Jerusalem revealed

Martha Stewart invades my home

2007-10-09T13:02:00.001+02:00

So, in keeping with my resolution to find ways of de-stressing, I've become Martha Stewart.

You won't find me decoupaging my toilet seats or anything, but I've gotten more into gourmet cooking, more into baking, and decorating, organizing, cleaning my house, and creating a mini-"garden" (shmitta-proof of course) on my porch.

I never thought I'd say this, but I really admire her. She's got grace under fire. She went to prison for insider trading (I don't actually admire that) and emerged the same. She doesn't ignore the fact that she went to prison on her show, or in her magazines, but she doesn't talk about it all day long either. She doesn't try to hide the not-so-pretty things in her life, or airbrush the less-than-perfect parts of her life out. In her most recent issue of Martha Stewart Living she reminisced about her home that she recently sold. She didn't pretend that for most of the time she lived there she wasn't married to her now ex-husband. She admitted that the reason she changed her vegetable garden to flowers was that with the divorce, she needed less veggies. She doesn't pretend, but she doesn't make a big deal about her painful things either.

Where is this leading to? I'm going to drop the name of someone who hasn't appeared on this blog in years. D. I haven't seen him in years. I have heard bits and bobs about through well-meaning friends over the years. I know his father passed away. I know he got married, to an American girl, who's meant to be "scarily clever". I didn't really care to hear the news, but it never bothered me either. Then, this past Saturday night, at an engagement party, just as Bryan and I were about to leave, I ran into him. He looked the same (in fact, I think he may have even been wearing a shirt I tried to throw away 5 years ago). We caught up briefly. He pointed out his wife of 10 months, who was both beautiful and a glowing 8 months pregnant. We spoke for a bit about maternity wards in hospitals here (that being my line of business). And then Bryan and I had to leave, or our babysitter would have turned into a pumpkin.

This meeting unrattled me. I'm not sure why. I'm very happy with my life. I love my husband, who is the right man for me, in almost every way (except for why he cannot seem to grasp that unwrapped cheese + refrigerator = dried out useless cheese). I have the most incredible son, who fills my days with laughter and lots of messes, my nights with cuddles and snoring. So, I'm not sure why running into D. and his wife ruffled my feathers. I don't begrudge him the happiness he's found. He seemed quite in love with his wife, excited about his prospective fatherhood status, and I'm glad to hear all that.

Am I allowed to still be hurt even though I've moved on? Is it okay to still be upset that he chose not to love me - even though Bryan did choose me, and I him, and we've made our lives together, and I'm at peace with all that? Is it supposed to still be a teeny bit painful to see the woman he did choose to love, to know that she's pretty and smart and carrying his child? I haven't been able to say anything to Bryan, since I think I would be upset if he revealed such feelings to me about another woman he was once with. But it doesn't mean I care for D., just that the memory of what was, and the reality of what wasn't still hurt a bit. Is it allowed to hurt after all these years?

I love my current life. Bryan and I belong together. We're happy, I'm happy, I wouldn't change my life if I could. Bry and I have had big fights, small fights, and through each one of them, we've learned more about the other, grown closer, become more of a couple. The knowledge that we're in this for the long haul makes the sometimes difficult task of fighting fair, and making up, easier. We've begun and are in the middle of weaving together a quilt of life. Each experience is another patch, each difficulty, each happiness, only strengthens the stitching. Knowing that we're building something together constantly makes all the hard work enjoyable. Arguing over who will be the one to get up at 3 am to tend to our son, whose teeth are coming in, knowing that we're providing comfort to the ebst thing Bryan and I have accomplished to date - another patch on the quilt.

As I am writing, I got a call from a news station that interviewed when I made aliyah 5+ years ago. They're thinking of doing a follow-up. At the most recent follow-up (3+ years ago) I had been dating D. The researcher, who had clearly studied the past tapes, wanted to know what happened to him, were we still together? I guess that story of the single olah meeting her veteran oleh/Israeli soldier boyfriend right off the boat, and then being married to him 5 years down the line was appealing. So I told the man no, I didn't stick with D. I married someone else, my perfect partner-in-most-everything, another oleh. The researcher seemed disappointed Bryan wasn't Israeli, but the guy perked up when I told him we had an Israeli-born son.

Funny how I was able to sum up my life in the past 5 years in 2 sentences.

A penny for your thoughts...

Happy New Year...with a resolution

2007-09-12T12:15:00.000+03:00

I miss blogging...Its been too long since I've posted, and too long since I've taken it seriously. Now that Akiva is over a year (!) and I've got a bit more time to blog (we're down to one nap a day = earlier bedtime), I'll try and be back. For my sake. Because I've noticed I've become rather stress-y and nasty and blogging somehow destressed me and make me put things into perspective.

That being said, I've been thinking a lot about my stress levels and why I am, as Bryan puts it, "A tee-pee and a wigwam" (two tents = too tense). I was trying to think about why I am so tense, and when that started, since I used to be really laid-back and more carefree. Anyone who knows me from my childhood would agree. Was it just adulthood, with more responsibilities, which pushes me over the edge?

Recently, I've realized what the catalyst was...it's living here in Israel. Now, here comes the not-so-pro-aliyah talk: If I ever made yerida (moved back to America, or anywhere else for that matter) it would be for one reason only. Not because I'd have a better lifestyle somewhere else, not because life would be easier in English, and not because the shopping is better. Israelis, for all their quirks and charms, are among the most self-centered people I know. Nowhere is this more evident that on the roads.

People cut in front of you, without a care as to what will happen when you are forced to slam on the breaks in order to avoid an accident, knowing that at least they're safe. Turning signals are used for purely decorative purposes. If an exit lane is moving particularly slowly (because the turn-off has a light or whatever), they will simply move over to the lane to the left of the exit lane, speed to the front of the line, and cut in. Leaving us fools waiting for hours to exit, watching the jerks behind you whizz by. Off-road people are much the same. They cut you in line at the grocery, the bank, the post-office, the buffet. "Lo kara kloom" (nothing happened!) they exclaim when you point out their misdemeanor, making you look like the petty one for begrudging one person a few spare minutes. They never think that other people in the line may also be in a rush.

I'm finding this self-centeredness exhausting. I feel like I always have to be on the alert for someone looking to cut me in line, cut me off, screw me over. And this, I think, is why I am so tense. And nowhere is this selfish behavior more apparent than in our holy city of Jerusalem. I've now lived elsewhere, I see the differences.

To pro-Zionistic, shiny happy hand-holders in America, Israelis are warm, friendly, a bit rude, and open. I know, I thought this way too a few years back. But as my acculturation in Israel is nearing complete (I'm fluent, I work in an Israeli hospital, I go to an Israeli university, I understand army slang), I'm finding myself somewhat disappointed.

When I heard about friends who were making yerida for "a few years" I asked Bryan his thoughts. He won't even think about it. He says my whole family is here, he's finally feeling comfortable here, finally got a good job (starts after the chagim, much better salary and its in Jerusalem). I have a job I more or less like, I've only got one year left to school, Akiva is happy in his new mishpachton (childcare).

We've settled on the fact that we definitely have to leave Jerusalem for the suburbs...things seem better over there. But that won't happen until we can afford to buy, and that won't be for a while. So my Rosh Hashana resolution is to find a way to be less affected by the behaviors around me...I've started going to the gym, tried yoga (not for me...I found myself thinking of good recipes for fish items, instead of performing the Downward Dog), finally put up flowers and a swing on our tiny little porch in an attempt to create an "oasis".

I wish all of you a happy, healthy, personally fulfilling 5768. Lets all find a placed where we can call "home".

Back for...now

2007-01-22T20:00:00.000+02:00

I'm not sure if I'm back for good, or back for now...we'll see.

Here are a few things that have been going on

1. We moved back to Jerusalem two months ago. So Jerusalem Revealed no longer lives in Ra'anana. I miss the calm and quiet of Ra'anana - but that's about it. I sure don't mind that I no longer have to drive 1.5 hours each way to get to school. I sure don't mind the plethora of available eating options here in Jerusalem. And I definitely don't mind babysitters (my parents) that live a 3 minutes drive away.

2. Akiva, whom we call 'Kivi', 'Kivi-Weevey', 'The Weevey' or 'Kievs' is....growing, developing, becoming a real person. It still sort of shocks me every once in a while...I look at this giggling little boy and think - "I (with a bit of help) made him. I take care of him. And I haven't forgotten him anywhere yet." He looks mostly like me, but certain expressions make him look a little like Bryan. He is very ticklish, has quite a personality, is a total blabbermouth (now there's a surprise - my son, the big talker), can be very stubborn but is quite gentle. Amazing how at 5.5 months his very essence is probably all right there.

Kivi is still not sleeping through the night - until 2 nights ago we were dealing with 3 wakings a night, that required either Bryan or I to put him back to sleep. Last night, after a late-night viewing of Tsotsi, I gave him a "dream feed" at midnight. He woke up at 3:20 am, but we let him whimper for a minute or two, and then he went back to sleep.

Tonight, I put him to sleep really early, like 6:30 pm. He woke briefly at 7:15, so I fed him again. Then I laid him in his crib wide awake and guess what? He put himself to sleep! Perhaps we are turning a corner - otherwise I will lose it soon.

We recently went to South Africa for a wedding, and while there had professional pictures of Akiva and the family taken - I leave you with 3 of my favorites:

New Motherhood

2006-08-21T12:51:00.000+03:00

With the small amount of time I have, I thought I'd give you an insider's view of my mind, in the past 2 weeks. So here are some thoughts I've had, not necessarily in order, not all of them pretty.

After 48 hours in labor, 24 hours in the hospital, 17 hours in the delivery room, 15 hours since the start of my epidural, 3 hours since they killed the epidural in order to get things moving faster, 1 hour and 15 minutes of pushing with no epidural: I now believe in love at first sight - and I'm not saying the first sight is beautiful. My baby is covered in meconium, his head is shaped like a Conehead's (after pushing on a not-completely dilated cervix), he's a purplish-red color and he's screaming - blessedly. Anything I ever thought was close to the feelings of love I ever felt before pale in comparison to the overwhelming feeling that my heart may actually explode. I look at my husband to my left, my baby on my chest and feel like I have just created the first baby in the world.

After Bryan drank all the iced-tea I had prepared days ago at home to drink during labor, kept leaving me alone in the delivery room to look for food, mincha, to take a walk, had the balls to complain that his back and shoulder were uncomfortable from the chair he was sitting in throughout my labor, then complained when I bit his shoulder before I got my epidural (suck it up- I left no teeth-marks):
Men are completely useless - they have no place in the birthing rooms. Life would be better if we went back to the 50's and the men waited outside, box of cigars in hand, then congratulated themselves on a job well-done when in fact they had done nothing at all.

As soon as I got my epidural: I love my husband - but I love the anesthesiologist more.

The morning of my baby's brit/naming: I will not give him over to those men and let them hurt my baby. My job as his mommy is to protect him, as much as possible from any sort of pain or discomfort, not pay someone 1200 NIS to cut my little boy. I feel like the worst mother in the world - my heart is breaking as I watch them cut my baby. I feel anger towards my whole religion - towards any religion that advocates this barbaric practice. I find it difficult to be Jewish today.

When my in-laws show up: Someone shoot me in the head. If my mother-in-law mentions one more time that she has "no idea where such a funny-shaped head could come from, but its definitely not our side of the family". My MIL had all her babies by C-section, stayed in the hospital for 2 weeks after the birth of each child, and came home from the hospital with a baby nurse to help care for the newborn, plus a regular maid. She's never seen a new newborn that came through a prolonged labor delivered vaginally. I finally lose it and tell her that the baby's head doesn't come from her side of the family, or mine, it comes from my vagina. Silence.

After the baby has been up all night and all day for 3 days straight, and only sleeps when someone is holdinh him. As soon as you put him down, he screams: I begin to feel sympathy for the 19-year-old father who shook his baby to death just before Pesach. Although I am nowhere near that point, I begin to think "hmmm, mitigating circumstances?". I realize I am at my wit's end, and wake Bryan up (who has been slumbering blissfully for the past 6 hours) to take over.

After Bryan takes over, touches the baby, realizes he is freezing to the touch and turns off the airconditioning. The baby promptly falls asleep and stays sleeping for hours: I suck as a mother. On the upside, Bryan is quite proud of himself and feels like Super-Dad. He does NOT mention this at all though - smart husband. I can simply tell by the satisfied glow on his face.

Now I realize I have been referring to the baby as "the baby", though of course by now he has a name. It's Akiva Binyamin - and below is the explanation we emailed to our friends.

--- We chose the name Akiva because Akiva was born during the week of Parshat Eikev. Also, I went into labor just before the start of Shabbat Nachamu, and labored all through it. Rabbi Akiva was known as a modest, gentle person, who offered consolation to the other Sages after the destruction of the Temple, in his interpretation of the presence of foxes in the Gehinnom Valley. We hope that Akiva's place in this world will be a consolation during the current war, just as Shabbat Nachamu begins the 7 weeks of consolation, following the 3 weeks of mourning. Rabbi Akiva also embodies the concept that every person has the capacity for greatness, and we hope our little Akiva will realize his capacity.

Binyamin was for Bryan's grandmother Blanche/Bluma. Akiva was born on 12 Av, exactly 2 years to the day after Granny Blanche's passing. Binyamin was one of the 4 people in Tanach who never sinned. ---

I was going to publish some pics, but they're just not uploading, so....next time!

Still....Just Kidding - My Baby Story!

2006-08-08T18:41:00.000+03:00

A quick posting and a picture, while my baby is between feedings.

After 47 hours of labor (26 hours in the hospital, 17 of which in the delivery room), and being so close to a c-section I had already signed the consent form and was on my way to the operating room, I gave birth to a beautiful (I am biased) healthy (3.195 Kg = 7 lbs even) baby boy at 16:58 on Sunday, August 6th.

I'm healthy (not a nick or tear or stitch to be had) and exhausted, and Bryan's okay except for where I bit him on the shoulder during labor, before I got my epidural.

Here's a pic of the new fam:

And here's a picture of, gulp, my son.

Still pregnant...

2006-08-02T13:47:00.000+03:00

I've stopped calling people on the phone. Inevitably, when someone answers, they immediately assume I must've had the baby - why else would I be calling? Maybe because I'm sitting home on my ever-expanding butt and need to talk?

I (sort of) finished my exams on Sunday. I still have two leftovers from last semester. One of them is August 24th, obviously will be post-baby, and the other one is this Sunday. However, the teacher doesn't want to make me take it, so has told me that if I am not well, or have had the baby, or whatever, she'll just give me an oral make-up exam at my leisure (which I think is code for passing me).

I got started on the TV show Sex and the City long after it was on television. My friend Sima sent me the first season as a gift a little over 2 years ago, and I got hooked. As of last summer I was more or less finished season 5. I told myself that when I was pregnant, the thing I would do to pass the last few days/weeks of pregnancy would be to rent all of the final season of SATC and watch it through, preferably in the company of Haagen Dazs. How fortunate for me that Blockbuster carries all the good flavors of Haagen Dazs, and is located relatively close to my home.

So, I've 3/5th of the way through the final season and halfway through a tub of Tiramisu flavored Haagen Dazs, which actually has little bits of mascarpone cheese and cookies in it. I must say - I am so in love with Miranda! I think she's the SATC character I most identify with - even though I see bits of Carrie and Samantha as well.

Surprisingly, I am required to fast tomorrow/tonight for Tisha B'Av. The doctor has told me this will likely put me into labor - and I sure as heck hope he's right. If not, I have purchased a bottle of castor oil. Although some may claim its an old wives' tale, and it doesn't really work, I've seen enough anecdotal evidence in the past few weeks to the contrary. I belong to this online chat room of other preggos, all due around the same time as me, called The Baby Center. Plenty of the women there are equally as fed up being pregnant in the heat of the summer, and one brave woman started quite the trend. She posted the recipe for the Castor Oil Milkshake and agreed to be the guinea pig.

The recipe is:
2 scoops of ice cream (any flavor)
2 oz. Castor Oil
1 c. milk
2 raw eggs (which are apparently necessary for the binding effect of the castor oil)

Anyway, she posted hourly updates after drinking the shake - keeping all of us informed as to the amount of diarrhea she was experiencing, and then left us hanging. Turned out she'd gone to the hospital to have her baby. Next thing you know, everyone is trying it! And for most of the women, who were pregnant enough, it works. They go into labour between 4 and 6 hours after the shake, and all have had relatively quick labors too.

Of course, my hubby, ever the party pooper, was quite upset about my taking the shake. I promised I would wait until all my exams were done, and that I would ask my exceedingly cautious OB/GYN what he thought of castor oil. He gave me the go-ahead! He said if it doesn't work, it won't do any harm, and if does work, the baby is ready to come out.

So I'm saving the other half of the tiramisu ice cream for after the fast - if that doesn't put me into labor, that is.

My in-laws arrive in one week, and this baby had better be out before then! I can't imagine how fun it will be with both grandmas hovering around the waiting room. My mom thinks she's coming with me to the delivery room. She's been so panicky the past few weeks its scary. She's not normally so clingy - but now, if I am taking a shower and hence don't answer the phone, by the time I call her back she's got her "hospital bag" packed and is dialing a taxi. All I can say is - if you weren't there when the quarter went into the slot, you can't be there to watch the candy bar come out!

Here's hoping that by my next post, I'll be a mommy!

Still pregnant...

2006-07-24T09:01:00.000+03:00

...This pregnancy thing is taking a lot longer than I thought. I know how long its supposed to take, but these last few weeks have felt like forever!

Here are a few things on my mind:

1) Exams. Its that time again. When I bow to the ridiculous set-up of the Israeli university system, and spend over a month taking exams. This year there was the added challenge of trying to complete exams before the baby showed up. I have to say, taking exams at 9 months pregnant seems to be working for me. Sure, I'm still not allowed to use a dictionary. I keep getting assigned to the same lecture hall for my exams (4 times out of 5 exams) and I actually do not fit in the desks! I can get into the seat, but then I cannot close the "lid" over the seat that provides a desktop for writing on.

One proctor actually yelled at me that I was trying to allow people to cheat off of me, because I was placing my answer sheet on the desk next to mine. Um, nooooo, I just can't fit! The same proctor wouldn't let me go to the bathroom during a 3 hour exam. Usually they make exceptions for the preggos.

However, I did get one grade back (Nursing Oncology) and I got the first truly respectable grade of my nursing school career - one of the top grades in the class! I'm hoping that holds true for my other exams. I only have one (real) exam left to take.

2) My anniversary - was last Wednesday. Due to the war in the North (and its a war, not playing with the words here) and the state of my belly, Bryan and I opted not to go to the Galilee for Shabbat (as was a possible plan) or the Dead Sea (too far from the hospital) and decided to go low-key. We exchanged cards (it is the paper anniversary) - not gifts, since we've got some big expenses lined up :) And then Bryan made reservations at a pretty nice Japanese fusion place on the beach, which I highly recommend. I decided I'd held back enough for the past 9 months and ate real sushi (as opposed to cooked fish) and wine and ribs. And then we started what I hope will be a tradition: We shared what we felt we had learned about the other over the past year. The most surprising things, the most important things. I hope we'll be able to continue that tradition and that we'll keep learning new things about the other.

3) Our Penis Plant - Yup, you read that right. We received a plant as a wedding gift last year. I have what can definitively be referred to as a "black thumb". Against all odds, this plant has lived. I have no idea what kind of plant it is (I just saw a website that referred to it as a "peace lily") - but Bryan took to referring to the one white flower the plant had as its "penis". Unfortunately, around October time the penis withered up, turned black, and died. Bryan had a great attachment to the "flower" and when I finally insisted on cutting the dead stem off and throwing it away, he wore the "flower" pinned to his lapel for a whole day in solidarity and referred to me as Lorena. If it really is called a "peace lily" then the fact that we refer to it as a penis plant is even funnier.

Since then, our plant, though alive, never regenerated its "member". I water it once a week, it never gets any good light, but in the past 2 weeks it has sprouted not one, not 2 but 3 penises!! And there is evidence of a fourth one! We have no idea whether our baby is a boy or girl, but Bryan has taken this as a definite sign - triplet boys!

4) This all brings me back to being pregnant. I am truly ready for this to be over. Firstly, I am so curious about who I have been hosting in my body for the past 9 months. Boy or girl? Dark hair, light hair, no hair? Personality type?

Secondly, I am so physically uncomfortable. If anyone here thinks about getting pregnant and timing it to give birth in late-July/early August and lives in a city that never goes below 85 degrees/28 degrees even at night, with like 100% humidity - let me just save you now. Don't!

I'm hot, I'm large. I have new, painful stretchmarks every day...like a very attractive belt around my hips. My heartburn has progressed to reflux disease...it is way too powerful for the wussy Israeli Maalox, and I've run out of my wild berry flavored super American Maalox.

My hips are doing strange things - I finally went to the very nice osteopath who sits next to me in shul. She realigned my hips for me (my anniversary gift to myself) but they're already slipping again. Swimming seems to be the only activity where I feel half-human. Strangely enough, while I may have been more self-conscious about being seen in a bathing suit as a non-preggo, hauling my huge belly around in a bathing suit doesn't bother me in the slightest. Maybe because my maternity bathing suit is so big its practically a sundress?

I'm off to the obstetrician now - he'll give me an update on my progress - and there damn better be some! As soon as I get the okay I'm drinking castor oil and running around the block til I go into labor!

Making a difference

2006-07-03T17:12:00.000+03:00

I've missed blogging. I know that sounds lame from someone who hasn't posted in 2 months, but its true.

I can't say nothing has been going on in my life because, well, I'm 35 weeks (or more) pregnant, I'm in finals at school, and I just finished my first nursing rotation.

Of course, most of the pregnant updates fall under TMI (who wants to know when my stretchmarks first appeared? right, no one). Most of my school stories are just rant sessions. And most of my nursing stories, if I shared them, could easily be called a violation of patient confidentiality.

However, now that my rotation is over, I can sit back (as far back as my gigantic belly will allow) and take stock of what those 15 weeks meant to me.

When I first got assigned to the General Surgery ward, my first thought was "oh, yuck". My still somewhat queasy stomach would be checking open surgery wounds, with somewhat yuckier patients. I was hoping for Orthopedics, or Internal Medicine which would be less yucky.

We spent almost the first 10 weeks of the rotation simply talking to patients. We were not allowed to do anything to them (makes sense, since we didn't really, even after 2 years of nursing school, know how to do anything). We took lots of patient histories, learned how to interpret their charts, how to interact with patients, and how to make nursing diagnoses - which are very different from medical diagnoses.

For example, let's say a patient comes in with high fever, problems breathing etc. A medical diagnosis would be "Pneumonia" and the treatment plan would easily be "antibiotics".

In nursing, the diagnosis and treatment completely depend on the patient. You could have 2 patients with identical medical diagnoses, identical medical histories, and totally different nursing plans. the same patient with pneumonia could have a diagnosis of "Decreased functioning in the family home, secondary to pneumonia, expressed by failure to work". And the treatment would either be to educate the family or the patient. If however, the patient lives alone, there would be a completely separate diagnosis and treatment plan.

Although I began to get bored of taking these long histories, and feeling like all I was doing was invading the patient's privacy, eventually it all started to make sense. When I started admitting patients before their surgeries, I began to pay attention to little cues I would have missed earlier. I had a patient in for a relatively small surgery, who seemed overly anxious, with a very high blood pressure and pulse (sign of stress). She told me she took antidepressives and that she was a widow. And that none of her adult children knew about her surgery. Eventually I worked out that her husband had committed suicide a year earlier, hence the depression and extreme anxiety.

One of the things that bothered me about my rotation was that it seemed pats on the back were few and far between, but criticism was available in abundance. Students got kicked out of the program for relatively minor infractions, but when someone did something really noteworthy - nothing was done.

When I first started doing admissions before surgeries, one of the first patients I got was in for a thyroid removal. I had to take the extremely long history, with questions that seemed inane and useless to the patient. Plus, the questions, at least in part, are repeated by the doctors and anesthesiologists. This particular patient was really irritated by me. She'd already met with the doctor, the surgeon and the anesthesiologist, all of whom had asked her the same questions and who had all approved her surgery.

Then I come along. I am required to tell her I'm a student (plus my name tag says so), and then I start asking her all the same questions she already told the real doctors, plus questions that seem useless - such as what floor is her apartment on, how many children does she have.

I ask her what medications she takes. She tells me a few drugs, mostly for high blood pressure. A few minutes later I ask her the same question. I do this because patients often "forget" some of their drugs, but after talking about other things (past illnesses, dietary contraints) they are reminded of more medicines, or things they don't consider to be medicine but really are. She remembers that she also takes aspirin once a day, prophylactically. People often do this because it has been shown to prevent strokes and ischemic heart disease.

I finish my medical history, and go to my teacher to have her review my interview. For liability reasons, before its entered into the computer a real nurse has to sign off on my work. The teacher signs off.

As I am entering the data into the computer, the penny drops. Patients who take any sort of blood thinner (such as Coumadin, Heparin, etc.) have to stop these drugs 10 days before surgery or they risk bleeding out during the surgery. One of the drugs that thins blood is....Asprin. The reason it prevents strokes is because its a blood thinner. I run back to the patient, who is about to go home for the evening (and return at 7 am to have her surgery) and ask her if she stopped her aspirin. She looks me at me like I am nuts and says, "Why would I do a thing like that?" I ask her to wait, and tell her I need to check with the doctor but that there is a possibility her surgery will be postponed.

She's pretty irritated with me now - all of the doctors, surgeons and anesthetists have signed off on her surgery and told her she was good to go. What's a lowly nursing student doing telling her it may be pushed off?

I shared my findings with the doctors (who are also irritated to be "caught" by a student). In my communications class, one of the topics we covered was "How to tell a doctor he's made a mistake without losing your job". I had to tell the head of the surgery department, a somewhat arrogant man who definitely does not like students, that he missed a vital bit of info without making it sound like he did anything wrong. Not to mention tell my teacher, who approved my interview and didn't catch the problem herself.

The surgery was cancelled and rescheduled for 2 weeks later.

I was a little upset that no one, especially my teacher gave me a pat on the back for catching something so important that everyone else missed, which could have really hurt the patient. If I had done something of equal magnitude that would have hurt the patient, you can bet I would have received an automatic failure.

As luck would have it, two weeks later, I was assigned a patient who was just waking up after surgery on her thyroid. The name rang a bell, but I couldn't figure out from where. I introduced myself to her husband, and said that my name was Noa, I was a student, and I'd be caring for his wife. He immediately woke his wife up and said, "Is this the Noa that saved your life and got the whole surgery rescheduled?"

Even though my little catch went totally unnoticed and unrewarded by my teacher, the patient realized what went on - enough that 2 weeks later her husband (who I never met) remembered my name! And that's what nursing is about to me - making a difference to patients, whether they realize it or not.

I have no idea what grade I will get on this rotation - and I am sure that my "save" won't even get factored into my grade - but it doesn't matter to me. The thing that most concerned me about this rotation was that perhaps afterwards, I would decide I really didn't want to be a nurse. I have, after all, been known to change my mind a lot. And the past 2 years of nursing school, while difficult, have been totally hands-off. This was my first time interacting with patients.

I managed through the 15 weeks without getting any truly disgusting patients - I have no idea how that happened. No one vomited on me, I never had to change anyone's poop bag. For some reason, cleaning a patients' penis while his catheter was in didn't disgust me. Everyone else had at least one truly memorable patient in terms of the gross-out factor. Don't let anyone kid you - we may be semi-professionals, but we do still occasionally get yucked out - the professionalism simply requires us not to show it.

But I do think I made a difference in the lives of at least a handful of patients - so I know I am on the right track.

Maternal Instincts

2006-05-04T18:35:00.000+03:00

Yesterday being Israel's Independence day, Bryan and I spent the day in Jerusalem. I was particularly excited for the Living Museum, an annual Jerusalem Independence Day festival of sorts which re-enacts aspects of history (usually from 1948, or about the particular neighborhood the festival is in).

The festival moves around every year (my favorite year was in Yemin Moshe 3 years ago, and the theme was arts from 1948), and this year it was in the Russian Compound. Unfortunately, it somewhat deviated from its usual superb fun, and the theme had a lot to do with Russia from 1860 onwards, and the history and present of the Jerusalem police force, also located in the Russian Compound.

The only truly interesting "exhibit" was a huge performance put on by the police demonstrating all their weaponry and ways to tackle terrorists. Of course, the crowd to get a seat at this exhibit (which started every hour, on the hour for 5 hours) was ridiculous, and because this is Jerusalem, there was no sort of organized line or any manner to get in, just a lot of pushing and shoving.

Bryan and I managed ot get in the crowd, and at 20 minutes to the hour, they lifted a barricade and everyone lunged forward to get in. I put my hands in front of my belly, to protect it from being really squashed, but no matter. One guy, 2 people in front of me, decided he didn't like the surge of people pushing him from behind (never mind that he practically stepped on people to cut them in the "line" to get to his position). As everyone moved forward he took his elbows and sharply pushed backwards. The result was that I, who was actually 2 people behind him got a very sharp blow to the belly, right between the muscles. And it really hurt (besides knocking the wind out of me). So I did what any other Jewish mother would do when someone tried to hurt her baby.

I slugged the guy.

I'm not sure what came over me, but it was sort of instinctive. I would ahve gone for the face, but since he was not directly facing me, I neded up punching his shoulder. He looked quite shocked to see a religious (chilul hashem, I know), pregnant woman deck him. Then of course his wife, and her friend (I assume) started screaming at me. But all they saw was my punch (which was over the crowd) and not his hitting me in the belly (which was under the crowd).

I saw the guy go over to a policeman and try and complain that a pregnant woman had just punched him, but oddly enough, no one came over to me. I would have loved to have had that conversation.

Bryan was sort of shocked, but then he was rather proud of me. He said he realized the guy must have done something really bad to deserve that. I'm not really a violent person. The last time I hit someone was when I was in 5th grade, and there was this boy who had been picking on me (and the other geeks, have I ever mentioned I was the queen of loser/geeks in elementary and middle school?) all year long. Well, about mid-year I broke my arm while ice-skating. A few weeks later, that same boy was picking on me again, and I realized I had a weapon at my disposal. So I punched him too, in the face, with my cast. I think the principal was so pleased to see that someone had put this kid in his place, and this was the days of teaching girls about empowerment, that I barely got punished. I think 15 minutes of after-school detention.

But for some reason, the thought of this guy at the festival punching my little fetus got me so riled up, that I just lost it. I guess I'll be like one of those lioness mothers.

Hormones gone mad!

2006-04-30T07:40:00.000+03:00

Bryan is a lying, cheating piece-of-crap bastard.

But only in my dreams.

Sorry for the misleading opener there (I can see half of you guys going "Oh no, what the heck did she do to this one!") - Bryan is still a wonderful hubby. But for some reason, for the past few months, I keep having these dreams where Bryan becomes the nastiest man alive.

I've had dreams where Bryan has cheated on me because I got too fat during pregnancy and then left me alone with a 2 month old baby. In fact, in one dream, Bryan stole our ketubah/prenuptial agreement when he left, and then I couldn't find the second copy so I had no proof of anything and I was left penniless.

The dreams aren't really funny - especially because they're so graphic. They seem so real. I'll give birth to our baby, and it will have a name and everything, and then Bryan will do something totally un-Bryan-like and my world unravels.

What is funny, however, is the moment I wake up. Apparently, when I wake up, I'm still sort of confused, and the lines between reality and my dreamland are somewhat blurred. I turn over to see Bryan peacefully sleeping next to me, and I know, I just know that he has been scheming and is about to do something awful. Still half-asleep, I will then kick him over to his side of the bed, or snatch his blankets away, or once, I started sobbing in his face.

Even funnier are the times I wake up, and I can't quite remember the dream I had, I'm just left with this feeling of suspicion towards my beloved. Bryan says he can always tell when that's happened because he wakes up and I am glaring at him out of one eye (the other still mashed into my pillow). And he knows that dream-time Bryan has just sold our firstborn child in order to pay for a new Porsche or something similar. Then he has to convince me it was just a dream.

Bryan is infinitely patient. We've had this bad dream thing going for a couple months now, and never once has he just lost it and yelled, "It was just a dream dammit!". He always calmly explains to me why what just happened in my dream couldn't possibly be real, and then I forgive him - grudgingly. And he never gets mad at me when I yank the blankets off him or anything, though I'm sure he's thinking "separate bedrooms?"

I'm sure this is just my pregnant hormones going whacko - Bryan thinks its because I now feel more vulnerable as a mother-to-be, and so in my dreams I imagine every worst-case scenario possible, so I know I'll be okay. Whatever it is - I'm getting really annoyed at those other pregnant mommies-to-be on the pregnancy website who have dreams about baking cookies with their daughters. Why don't their daughters turn into monsters who throw the still hot cookies at the mommies and then eat them until they explode. Wouldn't that be funnier?

