idea what to do.

Yesterday, about twenty minutes into our “quiet” Shabbat, our telephone rang. Immediately, I knew it was my sister. Unfortunately, it being Shabbat, I was not able to pick up the phone. I figured she’d remember soon enough that with the time change it was already Shabbat here and let it go without much thought. About twenty minutes later, it rang again. My anttenae went up: something was going on. When the phone rang AGAIN about an hour later, and then AGAIN about half an hour after that, I gave myself permission to have a full-scale freakout. My father was driving to Boston to spend Shabbat with all of my sibs, so my brain automatically jumped to twisted metal and flashing lights. I proceeded to torture myself for the next 25 hours until I could find out what was going on. When Shabbat finally ended, I practically pounced on my computer to call my sister.

Turns out, my worse-case scenario fantasy was founded on quicksand, thank Gd. Shira actually had some fantastic news for me: She’s coming to visit next week! I am beyond, beyond excited. I didn’t realize how much I missed the States until my mall debacle the other day, and even more so after an outing I had this afternoon with a friend who’s here visiting from America. On top of that, I was really sad to miss the dinner my family had all together last night, the first time they’ve been together since the end of the summer. I think Shira’s visit will give me the double-shot of America and Family of which I am so sorely in need. Now to plan a fun and inspiring trip that will tempt Shira to stay a little longer than a week…

I am considering writing a petition to the Israeli government to implement a Real Sunday instead of this back-to-the-grind hoo-hah they have going on here. Even if there’s no school on Friday, I do not consider it a day off, not when you have to run around getting Shabbat dinner together or traveling to get wherever you need to be before sundown. As soon as Shabbat ends you’re already prepping for the upcoming week. The only reason I’m not going to write a petition is because I don’t have much power as a tourist and because my Hebrew is such crap they would probably think they’re getting some cute letter from a kindergartener who’s learning about pen pals. I’ll just have to live with the sad fact that in Israel, or in Judaism, for that matter, there is never a day off.

It was a total Balagaan.

In Hebrew, “Balagaan” means chaos or a completely crazy situation. It was a word I knew before I came to Israel, but now that I’m here I can appreciate it’s impact so much more. Especially after yesterday.

The day started innocently enough. Yonah went off to his playgroup and I went to school. Our mornings both ran smoothly, not a cloud on the horizon, so I had no reservations about spending the afternoon at the Malcha Mall with Rachel and Shmuel Yaakov, and Nomi and Yaakov Moshe. I even let Yonah skip his afternoon nap because I knew he would fall asleep in the stroller.

Big mistake.

We arrived at the mall, a massive structure of mostly Euro-glam stores that immediately disappointed me. I didn’t realize how much I had been jonesing for even the sight of a Bed, Bath And Beyond, Old Navy or Barnes and Noble, which I clearly was not going to find here. Instead, I was surrounded by displays of overpriced thigh-high boots, popped collars and the insistent pulse of techno music. I did, however, manage to find a bookstore with a decent English section with some cute children’s books (a blessed miracle after two months of reading Yonah the same four board books).

After my tiny literary coup, everything went downhill, fast. Turns out, Yonah, Yanky-Mo and Shmuel Yaakov were way too interested in the doings at the Malcha Mall to do anything like sleep. Overtired and confined to their strollers for long periods of time, it was only a matter of time until one of them had a meltdown. Amazingly enough, it was Yonah who decided to start the ball rolling. As I was checking out at Shilav, the kids’ clothing store (Yonah needed jammies. And a new outfit. And some socks to match. What? There was a sale!), Yonah decided he would stand for nothing but being held, and only by Mommy. I don’t know if you’ve ever been in a check-out line with your arms full of clothes, but it’s pretty difficult to do while you’re holding a 25-pound baby. Major crying ensued. Rachel tried to entertain him, but Yonah would only have me. The meltdown continued through the kids’ shoestore (where they charged more for a pair of baby sneakers than my weekly grocery bill) and then to the maternity store while Mommy tried on skirts, or at least tried to try them on between picking Yonah up and putting him down; As the glammed-up salesgirls sized me up behind the checkout counter (pregnant, exhausted, balancing three full shopping bags, a bulky stroller and a screaming Yonah), I could practically hear their thoughts: “I am NEVER having kids”.

I guess the show Yonah put on inspired the other two boys because once we got to the food court, Yonah, Yanky-Mo and Shmuel Yaakov all proceeded to freak out. A frustrated Yanky-Mo spilled his fruit shake all over him and Nomi, Shmuel Yaakov refused to stay in his stroller and ran all over the food court while Yonah protestingly threw his herb-cream-cheese sandwich across the table. Poor Rachel had to chase Shmuel Yaakov and Yanky Mo so Nomi could choke down her lasagna; By the time she was done, the white flag went up and our trip came to an abrupt end.

The good thing about days like that is that they do end, and luckily mine wound down on a good note. Shuie and I went out on our weekly date for dinner at Entrecote, a steakhouse not far from our apartment. The food was delicious (though I got a little ambitious and ordered a salad–BIG MISTAKE) and the company charming, of course. By the time we got home, my nightmarish afternoon was practically forgotten. Well, almost. Nomi called today and asked me if I wanted to go to Mea She’arim to get shoes for Yonah. “Thank you so much,” I told her. “But after yesterday’s adventure I’m going to pass. Check in with me in January”.

Today, thankfully, was back to normal. The weather has been typical fall: chilly mornings that compel you to bundle up but leave you sweating to death by midday. On the super-packed bus this morning, I had to ask a girl on the bus to let me have her seat because, between the heat and the nausea (stupid salad), I could barely stand up. That, by the way, is one of the things I really like about Israel: their code of common courtesy. Cab drivers may try to cheat you out of every cent you have, but they will also get out of their cabs and help you put your stroller in the trunk. It is common practice for strangers to help random children and old people across the street. On buses, it is expected that those in the front row will give up their seat for the elderly, infirm or hugely pregnant (there are signs that even say so), so I had no qualms about asking this girl for a place to sit. Not only did she gladly give up her seat for me, but she offered me water from her bag. Later, as I was getting off the bus, she wished me a “Shabbat Shalom”, as if I had done her a favor (even sweeter because she was clearly not observant). This is what makes me wonder about Israelis. They are called “Sabras” after the desert fruit with prickly outsides but mushy, sweet insides. And yet, there is an underlying sense here that everyone is looking out for everyone, no matter where on the spectrum they fall. Maybe it’s because we’re all Jews, and at the end of the day, we know all we have is each other. As a random cabbie quoted to me after I arrived here, “Kol Yisrael Arevim Zeh La Zeh” (All of Israel is responsible for one another).