In reality Bryan will be a great daddy - he sings to my belly, and tells it stories and in general seems quite proud of the fact that I now weigh as much as he does. Although, when he found out that baby poop isn't what he thought it was (smaller, cuter versions of adult poop) there were a tense few minutes there, and I thought I'd be alone on diaper duty forever.

I getta kick out of you

2006-03-19T08:36:00.000+02:00

One of the newer sensations in my pregnancy (now at 23-24 weeks - I have no idea how you're supposed to count) is feeling the baby move. The book described it as "a miraculous sensation", but I feel more like there's a gremlin inside me.

Actually, the movement is not such a new thing, I've been feeling the baby move for a few weeks now, but when I thought I was a month less pregnant, I discredited the feeling as digestion or gas or something else, because people told me there was no way I could be feeling the movements.

At first it felt like soda fizz or little bubbles popping, but more recently I have begun to feel firm hard kicks. A few weeks ago Bryan and I were arguing over baby names, and the baby, either agreeing or disagreeing, let out such a hard kick even Bryan could feel it.

Now, the kicking is so common that when I wake Bryan up in the middle of the night to feel it, he doesn't even bother to roll over.

Previously, I thought of this baby as a boy. I'm not sure why, perhaps because (I'll admit it) that's what I really wanted, or perhaps because I just imagine myself with a boy baby. However, with this new kicking situation, I've changed my mind. This baby has to be a girl, because no boy would treat his mother this way.

The kicking has gotten so strong I almost fell over in the shower the other day, because the kick sort of surprised me and altered my center of gravity for a moment, and it was wet and slippery, and I'm a little clumsier these days anyway.

For the past 3 weeks or so, I would only feel the movements in the evenings, and it was usually more of a swishing around feeling, with the occasional kick. Since Purim, however, the kid has not slowed down ever (when does it sleep???) and kicks me constantly, more in certain positions than others.

Unfortunately the positions that elicit the most kicks are sitting (I guess the belly gets a bit bunched up) and lying on my back (I know you're not supposed to, but sometimes it happens). So sometimes I find myself standing during a lecture, or in shul, when I really could be sitting. The kicks have actually woken me up in the middle of the night, particularly a well-placed kicked to my bladder.

I know I should just be happy that my baby is healthy, moves well, and could easily be a striker for anyone's soccer team, but the kicking is getting so you can almost see a little bulge pop out of my belly, and I know someday soon, others will be able to see my kicks.

Yesterday I even felt what I assume were kicks and little fists simultaneously. Harder kicks to my lower right belly, lighter jabs to my upper left belly all at the same time. When you think that the baby feet are like the size of grapes, and it has like no muscles and sort of soft bones, its amazing how hard it can kick.

I understand now why a mom's relationship with her newborn is far more complex than a new daddy's. Daddy just gets this cute little bundle of love, while Mommy finally gets to lay eyes on the creep that's been kicking her for 4-5 months, for whom she may have lost her figure, suffered indigestion, gone brain-dead (though thankfully, I've started eating more and that seems to have gone away somewhat) and whatever other pregnancy fun a woman may enjoy. Its not that the exhange doesn't seem worth it, it just seems to come at a slightly higher cost to the women.

So far, I think I've been (pupupupu) really lucky. I know its early days, but no varicose veins, no dark line down my belly, no stretch marks yet (a matter of time, I know) no facial discolorations. And I've gained very little weight (a good thing or a bad, I don't know) - so hopefully there won't be as much to lose later. Even Bryan admitted the other day that he fully expected me to become really fat the second I got pregnant (I have a pretty hearty appetite in general), and so far, I've got one of the situations where you can only tell I'm pregnant from the side.

I'm thinking of doing a posting on what really happens to your body when you're pregnant, the stuff no book tells you, but I'll title it TMI to keep regular readers away. So if you see a posting coming up like that, and don't want to know that much about a pregnant woman's body, steer clear.

Another one of those days

2006-03-10T08:37:00.000+02:00

Yesterday was one of those Murphy's law days. Anything and everything that could go wrong did, and more or less simultaneously.

First, as I tried to exit the apartment during the late morning I discovered that the lock was broken, and I was locked in the house. The lock has been sticky since the day we moved into the place, but in light of the lack of hot water and mold growing up the walls, this seemed like too trivial a matter with which to piss off the landlord.

However, as Sharona had not yet peed or pooed for the day, and she was doing her little prancing bathroom dance at my feet, the situation was suddenly urgent. I called the landlord, who first had to send her son over to verify that it was actually broken, and not that I was an idiot. So I had to wait for the son to cut school (he's in high school) and come over. I threw the keys out the window to him, and he tried from the outside, but of course it was really stuck. Sharona was still looking at me with these hateful "How long do I make you hold it in when you gotta go?" eyes.

The landlord then allowed me to call a locksmith, but only after I called several to find who the cheapest one was. By the time I found the cheapest, called him and he arrived it was almost 1 pm. By this point I had laid down newspapers near the door to encourage Sharona to pee on them, but she refused. I held her over the toilet and um, demonstrated, what is done there, but she wan't buying it. As soon as the locksmith busted us out of there, I took Sharona down to pee, but as it was brewing up a storm, she quickly peed and ran back inside.

Not 3 minutes later I hear a scream from the hallway. The lady across the hall, whom I've never met, but whose teenage sons have kept me up many a night, had apparently fallen down the stairs, pretty much most of them. A good 2/3 of a flight, about 10 stairs or so. And she wasn't doing too well. I helped get her into her apartment, and was assessing her to try and figure whether she should go to the emergency room or wait to see her doctor. As I was checking her legs, I look over and see Sharona in the crouching position, taking a dump on her carpet!

All morning long I've been trying to convince Sharona to poo indoors, but now, she waits until she's in someone else's place, and then picks the one spot in the whole flat that's carpeted and poos on it! I cleaned it up and got the hell out of there.

Then I get back home, and start my day's tasks - it's already like 2 pm. I use some caustic soda to clean the drain in the bathroom which has been somewhat clogged lately, and as soon as I'm done I find water coming out the bottom of the sink. The toilet, meanwhile has been clogged and not functioning at its finest since Shabbat.

Whenever I have a large amount of liquid leftovers (chulent, soup) rather than pour it into the trash can I flush it down the toilet. It may sound gross, but it is way less messy than contending with a hole in the weak Israeli garbage bags (I miss my Hefty (r) sacks). Bryan has always thought this was ridiculous, and Saturday night, while "helping" me clean up, he was showing off this method to his friend Jeremy (the always late guy) with great amusement. Unfortunately, while busy being asinine, he didn't bother to check the chulent as he poured it into the toilet, and sent a few very large meat bones into the toilet as well and flushed!!!

I made him fish out the one particularly large bone that hadn't even made it into the flush, but I knew there was at least one or 2 smaller bones that had made it down and were sure to cause problems. Sure enough, the toilet, while flushing, has been overflowing and taking way too long to drain.

Yesterday, while all the other stuff was happening, I noticed that instead of overflowing, water was now coming out the back pipe of the toilet and onto the floor. I tried calling the plumber but he never called back - I wonder why? "Hi, Brandon, can you fish last week's chulent bone out of my toilet, plus a weeks' worth of shit that is probably backed up with it....Hello? Hello???"

Anyway, a different plumber came this morning, as the landlord noticed last night (when she came to reimburse me for the locksmith) the leaking and assumed it was not from a chulent bone, and paid for him to come. As luck would have it, the chulent bone was never found, but everything else that was backed up behind it was fished out and the leak was apparently unrelated to the chulent bone, so the landlord footed the bill.

A few of you commented a couple weeks ago that it seemed early that my belly button was beginning to pop. I've discovered the reason why. When I went to my regular OB-GYN, he checked the size of my uterus and said, "Hmmm, you feel rather large for 17 weeks, maybe you're farther along than we thought." Now, this is something I have been trying to tell him for months now. For technical reasons I won't get into here, there was a bit of a doubt as to when my last period was. Ladies who have been through this will understand. Anyway, since the day I started with my doctor, I have told him I was unsure, but he let the ultrasound decide the first time and left it at that.

Meanwhile, I have always looked big, had symptoms that were somewhat advanced, I felt the baby move way too early, etc. The doctor simply shrugged it all off. And now, when he was telling me that I felt big, he was perfectly happy leaving my due date as "we don't exactly know - babies come and go as they please anyway".

I decided it was time to find a new doctor. So today, I cheated on my doctor and went to someone else. And guess what? My baby is not coming in August, its coming in July! And I'm not 18 weeks pregnant, I'm 22! I sort of feel like I have been robbed of a whole month of pregnancy, but vindicated that I'm not a huge cow, I'm actually almost 6 months pregnant.

This obviously sort of changes a whole bunch of plans, but at least my mother-in-law can start going baby carriage shopping earlier. My final exams are supposed to go through the end of July, yet my baby is due July 19th (my anniversary!) Let's hope my baby is about as on-time as his father usually is. On the other hand, I now get an even longer vacation before school starts, and I won't have to be 10 months pregnant in August, just July.

I'm planning on having a quiet, relaxing Shabbat at home with Bryan and the dog and no one else - at this point, I deserve it.

The Day My Car Wasn't Stolen*

2006-02-26T15:58:00.000+02:00

* borrowed from an article in the conveniently well-timed Friday edition of the Jerusalem Post.

I know its time for another Snarky Sunday post, but instead I had to share this one with the blogosphere.

I appreciated all of the mommies and pregnants who shared their stories of pregnancy brain-drain. I particularly laughed at Lisa who told me she used to stop at green lights.

However, if any of you had told me the following story was possible, or that I myself would someday be in a mindframe to be the lead I would never have believed you.

Friday was my friend's 30th birthday. We took her out to one of my favorite breakfast places, T'mol Shilshom. I drove to downtown Jerusalem, found a fairly decent parking space without too much difficulty, and even remembered to put money in the meter. But I only had enough small change for an hour and a half of parking. After more than an hour and a half I had to excuse myself to make sure I didn't get a ticket. I went back to the car to put more money in the meter, and I thought I heard the engine purring.

Now, there happened to be another Toyota Corolla parked directly in front of my car, so I figured that's where the noise was coming from. But just to be sure I put my hand on the hood of my car, and sure enough it was hot. This seemed rather mysterious. I reached into my bag to get my car keys, but they weren't there. I looked into my car, and the car keys were dangling from the ignition.

Yes, that's right folks, I parked the car, put money in the meter, and blithely went off to enjoy breakfast while leaving the keys in the ignition, engine idling, and driver's side window wide open for almost two hours!

I was basically in tears when I realized how stupid I had become. I don't know which part of the story shocks me more, that I actually did something so stupid or that no one took the car, or even anything in it. In fact, I'm even more shocked that the police didn't blow it up, thinking it was a booby-trapped bomb car. It was parked on a fairly busy side street in downtown Jerusalem.

The only explanation I can think of as to why no one helped themselves to an automobile that basically had an engraved invitation on the windshield saying "Free Car" is they must have thought it was a set-up. I mean, who would be stupid enough to do that?

I called Bryan (whom I was supposed to meet after re-feeding the meter) and told him he better come to me, as I was clearly too stupid to be allowed to cross the streets by myself. He was particularly sensitive about the whole matter (I suppose because I didn't give away the only semi-asset we have), but I did notice he had some trouble with a few of the lines during "Eshet Chayil" Friday night.

I handed him both sets of car keys and made him drive for the rest of the weekend. In fact, I walked everywhere today, though unfortunately I have to drive to Jerusalem tomorrow morning for another exam, and I'll never be able to do it by bus.

Bryan suggested that the way to avoid the absent-mindedness is to make lists for everything, but honestly, how can you anticipate needing a list for such mundane things? 1) Put toilet seat down 2) Pull underpants down 3) Sit on said toilet seat... There's got to be a limit, people!

Meanwhile, my formerly very-innie belly button has begun its transition to an outie...but that's a little TMI.

Happy birthday to you

2006-02-23T12:55:00.000+02:00

Celebrating your spouse's birthday is a lot different than celebrating a boyfriend, or even a fiance's birthday. For one thing, its really great being able to simply roll over and wish your husband happy birthday, first thing in the morning. It does make surprising one's spouse more difficult though, seeing as how you can't hide too much from him.

Even more odd is the gift-giving ritual. Particularly since I am not working and Bryan is working. This means that whatever gift I buy him, he has actually bought himself. Last year when we were engaged I bought him a really nice watch as an engagement/birthday gift. This year? I have no good ideas. Anything I know he really wants or needs is way out of our price range (a new bike, a full set of the Schottenstein Talmud), and anything else is just silly to get for your husband's first birthday as your husband.

I settled (so far) on making pizza for dinner last night - with tuna on it (Bryan's favorite topping), since we're going out to dinner tonight. And I made fresh cinnamon buns with cream cheese icing on them and stuck a few candles in for breakfast. And I sent Bryan off to work with an entire freshly-baked Black Forest cake, in the hopes that sharing with the office will make them more likely to let him leave on time today. His ransom, if you will.

I know this seems silly, but somehow Bryan's age change makes me feel older. Pardon the tabloid nomenclature, but I am now carrying the love-child of someone in their mid-thirties (Bryan insists its still early 30's, but he'll keep saying that until he's 39). I know I am young, but suddenly I feel older. Everyone always says Bryan looks young for his age, and no one would ever guess he's 32, but I have no idea what this means, to me he just looks like Bryan. And he's got quite a few grays (I have even found a few in his chest hair - which he vehemently denies, and insists they are light blond!), and wrinkles and laugh lines thanks to growing up on the beach. But when he shows up to work with toothpaste near his left ear (how does it get there, I'll never know) he looks like a little boy to me.

Anyway, what I'm trying to say is - I know that in short order all those chest hairs will turn gray. And to me, that feels like a promise, because I know I'll be there when they turn white as snow. Someday the little baby growing inside me will get furious at me and say "I hate you!" when I don't give him the car keys. And that's okay, because I know (I hope) that those times will be more than balanced out by the "I love yous". And there's nothing like a birthday to make you realize how fast time goes by.

When Bryan's mom called this morning (at the exact hour of his birth) she recounted that exactly 32 years ago Bryan was taking his first little cry, and she was knocked out cold from the anesthesia. And when she woke up a full day later, she turned and saw all the "It's a Boy!" balloons, and that's how she knew what she'd had. She said that to this day she'll never forget how weird it was, knowing that for 24 hours everyone else (it had even made it into the birth announcements into the paper before she woke up) knew about Bryan and she slept through it all. And how weird it was to find out she'd had a boy from the flowers and balloons. I'm glad the medical world has changed a bit in 32 years, and hopefully I won't have to find out what my baby is that way.

I kind of understand how she felt though, in a way. I mean, for 25 years I bumbled along through life, completely unaware of Bryan, who would become the person closest to me in the world. I slept through the beginnings, so to speak, when so many other people knew about Bryan. And I only got to find out about him later on.

So gray chest hairs and all, I am truly grateful to get to celebrate all the other birthdays with him. Happy birthday, sweet husband.

A little Mary Jane?

2006-02-22T13:13:00.000+02:00

There are lots of things you can't have or can't do when you're pregnant, depending on how many mothers-in-law you have and which pregnancy books you choose to read. Among some of the very common, well-known no-no's.
*No sushi or carpaccio (or any undercooked animal for that matter)
*No boozing (cultural differences allow for a glass of wine here and there, all the way up to prohibition-era teetotaling)
*No cigarettes - this includes second-hand smoke (Israelis - we're talking to you)
*No scuba-diving
*No unpasteurized cheeses (say bye-bye to anything but overprocessed crap)
*No weed

Now, I was looking for a medical reason for the last one - since it seems clear that even if THC crosses the placental barrier, all it would do is chill the baby out. I mean, its not even addictive.

But I've discovered the real reason: I have become so brain-dead and memory impaired recently, that if I smoked a joint I would probably fall over afterwards because I would forget how to walk. I think my baby is eating my brain cells, and that loss, coupled with a little high would probably make me forget how to breathe.

The other day I went to the grocery store to pick up some things for dinner. I got into the car, but couldn't remember the code for disarming the alarm. After 5 tries, I got it. I started driving to the grocery store (which I go to weekly) but forgot how to get there. I started panicking. I figured I should just drive and my memory would kick in eventually - wrong! I ended up going to the first grcoery store I ran into, which was way more expensive and not the shop I wanted.

This morning I went to the post office for the sole purpose of picking up a package. I knew exactly where I had put the package slip, and took the car keys with me in order to get the slip out of the car. I got all the way to the post office, still clutching the car keys in my hand - with no package slip.

All of this has made exam period a little more difficult than it should be - its hard to memorize approximately 200 drugs, how they work, what they're used for and their contraindications, when you can't even remember how to start your car. I'm just glad I remember to study for the right exam, instead of studying for one that already occured.

To all the other mommies who warned me about pregnancy brain - dear lord, how did you find you way home every day? I've noticed my memory is even slipperier (is that a word?) when I am hungry...which is most of the time.

If only I could remember where I keep the food....

Snarky Sunday - Round One

2006-02-20T08:25:00.000+02:00

I've decided to institute a new theme here at Jerusalem Revealed. See, I've noticed that being pregnant makes me even crabbier than usual, and while I've been sounding off more openly to those who make me mad, nothing beats a great ol' blog b**chfest.

But, I worry that every blog entry will become a rant. SO I've decided to limit my ranting to once a week. Eevery Sunday the Snarky Sunday award will go to the person, institution or phenomenon that has irritated me the most during the week.

This way, I'll definitely be blogging at least once a week (a major improvement), but hopefully will compelled to blog about positive things to balance it all out.

Without further ado....Today's Snarky Sunday Award goes to....

People who are contantly late (as if its merely a character trait, and not a sign of rudeness)

My dear husband has a few friends who are constantly late. My own husband has a somewhat cavalier attitude towards timeliness. If someone makes me late for something, my blood pressure shoots up at least 20 mm of mercury, and I am prone to ripping their head off. You cna see where the problem begins to occur. If it was up to me, I would not wait too long for the latecomers, I would simply move on without them. But my dear husband is too kind for that.

Saturday night, after another lovely Shabbat at our fantastic friends The Treppenwitzes (who stocked me full of good food and maternity clothes- thanks!) we were on our way to sheva brachot (a post-wedding party) for friends in another city. Just before we left Efrat this friend of my husband's, who has never been on time for anything in his life, including his own birth, called to see if we could go out of our way to pick him up and offer him a ride.

I wasn't too keen on it, but we agreed. We gave him a time to meet us, necessitating us to go out of our way, and him to take a taxi to the agreed upon meeting place. When we arrived, he wasn't there. We called him - he didn't answer his phone. When he did, it was to tell us he hadn't yet left the house, but he would be there in 10 minutes. Eventually, 45 minutes after the agreed upon meeting time, he showed up. After the first 10 minutes of him being late, I begged my husband to let us leave without him and teach him a lesson, but he wouldn't let. After 20 minutes, I begged again, but he wouldn't let. After 30 minutes, I started getting cross with my husband.

And once we finally got on the road, I was freaking out because we were going to be a good hour and a half late for the party (was a sit-down dinner, not cocktails) and because we were supposed to have planned a romantic dedication to the couple, except my husband neglected to tell me that until we were already in Efrat. The game plan was to stop at home, grab my violin, find the sheet music for this love song in Afrikaans, and play it. Clearly, that wasn't going to happen.

I got cross with Jeremy (the friend) and my husband. When stressed and late, I tend to backseat drive at my husband, who is a slow and deliberate driver (whereas I rarely drive less than 120 kmh, unless a cop is right behind me). So my husband got cross at me. Jeremy meanwhile is sitting in the back seat, enjoying watching the 2 of us bicker - never thinking for a moment he may have contributed to the stress in the car. Towards the end, I got so stressed I started to have what I think were contractions.

We got to the party after 10 pm (it started at 8:30) - there were no seats left, no food left, we interrupted someone else's romantic dedication (we never did ours), and the party was done about half an hour after we got there.

Bryan is still upset at me about the backseat driving - overlooking the fact that the section of driving from Efrat to the point where we met Jeremy saw absolutely no backseat driving, and the section form the party home was equally quiet. The only time I got stressed was when Jeremy was making us so late, it was basically rude to show up at that point.

I've noticed that the always latecomers tend to be single guys. Bryan tried it about once when we were dating, and I explained to him that it made me so angry and upset that he never did it agian. If he's running late, and a has a plausible reason, he calls to let me know.

So single guys - I say this to you. Showing up late is not simply a flake. Its says to the person waiting for you "I completely disrespect you and my time is far more valuable than yours". When guys used to show up late for a date (without a good reason) I knew right away that there would never be a second date. When a guy shows up on time, it shows he is considerate. Sure, showing up late is not so much a crime of commission, rather a crime of ommission. Its not necessarily saying "You mean nothing, so I didn't bother to come on time". It says, "You mean so little to me, I couldn't be bothered making coming on time a priority". Let's be honest, people don't show up late when they really want to be where they are heading.

When I had a date I was looking forward to, I was ready an hour before the date. I took time to get dressed, then re-dressed, a hundred times. When I had a date I couldn't care less about I made plans to do something else beforehand, and try to get back in time to slick on a fresh coat of lipstick before heading out. Did my dates notice the difference? Perhaps not. But I did. I knew I was sitting on a date with a guy I had initially found (for whatever reason) not to be primp-worthy.

Anyway, I've rambled from my original rant. But my point is this. Next time you're running late, call the person to let them know. Single guys, consistently running late may not piss off your buddies, but eventually it will piss off their wives. Their pregnant wives. Their b**chy, crabby, stress-out pregnant wives.

Jeremy called last night becuse he was (surprise!) running late for a date and had no idea where the restaurant was located where he was supposed to meet the girl. Already late, and he still had no idea where to show up. I know what that girl was thinking...and she wasn't impressed.

More about what no one ever tells you...

2006-02-05T12:45:00.000+02:00

Thanks for all the well-wishes about being knocked up! Particular thanks to the other women who acknowledged that being pregnant can be very rough. I don't want to sound in any way ungrateful, because I am totally aware that being able to get pregnant this effortlessly and quickly is a huge blessing, especially since we know so many people who have been having a much more difficult time, but I must say, it is very tough!

Somehow, based on all the movies and the magazines and the books, I guess I never expected pregnancy (particularly the earlier stages) to be so demanding on my body. I thought the rough part would come during the last month or two and then sleepless nights due to a newborn.

Very wrong!! Despite the fact that morning sickness is supposed to magically disappear by the second trimester, that has not yet happened for me. In fact, its only gotten worse. I'll spare the gory details, but whereas before morning sickness was sort of a late-evening belly-ache for me, it is now actually being sick in the morning, causing me to lose my breakfast (unless its Cocoa Puffs - not the nutritionally balanced breakfast 'What to Expect When You're Expecting' recommends).

As for that pregnancy guide - I know some women consider it "the bible of pregnancy" but it basically makes me feel a little guilty. It tries to be permissive, and not make you feel bad for things you've already done before you knew you were pregnant (in my case, drinking alcohol, eating sushi and carpaccio, exceeding the daily limit on Advil for several days in a row and getting a rubella vaccination) but then it tells you to eat so damn much, there's no room in your belly for what they're trying to get you to shove in there. Just looking at the so-called Pregnancy Diet sends me to the bathroom - 11 servings a day of whole-grain carbs, 4 servings on dairy, 3 of protein, 3 of green veggies, 2 of other veggies...who can eat all this stuff!!

Which brings me to my next pregnancy gripe...maternity clothes. Why is it, that in a country so clearly pro-childbirth/reproduction, there is only one chain of clothing stores that sells maternity clothes? In all of Israel there is one chain (and ladies, if you know of others, don't hold out on me). This chain is expensive, exceedingly poor quality, and the clothes are neither attractive nor sufficient. You know you're in trouble when their seasonal catalogue is a) the size of a postcard, b)contains not one item you consider wearable and c) has three bare pregnant bellies (one with a tattoo, the other a piercing) as if to say "We couldn't find anything to wear either!" Its cold here now, yet tights for pregnant women do not exist! They don't have them! They also have no tank tops or undershirts, but almost all of the tops they sell are so low-cut that my newly expanded chestage is very exposed.

I gaze longingly at the online shops in America and dream of outfits I'd put together if I had those clothes! I truly understand why Israeli maternity fashion etiquette includes letting one's stretch-marked flecked belly hang out for the world to see...its that or wearing a tent!

Speaking of pierced belly buttons - I have one, and the thing I am very much not looking forward to is removing it. My doctor (who I see again on Wednesday) has asked me twice now when I will be taking it out, but I am loathe to do so. See it was always my sort of hidden, sexy thing. No one really sees it (except Bryan) since I don't generally let my belly hang out, but it makes me feel sexy and young and little bit cool - and also it was a present to myself when I finally got a flat belly 3+ years ago. And now, I don't have a flat belly (I know, its a baby), so its gotta go, but with it, I feel, goes some of my sexy young wild thang...and I'm not quite willing to part with that.

Its bad enough I look so matronly now - particularly when I wear maternity clothes, plus I cover my head (Jewish thing - sign I'm married/taken), but to lose even the thing that only Bryan and I could see is like the final nail. I'm thinking I'll pull it out before the doctor's appointment and put it right back in, and hold onto it for one more month at least, without angering the doc (who is honestly - so laid back I can't really see him getting angry).

And my final pregnancy revelation/gripe - the tiredness!! No one told me that being pregnant (particularly the 2nd and 3rd month) would be like walking uphill all the time! There were times when I couldn't stay up past 7:30. Even now, I need a nap or at least a little break to put my feet up, or I will not make it past 9 p.m. I can only imagine how tired I'll be when the little bugger actually comes. Its truly ridiculous...I mean, I suppose making another human being is a pretty big job, and is understandable that it makes one so tired, but how did the women in the field 5,000 years ago keep going and stop for 20 minutes to have another kid, plop it on their back and keep sowing the field??

You know how every once in a while a news story will come up about some women who "didn't know" she was pregnant until the kid popped out? All I can say is "Bullsh*t"! There is *no way* that you could miss this stuff, unless you were on so much drugs or alcohol that would could not notice your body being in a war.

Tonight I'm attempting to stay up and watch the Superbowl with my mom - my hometown team has made it in for the first time in 10 years, and for the first time in about 26 years, actually has a decent of shot of winning! Since the game kicks off at 1:18 a.m. in israel the chances of me staying awake are slim, but I'm gonna give it a go!

Double entendre?

2006-02-01T16:51:00.000+02:00

Although my hebrew is fairly decent (and earned me passing the Hebrew University fluency exam by 2 points at 76%) I very often come across words that are totally new.

One such word is puncher - pronounced exactly as it looks. Now, most of you will know that it means a flat tire. Not sure about the etymology of the word, since its obviously derived from English in some way, but whatever.

However, yesterday I learned that it has another meaning - a puncher is the slang (though not altogether derogatory) term for an unplanned pregnancy. I have yet to find out if it applies to the child born of such a pregnancy (if that is the route chosen for dealing) or if it simply refers to the unplanned pregnancy itself, whether its continued or not.

This term disturbs me, and I have spent the past 2 days trying to figure out what the connection is between a flat tire and an unplanned pregnancy. Why use the same term? Using the exact same word for 2 seemingly unrelated hebrew concepts/objects is not a new thing in hebrew, but usually when you look for a connection you can find one. I can't think of any really great examples right now, but the hebrew word/root for counting ( l'saper) is very similar to the hebrew word for cutting.

But the flat tire/unplanned pregnancy thing is a mystery. I've decided it comes down to the "Oh Sh*t" factor - its probably the first phrase uttered out of the mouth of anyone who discovers they have a flat tire, as well as anyone who discovers that they're pregnant and didn't mean to be. Granted, dealing with a flat tire is a lot more simple than an accidental pregnancy - but there they are, they are both accidents. If anyone else can come up with a better connection, feel free to share.

Now, I've never experienced the "oh sh*t" factor - neither with respect to a flat tire nor an accidental knock-up. However (if you've read this far down/are still reading my blog after months of no postings - here comes your reward) I have recently experienced the "holy crap" factor of finding out that you are pregnant when you wanted to be!!

So I'll let that be my explanation for the paucity of postings - I'm pregnant and between the nausea and the total exhaustion (which I am thankfully passing/past) blogging took a back burner. Housework took a back burner. Cooking dinner took a back burner - hell, just swallowing a bite or two of dinner was a rough chore for a while.

Also, I've discovered my blogging stinks when I have no drama in my life - or in this case, there was plenty of drama but none I was willing to share with the blogosphere yet. Plus, we hadn't gotten around to telling some of the friends who we think would be pretty mad if they found out through the blog [if this is you, I am terribly sorry - we'll name the kid after you].

We're due in August, we have no idea what we're having, I haven't gained a pound yet, thank god all is well, thanks for asking - and no, this baby isn't a puncher!

The more "blog-gy" aspect for me will be how becoming a mom will affect my life, my world views, my relationships with my husband and family, and my relationships with my friends.

One thing I've discovered about friends is this - its really easy to be a good friend when something bad/sad happens to a friend. Its a lot harder to be a good friend when something good happens to them (particularly when things aren't going great for you). I have a couple sets of friends going through fertility difficulties right now, and I really was worried about sharing my news with them. One set (you know who you are) reacted really wonderfully - I don't know how hard it was for them, but I really felt like they were happy for me. And I so appreciate it. Because I have other friends who haven't reacted as well - not necessarily because they have fertility issues, but because they are having other personal issues or simply can't make be happy for me. And I'm trying not be hurt, or be too distanced, though obviously that may be inevitable, because I know its not personal. But I really appreciate the friends that have reacted positively, even if it is difficult for them, because I see now how hard it really is, and it makes me thankful to have such friends.

Anyway, I promise this blog will not become a place where I regale readers with tales of bodily functions/fluids that should not be made public. I really hate when seemingly normal people become parents and suddenly start sending out mass emails (with pics, natch) about the size and color of their son's "productions"...

Almost Paradise

2006-01-08T08:14:00.000+02:00

One of the more exciting things about our new place is it comes with a parking spot - a covered parking spot. I am (was) particularly excited about this, since at our old building we often got stuck parking under a tree that had lots of birds in it - and lots of birds make lots of poo...on our new white car.

However, there is someone from our building who keeps parking in our parking spot. We haven't even been there a week, and someone (the same car) has parked there twice. Last night it was pouring buckets of rain, and we had to go park out on the street instead of in our nice covered spot.

I was so mad!!! I tried to take the person's windshield wipers off, so they'd have to come back to apologize in order to get them (I saw that in a movie once) but I couldn't figure out how. I wanted to lay a fresh, um, "present" from Sharona on the hood of the car, but that would be bad for neighborly relations.

So I settled for a not-so-nice note on the winshield (the wipers of which I popped into the "out" position to ensure the note would be read) saying that the next time they took my spot I'd have them towed.

This morning, at 8:15 am, they're still there. I checked around with the neighbors, none of whom say its them. I called the police to find out who the owner was, but unfortunately its a rented car. I went to one neighbor to see if he could help (I didn't think it was him, since he has his own space) and I get the feeling he's hiding something. He got really pissed when I told him I've called the police to find out who the owner was and he said that if I wanted all my new neighbors to hate me then that would be the way to do it. That if I would just be patient, in a day or two the person would leave and I could have my spot back. That its no big deal to give up your spot for a few days.

Meanwhile, while I am patient, I get to park on the street during the rain.

I would like to take this opportunity to say hey to Linda, my new across-the-hall neighbor and blog-reader...I know you didn't steal my spot!

Okay, Ra'anana may not have ONLY perfectly nice, happy people, but its still a damn sighte better than J-town.

I'm it!

2006-01-05T11:58:00.000+02:00

Okay, I've been tagged for the following meme by Jeru Guru, so here goes - I'll have to save my accounting of how much I love Ra'anana for after the meme.

Four jobs I've had in my life:
1. Sold Penthouse magazine over the phone (and was a top seller)
2. Checked sperm samples for STD's (an unpaid internshp - does this count?)
3. Gap girl - before I knew how to match clothes!
4. Patent Attorney

Four movies I could watch over and over:
1. When Harry Met Sally
2. Love Actually
3. Fiddler on the Roof
4. My wedding video

Four places I've lived:
1. Jerusalem
2. Boston - really Waltham, Mass.
3. Ra'anana
4. Philadelphia - the bad part of town

Four TV Shows I Love to watch:
1. Sex and the City
2. Jeopardy
3. Gilmore Girls
4. ER

Four places I've been on vacation:
1. Paris
2. Venice
3. Cape Town
4. Athens, Georgia

Four websites I visit daily:
1. www.haaretz.com
2. www.onlysimchas.com (I'm willing to admit it)
3. www.treppenwitz.com
4. mail.yahoo.com

Four of my favorite foods:
1. Indian food - any of it! (but only authentic - no meat)
2. Sweet potato Ravioli with Rosa sauce
3. Carpaccio - particularly from Joy
4. Peanut butter and 4 Berry Jelly on a plain Bagel, drunk with apple juice

Four places you'd rather be:
1. Venice - walking along the back streets, away from tourists
2. Skiing down a double black diamond hill - somewhere in Vermont
3. Hiking in the Golan - then relaxing at the Carmel Forest Spa
4. Snuggled with my husband and dog - at home

Four books I'll read over and over again: (I do this with any book I enjoy)
1. To Kill a Mockingbird
2. Netter's Guide to Anatomy
3. Angels and Demons
4. Good in Bed by Jennifer Weiner

I'd like to tag the following: Treppenwitz, Gilly, Lapis Dreams and .... my friend Joel H., who sadly, I can't remember his blog's address off the top of my head, so I'll have to check back later.

The new home I love

2005-12-19T10:40:00.000+02:00

We've actually made the real move this past week, received our brand new Toyota Corolla, and last night we signed on an apartment (on Ostrovsky street, for you Ra'anana-ites).

Ra'anana is defintiely the prettiest, cleanest place I have lived in since....forever (university experiences included Midtown Manhattan and West Philadelphia). I have seen almost no stray cats, no overflowing trash bins, and the street cleaners actually clean the street. This may be because instead of forcing the street cleaners to procure their own equipment (we've all seen the Jerusalem street cleaners using a stick to "sweep" trash into an empty box), Ra'anana gives them a handy little cart with brooms, and...cleaning supplies!! ANd probably they get paid reasonably on time.

The city clearly invests in the little things that make life easier. There are only 2 streets that have traffic lights in the whole place (the 2 main drags), but each traffic light is numbered. So when giving directions to someone, when you tell them to turn right at the 7th traffic light, they don't have to count, and hope they didn't miss one. Its all numbered!!

All of these little things the city does to make life easier seems to contribute to a more pleasant, easygoing population. I have to tone down my Jerusalem-acquired behaviors. In Jerusalem, when going to any sort of errand or task, one must always gear up for the big fight. If I am trying to go to the supermarket, I have to gear up to fight with at least one rude customer, who will usually come with elbows out to the cheese counter and "pretend" that she never heard of the concept of a line; then the customer who leaves an emtpy cart at the checkout line and ferries back and forth bewteen aisles, filling up her cart and daring anyone to "cut" her, though all the other customers are waiting while she's still shopping; and finally the fight with the checkout lady, who will go on her break just as it gets to your turn in line, or where there are never enough open checkout counters for the amount of customers (why bother having 19 checkouts if there are never more than 3 open?).

Juxtapose this to Ra'anana where the security guard politely greets you and asks if he can hold your dog while you shop (subtle way of saying no dogs allowed) - which he actually does! (to the point that Sharona didn't want to come back to me). At the cheese counter, the cheese lady tried to serve another customer who came after me, but that customer said, "No, I think she was here first". At the checkout line, another customer helped me bag my groceries!!!

I have found the way to relax, its called moving to Ra'anana.

As for driving to Jerusalem every day - on the way home, no matter what time it ever takes me longer than an hour. Yesterday I left Ra'anana at 8:45, thinking I'd miss the traffic, but I got stuck at a few places and it took 1.5 hours to get there. But this morning I left at 6:40 am, and it took me under an hour!! So clearly, the trick is to go before the traffic.

Anyway, I just wanted to thank Keren, the Ra'anana blogger who tracked me down and invited me for Shabbat lunch. I'm really sorry we had other plans, but you really made us feel welcome!

Forget Jerusalem - I'm converted.

Little Miracle

2005-12-11T06:54:00.000+02:00

This has been a rather crazy week - we moved to Ra'anana (though realized halfway there we forgot the housekeys), Bryan started his new job, and I have been sans internet almost the whole week.

However the most exciting thing that happened this week was that I was present for the birth of my friends JJ and Bayla's little boy. And though I must have seen about 50 kids born (more on that in a minute), each birth always makes me cry and each birth is different in its own way.

Because I hang out in a major Jerusalem hospital all day, every day, whenever friends come into the hospital for one reason or another, I usually get a call to come visit (or translate). So when Rachel (who drove JJ and Bayla to the hospital) called me in the middle of class on Monday, I knew before answering that Bayla, who was close to a week overdue, was at the hospital and I was right.

When I was in college I used to want to work in midwifery/obstetrics in some capacity. (Funny how you can never really suppress life's dreams - just save them for later) I had a summer job working in the office of a large gynecology/OB practice, mostly doing filing and stuff, but one of the doctors knew I wanted to be a midwife/OB so she ivited me to come along with her when she had on-call days, either for delivery or surgery. Through her (Thanks Dr. Cramer) I got to see all kinds of deliveries and surgeries and it was a wonderful summer experience. I discovered I was really good at keeping the parents-to-be calm during the delivery. Since it was a fairly low-class area in the South, there were some young moms giving birth, and I got to help them out too.

Eventually I became a delivery whore - I would convince doctors I knew to let me come watch. Sometimes they'd even let me do exciting things - like hold retractors, or the mother-to-be's hand. I got to follow a neonatalogist around while she was on call (and thus saw quintuplets being born!). In the university cafeteria I made friends with some guy who it turned out was an infertility specialist and he let me come to work with him and watch IVF procedures (and hold the needle!), egg collections and then the results of all those procedures being born.

So when Bayla and JJ showed up, I had had some experience with birth (plus I delivered my dog's puppies (including a breech) and some calves on kibbutz). Little did we realize Bayla was in for a long haul. Do to some medical complications, Bayla was induced into labor, but it took f-o-r-e-v-e-r.

I'll save you all the gory details, but suffice it to say they arrived at the hospital at 11:00 am on Monday and the kid wasn't born until 5:15 p.m. Tuesday!

The most amazing part of the birth was the look on Bayla and JJ's face when the baby finally made his way into the world. It was such a look of shock, more on Bayla than JJ I think. Like she couldn't believe that at the end of all the pushing and pain and 10 months of shlepping there was a actually a little boy waiting for them. JJ was so stunned he just sat there staring at the baby. It was a really beautiful moment. Another little miracle (as all healthy babies are). When you learn about all the things that can and do go wrong for other people all day, you really appreciate the true miracle it is to have a beautiful healthy baby. When you realize how many tiny little things the human body does to make growing such a child possible, how many normal physiologic body processes have to be altered to allow for pregnancy, how incredibly brilliant the body is, then you really get to appreciate that having a baby is nothing short of a miracle.

I'll be the first to admit that there was a point in my life when I'm not so sure I believed in G-d (and no, it wasn't during any specific "bad" point in my life). But the more I learned science and biology, the more I saw all of those things I told you about above, the more I studied the human body, the more I know that we are no accident or even the work of evolution. I know with perfect certainty that a greater being was responsible for my existence and the fact that my body functions the way it does.

Mah Rabu Ma'asecha Hashem [how great is Your handiwork, G-d].

And the first thing JJ and Bayla's little miracle did once he made it out into the world was to pee all over the midwife!

How did you get here?

2005-12-01T10:06:00.000+02:00

I finally decided to add sitemeter to my blog, and let me tell you, tracking that stuff is so much more interesting than even checking my own email.

I think by far the funniest "referral page" I've seen is someone who got to my blog searching for "Did Hebrew women wear panties?"

I feel a sense of obligation to answer that question, but I'll need some more info for that. Did you mean ancient Hebrew women, or modern ones. By "Hebrew" do you mean Jewish or Israeli?

Also, in the past 12 hours people have read my blog from all kinds of funky places. Plus, one man/woman was searching for pornography (and somehow got to my blog :) from his/her place of work at the Maryland Office of the Courts. So we have some pretty ballsy readers here! This sitemeter thing is way fun!

Anyway, Bryan is off at Toyota test-driving and ordering the Corolla. I thank everyone for the feedback, especially Lisoosh and her mechanic husband, and Treppenwitz for all their help and advice. We made the "safe" decision in the end, no risks.

And I am currently cutting school today, since yesterday I did not one stitch of packing, but rather spent the day reading other people's blogs from beginning to end, and then treating myself to a burger on Emek Refaim, where I ran into one blogger friend, saw the friend who directed the play which was Sharona's (my dog) theatrical debut, shared fries with my friend Bayla who was due to give birth yesterday, but was still hanging in, and then finally a guy I know who was (I am pretty sure) on a date, sat down with his date to join me, then chucked his date at her house, walked *me* home, and then asked for my number. The guy very much knows I am married, and it was a really awkward situation for me.

He and I are not so friendly that we speak other than when we bump into each other, and while I think everyone needs friends, and even new friends, it seemed weird to be giving a guy my phone number when he had just chucked his date to walk me home. I have no idea what the agenda was, or if there was one.

Anyway, I'm really supposed to be packing now. If Bryan comes home from buying the car, and I am still doing nothing, it will be not good.

You're never fully dressed....

2005-11-30T12:10:00.000+02:00

There are so many reasons my husband is a great guy, and why he's so darn lovable. But he has this one talent/quality that sometimes makes me want to strangle him, and other times makes me laugh so hard milk shoots out my nose, and sometimes its both reactions simultaneously.

Bryan is one of those guys who, no matter how hard he tries, will always look like a bit of a disaster. So much so that he's stopped trying. This is not to say that he doesn't care at all what he looks like, or tries to dress like crap. It just means that no matter how hard he tries, something goes wrong. Sometimes he'll go for a few days without shaving. I'll complain and he'll go back to shave, but somehow he will *always* miss this one tiny spot right under his right nostril,to the effect that the remaining cubic micrometer has an alarming way of looking much like a booger. On the days that this occurs, everything else will be right with his appearance.

His shirts, which all started out their lives as wonderfully trendy pieces of clothing, have all developed battle wounds from one thing or another. My personal favorite story (and this is something that could happen only to Bryan) was his pink dress shirt. I wondered why he owned any pink items of clothing at all - despite the fashionableness - but then he told me he was invited to a wedding where the dress code was "Glamorously chic" and this was my husband's impersonation of such a style of dress.

On Simchat Torah Bryan was wearing his pink shirt, and turns up after shul with the entire sleeve ripped from elbow to wrist. I was curious how such an incident could have happened - I mean, I know the man-dancing gets rowdy, but only Bryan looked like he'd been in a fight. Somehow, somehow one of the shul members managed to catch either the sights or the trigger of his pistol on Bryan's sleeve (it wasn't the butt, and the barrel was in the holster) and rip it. You're probably all scrathing your heads, thinking "Huh?" much like I was, but there you have another classic Bryan story.

Anyway, since he starts a new job in 1 week, I strong-armed him (literally) into buying 2 new shirts for work. We bought a lovely light blue one, and a more blue-blue shirt, and 2 pairs of cordoroys. Well, about 1 hour after we arrived home from shopping, I said, "How about you wear that lovely new blue-blue shirt we bought today, to synagogue tonight?" And he said, "I can't". He said he wouldn't tell me why because I'd "get cross" with him.

Eventually, Bryan 'fessed up that he had .....wait for it....already managed to make the brand-new shirt dirty before removing it from the shopping bag! Apparently, when we'd stopped at the bakery on the way home, a small amount of warm chocolate filling had escaped his croissant, fallen straight into the shopping bag in his hand, and gotten to the shirt. Now, most people, when noticing such a large amount of their croissant falling from their lips, would check to see where it had landed. But not Bryan. Nope, he just patted the bag closed (thereby grinding the still-warm chocolate into the new shirt) and went on his merry way.

But that's not all.

Bryan has since been to the cleaners twice since the shirt incident last Friday. But he has not brought the new shirt in to be cleaned. Last night, when I asked him why, he said that he did a cost-benefit analysis and decided that the 14 NIS that he would have to spend on cleaning the shirt must be added to the overall purchase price of the shirt, therefore bringing the final purchase price to something he would never had paid for the shirt.

Therefore, his solution is that he will wear the shirt for the next 2 Friday nights, underneath a jersey/sweater, thereby hiding the chocolate stain, and only then will he bring it into the cleaners, because then it would be worth it to pay the 14 NIS for the dry-cleaning.

I pointed out that none of his existing sweaters match the shirt in any way, but he thinks that if royal blue and orange (the color of his favorite sweater) are good enough for the previous South African flag, then its good enough for him to wear to shule. Or alternatively, he could simply go buy another sweater, in order to have one to match the shirt that he could wear along if he'd only pay the 14 NIS.

To quote another happy couple I know "No, no ladies, I saw him first. Back off, he's mine".

Never Rent When You Can Buy

2005-11-26T19:00:00.000+02:00

As part of the big move to Ra'anana, Bryan and I embarked on 2 more mini-adventures, which have made our aliyah far more complete.

The first Adventure: Subletting our apartment (in our language) or "Trying to break our lease" (as the landlord put it).

I figured this would be very simple - we had no trouble finding someone to assume 6 months of our lease, and there was a definite clause in our contract about allowing someone to assume our lease if we had to leave.

Ladies and Gentlemen, meet the Israeli landlord. I assume that many of you already have, so you'll understand what I'm talking about. With no regard for the law, even less regard for people and with $$$ signs in his eyes, the Israeli landlord is a breed unlike any you've ever met in the old country. Our landlord is actually native French, and he has been thus far the worst landlord I have ever had.

We called the LL as soon as we knew we were definitely moving, and when we had a vague idea that it woulnd't be too hard to find a new tenant. His immediate response was to accuse me of lying, saying that I knew in advance we were going to be leaving, but was only telling him now. I pointed out that if that were the case, would I have enrolled in school in Jerusalem, requiring the purchase of a car and 1-hour commute each way? Would Bryan and I have spruced up the apartment, springing for all kinds of repairs the dear landlord wouldn't?

I think I got the point across, and then the LL started on 'if you would have told me Bryan didn't have a job and you were in school when you moved in I would never had let you have the apartment because you're unreliable'. I'm not sure what difference that makes...for all he knows we are retired quabillionaires at the age of 30 and anyway, we've never been a second late with the rent (he had 12 head checks, so we couldn't have if we wanted to, plus 2 months cash deposit, plus guarantors, plus a shtar hov - a surety bond).

Anyway, with those rants out of the way he started listing his "requirements" for subletters: No singles, no roomates, no unmarried couples living together, no homosexuals, no tourists who would be likely to leave after finishing our lease, etc. I explained to him that although he considers all of the above "unreliable" tenants, the risk to be assumed was ours - we were willing to stay on the lease and simply sublet the apartment. But the LL didn't care about that. He said he'd have to think about it for 2 days.

Then we found a woman who was quite keen on subletting, so much so that even though she knew about the crazy landlord, she still wanted our place. I called the LL up, and let him know we had someone stable, her cousin is a good friend of ours, etc. After yelling at me for not giving him his full 48 hours to think he said he'd spoken with some buddies and his demand was this: He would "allow" us to bring in a subletter, IF the the subletter agreed right now to not only finish out our contract but to add an extra year onto the lease. Basically he wanted to better his situation at our expense. He said that when we met with him the first time we told him we were likely to stay in the place for more than one year if all went well, and he had chosen us out of all the available tenants for that reason, and now he was going to have to find a new tenant come June, because we were irresponsible and LIED to him about staying in one place for more than one year. I told him that the way he was treating us, even if we weren't moving to Ra'anana we would be leaving come June.

Anyway, he went on and on, while I sat and fumed. The next morning I called our lawyer who told me that it was totally illegal, both the tacking on of the extra year and his refusal to allow us to sublet to some of his "undesirable" subgroups. We decided to see what a phonecall from our lawyer could do, but before we even got the chance, the LL called to say he'd spoken to a lawyer who told him he was being a bit harsh (and illegal) so he said he would be willing to meet interested parties.

We've come far enough - the woman who was originally interested will be taking the place. She lied to the LL and told him she would seriously consider re-signing at the end of June - except she knows she's leaving the country. Good for him, he'll have to look for a new tenant without any help of ours. Of course, his new "requirement" is that not only do we have to stay on the lease, not get our cash deposit back and not get our head checks returned until the end of our original lease, but the subltter also has to bring gurantors, head checks and a deposit. Which we won't allow. He basically wants 2 leases on the same palce for the same time period.

This is a perfect advert for why everyone who can, should buy a place as soon as is feasible. And secondly, from my experiences, whenever possible do NOT rent from someone who owns the one flat and uses the rent you pay, to finance his mortgage payments. They tend to be cheap as hell, require unbelievable deposits, and hard to get deposits back (I am still waiting for mine from the flat I moved out of in July - and I even have the k'tav siluk saying I have fulfilled all my obligation and am owed the deposit of $300 back). If at all possible, rent from a large company, who has a manager/managing company that is unrelated to the owner.

Our second adventure - buying a car in Israel is another post unto itself. But I pose the following question to those of you who have read this far: Would you buy a new Toyota Corolla or a new Citroen C4 knowing the prices were the same, the service at Citroen was better, the warranty at Citroen was better, the financing at Citroen was better....Please explain your answer (not: I always buy Japanese or I hate the French):)

Thanks

Far From the Home I Love

2005-11-22T07:51:00.000+02:00

When I started this blog, it was generally to receive free therapy from the general public vis-a-vis my dating dramas. Those dramas have largely come to an end since getting married, and the new dramas in my life are usually no longer subject to public examination since they involve my husband, a patient and generous man who doesn't have the same "let-me-pour-my-heart-out-to-the-world-and-see-what-happens" attitude that I do.

However, a new drama has arisen that can/should be shared.

Yet again, during another wonderful Shabbat at Chez Treppenwitz, a innocent chat between Zahava and I has led me to a groundbreaking, life-altering decision. The first one involved dating Bryan at all.

Bryan has been more or less out of work since making aliyah. For the first year this was ok, as he studied in both Ulpan and a yeshiva and didn't really intend to work unless something wonderful fell into his lap. However, since about January 2005 he's been looking for work, whilst working part-time in the family business. He really started concentrating his efforts in about June, but even since then nothing came his way.

He would follow up on every contact he received, send his CV out to everyone who said "Send us your CV, we'll see what we can do", had it translated to hebrew to increase his odds at Israeli companies, and try every possible route of protekziya we had (which everyone knows is the best way to get a job in Israel). But nothing worked. It seemed that even when Bryan would get interviews, he was constantly being undercut by people who had far more protekziya than him. I mean, he'd get to the 3rd interview for a particular job, the head partner would discuss benefits, hours and methods of transport to work with him, the HR person would tell him to wait for 5 minutes and she's be back with an offer, and then he'd be told "well, we have one more candidate who just came in, we'll get back to you...." and that would be the end of the story.

In early October he did get a job offer, but it seemed totally unviable as it involved a move from Jerusalem in order to get his commute down to a do-able distance, and I am still in school in Jerusalem, and we have no car, and a lease that goes until June. Plus, the money they offered him didn't seem to be worth the move. So we turned it down. This job, mind you, was the only job Bryan had applied for where he had absolutely no protekziya, and had simply appllied through the internet, through a website that helps place accountants in suitable positions.

Anyway, Bryan is generally a cheery, happy, laid-back kind of guy. But I've been noticing that the lack of working has really been taking a toll on him. It is clearly pretty hard for a guy who is supposed to be the chief bread-winner not winning any bread. Not simply from a financial perspective, because thankfully we had a bit of savings to live on, but from a "worth" perspective.

Anyway, following another meaningful conversation with Zahava, I made a decision, sort of. Zahava mind you, doesn't even realize she's helping me make life-altering decisions. She's simply cleaning up the kitchen after breakfast, while little Yonah, her almost 2-year-old, happily bathes in the dog's water bowl, and schmoozing with me on the side. Zahava made me realize even more how important it is for Bryan to work, and that the salary offered to him was the same as what her husband makes, and is actually decent for Israel. The wheels started churning, but I didn't tell Bryan.

The, a few days later, we had occasion to spend the night at a community that is in the Merkaz. And I took the bus to and from school that day. And while the 2+ hour bus ride was not wonderful, it was do-able. So I called Bryan from the bus, and told him to call this place that had offered him the job 1.5 months ago to see if it was still open. And it was!!!

So, to finish the story, in less than 2 weeks, Bryan and I are moving to Ra'anana! And Bryan starts work at BDO Ziv Haft (a big 5 accounting firm) in 2 weeks, but will be onsite at a client in Yokne'am (near Haifa). So we'll both be having long commutes, but Bryan is so happy he gets to work that he just doesn't care.

At first, I was really upset about my decision. But I knew it was the right move. I wandered around our apartment singing the song from Fiddler on the Roof, "Far from the Home I Love" for a couple days. But I could see it was starting to upset Bryan.

And now I am sort of excited about the move. Its a big adventure, since I have never lived anywhere in Israel besides Jerusalem, which I know like the back of my hand. In fact, Israel to me = Jerusalem, plus the Gush Etzion bloc. I have exactly zero friends on Ra'anana (though Bryan has a few plus some cousins). But we're doing it.

As the cold sets in Jerusalem, I think there couldn't be a more perfect time of year to move to sunny Ra'anana. Of course, in the summer I'll be so hot I will wish I was never born, but that's 6 months away. And I think about the cool Ra'anana places - Cup O' Joe coffee, Meatland (with its boerwors), American-style malls - and as Bryan adds, and money to actually spend in all these places.

But the best part of all is the happiness on Bryan's face.

Biker chick

2005-10-03T16:20:00.000+03:00

Okay - I am interrupting my blogging silence to bring you news - I just rode on a motorcycle for the first time in my life!!! And not a little scooter/Vespa-type thing either, a full-on 750 cc motorcycle. (See pic here http://www.suzukicycles.com/Products/GSXR750K5/Default.aspx) And although I have been staunchly anti-motorcycle my entire life (preferring the medical term/joke "donor-cycle", so-named because those who get into accidents make perfect organ donors - generally young, otherwise healthy, and the only thing harmed is usually the brain), I now totally get it! What a rush!

My boss, a 62-year old Israeli farmer, begged me to work this morning, Erev Rosh Hashana, a day with much to accomplish and generally pretty spotty bus service. I told him I would come into work for 2 hours IF he would give me a ride home. Turns out, his idea of a ride home was on his motorcycle. I figured if I would go with anyone, it'd be him. He takes tons of safety courses, and is not a wild and risk-taking 25 year old guy.

So we rode from Hadassah Ein Karem to my house in Bak'a (a considerable distance - about 20-25 minutes at a good clip), and even though I am still scraping dead bugs off my forehead, I loved it!!! I was kind of hoping Bryan would be outside when I pulled up, so he could see his new biker-chick wife, but he wasn't.

Anyway, seeing as how I turned 26 2 days ago, this is one more thing I can cross off my list of Things to do.

If I manage to upload my pics today, I will begin writing about our honeymoon, from which we just returned Thursday night. If not, Shana Tova (Happy Jewish New Year - which begins in about an hour) to all!

the long overdue Wedding post

2005-07-28T19:34:00.000+03:00

Thanks to all who made my wedding the dream come true that it was, particularly my incredible husband Bryan. Also, to all the bloggers who made our evening so special.

I had an absoultely fabulous time, and am still in the newlywed glow (may it never end!) so I'll save all the funny rants for another time and leave you with a few more pictures. Bryan has finally given me permission to post real pictures of us!

The view during our chuppah (note the Old City and Dome of the Rock between us)

The flowergirls - my chatty 3-year-old niece and my dog Sharona - both of whom behaved perfectly.

The much talked about bone marrow drive - that's me being tested while waiting for the wedding to begin!

Bryan coming to bring me into the chuppah.

And finally - the new Mr. & Mrs.!

The man who mistook his wife...

2005-06-30T20:29:00.000+03:00

A very short posting about one of the funniest things I've seen in a while.

Today Bryan and I were at the Rabbanut finishing up, and getting our ketuba (marriage license/contract).

There was a man in front of us on line trying to fill out his marriage license request. Bryan and I heard the clerk ask him, "what's your fiancee's name?" and then we saw the man shrug his shoulders. The clerk grew more and more impatient, asking the man "Your wife to be...what is her name? her name!!! Surely you know her name!" And the man kept saying, "I forgot it." The man actually could not remember his fiancee's name and had to be sent home until he could think of his future wife's name.

Bryan was laughing so hard they almost through us out of there. Even the clerk was busting up.

Needless to say, I am not holding out much hope for the success of this marriage.

Odds and Ends

2005-06-30T07:49:00.000+03:00

I was going to share with you the denouement of some stories I've shared here on the blog recently (what happened to the prices in the cafeteria?...did I find replacement lingerie?).

I was going to share with you some new restaurant trends I've been noticing around town, but that would be stealing Gilly's job.

Then I was going to share with you my reaction to seeing anti-disengagement protestors yesterday, even though I have never really discussed politics here. But I have something else to share instead.

Its the story of why I was on a bus going through some antidisengagement protestors.

Its about my wedding dress.

I bought my dream dress in America in early March when I was there on a little Nefesh B'Nefesh sponsored trip, with my buddy Treppenwitz. I would link to the dress, since its online, but then it might spoil it.

Small problem, the dress of my dreams was strapless. Now, I know from previous experience that with a good seamstress, it is possible to add sleeves to a strapless dress in a way that it will look like the dress came with sleeves. I know because I've done it with bridesmaid dresses a few times, though obviously never with my own wedding dress.

Anyway, I enlisted the services of a certain seamstress (lets call her Jessica). When I first met with her, and her boss, I was very hesitant to give them my dress. They laughed at me and called me a bridezilla for not accepting their suggestion that they make me a JACKET to go over my dress to cover up the fact that it was strapless. I know lots of people choose this option, but I really didn't like the look, and I still don't. I told them what I wanted and that I was open to everything except a jacket.

I didn't get a very good vibe from them, and Bryan kept urging me to take my dress away and go to another seamstress, but my mom was worried that since they had already started I'd have to pay double and how could we hurt the seamstress' feelings, etc.

So I left it there. The first incarnation of the dress with sleeves was bad. Not unwearable, but definitely not what I had in mind. The sleeves sort of puffed up at the shoulder, giving me the appearance of a little girl playing dress-up. Not exactly what I wanted. At this point Bryan again suggested going elsewhere, but my mom sort of pushed me to stick with Jessica. So I summoned up my courage and told her that I was very unhappy with what she had done, and could she re-do it.

She did re-do it, and at first it was looking better than what she did the first time. But when I went to pick it up on Monday with my mom, well, the end result was an unwearable dress.

I'm not sure how this happened, but I'm glad it did: I was unhappy with the way it looked, but my blood sugar was really low, and either I was mentally choosing to block this, or I honestly was so out of it I wasn't paying attention, but the dress was disgusting. She had managed to take my dream dress and make it unwearable. Fortunately, I simply noticed that I didn't like it.

My mom, on the other hand, did notice how bad it was. My mom, bless her soul, is the plainest woman I know. Her clothes are often downright ugly. She does not care what she looks like. In all my life she has worn makeup once (and then only lipstick and blush because we forced it on her) - at my brother's wedding. She has never plucked her eyebrows. She has never dieted (and she is in need of it). When she buys shoes she looks first at the price tag, then if they are comfortable. She never looks at the color or style. My mother is also one of the cheapest women I know.

So my dress must have been pretty bad because the next morning she said, "Honey, that dress was so bad I think we need to bring it to another seamstress. And if someone else cannot fix it in time (since my wedding is in 18 days) then I will go and buy you a new one for whatever it costs. But I cannot let you walk down the aisle like that."

Apparently she was up all night worrying about this dress. She couldn't believe I wasn't making a big deal about it - that I wasn't crying and going nuts. Believe me, if I had realized how bad it was, I would have. I mean, sure I noticed that the sleeves were 2 different lengths. And that one of them was tighter than the other. I also noticed that the neckline was uneven, and stood away from my body. I noticed that the top of the dress was enormous on me. And that, despite 11 fittings, the woman had left about 4 extra inches at the hem, making it impossible for me to walk or dance without tripping. I just didn't realize how bad it was.

So Tuesday afternoon I started calling around to other people, trying to get recommendations for a really excellent seamstress, a miracle worker, if you will. I called Andrea, the woman doing my hair and makeup. She recommended 2 people, one of whom was too busy to take me on at such short notice, the other who told me she'd stopped doing alterations. Now again, because I didn't realize how bad it was, the fact that I had been spending all day looking for a seamstress without much luck wasn't stressing me out, predominantly because I also had an exam the next morning.

I posted an ad on Janglo (a yahoo group for Anglos living in jerusalem). For obvious reasons (the first seamstress may read Janglo) I didn't use my name or phone number. I created a new account called needseamstress at yahoo . The best was every time I logged in to see responses Yahoo would greet me with "Welcome, Need!" Which at that point I did feel sort of needy.

Anyway, after about 10 hours I finally came across a seamstress who sounded reasonable and professional. She was the first one I spoke to who seemed confident in her abilities and didn't waffle over whether or not she could do the job, rather told me to come and bring everything I had - extra material, extra beading, etc.

The next step was to get my dress back from Jessica, who was still doing some finishing touches, and obviously noticed my unhappiness the day before when I thought my dress was bad (not to mention my mom's reaction). Well, y'all can award me an Oscar, because I told her that I was sorry I was grumpy the day before, that I LOVED the dress, and wanted to take it home right now so I could gaze at it adoringly until the days before my wedding. She bought it all and gave me back my dress. I mean, she's obviously a terrible seamstress, but she thinks she did a good job and I can see she worked hard at it. So we wanted to still pay her and the only way to do that was to lie. My mom thought I should level with her and tell her I was taking it elsewhere, but that I still wanted to pay her. Whatever

I took the dress yesterday to the new seamstress, Dorit. When I opened the dress bag she could immediately see the poor quality and work. She said Jessica had used stitches that are only supposed to be on the underside of a hem, on the top of my wedding dress for all to see. Even I started noticing the uneven stitching, the loose threads, etc. Then I put the dress on.

Dorit could barely stifle her laughter, and even I burst out laughing when I finally saw through non rose-colored lenses what my mother was looking at on Monday. The dress was, in fact, unwearable. It looked as if I had perhaps borrowed someone's shirt and tucked it into the top of my dress. The whole top was uneven. I think (and this is no exaggeration) that I could have done a better job.

Anyway, to make a long story short, Dorit is fixing up the dress and told me it would be done within a week. She apologized for this profusely, but it will cost us about 1600 NIS for the alterations. She said that if I had come to her first, she could have made me a whole dress from scratch for less than that. But since this is under extreme time pressure, and she has to fix all the things Jessica ruined plus re-do the work, its a whole lot of work.

My mom, uncharacteristically, said she didn't care about the price, and that only a truly cruel mother would have let me get married looking like that. We both got a very good vibe from Dorit, and saw lot of other wedding dresses she had done. all of which looked wonderful.

So, luckily I didn't notice how bad things were until I was already standing in front of someone capable of fixing the problem. And that my mother, bless her soul, for once looked at the style instead of the price tag. Thanks, Mom.

The Gift of Life

2005-06-24T18:15:00.000+03:00

In 3.5 weeks (24 days, according to TheKnot.com), I am getting married and I have a somewhat strange idea for wedding gifts to request from our wedding guests.

Bryan and I will be hosting a bone marrow drive at our wedding. We are asking all of our guests, who are between the ages of 18-55, in decent health and not already entered into the registry of potential bone marrow donors, to consider allowing the 2 best phlebotomists (people who take blood from your arm) at Hadassah Ein Karem to draw 5 ml (a tablespoon) of blood from their arms at some point during the smorgasbord or during pictures.

This cause is really important to us. Firstly, my little sister donated her marrow to a woman she matched for several years ago and saved the woman's life. Hopefully my sister's recipient, a woman alive today only because my sister was selfless enough to enter herself in the registry and willing to donate her bone marrow, will be at our wedding as well.

Secondly, I mentioned in passing that when I started dating Bryan, I also went out with another gentleman as well. For reasons I won't go into now, after our second date, I accepted a date with another man, whom I went out with and liked. I also liked Bryan, however, and was in a bit of a quandary as to which one to move forward with. I went out with Bryan a third time. A few minutes before our 3rd date, Bryan received a call from the folks at Gift of Life, telling him he was a likely bone marrow match for a 21 year old leukemia patient, and asking whether he'd be willing to come down to Hadassah Hospital for further testing.

On our previous date, Bryan had mentioned how bad he was with blood and needles and how he couldn't donate blood because he passed out whenever he even got near the room where they were accepting blood. So I was quite impressed when he told me that without hesitation he had booked an appointment to come in for more blood testing. I decided I absolutely HAD to continue with Bryan, since he seemed like a pretty amazing and selfless guy. And here we are getting married...Obviously this was in God's plan and all, but who knows what would have happened if Bryan hadn't gotten the call at that critical juncture, and I had decided to continue with guy #2? I feel I owe the bone marrow registry people a bit of hakarat hatov - an acknowledgement of the good they've done for me.

In fact, the day Bryan had planned to propose to me, we got a call asking for him to come in again for further testing. I had no idea that Bry was proposing that evening, and that coming in to give the blood made him run late for all of the things he had to arrange to make the proposal go smoothly. But he did it. And I got to see him faint not once, but twice, after giving a minute amount of blood for testing.

So, given these two personal reasons, we've decided to hold a bone marrow drive at our wedding. Although in America they now do bone marrow drives with a simple cheek swab, in Israel they still do blood samples. We have coordinated it all with the Bone Marrow Registry at Hadassah hospital and have their 2 best blood-takers coming to our wedding, along with the head of the department (who happens to be married to one of my professors - a fact I found out too late to help me after I failed Geriatrics).

So, my question to you is, if something like this was happening at a wedding you've been invited to (and some of my readers are on the guets list), would you be willing to give 5 ml of blood, even at a wedding?

In order to further motivate our guests, I'm going to be the first one to go. I thought I was listed in the registry, since I entered it years ago, but for some reason they couldn't find me so its time for me to go back in. I figure that if some people might be hesitant to give blood wearing fancy wedding attire, if they see the bride doing it in her white wedding dress, they'd be more likely. This should be further proof as to how much I trust the phlebotomists - Rivka and Itzik. I won't even let the rabbi use red wine under our chuppah, but I am allowing blood to be taken!

Anyway, I'd like a wee bit of feedback, since I promised the bone marrow folks I could convince at least 30 people to do it. We have 300 guests (or so) coming, so that's 10%.

Shabbat Shalom

How much???

2005-06-19T18:36:00.000+03:00

Now, undergarments is a topic I do not generally get into here at Jerusalem Revealed, but the following incident is something worth sharing. Please be forwarned, if you are sensitive to modesty issues, the following story may not be for you.

After having made some changes to my wedding gown, I found that the previously purchased supporting undergarment of choice (henceforth: Bra) was no longer sufficient for the style of dress I will be sporting. Ladies will understand this, men: scratch your heads in wonder and thank G-d this isn't your problem. Anyway, I went into a boutique on Emek Refaim street, one that is known for its personalized attention, wide selection and quality. I explained to the saleswoman (who, as you will see in a few moments should win the award for best saleswoman in Israel) what I was looking for, and she was very helpful, and brought me several candidates until I settled on a certain bra.

Then, grasping my body parts in her hands, she complimented my, ummmm, you-knows, and told me that a young bride should only wear beautiful brassieres and panties, in order to please her husband, so that he will desire her even after 25 years of marriage. She suggested I throw away every bra and underwear I owned that was not up to snuff, and get some really sexy, colorful items instead. I explained that, as my nursing uniform is white, colorful will not always do it for me but that I would be interested in seeing some "beautiful underthings to drive my husband mad". I mean, she told me I had "perfect titsies" [direct quote], so who am I not to house them in the "beautiful underthings"?

I tried on a few sets - and I must say, they really were lovely. So lovely, its a shame one cannot (unless one is a Spice Girl or Madonna) wear them on the outside of one's clothing.

I finally settled on 3 pairs of bra+panties, reasoning that Bryan certainly deserves the best. Now, of course when one is brought these items into the dressing room, there is no price tag on the items. And I consider it rude to ask the price. Not sure why, I just do. (Even though what's rude is not to put the price on the item). I figured they'd be pricey, but how much could such a set cost? Maybe 250-300 NIs at the most.

So, we head over to the cash register, and ring up the purchases. Bryan, like a true guy, has been waiting outside the shop this entire time (well over an hour). 3 sets of bra+panties. How much can it be?

Well, imagine my shock and horror when the total bill came to 2,817 NIS. No folks, that is not a typo, we're talking $700 for 3 pieces of miniscule silk and lace.

Now, if I had any common sense, I would have said, "Wow, that is way more than I planned on spending, thanks for the help, but I'll just take the one bra I came in for and be on my merry way". But I have no common sense (though plenty of guilt and remorse). So I handed over my credit card and paid an obscene sum of money.

As soon as I got outside, I said to Bryan, "Honey, I just spent way too much money". Bryan didn't want to know how much I'd spent. "No, honey," I said, "I think I better tell you - I just spent more than our monthly rent on 3 pairs of bra + panties."

Now it was Bryan's turn for shock and horror. God bless him, he said, "Wow, that is a huge amount of money, but if you really love them I guess its okay". So I told him, "No, this is definitely not OK. I won't enjoy wearing them. I'll remember how much they cost and I'll be afraid to put them on my body."

One of the pair of panties alone (and sadly, my favorite of the 3 pairs) cost 500 NIS. You know the phrase "farting through silk"? Well, this went way past that. Way past.

So I sat down, and told Bryan I think I need to return these items. I don't have the money to spend like that, and I will not enjoy the undergarments anymore. However, I told Bryan I was too embarrassed to go back to the store and return the stuff. Mostly, I didn't think she' take it back and give me a refund. The most I would get would be store credit. And that wasn't so helpful.

Bryan kept urging me to try to return the stuff, or to simply keep it and deal with it. Finally, my amazing, fabulous, incredible fiance said, "Would you like me to go return the stuff?" How'd he guess?

So off Bryan went, worried that the bra lady would think Bryan was the type of man to forcibly remove purchases from his fiancee's hand and return them against her will.

But within 10 minutes Bryan came walking back, hands empty save for my credit card and a return receipt. She'd actually refunded the money. I decided to keep the cheapest of the 3 sets (still over 600 NIS) as a memory of how patient Bryan is. Though something tells me I'll probably get to se that quality a thousand times over.

And ladies, if anyone even thinks of shopping at that boutique, leave your credit cards at home and bring some common sense instead.

On second thought - maybe we'll elope

2005-06-05T10:06:00.000+03:00

I was all fired up to write about the Rabbanut during this post, but a newer, more imminent post has taken its place.

Until about a week ago, whenever people would ask me how the wedding plans were going, I would tell them how smooth and easy everything was. How I didn't understand why people said engagement is such a stressful time. How perfect everything was turning out.

I take that all back.

It seems that several things which were done deals became undone, all on the same night, and lord help the people who had to bear my wrath.

I present the following situation which occurred last week for your judgment and comments, as I am still feeling guilty and unsure.

I booked a certain band, which for the purposes of this blog we will call The Holy Rollers, back in February for my wedding in 6 weeks' time. When I booked the band I spoke to the band's manager Nimrod, who told me the price, and what was included in the price. I asked him to fax me a contract or meet with me, but he told me it wasn't important. I offered to pay a deposit, but he told me that The Holy Rollers don't accept deposits. I repeatedly asked for a written contract, but never got one. However, whenever I ran into the leader of The Holy Rollers, let's call him Simcha, he would mention my wedding and I figured all was fine.

About 2 weeks ago I called Simcha and Nimrod (not on the same day). I wanted to schedule the meeting one normally has with the band to discuss musical preferences. Plus, I figured they should know which musicians I wanted and what time everything was starting. I left each of them messages, and after 4 days of hearing back from neither, left each of them messages again. Now I was annoyed.

Then, last Tuesday, 1.5 weeks after leaving the messages, I got a phone call from someone name Adam who said he was the new manager for The Holy Rollers and that the old manager had been fired for being a flake (no kidding!). He then informed me of the new price list. The new price list for what I was supposed to get was almost $500 more than what I had agreed on with Nimrod. I told Adam that I didn't think that was fair or legal as I had a verbal contract with Nimrod. He told me that the best he could do for me was meet me halfway - charging me $250 more than I had agreed on with Nimrod.

I called Bryan to discuss who said, "No way - either the original price or we find another band". And I fully agreed with him. So I called back Adam and told him that Bryan and I both thought it was wrong, not to mention breaking a verbal contract, to charge us a penny more than what we had agreed on with the previous manager. We made a decision about music with a certain price in mind, and to change the price 6 weeks before our wedding was really unfair.

Adam said he was sorry, but $250 above our contracted price was the lowest he could go. He said that if I wanted to receive the original price I would have to call Simcha, the leader of The Holy Rollers, myself in order to get permission. As soon as I put down the phone I called Simcha and left a message saying I was very upset by this treatment and that he should call me back ASAP, that night because we were furious.

By 10 am the next morning I still had not heard back from Simcha (which was not unusual - since he almost never calls back, certainly not in a timely fashion), and I was getting angrier. There was no way I was paying a penny over the agreed price and at this point I didn't even want the band playing at my wedding, particularly if I had to pay more for them. I started calling other bands, all of whom were busy, which is not surprising since we're getting married during peak wedding season and even charedim plan a wedding more then 6 weeks beforehand. Suddenly, I hit jackpot. One of the best wedding bands in the area had an opening for our wedding day, but we had to sign the contract immediately, as there was another couple interested. I placed one more call to Simcha, who didn't answer his phone. So I signed the contract with the other band.

A few hours later, Simcha called to say that of course he would honor my verbal contract with Nimrod and would play at the old price. He was apologetic and all, but the fact was it was too late. I talked it over with Bryan, and we agreed to stick with the second band, who we had signed a contract with, and given a deposit to, and who hadn't screwed us around.

Then I called the new manager, Adam, to tell him what had transpired. He was understanably furious, as he had lost a gig, and tried to tell me that I had a contract with them and couldn't sign a contract with another band! Now, all of a sudden, I had a contract! When it came to price, I didn't ahve one, but when it came to booking the band, apparently I was bound by the verbal contract.

Fortunately, contracts law is about the only class I did well in, in law school. After arguing some points of law with him, I think he conceded that I was right, legally, if not ethically. I think I was right both legally and ethically, though I feel bad for Simcha and The Holy Rollers who lost a gig that they apparently re-arranged their schedule for. Simcha's only mistake was having incompetent managers.

Adam tried to argue that he didn't refuse to give me my original price (he flat-out did, by telling me that $250 more was the lowest he could go), he simply told me to seek approval from the bandleader (which I believe is his job). He then tried to tell me he was new at his job, and was worried he would get fired if he gave me the old price. I feel bad for him, but in that event he should have called Simcha himself and spoken to him, instead of leaving me hanging, overnight, and with enough time to find a new band. He maintained I should have waited to get a refusal from the bandleader as well before seeking a new band.

I'm interested in hearing people's opinions on this one, particularly MOChassid and Treppenwitz, since they are both involved in the Jewish music scene. I really didn't want to treat anyone badly during my wedding plans, but what would you do if it was 6 weeks before your wedding, you're being screwed over by one band, and another great band has an opening if you sign immediately?

To stay or to go?

2005-05-30T16:37:00.000+03:00

Okay, the break is over. Sorry for the very long absence (and thank you for the on- and off-blog concern for my absence) but somewhere between, school, work, wedding planning and trying to maintain relationships with the people in my life, I have run out of hours in the day. In fact, I think a good part of my recent weightloss has to do with the fact that I do not have enough time to eat food that would prohibit such weightloss.

But I am emerging from my blogless cave to rant. Yes, folks, rant. I know that never happens on this blog, [insert sarcastic eye-roll here] but today something happened so reprehensible, that I simply lost it.

At the hospital where I go to school there are 2 cafeterias available for the students. One is in the hospital, is relatively expensive, dairy and the food is gross. The other is in the student center (and thus aimed to students), meat, and somewhat cheaper. Today I went to purchase my usual lunch there, and was immediately aware of both a price increase (not hugely significant, but it would have been nice if there was a warning) and an additional, mysterious 1 NIS surcharge. This cafeteria, I must warn you, also charges 10 agurot for each packet of Heinz ketchup that one takes, even when you purchase an item entirely dependant on the ketchup to make it edible (such as fries/chips).

Anyway, between the slight price increase and the mysterious shekel surcharge, the cost of my lunch clearly crossed what marketing people refer to as the "JND" - the Just Noticable Difference (thanks to Bryan for teaching me that tidbit). I asked the cashier what the shekel was for, and she told me that the cafeteria had started charging an additional shekel for the take away container. Yes folks, in a hospital, where most people don't have the time to sit down and eat, the cafeteria realized that they could charge an extra shekel on a necessity for most of its patrons.

Now, this in itself is bad enough. I am certain that if take away service was not available most people wouldn't even eat there, because everyone takes the food away with them. But what was even worse is that there was no warning of this new surcharge. When I asked for the food in take away, no one said "That will be an extra shekel". Even though I thought there should be a clear sign about the new change in policy, I decided to check the price list (which few people look at anyway, particularly when one is used to a certain price) to see if they had put anywhere about this extra take-away fee. And in fact, there was no listing. There was the [old] price listed of a meal, and that was it.

So I asked to speak to the manager, and a man busy dishing out mashed potatoes told me he was it. I said that I didn't think it was fair to charge an extra shekel for take-away containers, but if that they were going to do so, they should at least warn patrons, or at the very least change the price list to reflect this. The "manager" told me that he could do whatever he wanted, charge whatever he wanted and that he didn't have to put prices on anything. This is something that I am certain he is wrong about - even in Israel there must be rules about prices on items.

So I said that I would like to speak to the manager's boss, and he told me there isn't one. He said (and I quote directly) "In this cafeteria, I am God. There is no one above me - I am as high as it gets." This from a man dishing out spuds to students who will all have better jobs than he has. [Sorry to get elitist - particularly from someone who will be wiping people's a**es for a living]. I checked around and he does have a boss, someone who does not serve mashed potatoes to med students.

So I put down my food, and said that he just lost his 1 shekel on a take away container from me, and he lost the food itself because I wouldn't be buying it, but I am not leaving it at this. I am not sure where to turn next, but this is so awful. I know its only a shekel, but its the principles involved - price changing without notification.

Suggestions, anyone?

Highlight from the next blog entry - I rip on the Rabbanut!!

Howzit?

2005-04-27T10:46:00.000+03:00

Just a quick posting from Cape Town, South Africa where Bryan and I are spending the holiday with Bryan's folks.

The trip so far (halfway through) has been great fun, mostly. Bryan nearly got us thrown off the flight on the way down. First, there was a group of jabbery old ladies from Holon/Tel Aviv sitting behind us on the way down. While everyone was finding their seats, Bryan found one of those blow-up neck-pillow things that wrap around one's neck to support their head whilst sleeping. Bryan promptly picked up the "found" one from the floor and put it on his neck. I told him to take it off, as it was obviously someone's, and when they came looking for it, it would seem pretty bad that Bryan had already appropriated it for homself. But did he listen? No. Sure enough, two minutes later one of the jabbery old ladies started freaking out that Bryan had stolen her neck pillow (I have no idea how she knew it was hers, half the plane had them). Then, every time someone in our vicinity couldn't find something (their passport, the yoghurt from their in-flight tray, the love of their life), they would point to Bryan and say loudly, "Why don't you ask him? Maybe he stole it!"

Then, as if sitting in the screaming baby section of the plane wasn't bad enough, the kid across the aisle from us started looking a bit green as we neared landing. His mom had a barf bag over his face and he looked like he was going to blow any minute. Bryan and I thought we could make it all a bit more interesting by taking bets as to during which 5-minute interval on the clock the little kid would actually puke. I had the 7:55 to 8:00 time zone, and bryan had 8:00-8:05. As soon as we got to 8:00, Bryan decided to increase his odds by making gagging noises and talking loudly about eating camel turds and monkey poo. The mother then leaned across the aisle and rightfully shouted - at me! (Because I was closer, and because when given a choice in a confrontation, women will always choose to confront another woman). So when the kid actually threw up at 8:07, guess who had to assist with the clean-up in order to make-up for my fiance's obnoxious behavior!!!

The moral of the story - Never travel on a plane with Bryan unless there are multiple diversion tactics. If you board the plane, and the plane is lacking those mini-tv screens on the back of each seat, and the stewardess announces that the VCR is broken and there will be no in-flight movies, and the flight is 9 hours long, get off the plane.

Chag sameach - I'll post when I get back as it is too frustrating working off of my in-laws dialup connection and Commodore 64!

The inevitable

2005-04-17T12:38:00.000+03:00

Friday night Bryan and I enjoyed a lovely dinner at the Gilly home. We also got to meet another lurker on this blog (shout-out to him). As inevitably happens when I meet lurkers, they want to know the inside scoop on the denoument of the D. situation, and why my blog has gotten so pareve recently. [Because I only have good things to report, or alternatively, things so bad I cnanot blog them]. Unfortunately, I had nothing exciting to tell this lurker, because I have not run into D. since we broke up, which is surprising, but not a bad thing.

D. actually sent me an email a few weeks ago wishing me mazal tov on my engagement. It was mildly snide, and I'm not sure if it was supposed to elicit a response from me, or if it was simply a nice gesture, but I did something I had never done before in my life. I read the email from D., then deleted it. No response. That chapter is over in my book.

Then, yesterday, out of the blue, I ran into D.

Yesterday was the Shabbat Chattan (can only be described as a religious bachelor party) of my previously dear friend Daniel. Bryan and I were supposed to walk to the synagogue where it would be held, and I knew Bryan would never wake up on time to get there, as he often oversleeps accidentally on purpose on Shabbat. For some reason, I wake up without an alarm clock at like 6 am every day.

So Bryan never met me at my place to walk to shul, and I warned him if he was more than 1/2 an hour late I was leaving without him, and he'd have to meet me at the shul. It was kind of pathetic seeing my dad turn around every few seconds, hoping that Bryan would walk through the synagogue doors. Have I mentioned that my parents love Bryan? A lot? More than me? (take that either way, they are probably both true).

Anyway, to make a long story short, Bryan never turned up to shul. And who should I bump into at the kiddush (party) after services? D. It was a mildly awkward moment, and I recovered nicely from the surprise, but I was so furious at Bryan for not being there, as my armor, when I needed him. I haven't seen D. in a long time, and when I finally do run into him, my fiance is in absnetia. I know this is petty of me. I know it. But it doesn't mean I didn't want Bryan there. Because D. always made me feel like I was asking for the impossible, someone to love me unconditionally, and when I finally ran into him, with the impossible a reality, I could not have the impossible there to see the priceless reaction on D.'s face.

My mother, who was also there, quickly summed up the situation, and said, "Uh-oh, Bryan's in deep sh*t, isn't he?" Yes, friends, he is. I just felt like he let me down. Now, obviously neither of us could have known this would happen. Had he known, you can be sure he would have been there on time. Had I known, I would have threatened him with a catheter insertion (his current biggest fear borne out of my nursing school experiences) had he not turned up. But I didn't know.

When we got to my folks house, Bryan was waiting on the stairs for us. I just looked at him and sad, "You are way in the doghouse buddy". He had no idea why, but when I explained to him, he clearly felt really bad. But I made him feel worse. All throughout the meal, I kept making snide little comments as to Bryan's perpetual lateness problem. And it is perpetual. My dad, (who it must be said, again, loves Bryan more than he loves me) kept sticking up for Bryan. Eventually my mom changed the topic to interesting jobs we've all had as youngsters. My worst was probably when I started working at a local (kosher) ice cream parlor, only to discover it was a front for a debt-collection agency, and in between scoops, I was supposed to harass people into paying back their debts.

Bryan said his worst job was when he was a pizza delivery boy. I just looked at him and said, "I'm guessing you never made it in 30 minutes or less?"

Poor boy. I think he learned his lesson.

PS- My mom called after shabbat to make sure I had forgiven Bryan. She was really worried I wasn't going to. Again, my parents love Bryan more than they love me :)

2005-03-28T16:07:00.000+02:00

I finally decided to post a picture of Bryan and I...decked out in our Purim finery. Hebrew tip of the day - Smurf in Hebrew is "dardas", so Bryan is Dardas-abba and I am Dardasit. The picture was taken in the quad at my medical school, where for reasons I have yet to understand there is a small statue of a tree that looks exactly like the Smurf tree. Maybe the Smurfs had mystical healing powers?

Food Poisoning Redux

2005-03-01T14:30:00.000+02:00

As we last left off the saga, Bryan and I were expecting the guests to arrive for our engagement party.

First my in-laws sent my parents a huge, beautiful arrangement of flowers, then Bryan sent me a bunch of multi-colored longstem roses. Our place was beginning to look like a florist!

Then the guests started arriving, and it is amazing how you actually do not get to talk to everyone. How does that work at the wedding? If at a party with 100 people I couldn't manage to even say Hi to everyone, I am scared to think how many people I will not get to speak to at the wedding. Bryan and I did the math, and if we speak to every guest at the wedding, assuming 350 guests (a conservative estimate - it will likely be more) then we have approximately 28.35 seconds to speak to each guest to cover all the territory. Weird.

Bryan and I both spoke (as opposed to all the other parties where I have comfortably settled into the role of letting Bryan be the mouthpiece). I spoke about 3 of G-d's 13 attributes of mercy (mentioned in last week's parsha) and the 3 that stuck out as personality traits of Bryan's - namely, slow to anger; full of kindess; and full of truth. As evidence of the last one I discussed how openly honest Bryan was the first time I saw him drunk, and how he could not stop telling everyone in the bar we were at how much he loved me. The clincher was when he turned to my little brother (then celebrating his 21st birthday) and said, "Yo, Judah, I love your sister so much I'm proposing to her!" This, mind you, a full month before we got engaged.

Then the food poisoning hit. All evening long I had been feeling a bit queasy, which my MIL attributed to nervous stomach. I tried telling her it was not nerves, but no matter. Eventually the pain got so bad I had to leave my own party, and lay doubled over in pain in the TV room. My sweet baby sister tried to bring me milk to sooth my stomach, but I fortunately noticed the curds floating in the milk before I took a sip.

Eventually, Bryan and I left in a taxi, where I jumped out at my apartment and Bryan continued on in the taxi to his place. The second I got out of the taxi I was like a hose. I could not stop vomiting. I called Bryan, crying, and said, "Come back! I'm sick.", and he turned around and helped clean me up. I don't know why, but I always cry when I vomit. Some weird causal relationship. But at least Bryan and I have now passed the "puke barrier".

As soon as Bryan left my place, he too felt violently ill. To make a long (and very gross) story short, Bryan and I both got food poisoning from Limonim. The new restaurant Gilly so enthusiastically recommended in the Khan theatre. Bryan was sadly ill from Sunday night through Thursday morning. He even spent his birthday at the doctor's. SO my recommendation is, don't ever eat there. While I was eating my dinner, I thought it tasted atrocious. Like rancid beef. Which it was, as it turned out. But I didn't make a fuss, and ate as much as I could stomach, because we were guests of someone else and I didn't want to makea big deal in front of my new relatives.

Our tip-off should have been either a) the rancid taste of the beef [Bryan seemed to think that because the place is named Limonim, lemon must be the theme and thus the sour taste of my food was not spoiled meat, but rather the lemony flavoring they must put on all the food] or b) the fact that one of the other patrons got up in the middle of their meal, and vomited over the balcony just outside the restaurant.

To Limonim's credit, when I called to notify the manager of the food-poisoning, which was most definitely from Limonim as my in-laws and Bryan and I ate exactly the same food for 4 days straight except the meal we had at Limonim, he immediately offered us a free meal. As if I could ever eat from there again. Any word having to do with lemons now sends Bryan straight for the bathroom.

Besides being crippled by food-poisoning for a few days, the rest of the week was rather nice. I played nice more with my in-laws. I was actually sad to see them go. I really like Bryan's parents. His mom is a genuinely nice person and his dad is a lot of fun. All my friends thought he was a DILF.

I leave in a few hours for New York City where I, along with another blog friend will be spending a few days spreading the message of aliyah. I hope I make it, due to the snow. But in good news, i have found the wedding dress of my dreams, at 1/3 the price available here, at a store in New Jersey and have an appointment Thursday to go buy it. I hope I like it as much in real-life as I do on the internet. If not, I am at the point where I will be wearing jeans to my wedding.

Happy Birthday to my Beloved

2005-02-23T13:40:00.000+02:00

Today my Bryan can no longer say he is 30, but instead has to say he is "in his thirties".

Babe, my birthday wish for you is that someday, I hope I can make you as happy as you've made me, that I can make you feel as special as you make me feel, and that we both get to experience at least 89* more days like today (minus the food poisoning) - where all I can think is how lucky I am that your parents decided to bring you into the world and raise you into the miracle that you've become.

I love you forever.

* Based on the Jewish tradition that Moses lived until his 120th birthday, and therefore that is the maximum age for any mortal.

Meet the Fockers

2005-02-20T08:30:00.000+02:00

Ever since we realized that our parents would have to meet, Bryan and I have been nervously joking about taking our parents to see "Meet the Fockers", the sequel to "Meet the Parents", about the hilarity that ensues when 2 very different sets of prospective in-laws meet after their children get engaged. Whenever one of our respective parental units would do something crazy or embarrassing, that set of parents (usually Bryan's, surprisingly) would be designated as "The Fockers".

So now that I had met my own future in-laws, and that had gone smoothly, the only thing left was to introduce my parents and Bryan's. I was even more nervous about this than about meeting Bryan's mother. Whereas I know I am capable of getting along with most anyone, one of my parents (not my mother, I'll give you a hint) is completely lacking in social skills of any sort, has no concept of what is appropriate and inappropriate to say (this same parent once made a racist Hispanic joke to my uncle, about 3 weeks after the same uncle had adopted a daughter from Costa Rica), and is given to shouting, talking with his mouth full of food, and stubbornly ignoring any sort of subtle hints from family members.

I figured the best way to cross this delicate line was to have the mothers meet beforehand, that way at least Bryan's mother would know my mother was normal. So, after my final on Thursday, the 3 of us met up and went bridal gown shopping. Instant success! The two moms bonded over which of the dresses they liked the best (all 3 of us actually agreed there). It was a bit awkward in the bridal salon, where the saleswoman asked me to strip down to my undergarments, in front of Bryan's mom, whom I had only met the night before. I mumbled something aloud to the effect of "How nice - you've now seen more of me than Bryan ever has" - a true and somewhat scary sentiment.

Then the moms and I went to go check out hotels to decide where to put up the out of town guests.

Bryan and I had a wedding to go to Thursday night, but thought that introducing the parents was more important. The chuppah was called for 7:30, so we figured if we did dinner at 6:15, and came to dinner dressed for the wedding, we could probably make it to the wedding right after the chuppah ended. Not too shabby.

My family arrived at the restaurant first. My parents, in a display of startling social skills, had already pre-directed the waiter not to let Bryan's dad handle the bill, but instead gave the waiter their credit card before the meal had even started. That way, all the waiter would bring would be the chit to sign, when it would be too late to argue over the bill.

I glimpsed Bryan's family approaching and that dreaded feeling of doom settled deep into the pit of my stomach. We started out the meal as my family sitting together and Bryan's family sitting together. Then Bryan's dad swapped with me so he could sit next to my mom, followed by Bryan's mom swapping with Bryan so she could sit next to my dad. when they started slapping each other high-fives across the table, and singing old South African songs (did I mention my dad is South African?). I figured we were home free. Of course, my dad then decided to share his favorite racially slurred joke, which did not elicit that much laughter. My mom made a swift recovery, though.

Eventually, Bryan and I realized we weren't so much a part of this dinner, as much as 2 people sitting at the kiddie table talking to ourselves, so we gracefully slipped out and made it to the wedding before the chuppah. We left the parents talking there for another hour and a half, over coffee and desserts. Apparently they even talked the dreaded wedding finances and everyone was in agreement and there wasn't a single issue there, either.

The next day, we took Bryan's parents to our intended wedding site. Although its pretty much too late now to change it, I did want to make sure my MIL was happy with the site before we proceeded forward. I was worried she would think it wasn't fancy enough (because we did not choose the most fancy place out there). When she got there she gasped....and said it must be the most beautiful place in all of Israel to get married and how much she loved the place, and how much her friends would love it. Success again.

About 2 hours before Shabbat Bryan realized he lacked plates, baking tins, and silverware, and thus, Shabbat lunch was moved to my house. Yikes! 2 hours, no ingredients, in order to make my future mother-in-law lunch! There was no way I could dazzle her with my cooking. So I settled for cleaning up the house well, putting fresh flowers out, and whipping up a simple but healthy lunch. Afterwards, I wooed her with bridal magazines. Its amazing, the power of the bridal magazines.

We also had Friday night dinner at my parents house, with Bryan's parents, where there was even more high-fiving, laughter and raucous singing of Afrikaans songs. Yet for some reason, Bryan's parents still weren't sick of my folks, and invited my folks out to dinner Saturday night as well. To the new Limonim restaurant. My review will follow, but I wasn't that impressed. Bryan's cousins (who are slightly older than my parents) joined us, and it was discovered that cousin Ian went to primary school with my dad! It was like a reunion. The 3 men (Bryan's dad, my own dad and Ian) sat at one end of the table talking the whole night, the 3 ladies sat together and talked about raising children and the like, and Bryan and I again sat at the kiddie table talking to ourselves!

I noticed at one point that Ian's wife mentioned to my mother about all the intermarried cousins. In fact, Bryan and I are breaking new ground. He is the first out of all the cousins from his generation (1st, 2nd and 3rd cousins) to be marrying a Jew. Anyway, when the cousin mentioned it, I saw Bryan's mom shoot her the same kind of look I had been shooting my dad all evening, the "please shut up - things were going so well and now you've ruined it with your skeletons in the closet" look. My mom must have noticed it too, because she then pointed out that my siblings and I are the only Jewish grandchildren my grandparents had, because everyone else intermarried.

Across the table, Bryan's dad (a lawyer) was sharing how he had recently bailed his daughter's boyfriend out of prison, after he got arrested for assault. I was worried my dad would chime in with the story of me bailing my little borther out of prison for assault (true story) but thankfully, my dad kept silent for the first time the whole weekend.

Tonight, we tackle the engagement party [if you are a friend of mine who has somehow not received the invitation via email, please call me or email].

Mother in Law?

2005-02-17T10:15:00.000+02:00

Despite having all my difficult final exams behind me (and passing them all with the exception of Gerontology), I was so nervous yesterday I couldn't actually eat.

I was meeting my future mother in law for the first time.

I cannot tell you how scared I was. Based on some presumptions, which Bryan kept assuring me were incorrect, I had created this person in my mind who would most definitely not like me.

I am a healthy weight, I am a curvy weight. I am neither fat nor thin. I am comfortable in my body, and have grown to love it. But my future mother in law is a woman at the end of the fifth decade of her life, has borne 3 children, is the same height as me, and weighs almost 10 kilos less than me. Her email address, as my own (plump) mother read aloud in shock and horror, is slim@___.com

You can see why I was afraid.

Here I am marrying this person's first-born child, we've never met, and I know that back in her working days she was a cosmetician and her email address describes a figure-type neither I nor my mother will ever reach. [Bryan later told me that "slim" is Afrikaans slang for clever].

So when Bryan's parents came through the Arrivals section at Ben Gurion last night, I was more than shocked. Actually, due to engagement eye and my own vanity, because I could not get my contact lenses in my eyes, but did not want to meet her wearing glasses, I was blind as a bat. So I didn't really "catch a first glimpse" of her - I had to wait until she was up in my face to see. She looks exactly like Bryan, just with a bit more hair. And she was nothing like the stuffy, over-coiffed, perfectly manicured talons, matching suit, pumps and pearl necklace mother in law I had anticipated.

The first words out of her mouth (after she stopped crying over the joy of meeting her eldest child's choice for a life mate) were, "The never told me how beautiful you are - you are absolutely gorgeous!"

As you can see, I really had nothing to be worried about at all.

Engagement Eye

2005-02-15T06:05:00.000+02:00

I am having trouble writing this posting, as my pupils are currently dilated to the point that you cannot tell what color my eyes are. Forgive the typos.

For the past week or so my eyes have been itchy, watery and totally bloodshot when I wake up in the morning. Over the course of the day the redness subsides, but I cannot get my contact lenses in my eye, which is a shame, because I look like crap and even younger than I already appear, when I wear glasses.

I decided to take advantage of the fact that I spend the majority of the day in a hospital and popped over to the ophthalmology clinic to solve my eye issues. God bless professional courtesies, they took me right away, without an appointment.

Anyway, the doctor who saw me, a lovely Mexican immigrant, brought over a second doctor to look at my eyes, another Mexican lad. The second doctor proceeded to ask me if I could read medical Hebrew and English (which I can), and then gave me another patient's chart to translate. He was so excited to have me in there - most other english/hebrew speakers aren't allowed to view the chart, due to patient confidentiality, but as a nursing student and hospital employee, I have already signed the confidentiality agreement.

In the end, they brought over the department head, an American women who made aliyah with Nefesh B'Nefesh, just like me, and recognized me from the video. She diagnosed me with this weird condition whereby the undersides of my eyelids are bumpy and rash-like, which is why my eyes are reddest when i wake up - they've spent the whole night rubbing agianst the bumpy eyelids. She the asked me, "Are you engaged or getting engaged soon? Because we see this condition all the time in engaged people!"

How the heck did she know? I didn't say a thing and there are no indications on my personage. She said that people getting engaged (particularly during exam time, which is now for me) often stay up late working out pre-wedding issues, wear their contact lenses too long, are stressed out and get this bumpy eyelid thing.

The funny thing is, B. has the exact same eye problem right now - I figured it was some sort of contagious illness, but it turns we have...Engagement Eye. Yup, you heard it here first, my new medical term.

What no one else tells you

2005-02-11T10:56:00.000+02:00

No one hits on me anymore....No one tries to catch my eye on the bus, or strike up a conversation in the coffee shop.

I thought that maybe now that I've gotten engaged I let myself go to pot, but I think its the ring that's repelling the men.

I'm not saying I want to find a replacement for Bryan, or that I'm so ravishingly adorable that I had to fend men off with a stick. But I was used to having a guy ask for my number about once a week. And now, not so much.

For example, the day Bryan asked me to marry him I met some nice, older gentleman on the bus to school. He was a recent immigrant from the US, and we got to talking. I didn't think he was trying to hit on me, since he appeared to be about double my age (I later checked and he was 2 years shy of double my age). He mentioned he was moving to my neighborhood and asked for my number so he could be in touch when he moved in. Stupidly, I gave it to him, but I thought he was just being friendly. Then, while Bryan was proposing, the man called to ask me out on a date. I had a pretty good excuse for him!

Anyway, I'm noticing that this sort of stuff has stopped. While studying for a physiology final in a coffee shop the other day, I noticed a med student studying from the same textbook at a neighboring table. I saw him look my way, catch my eye, look at my hand....and stop.

When I told Bryan this he said, "Great - that ring was worth every last cent! I should have bought it earlier."

We've also discovered why the married couples are always the first to leave singles-style Katamon meals, and why they rarely talk to anyone.

Last week we were at our first singles meal since not being single. We invented a little game to keep ourselves busy while the rest of the dinner companions were busy making each other's acquiantance. The game was called, "Who would I hit on at this table if I wasn't engaged to you?" Bryan and I took turns guessing who the other would have tried to schmooze up if we were still single.

These are the little things no one tells you, but I'll give you the scoop.

A hair in his mouth

2005-02-05T18:34:00.000+02:00

Last night Bryan and I were eating Shabbat dinner at a friend's house. At some point Bryan leaned over and said, "Oh my, there's a hair in my mouth - a long one. I sure hope its your hair and not someone else's." And when he pulled it out, there was a sigh of relief and he said, "Babe if there had to be a hair in my mouth - I'm glad its yours."

I think that basically sums up the new level I think our relationship has taken since getting engaged. Bryan and I both agree that even though we knew we were getting engaged, actually getting engaged totally elevated what we have. The fact that there is a person in this world, who said the sentence, "Whoa - thank g-d that was your hair in my mouth" is to describe a feeling of love and closeness like I have never experienced.

My last posting was all about the details of the proposal, but I left out the emotions I was feeling - on purpose, because when I wrote that last posting, the emotions were still fully developing, as the shock of getting engaged was wearing off.

I always imagined I would cry when Bryan proposed. But I was in such shock, I could barely answer yes. Things never happen when you expect them; Thursday, while walking the dog, the tears started flowing openly. I cannot believe how lucky I am to have met Bryan. How lucky I am to have met a man who recognized me as his soul mate, and who didn't play games or waste time, who makes me feel like I am a princess, and who treats me with such respect and love, that it makes me want to be a better person - to become a person worthy of Bryan.

"Will you marry me?"

That one sentence was the most powerful statement uttered to me. Imbued in those four words was the thing I never thought I'd hear --

"I choose you above all other people out there in the world. I'm placing my bets on you. I want to build a life with you and there is no one I would rather wake up next to in 50 years, no one I would rather partner a family with, no one I would rather love than you."

You can see why the tears flowed freely. And in my barely managing to whisper that one word to Bryan, "Yes," I was telling him, "In my eyes you are perfect. No matter what happens over the next 50, 60 or (please god) 70 years, you are the one I want by my side. Whatever curveballs life throws our way, I want you to be my batsman. I think you have such wonderful qualities as a person that I choose you as the future father of my kids, in the hopes that some of what makes you so special will rub off onto them."

I don't know if y'all have ever read bridal mgazines, but for the girls, you may understand the temptation of reading them. I refused to ever buy one, until I was engaged. I felt like it was a jinx, some right reserved only for the betrothed. Anyway, I finally went out a bought a few yesterday. One of the had an advertisement in it with the following phrase, "To love someone is to see a miracle to which everyone else is blind."

And I thank G-d every day that Bryan sees the miracle in me that no one else (not even I) can see.

Proposal....

2005-02-02T06:20:00.000+02:00

Thanks to everyone with those speedy Mazal tovs! I have slept all of about 3 hours (and from the text messages I've been receiving, Bryan is probably still up with his buddies).

I promised details, so....

Bryan and I have known for a while (about a month) that we'd be getting engaged, and we more or less knew when the engagement would be, since we were waiting for Bryan's parents to arrive from South Africa, as I have yet to meet my future mother-in-law. The plan was that his parents would arrive this coming Sunday, we'd get engaged Monday and have an engagement party (l'chaim) at my folks house before Bryan's parents headed back to South Africa. I was mildly disappointed that I wouldn't be having a fairy tale proposal due to the time constraints, but was mollified by the fact that I had indeed found my prince.

About a week ago, Bryan found out that his parents would not be able to make it this coming Sunday and would be arriving in a couple weeks instead, so he told them he wasn't waiting for them, and was going to propose before they got here. But he kept it totally mum from me and everyone else, and I still thought we were going ahead with the old plan.

Then, we went out to dinner last night to Agas V'Tapuach. The restaurant is sorta meaningful to us, because its the first place the concept of getting married was really spoken aloud between us, helped along, if you will remember, by the anonymous nice person. But of course, I had no clue what Bryan had planned, so I just thought we were having a nice dinner. On second thought, Bryan did have to take a business call during dinner, which was probably part of the ruse.

Anyway, it had been pouring rain when we went in for dinner, but by the time we were done it wasn't raining, so we started walking home aftewards. When we smoothly glided past the turnoff to any of our houses, and kept walking, I had a small feeling something was up, and figured I should play along and keep walking with him, but I didn't think it was a proposal, since we had it all planned for next week.

We walked to Yemin Moshe, site of the Montefiore Windmill and general beautiful scenic spot in Jerusalem. Bryan mentioned that it was sort of like our 4 month anniversary, since it was our 16 week-aversery, and that he'd bought me chocolates from my favorite chocolate shop as dessert. He bought me those for our 3rd monthaversary, so I didn't think anything was out of the ordinary. I mean, I knew something was up, since we were walking in the freezing cold to a romantic, gorgeous spot in Jerusalem, but I think my mind was not registering what as happening. We sat down on this bench, overlooking the walls of the Old City, and I remarked how lucky we were to live in Jerusalem where we can have this sort of view, that people have died for over the years, in a 10 minute walk from a restaurant.

Anyway, Bryan opened up the chocolate box and basically started inhaling them - like really scarfing them down. At this point I really thought something was up, but again, I was sort of in shock, so it wasn't registering. I could barely eat 1 chocolate, but Bryan ate like 6 of them. After we finished layer one of the chocolates there was a piece of foil paper underneath, and something told me it would be a good idea to lift up the paper. Because it was so dark out, all I saw was white - the absence of chocolate - but as soon as Bryan got down on one knee, and asked me to mrry him, I figured there was a ring in there.

And there was, a beautiful engagement ring which is exactly what I would have picked out for myself, even though I had told Bryan a ring was unnecessary.

Anyway, I was so shocked I was actually speechless, an extremely rare event here in Casa de Noa. Then Bryan stood up and started clapping his hands like an idiot and all I could think was "Oh my, I've just agreed to marry a moron!" Then, out of nowhere, two of his buddies showed up with candles, and champagne, flowers and a guitar and serenaded us. And took pictures of me still being speechless - about half an hour later Bryan asked me, "Wait, that was a 'yes', right?"

And then we began the walk to my parents house to share the news with them in person, and started calling our friends.

So basically, I got both my prince and my fairy tale Jerusalem proposal, and I feel asbolutely like a very overtired princess.

Bryan was so chilled about dinner - we made plans Monday to have dinner last night, and then yesterday afternoon, when I reminded him about dinner, he was all "Oh, do you still want to go? Its kinda nasty weather out." And even during dinner he seemed to be in no rush, no plan, no friends freezing their bums off waiting for him in Yemin Moshe.

Bryan and I realized as we were walking to Yemin Moshe that we were both wearing the same outfits we'd worn on our first date! I haven't worn the outfit since then, until last night, and obviously had no clue, and Bryan didn't realize it either.

Also, such an only in Jerusalem event: The 2 friends that Bryan had to help him with the surprise were Winston and Yaakov. Winston is an Afrikaaner friend of Bryan's from his yeshiva who is in the process of converting, and Yaakov is a Dutch friend visiting from the Netherlands. I asked them how many proposals they had been part of so far, but we were the first! I just thought it was so cool getting proposed to in such a Jerusalem-esque way.

The wedding will be, please G-d, July 19th here in Jerusalem. And now....sleep!

Od Yishama B'arei Yehuda

2005-02-01T23:27:00.000+02:00

I have no idea how to start this posting so....

B. AND I ARE ENGAGED!!!!!!!!!

Bryan (B.'s real name - we've decided to unmask) proposed earlier this evening! I am far too keyed up right now to type all the details, but I promise to post them all tomorrow morning.

From Japan To Israel, With Love

2005-01-26T21:00:00.000+02:00

The other night B. and I attended a wedding where I noticed an abnormally high number of Japanese people at the wedding. I am in no way racist (or "Japo-phobic", as B. put it), but at most Orthodox, religious weddings in Israel there are not too many Japanese. In fact, of the over 100 weddings I've been to, this may have been the first time I saw a Japanese person at a religious wedding. And there were at least 10 at this one.

Anyway, B. and I asked another guest how the bride/groom (both Israeli, neither of whom worked in international relations or business) came to know such a large group of Japanese people. It turns out the father of the groom is a professor at Hebrew University and became friendly with a group of religious Christian students doing a semester abroad from...Japan.

At Israeli weddings, in lieu of the always-boring speeches, close friends and families will often do something a little more personal - like a skit, or a dance, or a slide presentation - for the bride and groom. So B. I were intrigued when the Japanese contingency got up to perform.

The men were sporting large white kippot, all the performers were wearing blue-and-white vests, and one of the women had an accordian. The leader said, (in perfect Hebrew, natch) that they were very excited to be able to perform at this wedding and that they were going to perform traditional Israeli songs, IN JAPANESE!!

First off was "Zion, Zion, Zion" which was a scream to hear. After the lyrics in Japanese, they finished it off with "Aiiiy-yaaiii-yaiii-yaaii Zion!" Then they performed "L'maan Zion lo eshtok" (For the sake of Zion I will not be silent), also in Japanese. Then they sang "Heveinu Shalom Alechem" in Hebrew, and for an encore, performed a delightful Japanese love song.

I have heard that the Japanese people really love their karaoke, but these people were loving it up there so much! Which was good, because most of the other guests were total duds.

Anyway, B. made fun of me for "counting the Japanese people" - but really, I thought it was so nice that they were integrating so well into Israeli society and that they were so overjoyed to be in Israel, singing at the wedding of yet another bride and groom who had fulfilled the prophecy, "It will yet be heard in the cities of Judah and the outskirts of Jerusalem; a voice of joy and a voice of happiness, a voice of a groom, and a voice of a bride..."

Or the voice of Japanese students with a deep love for Israel...

UPDATE: I am posting the following comment by Rahel. B. and I went to look at the links she included, and we agree that the people we saw were definitely who Rahel thought they were. The tip off was the bright blue vests/waistcoats in one of the pictures.
"Rahel said...
Sounds like the Makuya. They recorded with Shuly Nathan, too."
Follow the link - its fascinating reading!

Some more highlights...

2005-01-23T15:31:00.000+02:00

My apologies for being so "out of it" the past few weeks. We've been internet-less at home, so during the free moments I have to blog, I generally do not ahve a computer nearby. And I am generally the impulse-blogger type.

Some highlights of the past few weeks:

* I took my first tests in Hebrew where I had to answer in Hebrew as well. The other tests I have taken so far were either multiple choice, or essays where I was allowed to answer in English. I have no idea how well or poorly I did, but I'll let you know when grades come back!

* I finally felt like a contributing member of my class. About 2 weeks before the final, our psychology professor tacked on 2 additional chapters to our already burdensome syllabus. The chapters were in English, from an english textbook. This was wonderful news for me, but not so much for the other class members, none of whom speak English at a textbook level. She actually added on 2 chapters before the midterm as well, but these were in Hebrew. This meant I barely passed the last exam (but I did pass).

Anyway, several people asked me to translate the chapters to Hebrew for the class. Now, my Hebrew is decent, but my typing is garbage. Plus, I have such a full plate right now, I barely have time for my own schoolwork! Anyway, I ended up translating for the class. They offered to pay me, which I refused, mostly because I figured the quality would be awful.

But alas, I did a good job, and the group was so thankful, they (unbeknownst to me) took up a collection in order to buy me a gift from the class. I am just so happy that I was finally able to contribute something to the class - usually it's me asking the others for a translation!

* The other night, I went to an engagement part of a fellow classmate. This would be the girl who got engaged after 1 month. B. was very excited to come - in part because he would finally get to meet more of my class mates - but mostly because he has so few opportunities to improve his Hebrew, and now he'd finally have a chance to speak with real live Israelis. His vocabulary is better than mine, I think. he definitely knows more words than I do, but because he never gets a chance to speak it, his speech is incredibly slow. B. keeps asking me to speak in Hebrew to him, like having an all-Hebrew day, but I find myself getting so frustrated, I want to stick my hand in his mouth and pull out the next word. I have the same reaction around my friends from Georgia though. I need to chill out about that and give B. a chance to develop his Hebrew.

Anyway, it was a lot of fun going to a real Israeli event. I've been to a few non-Anglo weddings/engagement parties, but usually as the guest of someone else. For the first time I was the invited guest! I was participating in all the conversation in Hebrew. I was the one who knew what was flying! It was really wonderful.

* I've refrained form blogging it until now, because somehow things always go wrong with this kind of stuff, but in 1 month I will be flying to America for 5 days in order to give some speeches on Aliyah, through the Nefesh B'Nefesh Ambassador program.

I'm really excited about this - I am being sent to New York City, to my old stomping grounds, to talk about Aliyah and my expereinces. I love doing this kind of PR work for Israel and Aliyah, and all the more better on someone else's dollar. Of course, because its the middle of the semester, I can only afford to miss a few days of class, so I am making my trip super-short. But I'm trying to pack in seeing as many friends as possible. So if any of you live in New York, and want to see me from March 2 -7, send me an email or a comment. Maybe we'll do a mini-blogger get-together.

Women and The Wall

2005-01-16T16:04:00.000+02:00

I was never one of thsoe people who was into praying at the Kotel (Western Wall). I found it annoying to cram into a small space with a bunch of women who, though busy praying, seemed to have forgotten basic manners. I really didn't like praying there on Shabbat or other holidays - while the men found it a spiritual, uplifting experience, I found it annoying not to be able to pray with a minyan (quorum of men, required for certain prayers). I am used to singing in the synagogue with the group, while at the Kotel if I, as a woman, starting singing out loud I would be shushed immediately, or worse.

Also, I never felt a connection with the concept that the Kotel was the closest remnant of the Holy Temple - if anything the connection for me was that for hundreds of years other Jews had found it meaningful, so I was going to a place my ancestors had prayed at.

In short - I was not a Kotel fiend. I felt like I had no place there and it certainly held very little meaning for me.

Then I met the Women of the Wall.

The Women of the wall are a group of Anglo and native Israeli women who do not accept the various Supreme COurt rulings forbidding them to pray, as a group, in front of the Kotel, as this practice (women praying together in a group) is against what the court decided was "Orthodox" rule. They are considered to be an extremist/fringe group, and many rumors and ridiculous comments swirl around the controversy. My favorite comment ever, which was printed in a newspaper, was "Are the Women fo the Wall married? If so, what do their husbands think of this? Does this means their husbands are home, taking care care of the house and kids while these women are out there praying and doing this horrible abomination?" Check out their website for more accurate information.

Anyway, when I first started praying with the group, which meets every Rosh Chodesh (first day of the Jewish month) at 7 am, at the back of the women's section of the Kotel, I felt like I had finally found a "home" in the Kotel. I could finally pray as I was accustomed, with a group, with the singing I so cherish, yet be at the Kotel. The woman who frequently served as the leader, Rahel, has a beautiful voice, and it was uplifting and meaningful to pray with these women.

But then I started noticing things that bothered me. Some of these women, though by no means all, weren't really there to pray. They were there to make a point. There were some women who would come clad in tallit (prayer shawl) and kippah (skullcap) - both items traditionally worn by men in orthodox Judaism - but never actually open their prayerbooks to pray! Some of these women told me they only pray once a month, with the group, but not during the rest of the month. As much as I enjoyed the prayers, i began to feel uncomfortable with my participation.

Now, i am not saying I disagree with the point being made. I support what i had hoped was the point of the Women of the Wall which is: That the Kotel belongs to all Jews and it is not for one group of Judaism to say "Our way is the only correct way of doing things, and we will make your way illegal". I would be very upset if, let's say, the Sephardi Jews convinced the Supreme Court that only prayers said in the Sephardi tradition will be allowed at the Kotel, and Ashkenazi-style prayers will be illegal. Ashkenazim can still pray, but they must do so in accordance with the Sephardi tradition.

Which is why the Supreme Court's April 2003 ruling was fine with me. It delineated a portion of the Kotel, known as Robinson's Arch, at the corner of the Southern Wall excavations, as a place where groups that did not follow the Orthodox tradition could still pray - be these women's groups, Reform groups, Conservative groups, etc.

As long as all groups had a place they could pray according to their own beliefs, I was okay with not being able to pray in a women's group at the Western Wall Plaza itself. To me, the Southern wall is equally as holy as the Western one, though I know this is not the classical case.

Anyway, after the Women of the Wall continued to pray at the Western Wall (As opposed to Robinson's Arch) evern after the Arch had been prepared for them, I decided to stop praying with them. I felt my beliefs were not in line with the groups. And though, despite my now somewhat menaingful connection the the Kotel, I still am no big Kotel fan.

Which is why I surprised myself, when I asked one of my nursing school friends to come pray with me this past Tuesday, Rosh Chodesh Sh'vat, at the kotel. She and I both had some things we wanted to pray for - for me, I wanted to pray that things with B. should continue to go as smoothly and wonderfully as they have been for the past 3 months, and that whatever G-d intends to happen to us should happen in a good time, without difficulties or stress.

I almost totally forgot that the Women of the Wall would be there - and I felt somewhat embarrassed as I slunk past them, hoping they wouldn't notice that I was walking right past the gorup to pray by myself. I don't know why I was so embarrassed - to be honest, most of the women never talked to me during the year I prayed with them, and I doubted more than one of them would have recognized me.

But then I began to pray and I finally felt a connection - the spark of holiness that I suppose thousands before me have felt when praying at the kotel. And yes, it still had to do mostly with those that had come to pray before me at the exact same spot. What became of their hopes and prayers that were whispered in pain or anguish, what had they given thanks for at this very spot? I thought how Jews all over the world imagined this place as the antenna receiver for their prayers. And so, I too, am now a woman of the Wall. With or without the group.

I'll Have The Number Two!

2005-01-06T05:59:00.000+02:00

I'll admit it. I am one of those people who walks her dog, and doesn't always clean up after the dog. To be fair, Sharona (my dog) poops in such out of the way places that if you step in it, you deserve it. Sharona will hide in a corner, under a bush, behind a truck and then do her business. So you see what I mean, its hard to step in her poop, without trying to step in it.

Every once in a while someone will call me on my behavior - and yell at me for leaving Sharona's, um, presents behind. These interactions are usually hilarious (at least from my point of view).

Case in point: Two days ago I was walking Sharona, when she stopped to take a pee. This woman (who was more or less my age) came up to me, and with righteousness and justice in heavily American-accented and broken Hebrew, told me that I was a disgusting person for letting my dog make on the floor, and that I better plan on cleaning it up.

I looked at her, and in English said, "Lady, it's piss! Did you want me to lick it up or use a paper towel?"

Her face then crumpled up, all the righteousness dissipated, and she burst out into tears! "I didn't know it was piss - I thought it was a sh*t! I thought she was taking a sh*t! Everyone lets their dog sh*t all over, and I always step on it!" At this point she was actually crying, and I knew if I stuck around much longer I'd be laughing in her face. I have no idea why she was crying, but I think she was having some issues besides those related to stray turds.

The funny part is, had she caught Sharona and I a block earlier, I would have been guilty as charged. I don't know why the whole interaction was so funny to me - I think it was the moment her face crumpled up and she exclaimed, in a tearful voice, "I thought it was a sh*t!"

Another time, Sharona and I happened to be walking past a fresh pile of poop; I believe it was still steaming. It wasn't ours, we just happened to walking past the pile at an inoppurtune moment. This man nearby started screaming at me for letting my dog crap and for not cleaning it up. I was about to defend myself, when I realized the proof was in the 'pudding', so to speak. I told him to stop yelling at me and look at Sharona, then to look at the poop. Each individual turd was bigger than Sharona's head. It must have been the work of a horse, or a Saint Bernard, but it certainly wasn't the work of my 4.5 kg dog. The man felt pretty stupid and shut up.

Again, if he'd caught me moments earlier, the turds would have been Sharona, and he would have a had a point.

But if you're wandering the streets of Jerusalem, and step into a little "gift", chances are, it wasn't me!

Love is a verb

2005-01-04T15:58:00.000+02:00

It seems (from my last entry) that the blogosphere likes happy stories. And we do want to keep the blogosphere happy, don't we boys and girls?

Last night B. and I attended (and unmasked ourselves to a reader of this blog, Robin, who will now get a shout-out from me) the baby-naming of my friend Rina and David. Rina and I met when we were in the same Ulpan class 2.5 years ago, right after we made aliyah.

At the time, Rina was dating this drudge of a guy (I was going to use the word "man" but that would be a misnomer) and wondering where it all would lead. Needless to say, we, her friends, were thrilled to bits when she and the drudge broke up, and in short time she met David, an all-around wonderful guy, who complements Rina perfectly. They married shortly after meeting, and began a family pretty soon thereafter. It was indeed a beautiful thing to see them bring a perfect little girl into the world. In fact, since Rina gave birth in my hospital, I got the distinction of being the baby's first visitor, a few hours after she was born.

I also got to see some Ulpan friends I haven't seen in a while, and got to introduce them to B.

You know how there are some people, whom you really like, but they're not your friends? They're friends of friends, whom you are always really excited to see at parties and birthdays at that mutual friend's house. Does anyone else have "friends" like this, or am I the only one?

Anyway, a while ago, I was talking to one of these "friends" at a party, back when B. and I were only about a month old - hard to believe its almost 3 months, eh? Anyway, I was telling this woman, Yael, about how when I first started dating B. I kept thinking, "Where's the drama? Where's the tears and fighting?" I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop....the big "issues" to arise. I was worried that if we had no drama, perhaps we had no chemistry. Perhaps I didn't really care about B.

Yael laughed at me and said, "No, hon. What you've got is a healthy relationship!" I never had one before, I didn't know it could be so easy. B. and I disagree (and its usually my stubbornness vs. his reasonableness), but we don't fight. And I'm not saying everything is easy as pie, but its not hard. Not the way I used to think love was supposed to be.

This girl in my nursing school class got engaged this week. She's 20 years old, and has been dating the guy for 1 month. I thought she was nuts, until I talked to her. And she said eacrly the same thing to me about her fiance, that I have said to people about B.:

I can't remember ever having loved anyone else. I mean, I know I did, I was there, and I've got the postings to prove it. But I can't conjure up the remembrances of the feelings (I know this is obstruse, but stay with me folks). I can't remember the emotions. I remember feeling bad about myself, feeling unworthy, but I can't remember feeling love. It feels like I've never dated anyone before B., and that I will never date anyone else. I don't feel head-over-heels in love...I just feel love. I simultaneously love B. and am in love with him.

I know this posting will jump up and bite me in the behind someday, and that I promised I wouldn't blog about B. too much. But he's become a pretty huge part of my life in the past few months. He doesn't read this blog, and he says he doesn't want to, mostly because it would make him uncomfortable reading about himself.

Anyway, Rina and David's celebration got me thinking that about my own love life, and that love shouldn't be hard. I'm not saying it should be easy...a good relationship or marriage certainly requires plenty of maintenance and elbow grease. I believe that love is a verb. It's something you do. It's not a noun - a state of being. Love, I believe now, is a two-way street. Its not about expectations and what someone else can do for me, or how much I can do for somenoe else, knowing full well it won't ever be reciprocated. Its about what I can do for this person, to make them feel loved.

I can chart my life by the way I have spent my New Years' Eves. I can count back to 1994, and tell you who I was with and what I did.

This year, it being a Friday night, B. and I were simply chilling in my apartment, as the clock struck midnight. And as it did, I realized that what i thought would never happen, actually did. Not only does someone love me as I am, he loves me for who I am. B. actually loves me because of my weirdnesses, not despite them!

This post is getting sappy, and I have no clear way to end it right now. I'll leave it as a work in progress, and you'll all forgive me and indulge my sappiness.

Random Acts of Niceness

2004-12-27T14:38:00.000+02:00

Last night B. and I went out to celebrate my "winning the lottery". We went to this small Italian place that I love called Agas V'Tapuach (or Pera e Mela in Italian); the place is homey and friendly and the food is amazing.

I hadn't been there in a while, but the waiter was happy to see me and seated us at a larger table, as there weren't too many others there when we arrived. By the time our food came, however, there was quite a crowd. The waiter approached and said, "I know this is really rude to ask, but would you mind moving to a smaller 2-person table as we need this larger table for some other guests."

Of course we agreed, and moved to a much more intimate table. The people who received our table were really thankful about it, when it was really no big deal. At some point I got up and the man of the family who had gotten our table thanked me again and said he'd like to send over some wine, did we want red or white? I told him it was highly unnecessary, and to just enjoy his dinner.

About a minute later the waiter came over and said, "They really want you to have the wine, I'll send over some red." We accepted it, and thanked them for the wine.

Since were celebrating, B. and I got desserts and everything. When the time came to leave, we asked for the check, but the waiter told us that our bill had been paid already!

We went over to thank the family (grandparents and a granddaughter) for their unnecessary generosity, and they said that they really wanted to eat at Agas V'Tapuach and they wouldn't have been able to unless we'd given them our table and they were so appreciative. B. and I were thinking it was no big deal at all, which it isn't. Then the grandfather said to B. "It was so nice watching you two in love over there. It reminds me of when I was young and courting my wife, if that's what you're doing. And if you aren't courting this woman you should be, because she seems like a lovely young lady." And as they left, the grandfather said, "I hope there'll be a wedding out of you guys."

Yonatan, the owner of Agas V'Tapuach, told us that this family is a very wealthy family, who come to Israel 4 or 5 times a year, and always eat at his restaurant when they come. And when they're in the restaurant, if there's soldiers eating, they pay their bill as well.

It made B. and I feel all warm and fuzzy inside; its nice to be the recipient of a random act of niceness. We told each other that when we're old, and eating in a restaurant and see a young couple in love, we'll return the favor. Pay it forward. When was the last time you did that for someone? Or someone did that for you?

First, Do No Harm

2004-12-26T17:06:00.000+02:00

A few years ago, at a Shabbat dinner, the topic of non-Western medicine came up. I said with great conviction that I did not believe in any form of non-Western medicine. I thought that Eastern medicine and the holistic approach was a load of crap, and that the practitioners of this "art" were shamans and charlatans.

After the dinner, one of the other guests called to suggest a friend of hers for a blind date. The man was a doctor of Eastern medicine, and practiced acupunture and Chinese healing. Needless to say I laughed, and said I couldn't date someone if I didn't respect their job/beliefs. In the end I agreed to go on the date, and was quite shocked. I was expecting some long-haired hippie-type man, in a flowing caftan with a crystal around his neck. Instead, the Caucasian version of Mr. T. met me at a coffee shop. This huge, muscular, clean-cut, Republican, conservative guy was the Doctor of Eastern Medicine.

Obviously, over the years, my position on non-Western medicine has changed. And will probably continue to change over the course of my nursing studies. I now believe very firmly in the holistic approach to medicine, believe that a combination of western and non-western medicine and healing is required in all situations. I think the specific patient and the situation will determine what combination of East adn West I use on my patients.

Today, for my "Theory of Nursing" class I had to watch a film called "First, Do No Harm", starring Meryl Streep.

It is the haunting story of a little boy named Robbie, who develops epilepsy, and his mother's struggle with the medical establishment to help her son. The movie opens with the discovery of Robbie's epilepsy; as it progresses Robbie goes from being an active, happy child to a lethargic almost mildly retarded little boy, thanks to the side effects of Dilantin and Tegretol, seizure medications that often do quite a bit of harm.

While Robbie's medical condition spirals downwards, the rest ofhis family's life is thrown into flux, both from social perspective, as they grapple with the decision to tell their friends and neighbors, and from a financial perspective, as Robbie's mounting medical costs force the family into serious debt, leading to the foreclosure of their home, the sale of their posessions, and poverty.

Meanwhile Robbie is not getting better, the medications are slowly turning him into a vegetable, and the all-knowing neurologist suggests a very expensive and risky brain surgery that may or may not work, and could kill Robbie.

His mother, Meryl Streep, finally decides to regain some of the power, and research epilepsy at the public library. She eventually discovers that doctors at Johns Hopkins University have invented this diet, the Ketogenic Diet, which alleviates the effects of epilepsy. In 1/3 of the patients it eradicates their sezures completely, in 1/3 it reduces the amount of sezures dramatically, and in 1/3 it does nothing, but certainly causes no harm. The Ketogenic Diet is more or less a strict form of the Atkins' Diet.

To make a long story short (see the film yourselves!!) Meryl Streep must battle the medical establishment in order to be allowed to put her son on this diet, despite the fact that even if it doens't work, there are no adverse effects. Meanwhile, her son's doctor's want to dope him up with medicine and perform a risky brain surgery, rather than give her the chance to save her so using a non-scientific method, as no one can explain why this diet helps epileptic patients. They try to take away her parental rights and force Robbie to undergo this risky surgery and harmful drugs, because their belief in themselves and in Western medicine is so great.

The phrase, "First, do no harm," is usually attributed to The Oath of Hippocrates, the oath newly minted physicians take while being "hooded", as they graduate from medical school.

As I've just discovered, this is a fallacy. The phrase "First, do no harm" appears nowhere in the Hippocratic Oath, not in the original version written by Hippocrates in his native Greek in 400 BCE, nor in the modern version, written by Louis Lasagna in 1964.

And yet, this steadfast belief held by many physicians that Western medicine is the only true medicine is harmful. What is it about Western medicine that makes us put such faith in it? What does everyone else believe? What would you do in this situation?

As often happens, the most chilling part of the movie was the credits. The film was 100% true. Many of the bit parts in the movie were played by epileptics who had been cured using he Ketogenic diet. Google it and you'll see what I mean. I cried and cried at the end, and vowed that this film would shape what kind of nurse I become.

I was easily the most powerful film I have seen in years. Go rent it.

Cha-Ching!

2004-12-26T14:32:00.000+02:00

A while ago, I posted about how I worked for this dot.com that had failed, and I was owed about 3 months of back wages from August - October 2003. And that we, the former employees, had to file for a forced liquidation then claim the lost wages through Bituach Leumi, the National Insurance Institute here in Israel.

Knowing the process would be lengthy, and the likelihood that I would ever see the money slim, I decided to consider the money gone, and if I ever did get the money back from Bituach Leumi it would be considered like winning the lottery.

Well, this morning I checked my bank account, and I did indeed win the lottery. My account was healthier than it has ever been here! I won't disclose the amount, but its enough to take a trip to anywhere I've ever wanted to go! I'm rich!!! Bituach Leumi actually paid the money.

I think I will be responsible, and buy one item that I really want but don't need, and put the rest in savings.

What would you do with a windfall of let's say $10,000 (this is NOT the amount I received). Would you spend it all on something fun, put it all away in savings, or a combination??

The Tortoise and the Hare

2004-12-20T10:36:00.000+02:00

Yesterday in my Developmental Psychology class we learned about different types of intelligence. Apparently, there are 2 different kinds of thinkers - the Impulsives vs. the Reflectives. The Impulsive thinkers act first and think second, they go with their intuition and go quickly. The Reflective thinkers stop and mull over all considerations before answering a question or solving a problem. I'll give you one guess what kind of thinker I am.

Back in the days when I was taking exams in my native tongue, I was usually the first one finished. While the other students would still be diligently filling in their names, I was already handing in my exam to the proctor. My attitude was that a test should take no longer than 10 minutes. Either you know the information or you don't. Sitting there and waiting for information you don't know to fall from the sky like manna is a waste of time.

The thing is, though I was usually done first, that position was in no way indicative of my level in the class in terms of achievement. Although I knew the information cold, and thought I was "smarter" than the other students, I would still be pulling B's, (or C's) when I could have easily gotten all A's, simply by studying a bit more and taking my time on exams.

The bad thing about Impulsive thinkers, according to my professor, is that we sacrifice getting an answer right in favor of saving time. And at the end of the day, grades are handed out based on how many answers you got right, not who handed in their exam first. If there was some sort of bonus for the first person to hand in their exam, then maybe the Impulsive thinkers would have a point. But we don't.

My impulsive thinking is in no way limited to my exam-taking. I am impulsive about everything. When I decided to make aliyah, I did it in the blink of an eye. I didn't really think about it too much. The idea came to me one day, and 2 days later I had filled out the paperwork. 6 months later I was touching down at Ben Gurion Airport. As it happened, I got that "answer" right in the exam of life.

When I decided to go to law school, it was a similar sort of process. I perused an LSAT review book (because an ex-boyfriend was thinking of taking the LSATs), thought, "Hey this looks fun", took the LSAT without studying, got a decent enough score to get into law school and went. Standardized tests, of course, favor Impulsive thinkers, because there are usually serious time restrictions, and many times Reflective thinkers don't finish the exam and thus sacrifice potential points - answers they would have gotten right had they moved a bit more quickly. I have always done fantastic on standardized exams, and less than fantastic on regular ones. Law school, however, turned out to be a "wrong answer" in my life exam, and I'll bet if I had taken a bit more time in that decision I would have not gone.

Much like in the exams, the Impulsive thinker sacrifices the right decision sometimes in favor of the quick one. In the fable of the tortoise and the hare, I am the hare. Except at the end of the story, the tortoise is the one that wins. "Slow and steady wins the race", is what the tortoise says as he passes the hare by.

When it came to Nursing school, I mulled over my decision to even apply for months. I thought about, formulated a game plan, spoke to others, etc. I told almost no one of my plans to apply, until I had already been accepted and decided to go. My professor says that you can teach Impulsive thinkers to be a bit more Reflective (though not vice versa).

On Friday I took a major exam (in psychology) and for the first time in my life during an exam, I became a Reflective thinker. I mulled over each choice, deliberating why it was incorrect or correct. I was almost the last person to hand in the exam. Because I am a new immigrant, I have a time extension on the exam, and I actually used part of it. And you know what? Answers that I didn't know at the beginning of the exam, fell like manna from the sky by the end of the exam. Maybe the Reflectives have something going on.

Although I am very clearly a hare, B. is definitely the tortoise. I am a romantic, and B. is very much a pragmatist. I am Impulsive and B. is Reflective. We had our first real disagreement this weekend. Note how I do not say "fight", because we didn't fight, we simply had differing viewpoints which we presented to each other in a respectful, mature (okay, B. was more mature than me) manner.

Prior to our discussion, I always thought that my point of view was right - Impulsive, romantic, the hare. I thought there was only one way to conduct oneself in certain situations. But now I see that there is value - great value - to the other side as well. I am humbled and willing to admit I was wrong. Which, for this Impulsive thinker, is a huge thing.

Stars Wars

2004-12-13T11:08:00.000+02:00

I am one of the 17 people over the age of 21 who has never seen any of the Star Wars movies.

Or at least I was, until yesterday.

I'm not sure how I managed to never see it as a child. My family was pretty religious, didn't go to movies much, and I was never a big TV watcher. Also, as a child, I lacked the patience to sit in one place for 2 hours watching an inanimate object.

By the time I reached adulthood, it was sort of an identity for me. I was the woman who had never seen Star Wars. In fact, it became my fallback second date topic of conversation. In the event that conversation was lagging, or if I wanted to gauge a man's attraction to me, I would somehow work into the conversation the fact that I had missed a major influential part of the 1980's. Inevitably, the conversation would become:
Guy: "I can't BELIEVE you've never seen that movie"
Me: "Yup - I missed it"
Guy: "But everyone has seen at least the first one!"
Me: "Not me - but as a child I had 'Empire Strikes Back' bedsheets, so in a sense, I've slept with all the characters from the movie."
- and then, this was how I knew a guy liked me -
Guy: "Well, WE have to watch that movie together"

The thing is, I never found a guy who was "worth" my Star Wars virginity. I was saving myself.

That is, until I met B., a self-confessed Star Wars geek, who played a hearty round of Star Wars Trivial Pursuit with several others at my place last week (ultimately Chayyei Sarah beat all the boys by a huge amount - but that's because she is a cool chyck). I promised B. he could be The One to view Star Wars with me.

After Treppentwitz's post about the significance of the 5th night of Chanuka, B. and I decided that yesterday would be the day to relieve me of my ignorance. Additionally, yesterday was our second 'monthiversary' - two great months of dating. So the time had come.

I actually enjoyed the movie, but perhaps that was because of my viewing partner(s). Sharona, my dog, snuggled comfortably between us - she and B. get along great. I know it must be love if I didn't mind B. reciting half the lines of the movie along with the characters; in fact, I found it rather endearing. His excitement was so cute - except for perhaps the part where Darth Vader uses "The Force" to choke one of the other members of the Senate to prove the power of The Force, and B., made fake choking noises about 2 seconds before it happened onscreen, and I, in my nurse's mindset, thought he was choking on the popcorn and began performing the Heimlich maneuver.

I wondered aloud what would become of my second date conversation - without my "routine", what would happen if conversation lacked? And B. said ...

A note to my commenters

2004-12-07T13:52:00.001+02:00

Dear The Hock and "Anonymous",

This is my blog - not yours. If you want to create a blog that attempts to take stabs at the status of my physical relationships with B., D., or A,E,I,O,U (and sometimes Y), that's fine.

But the fact is neither of you know what I've done with anyone - except that I hold B.'s hand. Nor will I be blogging about my experiences in the future.

Shomer negiah - to me, and any other time I use it on this blog - means any barriers/prohibitions to touching that are in place in order to prevent sex. That's all. Assume from that what you will - but please, don't pontificate about it in my blog. Halachik authorities I've consulted have made the distinction between shaking the hand of a business associate and holding hands with a lover (and by lover, I do not mean someone with whom one is having sex). So all touching does not equal "negiah" in this blog.

Here are a few other "Jerusalem Revealed" definitions, to clear up the semantics

"Very physical" = Lots of touching - does not mean sex, not "sleeping together in a post-coital haze" (which, BTW, post-coital means after intercourse, so I'm not sure how someone can not be having sex yet be there for something post-coital). There's a lot that can happen between hand-holding and having sex, I've been told.
"Doesn't pick and choose what he's careful about" = I mean, careful about halachik things. Like the whole concept, not particular tiny points. I also said he davens 3x a day with a minyan, but guess what, sometimes he misses minyan because he's in the middle of donating bone marrow to a leukemia patient. You know, things like that. So I would say that doesn't mean he is not careful about his minyan-going.

"Orthodox" = from Late Greek orthodoxos, from Greek orth- meaning "straight" + doxa, meaning "opinion" (Merriam Webster Dictionary). If I'd said I was "Orthoprax" (ortho - straight, prax - actions or practices) then perhaps there'd be an issue.

To The Hock, who thinks that most of the harchakot do not sexually excite his/her spouse, I feel very sorry for you and your spouse (if one exists yet). I hope that your sex-life improves, and that touching your spouse begins to excite you at some point. However, I'm not going to make guesses about what goes on in your marriage here. If you are as critical of him/her as you are here in this blog, my heart goes out to him/her.

I'm not going to comment about the fallacies, correctness, ludicrousness or insanity of either of your comments about me or B. But for people who (I hope) have never met me, you assume a lot.

Love always,
Noa

Touch and Go

2004-12-03T09:18:00.000+02:00

"When you take someone to the airport, it's clearly the beginning of a relationship. That is why I never take anyone to the airport. Because eventually things move on and you get busy and I never want someone to say to me, 'Honey, how come you never take me to the airport anymore?'"
(When Harry Met Sally)

Yes, folks, I went to the airport to pick up B., fully dressed and with a smile, and he was very happy I came.

For the record, of course I was planning on going. I missed B. while he was gone, and was pretty happy when he came back. But then when I mentioned it to some acquaintances a few days ago, they reacted in shock and horror. "That really reeks of desperation - don't you think you should be playing harder to get?" was the exact response from one of them.

I've never been good at playing games, and I don't really want to hone my skills in that department. If I get hurt because I don't play games, so be it. At least I'll still be true to myself.

But these were my married friends (and engaged) who said this, so I thought maybe I should see if it really does reek of desperation. And when I put the question out to you, dear blog-pals, no one even thought that there was a hint of desperation involved. I would have gone, even if y'all hadn't encouraged me to, but I appreciated the confirmation.

And, through a backwards chain of events (roomate's car (which is stick-shift) broke down, so she had to take a rental, when she got to the rental place, she realized she's locked her driver's license in the car which was currently at the mechanic's, who was closed, so I had to bail her out by renting the car in my name), I had a car in my possession, and was able to pick him up that way, which made him happy.

He was quite pleased I came and said, "I knew you were going to come even though I told you to stay home where its warm, but I'm so happy to see you".

He brought me back a stuffed platypus (I knew he was more creative than a traditional koala bear), and a beach hat and a skirt from Thailand. So I decided he definitely deserved the South African Sprinboks rugby kippah I'd made him in his absence, and he really loved that!

As for the shomer negiah bit...a few comments to the commenters.
1. We are not fully shomer negiah, we hug, we hold hands, but we leave it at that. Its very hard for me, because I am a very physical person (which works well in nursing, always holding patients hands', etc.) and this is his bag, not mine. I've never been shomer negiah in a real relationship, but I fully respect B.'s commitment and his religious thought.

Even before he entered my life, I told myself that my next relationship would be a lot less physical, because I think it blurs the focus a little bit. I've never stayed with someone because the physical side was good, but being physically intimate before becoming emotionally intimate blurs the lines of verbal communication, I think.

2. To the person who said that "wearing a smile and nothing else" does not negate the shomer negiah aspect, I will share with you a little lesson I learned from my Niddah (Jewish laws of separation during the time of menstruation) teacher.

The reason for the "harchakot" (lit. distancings - additional rules to prevent sex during menstruation) is one of simple kindness. Why would I do something (something not prohibited) to sexually excite my spouse/partner, if I know full well that nothing can come of that sexual excitation. Its just cruel. Why turn the guy on, if he and I cannot do anything to take care of that? If I really cared the guy (and vice versa) we'd remember that yes, he (or I) may get turned on by the site of me in a smile and nothing else, but that there's nothing we can do about it, so its just plain mean. And I do really care about B., and I very much respect his commitment to this halacha, so I try not to turn him on - any more than my very presence in his life does, I mean :).

One of the things I really like about B. is his integrity and his honesty of character. He's no faker, no charades. His religious leanings all add up - he doesn't pick and choose what he's careful about. He davens 3x a day, with a minyan, wears tzitzit, learns Torah daily, and he's shomer negiah. And I respect all of the above, and him for sticking with it all because he believes in it. His thoughts and actions match, and he's just as careful about the laws that are internal, that no one else can see, as he is with the public laws. And most imortantly, in observing the letter of the law, he never forgets the spirit of the law.

So to the Anon that said he doesn't believe I'm shomer negiah, you're right. I am not 100% - we touch - but minimally. And that is his kindness to me because he knows I express myself - to friends, patients, clerks at the bank - through little touches. And even though with him they have more of a sexual character than say the bank clerks or my patients, this was something we agreed on.

And to the Anon who hoped that my appearance at the airport would herald the end of the shomer era, I don't want to end it. I respect B.'s beliefs, and even if, in a moment of weakness, he tried to end the shomer negiah-ness, I wouldn't let him, because I know what he really believes. The era will come to an end under the chuppah, or not at all. Poopoopoo.

Blogger Challenge

2004-11-29T14:03:00.000+02:00

Okay - quick vote for all my readers:

B. returns this Thursday morning from a 2.5 week long trip to Australia. His flight arrives at 5 am. I've offered to go meet him at the airport (not pick up, as I have no car) but he's said, very generously, that he doesn't want me to wake up so early and come out in the freezing cold and screw up my whole day Thursday to come greet him, even though he'd love to see me. I'd either have to hustle to get to, or alternatively miss, 2 classes Thursday morning. Mind you, these are classes I have an exemption form, I just go for the fun of it.

Do I still go meet him anyway? Its clear he'd want me to go, but is being super considerate. Or do I go to his place after class Thursday wearing a huge smile (and nothing else? j/k - we're shomer negiah)

Thanks for the advice peeps.

Gobble Gobble

2004-11-25T17:14:00.000+02:00

Happy Thanksgiving to all the Americans!

As my 12" diameter apple pie is baking in the oven (sweet potato already done), I take a moment to reflect on my Thanksgiving traditions here in Israel.

When I first arrived here, some 2.5 years ago, my friend Daniel (whom I met on the plane while moving here) and I, lacking family, gathered together a few friends. The rule was that each American had to bring a non-American with them. Daniel made the turkey, stuffing, stuffed mushrooms and we had it at his house. I made the sweet potatoes, cranberries, apple pie and green salad. There were 10 of us, since we hadn't made a ton of friend yet. We all went around the table and said what we were thankful for.

Last year, I had a brother and sister who had immigrated since the previous Thanksgiving. Daniel had his brother's family over. We each cooked the same things. We each still brought a non-American. We still said what we were thankful for. There were 16 of us.

This year, we have so many people coming that we have 2 turkeys! I have parents and basically my whole family here. Daniel just got engaged last week! So he's covered in the family and non-American category - his bride is British. I'll be bringing Chava, one of my new nursing school friends, and one of my few native Israeli friends. B. would have been the top contender for non-American (he's from Cape Town), but he's in Australia til Wednesday.

And when we go around the table, I will say this:

I am thankful for the insight I was given this year to see what was not great about my life, and the strength needed to make the changes to make myself a happier person.

Happy Thanksgiving and enjoy your turkey!

On Mothers, Nurturing and Nursing

2004-11-21T22:18:00.000+02:00

I've had the following thought a few times in the past week, "Gee, Mom, maybe you weren't such a bad mother after all"

I don't want to imply that my mother may have resembled Mommy Dearest in the recesses of my memories, but maybe she did, a little bit.

I have memories of a mother who would come home at the end of a long day teaching other people's bratty difficult children, and be too tired to listen to her own kids. I remember the first time I saw her teaching in her classroom (which was unfortunately located in my own public high school) and was wowed by the amount of patience she had...for someone else's kids.

My mother is a good friend, not so much a mother, more of a close friend. I remember I had once starting dating this guy, let's call him Steve, and though I really liked his personality, I was having trouble feeling attracted to him and feeling the chemistry. I asked my mom for her advice, and she said, "Just close your eyes and kiss him. Shove your tongue down his throat. And if you're still not into him, I'd say move on."

A friend was standing next to me while I was having this conversation on the phone with my mom. When I got off she said, "Please tell me that wasn't your mom you were talking to. Please tell me that was a friend you just happen to call Mommy, as a joke." And I thought to myself, that pretty much describes my relationship with my mother in a nutshell. She's a friend, whom I call Mommy.

Anyway, we've been hanging out a bit recently (now that we live in the same city, after 9 years of living a minimum of 6 hours' drive apart) and she'll remind me of things she did when we were kids, things I've totally forgotten. And I realize, she was a much better mother than I give her credit for. Like my brother's wife is due this week with their second child. And my mom made sure to buy some gifts for their eldest child, so she won't feel slighted when the gifts start rolling in for her new brother or sister. Then my mom asked if I remembered that she did that for all of us. Every time she had a baby (and I am number 2 out of 6) she would make sure she had presents wrapped for each of the existing children before she went into labor, so when we came to the hospital to visit her and our new sibling, she could hand us a gift-wrapped package and say, "Here's a present from the new baby." So that we wouldn't be jealous of the new kid, and maybe would even like them a little.

I took her yesterday to a new oncologist - she had breast cancer a while back and has had some things that need to be watched now - at my hospital, Hadassah. I went with because I wasn't sure of the English/Hebrew situation, and in the end it was good I was there. Hearing my mom's complete medical history made me appreciate her a whole lot more...the fact that she's still around seemed mildly miraculous. And she is very much a friend called Mommy.

After we were done with her appointment, and I was about to head off into class, I noticed this very pregnant woman, with a 4 year old girl in hand, on the verge of tears trying to speak to the receptionist in not the best Hebrew. Since we were in the Oncology Institute, I knew whatever issues she had could not have been good. Eavesdropping, I figured out that both she and the little girl needed blood tests, in 2 different parts of the hospital, within the next 10 minutes, that she didn't know her way around the hospital (which is a maze) and was scared.

I offered her a hug, and my translation services, and told her I would take her to wherever she needed to get to next in order to find her way. I ended up spending 1.5 hours with her, shuttling her around and wielding whatever teeny amount of power I had to get her tests over with, so she could go home to her husband. I felt like she was my patient - my first patient - and that even though I didn't draw her blood, I was her nurse. I experienced first-hand what I already knew about nursing - that caring for a patient is not necessarily about the medical things you do for them - it's doing whatever you can to make them feel better. And if that's alleviating their fears by talking to them, or by simply showing them the way to their next destination, or taking their blood to the lab for them so they can catch their bus and get home sooner, if it helps your patient, you've "nursed" them.

I only recently realized (like last week) that the words for "nursing" and "nurturing" are from the same root. In Hebrew its even more obvious. Nurses are called "achot" (sister) but "nursing" is "si'ud" from the same root as "se'uda" (a large meal) and comes from the root "Samech, Ayin, Heh" - to nurture.

So even though my mom doesn't fully approve (yet) of my Nursing studies, she is probably responsible for my interest in "nurturing". Because as I'm realizing more and more, she was an excellent mother, who nurtured her children to the best of her ability. And someday, I may even tell her that.

Battle of the Religions

2004-11-07T01:53:00.000+02:00

There are several "factions" of students in my nursing class. Out of 80 students, I would say 30 are Muslim/Arab (1 is Christian Arab), 20 are religious Jewish girls, and the rest are secular Israeli.

A worrying trend, contrary to previously stated school policy, has developed. The religious girls seem to be bent on not interacting with the Muslim/Arab students. We had to break up into groups of 3 for the rets of the year, in order to practice our new nursing skills on each other, and at the end of the dividing there were 3 people left over, 2 religious girl and a Muslim girl. And the religious girls refused to be in a group with the Muslim.

The va'ad (student council) decided that an erev gibush [evening to build cohesiveness] was in order. They (claimed) took pains to find a bar that would be acceptable to Jew and non-Jew alike, made sure the party would be when Ramadan was finished, and that it would be in a bar not open on Shabbat or that served non-kosher drinks. Unfortunately the Rabbinate of Jerusalem will not certify any bar as kosher, on the grounds that the acitivities inside the bar negate the kosher-ness of anything being served.

The fact does remain that the bar is not kosher. This is problematic for me. While in America I would meet up with friends at a non-kosher bar, and drink a beer from a bottle, or hang out in a non-kosher restaurant and have a drink, in Israel there is no reason for this. There is no reason for me to have to eat/drink in a non-kosher establishment, particularly here in Jerusalem, and I won't do it. However, I agreed to go to the bar evening, because I thought the need to bring the class together as a unit was more important.

Unfortunately, the 20 year old religious girls, didn't agree. They were stubborn and rude, and I was recruited to speak to them, since I am religious, a bit older, and assertive (even in Hebrew). I met with their unoffical leader, Talya, to try and get them to stop being so obnoxious.

I think Talya was totally shocked at my somewhat extensive halachik knowledge. I wear pants and skirts, and though I think even in pants I am obviously religious, I guess they thought that as skirt-wearers they must know more than me.

I tried explaining that while yes, the concept of ma'arit ayin [appearing to do an action that is wrong, even if one isn't really doing it - In this case, being in a non-kosher establishment, though not eating] applies, they must also take into account other halachik [Jewish law] precepts, such as 'al tifrosh min hatsibbur', the idea that cohesiveness as a group has merit; and the concept of "ayt la'asot", that there are certain times when an action that would otheriwise be considered incorrect, may be acceptable in this limited situation.

I asked the girls if they had consulted their rabbi with this dilemma, or just gone ahead and come up with an excuse to avoid hanging out with the Arab students. None of them had asked.

I hope I impressed upon these young minds the idea that Halacha should be used as a tool to develop your life, not an excuse to hide from it. As an outsider, someone who has lived in a world where I didn't always have the privilege of just going to a kosher restaurant instead, I pointed out how spoiled we've become, how inflexible.

I'm not so sure I got my point across. The girls still won't be joining the rest of the group tomorrow, which sort of foiled the point of the evening. But maybe over time they'll grow up. I pointed out to them that they chose to study in a mixed school (as opposed to Shaarey Tzedek Nursing School which is predominantly religious girls), and that they chose nursing as a career, where they will have to treat Jew and non-Jew alike, and set halacha aside for the moment sometimes, with respect to patient triage. And they will have to use Halacha as a tool in order to meet the rules of medicine, instead of using the Torah as an excuse to hide behind.

Meanwhile, I just went shopping and bought a new pair of high-heeled boots, Hush Puppies shoes (not terribly trendy, but very comfortable), a new skirt and a shirt. Yay!

Happy

2004-11-01T10:28:00.000+02:00

Recently, friends and acquaintances have been commenting on my appearance...specifically that I look thinner and happy. The two are directly correlated.

In the past 2 months I have stopped a working at a meaningless job that I detested, started school (and took the first step towards fulfilling a dream) and ended a relationship with someone who made me feel unloved and unworthy. And I lost 6 kilograms (that's almost 15 lbs.), without trying. I think sadness adds extra weight to a person. Your load gets carried around like a heavy knapsack, bringing you down and preventing you from moving to the best of your ability. And then it translates to physical weight, at least for me. My sadness (or unhappiness) causes me to eat more than I need, and to exercise and move around less.

I've received a lot of comments about my rapid ability to move on with someone new, in light of the D. breakup. Enough that I am addressing them here.

Please, dear blog strangers, understand. Its not that I am a cold, heartless woman, or that I am sublimating my pain over D. and masking it with B. Not at all. Its just that I have already been through the phase where I sit in my sweat pants all day, crying and listening to the Dixie Chicks and Broadway musicals. I just happened to go through it while I was still with D. I knew a long time ago that this would be the ending to that story. It was only recently I chose to accept the reality, and decide that I wanted a different ending for the story of my life. The first time D. and I broke up (a year and a half ago), I cried and thought my heart would split open in two. I made a CD called "Noa's Heartbreak". Songs included "And So It Goes" (Billy Joel), "You Were Mine" (Dixie Chicks), "Both Sides Now" (Joni Mitchell) and "I Know Him Well" (From the musical "Chess").

I thought I would never recover, that I would never love again. That I would end up like poor Miss Havisham. Alas, I underestimated my own strength...and my own stupidity. I continued to get back together with someone I knew in my head (but alas, not in my heart) would never treat me right.

To Anonymous who asked: "Is it that easy to open up again to someone new? to sit on a date without thinking of D? to believe that this time it will be different?"

I have always been blessed to be a cock-eyed optimist. Its dragged me down in terms of always thinking that D. would change, and my long-time hope kept me from accepting the reality. Is it easy to sit on a date without thinking of D.? Yup, pretty easy. I don't find myself comparing people to him. I do hope he's doing ok, because he's not someone that has a lot of friends, and I don't know how he's handling this breakup. But I am not claling to find out.

I think every experience we have influences the future experiences, subconsciously if not consciously (and Sigmund Freud agrees with me). So obviously I have learned something from my relationship with D., but I hope the knowledge I gained will help me move forward, not mire me in the past. Perhaps this time I'll learn to recognize commitment-phobia when I see it. Perhaps (lest you dear readers think I was a perfect saint during the whole D. relationship) I will learn that fighting should always be fair, and that screaming is never a good idea. That communicating feelings should be a huge priority and that no one is ever a mind-reader. And that if a man is not there for you when you need him now, he probably won't be there for you in the future either.

I'm a pretty open person in general, and I will NOT let sad experiences change my essence. I don't know how this will turn out with B., maybe he'll decide tomorrow he doesn't like me anymore, maybe I'll see something I don't like. But I know he isn't D., and I am not going to judge him as if he made the same mistakes. I'll be more alert, more willing to listen to my heart, but that's it.

So now its a lot easier to move on. And recently, several young people I have known (or not known but are in my orbit) have passed away suddenly, from leukemia; an asthma attack; an aneurysm. It makes you think. That today, tomorrow or the next day - these could all be my last day. I don't mean to get morbid (though that's tough hanging in a hospital all day), just introspective. I try to have this frame of mind all the time, regardless of the deaths of people in my world. But it makes me think, and makes me so proud of myself for continuing to strive towards the goal of happiness and fulfillment. To know that if, G-d forbid, I passed on tomorrow, I would die knowing I did the best I could; but also that I still have so much left to accomplish, and that I am constantly working towards those goals. I don't sit around waiting for life to happen. I make it happen.

Rarely, though more often now that I am seeing someone new, I wear perfume. The perfume I chose based on its name first, and its scent second. Clinique Happy. When people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I always used to say, "Happy". The profession was irrelevant - and clearly I am still working on that aspect - but I knew that whatever I did, whoever I became, whatever I surrounded myself by, would make me happy. And if it didn't, I would make happiness my goal.

So, yes, friends who have noticed my weight loss and smile, I am striving towards happiness. I'm generally a happy person, but I'm doing my best to stay that way.

There have also been a few comments about B. Who is he, what does he do, how are we faring. Out of respect for B.'s privacy, I am not going to blog about him too much. Afterall, he has no idea I blog, and he certainly didn't agree to publicize his life on the internet. Also, I believe in relationship jinxing. Like I have yet to enter his number in my cellphone, and I believe speed-dial is the kiss of death.

However, I will say that he still smells good, and I am enjoying getting to know him better. He treats me well, and speaking to him always brings a smile to my face. To those who said it was crazy that I am "going steady" with B. after so short a time, I must explain. I am dating towards the goal of marriage. Not marriage with just anyone, but marriage with the right person. And right now I am trying to find him. I think its very hard to concentrate on someone and get to know him well if I am dating more than one person at a time. I'd rather concentrate on someone and know in a shorter time that he's not likely to be The One, rather than go out once a week for 3 months and then decide. So my not seeing other people has nothing to do with anything except, I'd like to get to know B. better, and I don't think I can do that while dating others.

Also, as a total non-sequitur (as this is not a true source of happiness) I am rapidly discovering that nursing is considered a sexy profession. Had I known this, I would have skipped my Biology degree and law school, and gone straight to the tight white uniforms. Giddyup!

Jilted Lover --> Nursing School

2004-10-22T07:17:00.000+02:00

A few days ago I attended a Hadassah Young Women's event. One of the speakers, the PR director of my hospital (yes, I now think of it as my hospital!), recalled the history in great detail of Hadassah Ein Kerem hospital and more specifically the nursing school.

Forgive my screwing up the exact dates, but basically Henrietta Szold, the founder of Hadassah, had been keeping the company a man, Leo Ginzburg for quite some time. Something like 5 years, which was unheard of in 1909. She kept waiting for him to want to marry her. She was a highly educated woman, from a family of 5 girls, and everyone had warned her that Leo Ginzburg would never propose. He was just using her to edit his books and ghost-write them. She kept hope though. At some point (after 5 years), he told her he had a surprise for her. She assumed it was a proposal. But no, he told her, "I'm engaged to some young chippie I have gone out with 3 times".

As you can imagine, Henrietta was crushed. Her mother thought it might be a good idea to get her away for a while, so they came to visit Palestine in 1909. While here they noticed the terrible health conditions (the area was still under Turkish rule), and realized that a health care system was desperately needed. Specifically nurses. Henrietta brought over doctors and nurses from America, and had a special
program to train nurses in America and bring them here to Israel. After 10 years or so, Henrietta and the Hadassah Women's Group realized it would be better to train the nurses here, and thus, Hadassah founded a nursing school, with the first graduating class in 1921. Eventually came the hospital, the med schools, and in 1975 the nursing school joined with the Hebrew University. Hadassah, by the way, is named for Queen Esther. The women all little Jewish girls wanted to be at some point on Purim, but whom may not have made it in real life. The Jewish heroine who saved her people.

Meanwhile, Henrietta Szold never married, never had children. In Israel, Mother's Day (which we call Mother and Family Day) is celebrated on Henrietta Szold's Yahrzeit (anniversary of death); although she was not a mother in the literal sense, her founding the healthcare system of Israel enabled the fledgling country to survive, so in a sense, we are all her children.

I almost cried when I heard that whole story, and felt very proud and honored to be continuing in the chain that Henrietta had founded.

After the speech, a friend came over and pointed out what I'd been thinking during the whole speech. "Isn't it funny," she said, "How the nursing school was founded because someone had a broken heart and had been shafted by a man, and you chose to go to the very same nursing school for the same reason?"

I don't want anyone to think I chose nursing school because of my sadness over D. (Sadly, I don't think I can call it a broken heart - the breaking part happened already). I have been wanting to do this for more years than I can remember. But the sadness that was going down with him all last year made me realize that you need to make your own happiness. Don't expect it to come riding up to you on a white horse. So, I decided (while still dating D., but knowing there'd be no happy ending) to create my own happiness and go for my dream, instead of putting it off. To leave my job, that bored me to death and brought me no happiness, and go for the career I thought would give me a bit more meaning, that I would enjoy going to work in.

I have made it through the first week. (Hence the lack of blog entries). Classes are good, the people are all pretty nice. The material we learn is relatively simple for me, since i have taken almost all the classes already for my BA in Biology, but because they are in Hebrew, I find myself exhausted at the end of each day. Sitting through 9 hours of classes in Hebrew wipes my mind out. Though, I am bursting with pride to say, I fully comprehend everything. Every once in a while we come to a word I don't know, and I write it down and look it up after class.

I have started to raise my hand and speak in class. I never thought I'd do that, but it only took about 2 days to get the confidence. I'm not embarrassed about my accent, and if I am saying something and I can't think of the word in Hebrew, I just say it English. No one minds, and since they all have to be fluent by graduation, they actually try to speak English to me.

I have found a few other "oldies" like myself in the class. A woman who turned 40 on Tuesday, but never went to college. A 27-year old religious girl who has a degree in Criminology. Ronnen, 30, who studied economics and worked for a drug company, but decided he'd rather see the human side of it. I'm learning a lot from my co-students, in terms of Israeli culture and Muslim culture. One of the 19 year old Arab boys, Adam, has a crush on me. You know, Jewish guys could leanr a thing or too. He brings flowers, sits next to me in all my classes, brings me coffee. I explained to him it'll have to just stay a crush, but he's content at that. On second thought, maybe its not the religion; maybe its because he's 19!

Which brings me to my social life. I've gone out with a couple (okay 3) people. I know it seems like it's "really soon", but the truth is, D. and I had broken up so many times and had so much messiness, the heartbreak had happened a long time ago, and what happened a month ago was just an acceptance of the reality. People have been setting me up left and right, and I've been meeting guys all over. I must give off some "newly-available" scent. One guy (and I thought this was shallow as all hell) saw a picture of me and got my number form his friend on the basis of that picture alone. I said yes, because I'm a poor student and it turned out to be a free meal! He was also a nice guy and he smelled good, something I am now conscious of.

However, I've gone out a bunch of times (to the point that I will no longer see others, for now) with B., who was not a blind date. He's quietly sweet and intelligent, and adorable and he smells divine. And he's a really good person (I have empirical proof, but I'll withhold because it is an identifying characteristic and I don't want to out the poor guys I date). So I figure, B. now deserves an initial on this blog. Again, more on it if it develops. I haven't even entered him into my cellphone yet because that'll jinx it...but I did see I was in his!

So, in summation, life is good. Real good. Sometimes, the sun does come out tomorrow.

Political Orientation...Winds are shifting

2004-10-13T19:45:00.000+02:00

Yesterday I had orientation for nursing school. For me, at least, it was emotional and exciting. We got the traditional pep talk from the Dean of Nursing, Dr. Miri Rom.

She gave us a run-down of the history of the School of Nursing, Hadassah Hospital, and nursing in Israel. Basically, in 1912 Henrietta Szold, the founder of Hadassah Women's Organization, decided that the thing the nascent Israel (then called Palestine) needed most was nurses. So Hadassah trained nurses and sent them specially to Israel. After doing this for about 10 years, Hadassah decided it would be better to train nurses here, in Israel, rather than import them. Thus was born the Hadassah School of Nursing, in 1922.

Eventually a hospital was needed for all these newly trained nurses, and so they built Hadassah Hospital, which has been in lots of places all over Jerusalem. Eventually Hadassah settled in the Ein Kerem campus (where the nursing school is), and only after the War of Independance did they decide to add on a Medical school, dental school, Pharmacy. And eventually, the hospital and the schools joined wiht Hebrew University, which was only established in 1925.

All these mergers and acquisitions led us to the Henrietta Szold School of Nursing of Hadassah and Hebrew University, a rather unwieldy name.

Dr. Rom congratulated us on choosing the chosen profession, the only profession that is more or less selfless. As she put it, "You aren't doing it for the respect, because you won't get any; not for the work conditions, because they're awful; and definitely not for the money!" And for being chosen by the most prestigious nursing school in the country. Then she charged us with the duty of becoming nurses, of serving the public, of becomgin the guardians of health and hygiene.

I think the thing that most impacted me was when she said, "Look outside those windows. See the hills, and the city? That's where politics will stay. Politics has no place in nursing, nor in any healthcare profession. In this building, and in this hospital, we are all the same...Jew, Muslim, religious, non-religious. All patients are the same and all healthcare workers as well."

This message was echoed by the representatives of the Student Union. Apparently at other campuses, there are political parties, but at the Faculty of Medicine politics are not allowed to be discussed.

Looking around the 80 or so students that comprise my shlucha (Hadassah Ein Kerem), and the other 50 from Kaplan and Assaf Harofeh hospital (outlying hospitals which are slightly easier to get into), the make-up was very different than what I am used to interacting with on a daily basis here in Israel. Out of the 80 students, I would say there were 15 males, 65 females. Of the males, 13 were Arab and 2 were Russian. Of the women, I would say 15 were religious (I did this based on who washed netilat yedayim before the sandwiches they distributed - not clothing), maybe another 10 were religious Muslims, another 10 were not wearing the headscarf but clearly Arab, and the rest were non-religious Jews.

Also, all but 2 students are younger than me, and so far I think I am the only one who has gone to college before.

My political orientation is right-wing. Not violent right-wing, or anarchist right-wing, but right-wing. I believe Israel has a right to all land won in any war (just like any other country), has a right to erect a fence to protect its citizens, has a right to retaliate and even instigate attacks in order to protect its citizens. I just wish we didn't have to. I don't believe all Arabs are bad, or out to get me. Its just hard, because I can't always know who is friend and who is foe.

So if I cross the street to avoid an Arab person, its not because I hate them, or I'm racist. It's out of fear. When I'm in a place I deem safe (inside a building where we've already gone through security), I enjoy learning about the Arab culture, and a few words here and there. And the nursing school is definitely a safe place. I finally have an opportunity to establish an ongoing relationship with Arabs, and I'm excited about that too. I'm not sure the world's problems can be solved by dialogue and cookies, but for me, it's a good start.

Also, I went on a good date last night with a nice boy that I met, and it went well and he called me again to ask me out again. More on this if anything develops. But it has been a while since I have gone on a real (ie -- not blind) date.

So life is definitely looking up!

In fact, as a funny, we were on a tour of the hospital and the med. school campus, when this boy called to firm up our plans. I was chatting with him and following the tour and not really paying attention, and at some point I noticed that it got pretty chilly. I asked some girl where we were and she said "Hacheder meitim" - The Morgue! I got off the phone pretty quickly.

Multiple Orgasms, Indeed

2004-10-11T21:48:00.000+02:00

This article, written by a fellow blogger, appeared in this week's Haaretz.

I am very proud to admit that I am the "N." in the article, and that "M." was drinking my wine and eating my chocolate covered strawberries (as well as sushi and "boob cupcakes"). The only reason the article uses an initial is that I've been quoted too often by the reporter in other articles, and it would have looked bad.

If anyone is interested in contacting Beverly, drop me a line.

UPDATE: I feel the need to answer some of the comments here in the actual entry.

Avi: The point is that not all women even feel comfortable buying vibrators, despite feeling a need for one. They think they're weird, or sick, or wrong. But if they come and see a whole diverse group also interested, it may help them get over their concerns. Also, only a small portion of the evening was devoted to vibrator sales. A lot of it was devoted to talking about women's bodies, sexual pleasure (with or without a partner) and communication with a partner to get what you need. Despite what you men may think, it isn't always "good for me".

And as I understand it, the places in Tel Aviv are really seedy and more importantly, run by men. Not so comfortable for a woman.

Anonymous: I'll answer your questions one by one. I don't read hirhurim, but I do know that Simcha is not a halachik authority. why must you assume that A) Sexual pleasure of any kind is reserved for married women only? and B) That there would even be a problem of any kind. Sexual gratification IS NOT BAD. Find me a Rav who will tell you that sexual gratification in accordance with Halacha is bad, and I'll show you a fraud. In fact, I think we would all agree that it is far preferable for women to use a vibrator or other methods of masturbation, than to have sex not in accordance with Halacha.

In fact, I'll take it one step further. I have, as a single twenty-something, who has lived in both the Upper West Side and Katamon, noticed that some singles, confuse love with lust. They marry someone because they are horny, more or less. Ever wondered why the frum community, with its safeguards and shidduchim, has almost the same divorce rate as the general public? Wouldn't it be great if people (well, women since obviously its not halachikally a-ok for men) could get their sexual overdrives offloaded and then marry for the right reasons, all the time?

The only things you can assume about me from the article are the following:
1) I know how to make sushi
2) I know how to make chocolate-covered strawberries
3) I have a recipe for boob cupcakes
4) I am a woman not afraid to discuss sexual health, gratification, women's bodies, or vibrators (keep in mind, I am in nursing school).

About the people. I don't think anyone thought they were rebelling or misbehaving. It was a roomful of women in search of the big "O". And who clearly thought they were entitled to it...whether they are married, single, religious, secular, young or old. As you read in the article, they were all different kinds...women in shaitels, non-religious, married, single, mostly in their 20's and 30's.

Clearly there is a need for this type of forum, as I invited 9 women and over 30 showed up. It traveled by word of mouth. Lots of women were total strangers, whom I have no idea how they got to my house. But I am happy I could make the shidduch between them and the vibrators.

Adam: You're braver...you touch topics I wouldn't go near. And you're not anonymous.

Boston Tea Party

2004-10-11T07:23:00.000+02:00

After deliberating last night whether or not to attend an erev gibush for the nursing students, I decided to go. And I am glad I did.

I was worried that perhaps only the losers went to these events, and if I went I'd be a loser. Or alternatively, if I didn't go, perhaps everyone else would and people would think I was a snob.

As it turned out, a lot of people were there, everyone seemed cool (where were the nerds?? where are my homies??), though most of the students were from the school of pharmacy, dentistry, medicine or research.

On the bus there I noticed one girl (she turned out to be 19) and eventually I asked her if she was a student going to the shindig, which they had called the Boston Tea Party. She was a dental student, from an Arab village up north. In fact, I would say about 80% of the male students were Arab -- from all the schools. I can see this is all going to shake up my political orientation -- perhaps in a positive way. More on that later.

As we were trying to find the bar on the campus of Hadassah Ein Kerem hospital, I saw another person who looked lost. Turns out she is also a nursing student, has lived in America for the pat 5 years, is 26 years old (so I'm not the oldest one) and seemed quite nice. We stuck together and she drove me home, and offered to pick me up for orientation. Which apparently is on Tuesday -- good thing I showed up last night since the website still says it starts at 10 am today, and I would have showed up on the wrong day.

Its also good to know that if you are ever in the hospital at Hadassah Ein Kerem, and have the unquenchable desire for a Heineken, a Scotch, or an Alabama Slammer, there is actually a bar on the grounds of the hospital. Beers are 10 nis for students, and 12 nis for non-students. Pretty good prices.

Its harder for me to guess the ages of the female students, since make-up and maturity of character can add years to a person's life, but I feel pretty sure the guys were all under the age of 23. My new friend and I were joking about how all the 19 year old guys were flirting with us. She kept saying "Its a good thing, it's a good thing!" despite the obvious appearance of an engagement ring on her third left finger. She didn't mention a fiance or even a boyfriend, so either she is just happily wearing a diamond ring, or she is a woman not defined by her dating status and had other things to talk about than the men in her life. She told me she decided to become a nurse since she's been a waitress for 6 years, and really liked it, but knew she had to go to school for a more respectable profession. So she thought about what real job is most like waitressing, and came up with nursing! Apparently she told the Dean of Students this during her obligatory interview - and she said she almost fell off her chair. They may have admitted her simply because she gave the most unusual answer ever.

People were generally friendly, and Rachel (the new friend) and I kept introducing ourselves to people and just sitting down with strangers. I can see the nurses are seen as the dumb blondes of the group. The Arab students (the males) were all too friendly though, and most of the women as well, once they realized that Rachel and I weren't stupid, we just want to be nurses.

I debated not telling people my age or the fact that I already have a degree in biology, plus I studied law, lest they be intimidated -- which they have no reason to be since I'll be lost in Hebrew. In the end it slipped out anyway -- I cannot hide 8 years of my life. One girl said she was born in Waltham, Massachusetts and I excitedly said "I went to college there!"...whoops.

The most important thing was that I spoke for an entire evening, with my peers, in Hebrew, and didn't think about it, or struggle for words. I have never felt so Israeli or settled. And people did not immediately guess I was American. There we were, just a bunch of Israeli university students, meeting each other and making jokes. And scarily enough, I fit in.

Vacation Over

2004-10-10T18:24:00.000+02:00

In all senses of the word, my vacation is over. My 6 week long vacation finishes tomorrow, when orientation for nursing school starts. The holidays are over. My internet is up and running, so blogging must resume. And my personal pity party is over too.

My apologies for my absence, but from a technical standpoint, my internet was down so blogging was somewhat difficult; and from a reality standpoint, I had nothing positive or happy or even new to report, so I took a hiatus. But all the wonderful comments helped.

I spent this past Shabbat with the Treppenwitz family. I was a little nervous, truth be told, seeing as how our face to face interactions were somewhat limited. I ran into someone I know in synagogue who said, "Oh, how do you know the Treppenwitzes?" And I stopped...debating whether to make something up or tell the truth "Well, we read each other's blogs". I opted for the truth. They are just as funny, kind and down-to-earth in real life as portrayed in the blog. And both Mr. and Mrs. are truly wonderful cooks, and excellent hosts. The juniors are intelligent, good kids. Only good things to report from that house!

I spent this morning running around Jerusalem trying to get things in order for school. Still no student ID card, but I was told..."Just carry your acceptance letter around - that should be enough". Yikes!

Right now I am pondering whether to go to this get together for the nursing students tonight at the med school dorms. I have no idea whether its mandatory (like orientation activities in America) or not. I am going to be a teeny bit older than the other students, and definitely more experienced, so I am being very conscious of the image I portray. I am torn between thinking that if I show up I'll be labeled a nerd, because the cool kids won't be there, and thinking if I don't go, I'll show up to orientation tomorrow and be labeled a snob because I thought I was too mature to show up to an orientation activity! I'll let you know what happens.

As for D. Well, I would be lying if I said I stuck to my guns and we hadn't spoken since that horrible bombshell. We have. Partially because I wanted my purple Hush Puppies loafers back, and they were under his bed, and I wasn't about to lose them since I lost the original pair of those shoes to the first David in the broken engagement.

Turns out I somehow misheard him that day and he didn't mean he never wanted to marry me, he meant he just couldn't do it then, he wasn't ready. I spent the past few weeks trying to decide if the new version mattered. I had a lovely drunken birthday party where the male to female ratio was about 10:1. No joke. It definitely helped the ego.

And I realized that if I would stick with D. I would have to accept being happy without a commitment, and not trying to change him into a guy who was ready to commit. I tried to see if my love for him was that strong. And in the end I decided that maybe it just wasn't. Or maybe, I love myself a little bit too. Because try though I might (and I did try) to rationalize his actions with what he claimed were his feelings -- I just couldn't make them jive in my own heart. No matter what I cannot believe the statement "I love you and I want to marry you -- just not now." One of those elements isn't true. At least not for me. And that, I hope, is that.

I better go get showered....if I am going to be labeled the nerd of the class of 2008 (Oh my -- in college I was the class of 2000), I at least want to be labeled the clean nerd of the class of 2008.

These are the Daves I know

2004-09-22T16:39:00.000+02:00

I guess the thing that keeps me going, instead of holing up in my apartment and listening to dixie chicks and natalie merchant til I slit my wrists, is my friends.

Thank you all, friends I know and friends I don't. To my friend Martyn, who immediately took me out to dinner last night (prompting my mom to ask "What about him? He sounds nice?") and to Chayyei Sarah who will be my date tomorrow. To Dave, who understands that chicks like me hate the pity party. Even if we share our heartbreaks and humiliations in a public forum like this.

And to all the kind readers who reminded me that life goes on and that this is better then being divorced, or even worse, unhappily married.

Thing is, I've had the worse before. About exactly 4 years ago, another man named David did the same thing, only we were already engaged and the invitations were already printed. I owned a wedding dress (which I promptly donated to poorer brides whose fiances hadn't left them), all manner of hats for head covering, was sporting the diamond ring, and had lots of china and challah covers to return.

I can mostly laugh about it now, though this time of year always makes me think, "What was so bad about me?"

When this happened 4 years ago, everyone said, "You're a gem. He's an a**hole. You'll find someone new soon and he'll just be fat and bald."

Except as it turned out, he'd left me for another woman. His camper from Bnei Akiva. They just had their first child, as I heard through the grapevine.

Whereas I still get dumped. And sure, this time its a different David. This time there's no gifts to return. This time, this David dumped me over the phone, whereas the last David dumped me at our engagement party in front of friends and family. But the hurt is the same. I keep thinking that in six months I'll see this David engaged to a simpler, less complicated, easier to love girl. As Sally says in "When Harry Met Sally", "It wasn't that he didn't want to get married. It was that he didn't want to marry me! What's wrong with me? I'm difficult!"

So I know that this could've been worse. But I've had worse and somehow this hurt hurts more. This David spent 2 years with me. He knew me like no other person in the world. And he said, "No thanks". He strung me along for two years, always saying "It's not that I don't want to marry you. I'm just not ready yet!" And yesterday he finally said, "I don't want to marry you."

And the thing is, I knew this. I knew he'd never commit to me. I knew that (again, "When Harry Met Sally") "When you find the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible." If he really loved me as much as he claimed, he would've married me years ago.

I just feel so stupid. I saw this coming a long time ago. Yet I loved him, I believed in us. I worry I will never find a "fit" like David. Maybe I'll find someone who treats me better. But will I find someone I can spill my heart to, and not feel judged? Can I survive another heartbreak? After the last David, I told myself I could not survive another heartbreak. One more, and I was finished. I would only take the chance if I thought it was really worth it, if I really thought I wouldn't get hurt.

I remember when this David and I started dating, and things were super intense and moving fast. I told him, "I think I'm falling in love and that scares me so badly I want to end this now. If I love you, it means you can hurt me, and I can't take more hurt." Dave told me, "I can't even hurt an ant, how do you think I'd ever be able to hurt you?"

Ah, the sweet naivete of new love.

There's this song called "These Are the Daves I Know" by a Canadian group called The Kids in The Hall. I'd like to make my own edition:

These are the Daves I know
I know I know
These are the Daves I know

David E. was once my fiance
But he left me in front of guests
At our very own part-ay

These are the Daves I know
I know I know
These are the Daves I know

David S. just could not commit
Maybe its me, maybe its him
I think its time to quit

And for now, no more Daves.

Sad Toenails

2004-09-21T17:50:00.000+03:00

I had thought today's posting would be different. I already planned, in my head, what I was going to write, what the title would be. I planned who I would call first, whom second. What I would wear. What I would say. How I would react.

Today, D. and I were supposed to announce our engagement.

After more than 2 very rocky years, 26 months of on and off dating, of loving, of fighting, and mostly of D. telling me "Its not that I don't want to marry you, it's just that I'm not ready yet". Today D. told me the truth.

Things have been going swimmingly. He's been very attentive, very commitment-y. A few weeks ago he told me, "I'm ready to get married". So I told him, Great! Let's announce our engagement. He said he wanted to wait til he bought a ring, til he "proposed" properly. Two weeks ago he said "What about March for our wedding?" I reminded him I'd be finishing up finals then. So he said, "So then we'll do it in January, before exams."

We started talking about dates, places, where we would buy an apartment. We planned on having an engagement party during Chol Hamoed Sukkot.

This Saturday night D. asked me if I would have dinner with him Tuesday night. We would meet at this Indian restaurant I love near his army base. Last night he asked me to meet him at his base instead. He took my ID number, so he could get security clearance for me to enter. He was very specific. He wanted me there at 4:30 pm, exactly. Clearly, something was up. I knew he'd be proposing today. No one gets security clearance to enter the base. Last night he told me "You'll have an early birthday present tomorrow."

I was up all night, tossing and turning. Wondering, would D. come through this time? And if he did, was I making the right decision by saying yes?

The past 2 years ran through my head. Of D.'s infinite patience. And of the time when I had a suspicious tumor in my breast, and he refused to come with me to the hospital for a biopsy. Of the wonder in his eyes when Sharona, our dog, gave birth to her puppies. Of the sadness in mine when he told me "I'm just not ready yet."

Eventually I got up. I was conscious of my mother's sagely (experienced) warning, not to be too hopeful, since D. has disappointed me before. I told no one of D.'s plans/my suspicions that he'd be proposing today. Last night a few friends asked me how things were going with D. I simply said "Well".

I wasn't sure what to do today. I wanted to dress up, to prettify myself. I wanted to look gorgeous when D. asked me to spend my life with him. On the other hand, if he didn't ask me, if my suspicions were incorrect, I'd feel foolish. And disappointed. So I didn't want to prepare too much. I didn't want to get my hopes up.

I waited til about 1 pm to glam up. If he hadn't called to cancel by then, I figured I was safe. I did my toenails in bright red. I painted my fingernails a demure ivory. I knew people would be looking at my hand to see the ring. I agonized over my outfit. Do I wear a skirt to feel girly? Or do I wear jeans to be myself?

By about 2 pm, I headed over to my parents house, to drop off the dog. I need to be at the bus station by about 3 in order to be at D.'s base by his 4:30 meeting time. At 2:41 I headed out the door. Just then my cellphone rang.

I didn't have to look, didn't have to answer, I knew it was D. And it was. As soon as he said "Hello", I knew. I knew I had painted my nails in vain. Knew it didn't make a difference what outfit I'd chosen. Knew that instead of going through my pre-arranged list of friends to call to share the good news, I'd be calling friends to cry on their shoulder.

He told me "Today was supposed to be the day. I have a ring in my hand. But I can't go through with it. It doesn't feel right all the time. I can't do it, not now, not ever."

I cried, I told him he had hurt me for the last time. He said "I know. I know this is it, and that's what I'm calling to say."

He sounded sad, but resolute. Just like last night. When he'd sounded thrilled, excited and resolute.

And now I know that everyone was right. My mother, my friends, my coworkers. Everyone knew he'd never marry me. That he was just lying. He told me, "I'm sorry I lied to you. I lied to myself too."

It was just me out there. In love and willing to believe D., even though history had shown me that was a foolish thing.

And I stare down at my bright red toenails, which now match the rims around my eyes, and the look sad to me. They are evidence that I believed and got hurt and that a man, no a boy, broke my heart and I believed him anyway. I think my toenails are crying too.

Pray Hard

2004-09-13T09:36:00.000+03:00

My little baby (puppy) Sharona is very sick. After her mad sex with Jack back in June, she has been plagued by a variety of gynecological problems. She's had a very bad infection for a while, and antibiotics have not killed the infection.

Yesterday she took a turn for the worse, was shaking violently and vomiting, and at 10 pm, my vet met me at his office and said she needs to have her uterus removed immediately (something we didn't want to do) because its too infected.

Sorry for the yucky semi-details, but Sharona is in surgery now. We had to wait until this morning because she had already eaten yesterday and couldn't handle general anesthesia.

Anyway, her surgery should be done at 11:00 am.

I am a very anxious and sad mommy right now. And I am convinced Jack gave her some kind of doggy chlamydia or something. He also impregnated Lady, an 11 month old dog in our old neighborhood.

A few funnies

2004-09-10T14:55:00.000+03:00

UPDATE on the incompetencies of the hospital. To the person who works at a Jerusalem hospital, the one I went to was Hadassah Ein Kerem -- where I'll be starting school next month.

Anyway, after Dr. R. caught that the Frenchie prescribed an antibiotic I was allergic to, he told me to just stay on the doxycycline that the first ER doctor, from Sunday, had started me on.

Yesterday Dr. R. called to tell me that he had the CT scan read by the chief of radiology at Hadassah EK, and that they found an enormous pneumonia, almost the entire left upper lobe, with nodular involvement and effusions. Not good. So he said he'd like me to be on the antibiotics for 3 weeks instead of 10 days. I told him I was going to need another prescription then. He asked me how many pills I had left. I said, "well, they gave me 10 on Monday, and I took one a day, but threw up 2, so I have 4 left." He said "You took one a day??? Why?" I told him that's what the ER doc prescribed and that Dr. L. (the now totally dumped family doctor) had agreed with. He said, "No wonder you weren't getting better. One pill a day is the dose for acne. For pneumonia you should be getting at least double that!!"

So now I am on the right dose of medicine, and feeling a bit better. He said I'll be pretty sick for a while, about a month. Today I took a field trip to a pizza store with my parents and D. and it wiped me out.

So here's the people I almost shot while I was sick:

The nail/cuticle cutter
You know how in New York, on the subway, certain people clip their fingernails, even their toenails, on the train, and think its ok. As if they are all alone, on their morning commute, and have a few annoying "housekeeping" rituals to do. As if no one else is there, wading through their toenails and fingernails? I hate that.

So this woman was in the emergency room, clearly with her son, and she starts clipping her toenails and trimming her cuticles. Nasty. She was carefully building a pile of the clippings on her knee. The clipping was nasty, particularly in a room full of very sick people, but she was clearly planning on throwing it all away, perhaps in the trash can about 4 feet away from her.

Nope. She stood up, brushed the nails and skin on the floor, then continued talking on her phone. I thought this was especially rude, since some fell on my foot. And I'm sick as hell, along with 10 other people in the room. So I tapped her on her shoulder and said, "Lady, this isn't your bathroom". She gave me this nasty look and said "What's it to you?" I said, "I'm sitting here, its disgusting, and you've dropped them on my sandaled feet." She said, "They fell." I told her I saw her do it on purpose, brushed them on the floor, with my own eyes. So she goes, "Who cares? It's not like I'm sick!" I said, "I am, however. And its gross and rude, and insensitive to the other sick people." I pointed out the trash can not 4 feet from her. And she said "Lo ba li" -- meaning, "I don't feel like it."

I thought about an appropriate response. And then, holding my chest X-rays in my hand, I began coughing on her face. Wet coughs. I was sitting about 15 inches from her.

She turned to me, horrified, and said "Cover your mouth when you cough...use your hand. It's right there, and you've got one for a reason."

So I looked at her and said, "Lo ba li"

Don't mess with me when I am sick.

I'm baaa-aaack

2004-09-09T14:32:00.000+03:00

Sorry for the long absence, folks, but I was (am) out of commission.

After a really wonderful coffee with lots of other Israeli bloggers who write in English, I had a relaxing fun weekend with family and friends. D. has been particularly wonderful, attentive, talking about the future in definitive tones. He even allowed me to take him shopping Friday, bought most of what I pointed out and didn't grump about the price.

Cutest was that we bought him a nice pair of khakis (made his ass look cute) but they were too long and needed to be tailored. Friday night he went straight to my dad's synagogue to pray with him, so I didn't see what hewas wearing. He didn't even say he was going to meet my dad -- he just did. See what I mean abot him being better?

Anyway, I met him after synagogue and he was wearing the new pants, and magically they were the right length. I thought that was pretty fast, since the tailor was definitely closed when we were done shopping. I asked him about it and he said he'd pinned them -- with straight pins! He said he thought I would like it if he wore the new pants, since he knows I hate his nasty clothes, so he just "fixed" them temporarily! He's so cute!

Anway, Saturday night I started feeling kinda achy, run down and had the chills. By bedtime my chest was hurting. By Sunday morning, my 3rd to last day of work, my nurse-roomate Mia said "You must go straight to the doctor". To make a very long story short, I ended up in the emergency room with 104 F (39.9 C) fever and a mass on my mediastinum (the bone in the middle of your chest). This was scary. I couldn't breathe well, was sick as hell, and had a mass that they could not identify. They couldn't find pneumonia on the chest X-rays, which would have explained my symptoms, and the next clear idea was lymphoma - the big C.

I hung out in the emergency room for 8 hours drinking fluids through my arm, taking meds, and trying to bring the fever down. They told me my fever was high enough to admit me, but that because I was young and had a nurse at home, I could go to my house and be sick there with an unknown illness instead. So I went home.

Sunday night I tried sleeping at my folks. No sleep was had. Between the inability to breathe, and a now 103 F fever, I was up all night, gasping for air. At around 3:30 am my mom had to help me take a cold shower to bring down the fever. I don't think I have let her see me buck naked since I was about 10.

I spent all Monday at my parents, throwing up, with my sisters bringing me things and both my dog and my parents' dog curled up in bed with me. I went to my family doctor at around noon, who told me what I had was no big deal, to take Tylenol for pain and fever reduction, and to just suck it up because nothing was really wrong with me. I went home Monday night because I was so bored. My parents have no books in the house since their lift is not yet here.

By Tuesday nothing had changed, so I went back to my doctor's office, but asked to see a new doctor from the same practice. I didn't like that my doctor, Dr. L., had, on Sunday, told me I had nothing wrong with me. Because I insisted she let me have a chest x-ray. Which revealed a mass in my chest. Not a good thing. Then on Monday she didn't seem to care that I hadn't slept in 2 nights, was suffering, and was scared about this mass in my chest. She told me to repeat the chest x-ray in 2 weeks and suck it up. Fortunately I didn't listen to her. I made an appointment with a pulmonologist behind her back.

Anyway, the new doctor, Dr. R., took one look at me, my chest X-rays and my fever and said "This is bullshit". He told me I needed a CT scan of my chest immediately, not in 2 weeks. He said we could be dealing with a very serious illness -- lymphoma. And that waiting was the worst thing to do.

So I went back to the emergency room, because here in Israel, the only way to be admitted to the hospital is through the emergency room. The doctors there have to decide to admit you.

I saw a bad French doctress, in the least sensible shoes I have ever seen a doctor wear. Sequined, high-heeled, and easily ruined by sick people. I knew this doctor was French before she even opened her mouth. And when she did, it was clear she was recent graduate of medical ulpan. She knew medical terminology in Hebrew and not much else. Anyway, she hemmed and hawed, blew the vein in my left arm trying to get more blood (after a well-intentioned nurse blew my right arm), and finally thought she should bring in a pulmonologist. I told her I just wanted a CT scan of my chest. The pulmonologist came down. Bless her soul, she had a head on her shoulders and couldn't believe that no one had given me a CT scan yet. She couldn't understand why they let me leave on Sunday night without a diagnosis.

The pulmonologist told me "You're not to leave here without a CT scan. If someone tries to discharge you without one, come find me. I'll see you after your scan and talk to you more". I never saw her again.

I had my CT scan, and then began shivering uncontrollably and turned white. Fever was back with a vengeance. I waited in the ER for another hour, and the French lady told me that she couldn't find a radiologist to read my CT scan, but she looked at it, and she thought I could go home. Again, no diagnosis. I asked to see the pulmonologist but she told me I was discharged so I couldn't see any other doctors anymore. She said she was putting me on a different antibiotic.

I should mentioned here that Ihave violent allergic reactions to certain things. Penicillin, erythromycin and cefovit antibiotics are 3 of them. This information is on my chart, always. I make sure to tell every nurse and doctor. This one asked me (even though it was written on my chart) if I was allergic to erythromycin. I said yes. She then wrote me a prescription for an antibiotic called Azenil.

The discharge nurse gave me the prescription and told me that I had to go back to my health insurance clinic to have the script re-written onto Maccabi (my health insurance) forms, in order to have them cover it. I was really angry at that. It was 5:30 pm, the offices close at 6:00 pm, I was a 30 minute taxi-ride away and sick as hell. And to get my medicine I had to race across town!

I decided to go to my family doctor, the new one, Dr. R., because he could also write the srcipt on Maccabi paper and it would be easier then going to the health insurance clinic. Thank god I did.

He took one look at my script for Azenil and said "Noa, this is erythromycin, you're allergic to this medicine". Previous reactions included anaphylactic shock. Which, with my already screwed up lungs could have been fatal! Then he asked what the CT scan had found. I told him they had no one to read it, and that the French doctor had told me to call back Sunday for the results. This was on Tuesday, mind you. Well, he really hit the fan! He called up the radiology department, and started screaming at them. He couldn't believe the incompetence. I like Dr. R. a lot better than Dr. L. He couldn't believe someone had the nerve to write "Diagnosis: Call back in 5 days to find out. Treatment plan: Wait 5 days, follow up with someone else" on discharge papers.

Anyway, at the end of all this, it turns out I have a very bad and very weird pneumonia.

Weird because:
1) I was not sick at all beforehand and then wham! 104 F fever, inability to breathe
2) Pneumonias normally occur in the lower lobes of the lung. Down at the bottom. And mine is in the left upper lobe. All the way at the top. And he said it is a very massive infection, encompassing most of the lobe.

Very bad because:
Its enormous and he said it will take a long time to recover. Like over a month just to be functioning, longer to be truly well.

Good thing I am on vacation.

In my next post I will describe just how grumpy and irritable I was after 3 days of no sleep, 101-104 F fever and chest pains. I bitched a lot of people out.

I've just rented Season 2 of Sex and the City.

Premature Congratulation

2004-08-31T12:50:00.000+03:00

Thanks to everyone for the good wishes on my "retirement", but it was sadly, premature.

As soon as I posted the last posting, my boss called, to say she had set up a meeting for me for this past Sunday. There went my trip to Greece.

So I had all of 2.5 days of vacation. And am now back at work. However, I will only be here another few days, and then I will be really, really done. I hope. Stay tuned.

Meanwhile, I am cruising along in my nursing school steps. I got above a level vav on the ulpan test. So the "condition" of my acceptance has been waived and I am now unconditionally accepted! And I am IN LOVE with my new backpack!

Now I am trying to find a way to pay my bills while in school. I figure I will need to make about 4,000 nis/month in order to live. I budgeted and stuff, and I realize now that I wasted about double that every month. Pretty sad. Where did it all go?

I posted on some web groups that I am willing to cook, clean, tutor, babysit. All that stuff. Its sad for me to do that kind of stuff and make a puny living, when I am capable of doing bigger "real" stuff, but the time constraints of school are huge, and preclude a "real" job. Removing the 6 hours per week of English classes, from which I am exempt, I still have 39 hours of class a week. The rest of my class (those not exempt from English) have 45 hours. That is just insane. Basically we have 8-6 4 days a week, and 8-4 on Thursdays.

One very sweet woman responded to my posting saying she'd love to hire me, but she feels bad asking me to clean! Hello, I posted I was willing to clean houses. I'm happy to do whatever I can to afford school. I thought she was really sweet, and funny that she felt bad having me clean. Hey, I don't love it either!

I'm hoping to rack up enough tutoring gigs, that I don't have to clean homes. If you (or anyone you know) needs tutoring.....I can tutor in the following subjects:
Math - Up to high school, not including Calculus
Science - Through college level - No physics
English - reading and writing
Hebrew - for new immigrants
SAT preparation - I'm familiar with the new format having just re-taken it myself.
Editing/Writing

Drop me a line if you know anyone who can benefit from my services.

Milestones

2004-08-25T10:41:00.000+03:00

Yesterday started out like an ordinary day. I was running late, as usual. But it made no big difference, as 1) I am due to finish my job Sept 13 and 2) There is absolutely no work to be done in my office. My boss took off a month in June and allowed no new projects to come in during that time,and that coupled with the fact that all of my clients are currently on vacation, means I've spent a lot of time chatting with friends. A bit of a waste on a 3 hour commute (round trip).

So, since I had already missed the bus I figured I would take some time to carefully examine the new knapsacks I've been coveting. I am 4 weeks shy of 25, starting my 3rd degree. I have an LL Bean bookbag that I got for my first day of 9th grade. In high school we called them "nerdpacks" and I think you can see why. Mine is bright purple, and has survived 2 different high schools, two colleges, law school and now nursing school. When I was 13 that knapsack was the coolest! Even cooler if you had your intials monogrammed on it, which at $5 per letter, my mom though wasteful for 5 kids ($75 extra).

I've been thinking that the time has come to splurge on a new one, even though those knapsacks come with a lifetime guarantee -- and I've never needed to invoke that privilege. No zipper has quit on me, no strap has frayed.

But I saw a really beautiful knapsack, with lots of compartments, expandable to fit my huge nursing books, place for a cellphone (which in 1993, when I bought that LLBean nerdpack, no one even had them). And it was from Outdoor, a subsidiary of Kal-Gav, and Israeli company. So I bought it, and I am in heaven! Next up, pencils, pens and notebooks.

* Then, while on my bus on my way to work my boss called. To say there was really no need to come in today. Or for the rest of this month. Apparently she too noticed there was no work ot be done, so she gave me the rest of the month as paid vacation because, as she said "it's silly for you to keep shlepping to Bet Shemesh to play on the computer all day".

The deal is that I will be on vacation til September 1st. Which is the day I told her I wanted to stop working by. If in a week enough work has accrued to keep me busy, then I will return and work 2 more weeks til rosh Hashana, which is what she wanted me to do originally. So YAY! I'm looking up cheapie last-minute deals to Italy, Turkey, Greece and Northern Israel. My mom wants to go up North, but I want to go out of the country. If any of you are interested in joining me for a cheap, 2-3 day excursion to an unknown mediterranean locale, let me know.

* I went to a 5:30 pm movie with my parents, sister and Mia. I haven't gone to a matinee in a long time. Because I am usually working then. My mom wanted to see this film Ushpizin, which in the Jerusalem Post was advertised as Hebrew with English "Titles". So we all went. And the Jerusalem Post did not lie, per se. The movie had "Ushpizin", written in English, and nothing else. (except a one paragraph description of the movie before it started). I watched the entire movie and did not miss a second of it. I understood the movie perfectly. In fact, I ended up translating/explaining to the rest of the group, who missed out a bit.

This was the first time ever that I did that. I felt so......Hebrew! So fluent! So unstoppable. I never realized my hebrew was good enough to do that. I never went to Hebrew only films, because I figured I would miss out too much. But I got everything. Every nuance, every laugh, every pain. I am amazed. And, for reasons unrelated I hope, the movie was great. Not saccharine, not full of Hollywood unrealities. As a plus, Jerusalemites will recognize almost every scene in the movie. I enthusiastically reocmmend this movie to anyone, even anti-charedim like myself.

And those were my milestones of yesterday....I moved on from my old knapsack, my job, and the belief that my Hebrew is still not "good enough".

Because What We Need Are More Jewish Guys With Unreasonable Standards

2004-08-23T12:55:00.000+03:00

This just in from Ha'aretz. JDate uses pornographic models for their ads, advertising these women as real women, waiting for a serious relationship with a Jewish guy.

Because Jewish men all over the world don't already have unreasonable expectations of what they're looking for in a woman.

One of my favorite conversations was with this guy, let's name him Eli. Eli repeatedly would ask me to set him on dates with girls I know. Eli, I should mention here, is about 5'5, fat, bald, and with no particular career. He is very much like George Costanza, only not as funny to laugh at or with. This does not make him a bad person, or one unworthy of dates. However, it does provide you, the reader, with some background info.

Each time I would suggest a date for Eli, he would dismiss the girl as "not pretty enough", "not skinny enough", "doesn't have a job". Exasperated, I finally said to him "Have you ever looked in a mirror?"

I think its important for people to set their standards such that they would date themselves. If your standards are so high that you yourself would not meet them, it may explain why you are single. Just a suggestion (from someone who is still single, though I don't think high standards are my issue).

My sister, for another example, has a somewhat spotty junior college attendance record. No degree (not even an AA), no actual career or job. She has never gone on a third date with anyone. She is pleasantly plump. She consistently rejects guys for being overweight. And when I recently tried to set her up with a guy who is interested in her, a guy who is an engineer, with a college degree, and a good job, she immediately said, "I can't agree to a date like that. I have to check him out. To see what his family is like. To see how frum he is. To see what he does for a living, whether he has a college degree, whether he has a job."

My family, I must add, has so many skeletons, our closet won't even hold them. Which is why I don't try to hide them. My sister is jobless, and living in my parents' guest bedroom. I was doing her a favor by trying to arrange a date with a guy who had met her, and was interested. That hasn't happened for her in....since high school. But no, her standards have been dictated by the ultra-frum, wealthier, prettier, less-skeletony girls she went to seminary with. Its sad, because they are mostly married already, whereas she hasn't had a real date in years. But she is so scared of dating a guy who might be *less* than someone her friends would date, she would rather be dateless and single (which in her charedi world is bordering on sinful).

*Sigh*

Six O'clock News

2004-08-16T14:03:00.000+03:00

So, my parents (and Mia) arrived last week. I've gotten a few emails wondering why I hadn't blogged yet and the answer is that I've been so busy taking care of everyone that I haven't had a free minute.

Here are the updates:

* My parents arrived and began stressing me out almost immediately. They seemed to be unaware of the fact that they had an apartment rented for them, beds, a refrigerator, food and ice in said refrigerator, dog food in the dog food bowl and so on. They were aware of what was missing however....

* The family pets Penny (a 5 year old medium-large dog) and Nikki (a 7 year old white overweight cat) also made aliyah. They seem to be adjusting, Penny far more than Nikki. Penny loves her new fenced in yard, and she seems to be getting along with Sharona, my teeny little dog. Sharona has actually become a total bully towards Penny and Nikki. I think she's like the Israeli kid who comes to visit his American cousins and beats the crap out of all of them.

* I was on TV last Wednesday night, Channel 2. The story was a follow up to the stories they did on me when I was making aliyah, 2 years ago. They filmed me at the airport greeting my parents, then came to my parents house to interview them, since they wanted some quotes from them. But since my folks don't speak Hebrew they couldn't be in the studio, on live TV like I was, since they had to add subtitles in Hebrew to my parents bit.

My phone kept ringing because apparently Channel 2 was running my story and clips as the teasers to the 6 o'clock news, so people kept calling to say they'd seen me on TV.

Then I went to the Channel 2 studios in Neve Ilan, got my makeup done. I looked fabulous, if I may say so myself. Snaps to Keren, the makeup artist, who made me look beautiful and natural. On TV it looked like I had no makeup, just that I was born with flawless skin and perfectly colored eyes, lips and cheeks. If anyone needs a makeup artist for a special occasion, I took her card.

Then I met Oded, the newscaster. I didn't recognize him (I don't watch TV) but he was very friendly. I sat in the studio with him, at the desk, and listened while he did the other news. It was rather funny being able to read the teleprompter and see how it all works.

After about 15 minutes they came to my story. First they ran the clips of me greeting my parents at the airport. Then Oded interviewed me live, in Hebrew, for a while, while I talked about my life, and what it was like meeting my parents at the airport. Then they ran some clips of interviews I had done 2 years earlier, when I explained my motivation for making aliyah, and my hopes for my klitah. Of course, those clips were in English and subtitled.

I was so proud that after only 2 years I could appear on live television in Hebrew. After they ran the old clips, Oded asked me what had changed and happened over the past 2 years. So I said, "Well, firstly, right now I am talking in Hebrew, and back then I could only talk in English!" I was also proud to be able to tell them how I had managed to keep myself very gainfully employed since arrival, and that only a week earlier I had found out I was accepted to the most prestigious nursing school in the country!

Of course, at the very end, I made a Hebrew mistake, which I think added character and authenticity to the show. I was explaining about my parents thoughts and fears, and I said "When I arrived I was also mafchida" (scary). Obviously I meant to say "Hifchaditi" (I was scared). Oded then said "You're not scary! You're anything but scary! Maybe you were scared but definitely not scary."

* I am loving having my dear friend Mia here as my new roomate and as a new olah! She is such a wonderful person, and a nurse to boot, so having her around will be even more wonderful. She is one of the most inspirational people I know, and living with her will only help me a better, kinder person.

I know more stuff is going on...including more D. updates, but this post is already too long!

A Look Backwards and Forwards

2004-08-09T12:49:00.000+03:00

In less than 48 hours I'll be meeting my parents at Ben Gurion Airport and welcome them as new olim (immigrants) to Israel.

This is pretty huge. My folks speak no Hebrew, don't know their way around Jerusalem, and are less "adjustable" than younger people. I always thought I would have a bit more time before I'd have to be a parent to my parents.

I remember when I first told them of my own aliyah plans, 2 1/2 years ago. My parents were not pleased. They thought I was being irresponsible, condemning myself to a life of poverty, joblessness and that I would never learn hebrew.

Slowly they came around, and by the time I flew out expressed their jealousy at my ability to take off and fly.

And now they're doing it too. The flat I've rented for them currently contains nothing but a refrigerator (thanks Martyn) and my pesach dishes. Don't tell them that.

And with them on the plane will be my brave, warm brilliant friend Mia, who will also be my roomate once she lands. I'm really proud of her and am so happy she's joining me here! I was just looking at some online photos of her aliyah parties. Her friends clearly love her to bits...the party was themed kachol v'levan (blue and white -- the colors of Israel's flag) - they even had blue cake with white icing!

And looking forwards, I'm so excited about school. I found out yesterday that my acceptance is conditional on passing a certain level of Hebrew test. I'm a little nervous, though apparently I got above the required level on the test when I took it 2.5 years ago. Before ulpan, before living here, before anything. So I should pass. And things have been working out so well so far!

I was reviewing for the test and I came across an unfamiliar word. "L'hitmazeg" I had no idea what it meant. So I asked my boss. Her face turned a funny color and she looked at me weirdly. And then she asked why I wanted to know. So I told her. She regained her color and told me it was a clinical way of saying "to have sex". Oops.

What Happens to A Dream Deferred?

2004-08-05T13:43:00.000+03:00

You know what? I don't want to know. Because I'm going for mine.

So, here's the scoop. Yesterday morning, I called the OSS lady to see what happened. She said "Good news! You've been accepted." I thought the committee was supposed to be deciding whether they could accept my application, not me. I didn't realize I would know so quickly.

I must have asked the OSS lady 10 times...
Me: "So, I've been accepted to the school"
OSS Lady: "Yes, to the school of nursing"
Me" "The Hadassah Hebrew University School of Nursing?"
OSS Lady: "The very same. We'll send you an official letter tomorrow"
Me: "So I can take this letter and then go register for classes with it?"
OSS Lady: "Yes"
Me: "And I'll be a student...because I've been accepted?"

You get this picture.

Next up, I had to tell my boss I was leaving!

Surprisingly, she was very nice about it. In light of our conversation last week she wasn't shocked that I was moving on. She was shocked that it was to go back to school. Particularly to nursing. Though after a few seconds, she said she was really happy for me because she thought that nursing was really my true calling. She offered me a generous severance package (really nice because I wasn't fired, I quit) and I offered to stay on until she found someone to replace me. She asked me to stay until Rosh Hashana (mid-September) which would give me a month off before classes started. Not too bad.

And...I just got a phonecall from Channel 2 (in Israel) and I'll be on tonight at 6:00 pm!! When I first arrived here 2 years ago, I was on TV a lot. The media seemed to love my young, idealistic Zionism, my get-up-and-go (since I literally got up and went) and probably my shoddy Hebrew. I did lots of live interviews in Hebrew, but its been almost 1.5 years since my last real interview.

During the pre-interview on the phone they seemed pleased that my Hebrew has improved, that I finally got my driver's license and that I had great news to share with them about nursing school and that my parents are making aliyah in less than a week!

So...tape me!!

Nurse Noa

2004-08-04T10:43:00.000+03:00

I GOT IN!!!!!!!

More details later, but I just got off the phone with Hebrew University, and apparently yesterday's committee decided to accept me on the spot!!! So now I get to quit my job, take a much-needed vacation to help my folks adjust to Israel, and then fulfill my dream which has been on hold for a few years!!!!

Yay!!!!!!

Breathe In, Breathe Out

2004-08-02T16:34:00.000+03:00

Here's what's new in Casa de Noa

* I moved! Moving all went off without a major hitch. My very strong little brother did almost all of the heavy lifting and carrying himself. I merely sat there and worried. And the guy I paid to help us, mostly loaded and unloaded the van, while my brother did the major. Litte Bro was a huge help, and really nice about it.

The new roomate is great, she left this morning for America for 2 plus months. And my wonderful dear friend Mia is making aliyah next week and then will be joining me. So for the next week its just me and Sharona (my doggie -- currently recovering from her rabies shot).

* Work is going rather badly. My boss has not made any more mention of "parting ways" since last week's conversation, and in fact has put me on some new projects. However, she's starting to get really rude and unpleasant. And I'm getting more and more bored. I'm hoping to go back to school, and due to a long, complicated screw-up it may or may not happen. Please, everyone in blog-land, pray it happens for me!

Basically the gist of the story is this.

In April I called the university to see about applying. In Israel the application season opens in late January, with the majority of applications happening in the March/April area depending on one's intended field of study. Answers are usually received by June-July. So I called in April and was told that:
a) The university was unsure if they would be having a class for the Nursing School. They said to call back in July, when they would have a better idea.
b) As a new immigrant, I am required to apply through the Office of Overseas Students (OSS), so the Nursing School couldn't talk to me anymore.

I called the OSS and they confirmed what was said. That I needed to call back in July, because they were unsure of having a class. They said not to apply, rather to wait.

So I called the Nursing School back last week and said "Hi. It's now July (late July). Can I apply?" And whomever I spoke to said "Yes, sure...there's plenty of room still. Open spots". Of course, they said since I am an immigrant I have to apply through the OSS.

I called the OSS and said "Hi. It's July. The Nursing School said to apply, can I come in and apply?" And the woman said "Yes, but you should do it soon. Applications will close eventually". This was last Wednesday morning. So I said "Is it urgent, should I come in tomorrow, or can it wait until Sunday?" And She said, "It can wait til Sunday".

So, on Sunday I went in to apply. She looked at SAT scores (the only criteria they care about) and said "Yup, they're high enough to get in." Then she said to fill out the application, but that she needed to check one thing. She came back and said "Bad news...they closed applications as of today."

WHAT!?!?!?!

The Nursing School told me on Wednesday they had lots of room. The OSS told me on Wednesday I could wait til Sunday. And on Sunday they closed. She said the only thing I could do was write a letter to some appeals committee and hope. She said if there is physically no room, I am out of luck. But if there is physically room, the committee may be able to at least let the Nursing School review my application.

Then yesterday (monday) I went to the Nursing School and spoke to an admissions counselor. I told her what happened. She said that the person i spoke to on Wednesday was wrong, and she should not have told me they were still wide open. And she said whoever I spoke to in April should have told me to apply anyway, not to wait til July. That person, mind you, was her. I spoke to her.

She then called her boss, and wrote a letter to the committee saying that they should help me and that if my scores were high enough they should accept me because "a mistake had been made". I loved the passive from of the verb. No one who actually made the mistake would say "Whoops. We screwed up. Sorry. Here, let's help you". They would simply say, "Wow...someone made a mistake. Don't know who. But let me see what I can do to help."

So the committee apparently was meeting this morning and I am now at their mercy waiting for an answer. One would assume that if a letter was written by the admissions head of the Nursing School saying to accept me if my scores are in order that there is in fact at least one spot left for little old me. And having been told my scores were high enough, one can hope they would let me occupy that spot. But we shall wait.

Meanwhile, if anyone out there in blog-land knows someone in admissions at the Hadassah Nursing School please, lend me your vitamin P (Proteksia...as in "It's not what you know, its who you know").

* The folks are arriving in one week. And the flat is mostly empty. Though I got them a very cute doorsign that incorporates their new hebrew names and the family pets. So there's a lovely sign welcoming them to their totally bare home!

* As for D., the love and light of my life. I have decided to try one last method....the "you catch more flies with honey..." approach. I am big enough to admit that over the past few months I have been angry at D. (for not wanting to get married, for not bringing me flowers, for whatever) and I do understand why he wouldn't want to marry someone who yells at him on a weekly basis. In some ways its been working for both of us. I've lengthened my fuse a bit. If he forgets to bring me flowers, or call or whatever, I have not bitten his head off. As a result, he calls more often, does nice things more often, probably because he's not worried about making a misstep.

While this has not yet led to a proposal, I am trying to ignore that for at least a month or so. We're both happier this way, and its far more enjoyable to be with each other. I'm just worried about investing more energy and still getting hurt. however, life and love is always a risk. No comments please on the D. issue. I love you all, and value your comments, but I find that they make my head spin sometimes and I begin to attribute speculations on D.'s feeling to D. himself, and end up getting mad at hime for things he never said or did.

Whew....that was long

Overstuffed Sandwich

2004-07-29T16:12:00.000+03:00

My life is currently out of control. Not really, but very overstressed. I am moving apartments in 3 days time, and have packed only 6 boxes and 2 large bags. That emptied out 1 bookshelf and my winter clothes (sweaters, coats).

The other night my 2-soon-to-be-ex roomates decided to clean out the storage room. This made a bad situation worse, as every inch of floor and table in the house was covered with the contents of the room. And when I woke up in the morning I was barricaded into my room by the amount of stuff that was mine and had previously been in the storage room, or stuff they assumed was mine and had previously been in the storage room. Clearly they could think of no better place to stick it then in front of my bedroom door, while I was sleeping. Why am I moving apartments you ask?

My parents are moving here (from America) in less than 2 weeks. Their apartment is currently totally empty. Not one item in it. I ordered their beds yesterday, and a second-hand fridge I bought them to tide them over til their lift arrives is due next Thursday. I've made a list of everything they'll need for their first day and night here, after which I hope we'll have the energy to go shopping. They will be relying on me completely for the first while, since they don't speak the language, don't know their way around. Also, the ship that currently holds all their material possessions is meandering towards Egypt or Greece instead of Ashdod thanks to the port strike. For the pleasure of waiting several extra weeks to receive their items, my parents get to fork over an extra $800 (not to mention the cost of buying all the temporary items to tide them over til their stuff arrives). Meanwhile, the dockworkers get to sit on their asses, get paid, and fight for bigger pensions! Can you sue the dockworkers for violating the decision of the National Labor Court?

The D. saga is still ongoing....not that this shocked anyone. Fortunately (never thought I'd say this) he is living on his army base for the next 3 months, coming home only on weekends, while he heads up the army's law school course. I'm proud of him for that, but also annoyed because it means he's not around.

My boss and I had a little chat the other day (which she relayed to my secretary the next day) about whether I was suited for the job (I've been here for almost 10 months) and (from my side) whether this job was suited for me. The semi-conclusion was that I would be better elsewhere and she would be better hiring someone else, though we have set no time to do this. I hope she at least lets me ride out the month of August, because I have no energy to go job hunting now. I'd rather work August, take September off and start looking in October. Or maybe go back to school....maybe this is a sign?

So my life is a little overwhelming right now.

Hands Across the Holyland

2004-07-26T10:24:00.000+03:00

Yesterday I had the opportunity to be a link in the chain of Jewish survival in Gaza. Along with about 200,000 other people (130,000 if you believe the left-wing Israeli media, 70,000 if you follow CNN) I held hands across Israel, from Nissanit in the Gaza Strip to the Western Wall, in the Old City of Jerusalem. It was truly a sight to behold.

The whole logistical organization was incredible. Roughly 90-some kilometers of roads were covered, with the goal being to have people holding hands all along the way, no major gaps. And from what I saw, there weren't many. The organizers broke the route down into 7 different sections, and depending on where you were from in Israel, you were assigned a certain section. Being a Jerusalemite myself, I was assigned to Jerusalem; I figured there would be more than enough people there, so my friend Daniel and I headed to a less popular area, or so we thought. We met up at the Shoresh junction, along the Jerusalem-Tel-Aviv Highway.

This is where we were standing. (c) 2004 Israel National News

When we arrived at 5 pm (organizing the chain was to take place ftom 5 pm til about 6:45) there were already several thousand people there. By 6:30 I would guess the number was well over 10,000. We fanned out in both direction, in order to meet up with the groups fanning out from the meeting points to either side of us, some 15 kilometers away.

We ran into our buddies Malkah and Yishai Fleischer of Arutz Sheva carrying an Israeli flag on a pole so large and tall we had what can only be termed "flag envy". People were wearing t-shirts that said "I am a link in the chain"....both physically and metaphorically. Helicopters were flying overhead, cars honked as they passed by, people cheered. It was wonderful.

I was wondering how they were going to get everyone to join hands and simultaneously sing Hatikvah, the national anthem, since the "sadranim" (organizers) seemed to be equipped with nothing more than t-shirts that said "Sadran". At about 6:50 we heard this clanging noise, and realized that somewhere along the highway someone was banging on the guardrail. Because the guardrail is connected most of the way along the highway, we could hear people banging on it, before even realizing why. Everyone caught on and started clanging away. Eventually the noise reached a crescendo, and when it did, we stopped banging, held hands and sang "Hatikvah" -- "The Hope".

Some of the people (in the area we were standing it was mostly folks from the Binyamin region -- aka "settlers") stayed on to sing the song Ani Ma'amin -- "I believe with a complete faith in the coming of the Messiah".

As we drove back to Jerusalem we saw people trekking back to their meeting points (some were 5-7 kilometres away), praying by the side of the highway, singing, still holding hands.

I was very proud to be Israeli and a link in the chain of Jewish survival in the Jewish homeland.

High Fidelity

2004-07-19T13:51:00.000+03:00

So, today's New York Times has this article. About a gene discovered in some voles (rodents -- sounds like a weird mole) that causes the males in one species to be very monogamous, and the males in another one to be, well, males. Scientists are developing this discovery into a gene therapy, that men could undergo which would make it much more unlikely for them to commit adultery or cheat on their significant others.

My favorite line is this one: "But I'd be willing to wager that the majority could lock down the opposite sex within a month or two by agreeing among themselves to make the therapy a precondition for intercourse. "

I think the author is onto something that Aristophanes had down pat in his play Lysistrata. That is, women could rule the world if they used sex to their advantage.

Not too long ago, I heard of a religious community where the women of the town used the age-old denial of sex to help one of their own. There was a woman who was an agunah, that is, a Jewish woman whose husband refused to give her a Jewish divorce, leaving her unable to remarry. Jewish law provides some solutions on how to deal with the problem, including beating the brains out of the husband. Rarely are these solutions used.

Anyway, one of the first things done is to excommunicate the husband. Not to socialize with him, allow him into synagogue, and so on. Sadly, this too often gets ignored, and people don't like to make a fuss so they allow this husband to go about his daily business.

The women in this unnamed community were furious. Their own husbands were not enforcing the excommunication, and they weren't doing anything to help. In their minds, this was a womans' problem. So the women made it a guy's problem too. They created a sex ban. None of the wives would sleep with her husband, until the agunah was freed. And like the Trojan War in Lysistrata, the agunah was freed. The husbands, denied of sex, took their energies and beat the husband so soundly he relented and gave his wife the divorce.

Now, I'm not advocating a sex ban. Nor can I verify the above story (though I've heard it about 2 different communities). I do advocate doing what is necessary to help agunot and mesuravot get. I'm just looking at the power of people who ban together for a common cause, where no one gives in until the cause is met! Power to the people!

And if anyone can verify the above story I'd love to hear it.

Knock, Knock - Its The Property Reassesor

2004-07-12T14:29:00.000+03:00

Last night I arrived at home to find an extremely happy little dog jumping up and down and a note tucked into my door. The note was disturbing even before I read it, as it was in my door -- as in the door had been opened and the note was halfway in my apartment and halfway out of it.

It was from the municipality of Bnei Brak, a town I don't live in nor have ever been to. And from what I could gather someone owed somebody else money. The letter was addressed to the son of my LOL (little old lady) landlord. He apparently owes a parking fine from several years and since traditional attempts to collect the fine have failed, the city sent a reassesor 'round to say that if the bill was not paid in 7 days, they would enter the house and reasses the contents of the house up to the value of what is owed.

Very nice. So the deadbeat son has been using our address (which he could not have lived at for at least 8 years) and if he doesn't pay the money he owes by Sunday, we're gonna find some things missing. One has to assume that the municipality took some steps before sending a propoert reassesor all the way to Jerusalem. And clearly the deadbeat son didn't seem to acknowledge those, or pay his bill.

My roomate thought we should call the son and tell him to pay. Right. Because the threat that someone else's stuff will be repossesed is going to make him pay up, while the other tactics I assume they've used haven't yet worked.

We called the municipality to explain them the scenario. They said we'd need to fax them our contract, plus a letter stating our story, and we can cross our fingers and hope they believe us.

So if you see my stuff for sale somewhere....

For Some The Years Go By So Fast

2004-07-11T21:45:00.001+03:00

And for others, they go by super slow. Case in point:

Today my mother told me that my adorable, favorite (and only) niece Adina said her first *bad* word. [I put bad in ironic highlights because as my eigth grade English teacher Dr. Smerd once said, "There's no such thing as a bad word. Its only the meaning society attributes to it."] Apparently (being the only grandchild on both sides, she's quite spoiled) when she doesn't want to do something she's asked to do she says "NO WAY!". Today my mom asked her if she wanted to go on the potty. Her answer? "NO WAY IN HELL!!" Now where did she learn that from? Mind you, she's not even 3 yet.

D., my erstwhile boyfriend, told me with great pride just now that I was wrong. If he washes his underwear in the sink, and hangs them on a fan to dry overnight, they WILL be dry in the morning. Then he proceeded to mention something about "his office", which made me giggle. D., is a lawyer, has a fairly decent post in the military as an officer, and yet still manages to get to the point where he has absolutely no underwear left such that he must wash them in the sink and air dry them on a fan.

Yes, some people never do grow up. I'm ashamed to mention D.'s age here. Suffice it to say he was born in the 70's.

Two Short Years Ago...

2004-07-09T18:58:00.001+03:00

Today is the two-year anniversary of my aliyah (immigration to Israel). I remember thinking so many crazy thoughts during those first heady few days. So many worries, so many fears, so many shocks to my system (which I had previously thought was unflappable).

How would I ever learn the language?
How would I ever learn my way around?
Would I find a job?
Would I find friends -- real, true honest friends?

I remember being so overwhelmed with emotion. When I arrived, it was the height of the current intifada. Suicide bombings were occuring on a daily basis. More or less literally, by the way. That scared me far less than my concerns about adjusting.

And two years later....

I am mostly fluent in Hebrew. When I come across a word I don't know, I usually know another way to say what I mean. I have gone on job interviews in Hebrew. I meet with clients in Hebrew. I have gone on dates in Hebrew only. The first one, however, I remember thinking "Hey--not too bad. You understood about 75% of that!" Which was great until I started thinking, "So what happened during the other 25%?" Did I agree to marry the guy, tell him I hate him? Who knows?

I can argue, for hours, in Hebrew. I no longer even know where my "good" dictionary is. Time was, when I had an important conversation I either dragged a "translator" along, or made sure to look up all the words I thought I would need beforehand...now I just jump right in.

I have always been one of those highly approachable people. In a group of 50, I will be the one the tourist approaches to ask directions. And these days, I totally know them. I can give driving directions, bus directions, walking directions almost all over Jerusalem.

The 2 jobs I have held since moving here (one for 11 months, one going on 8) I found within hours of starting my job search. I am actually in better financial shape here than I was in America. I make the same salary more or less (which either means I was severely underpaid in America, or overpaid here) but my expenses (rent, etc.) are much less.

And friends....I have met so many wonderful people and found real true friends. That I can share my heart with, my feelings with, my worries with.

And yet, despite my adjustment to this beautiful and special place, I have made a conscious decision not to become inured to the magic that is Israel, and particularly Jerusalem. Everyone has an "only in Israel" story, and I am no exception. but I make sure to pay attention, and remember that life wasn't always this good.

I was going through some old emails, and here's one I sent about a week after I arrived. I think it sort of captures the head-over-heels in love feelings I had at the time. And though the love has matured and hardened with difficulties and time, I'm still loving living here.

"Almost a full week has passed since I last wrote, and
the marvels of living here have been coming so fast
and so furious, that I have barely had time to sit
down and write about them.

I went through all of the paperwork and lines that
other Olim have complained about, in about a day and a
half. In fact, in most places, all I had to say was
that I was one of the 400 Olim who came from America,
and the clerk would hug me, thank me and bless me, and
then whip through the paperwork. I'm not sure how
much this will last before I too will get to deal with
the realities, but for now this is wonderful.

One particularly amazing thing has happened so far,
truly illustrating that I am, in fact, in the Jewish
homeland. Most Israelis will probably think this was
de rigeur and not focus on it. While I was signing up
for a new cellphone, the man behind the counter asked
me "At Shomeret Shabbat?" (do you observe the
Sabbath?) When I responded that I was shomeret
shabbat, he told me that the cellphone company has a
"Shabbat Plan". I get 60 free minutes a month for not
using my phone on Shabbat. The real kicker is, that
if I use it to dial anything besides
police/fire/ambulance during the Shabbat, I get
charged a hefty fine!!!
G-d must be the CEO of the cellphone company!

While I was signing up for health insurance this week,
I again encountered what I hope is the face of Israel
forever. When the clerk who was helping myself and my
friend found out we were on the flight of 400
Americans, she thanked us so profusely, with tears in
her eyes. Over and over again she thanked us, and
blessed us. And the funny thing, she moved here not
so long ago from Russia, but she was still thanking us
for doing the same thing!!!

A similar story happened in the grocery store on
Friday, Erev Shabbat. I was shopping with a friend,
marveling at all the American "conveniences" that were
completely available in Israel (some items were
cheaper here than they are in America). In fact, I
realized that half of the items I imported in my lift,
thinking I was being such a jappy American, were right
there on the aisles.
My friend and I were speaking in English, and this
elderly woman came up to me and asked me when I
arrived here. Before I could answer she decided to
share with me a special recipe for tuna casserole from
her native country of Uruguay. I'd share it with you
but she made me promise to keep it a secret (one she
happily offered to me, just because I was a new olah).
After writing down the recipe, she again asked when I
arrived. When I said Tuesday, she asked me if I was
on the now famous flight of 400 Olim. I told her I
was and she too had tears in her eyes, as she blesed
me and thanked me for coming. She gave me her phone
number and address, so that I could come for shabbat
and introduced me to her daughter. Realize that this
woman came from Uruguay, which means she's an
immigrant as well. I can't wait until the day when I
can welcome people here as well!

Shabbat was beautiful. While singing the Shir
Hamaalot (a psalm that is recited before the Grace on
Shabbat), I was struck dumb by the meaning and how
fully I had just lived through the Psalm.

"When G-d returns us to Zion it will be like we were
dreamers". I can still picture myself floating off
the plane in Ben-Gurion. In fact, I still am in a
trance most of the time. The pictures and videotapes
will help me snap out, maybe.
"Then our mouths will be filled with laughter, and a
song will be on our tongues". I've described the
airport scene before, and as you can see from video
footage, we were all singling, laughing, and crying,
something the Psalmist refers to later on.
"Then the nations of the world will say how great is
the G-d that has done this to Our People, and we will
be happy" There were media personnel from so many
countries. The story of our mass aliyah made the news
everywhere. The nations of the world had to sit up
and take notice.
"G-d will return us like springs of the Negev" At the
moment tourism in Israel has somewhat dried up, and
dried up the economy along the way. But here we were,
400 of us, streaming into the country, like water in
the Negev.
"Those who sow in tears shall reap in happiness". We
all cried as we arrived, tears of happiness. Our
existence in Israel, I pray, will be joyous, and
though we acknowledge that life here can and may be
difficult, the benefits of living here will be reaped
plentifully and joyously.

File Under "S" for Sucks...

2004-07-07T10:46:00.000+03:00

[Update: After I wrote out this whole posting yesterday, Blogger did me the favor of deleting it. So I am now re-writing how much my day sucked. Yet another sucky thing]

1. On my way into work, which consists of 2 buses, the second one being over an hour long ride, I began to feel violently ill. And then I was violently ill, fortunately after I got off the bus. I walked into my office, was ill some more and realized I had to go home, and the bus was not going to be the preferred method. So I took a taxi home, at a cost of 120 shekels. So, to summarize -- I spent 3 hours, 120 NIS and it still got counted as a sick day. For this I got out of bed?

2. My little doggy Sharona (I will post pictures soon) has been acting weird lately. She's been hanging out and sleeping under the bed instead of in it, not eating much, and generally moping. I thought this Jerusalem heat was getting to her, as I too sometimes just want to crawl under the bed, but no, it turns out....she's pregnant. I am not.

Conveniently Sharona is due the week I am supposed to move apartments. Yay! I even know who the father is. A few weeks ago, while Sharona was in heat, this little dog I named Jack followed us everywhere. He was kinda cute the way he whined and cried when we wouldn't let him "fishizzle" Sharona. I tried explaining to him that crying and begging was so not manly. He would really follow us too. We'd be in a restaurant in downtown (25 minute walk) and come out, and there'd be Jack panting and smiling in anticipation. Visit friends? There'd be Jack. He was everywhere. It got to be that we could not go to parks or for walks really.

Well, 3.5 weeks ago, one day, he followed us home from the vet. Taking care to bolt the gate shut, Sharona and I retreated to the safety of my apartment. I was on the phone in my room, and I came out and caught Sharona and Jack in flagrante delicto in the middle of the kitchen.

In the middle of my kitchen!!!! Onemight wonder, who let him in? the answer is....Jack. He must have jumped the fence (I saw him do it on the way out) and opened the door by himself. I saw another dog do that a few days later. They all wanted a piece of Sharona...little slut.

I did what any normal person would do...I got out the digital camera and started snapping away. 20 minutes later, while the young lovers were smoking cigarettes on the porch, I scooped up Sharona and ran down the street to the vet, to inquire about doggy morning-after pills.

Turns out, there is some sort of shot available, but it didn't seem pleasant, and for various biological reasons we thought she wasn't pregnant. So we skipped the shot and now it turns out she's PG and there is NO WAY we can have those puppies. So, pro-choicer that I am, we have scheduled a dog abortion (and spaying) for next Thursday. I never really wanted to spay her (at least not at this age -- 3.5) and now I have no choice.

I'm thinking I am going to take the digital camera, and go to Jack's owners. And somehow, I am going to get them to pay for at least 1/2 of the abortion. I mean, they let their not-neutered male dog walk around freely. And he broke into my house!! Its not like its my fault for letting my dog run around outside while in heat. And I have the pictures to prove it. I am such a pervert.

3. Meanwhile the D. problems continue. Someone, please just take away my cellphone and email and let the dead horse die!!!

Also, I poured myself a bowl of cereal, and the freshly opened, not-past-the-expiration-date milk was obviously sour. EEEEWWWWW. I hate sour milk. Not like anyone likes it...but I hate it more than most.

The Sun'll Come Out Tomorrow

2004-07-02T10:55:00.000+03:00

Last night I went to the wedding of a friend, JJ. I was seriously debating not going, because I knew D. would be there (I'd met JJ through D., though I'm probably in better touch with JJ than D. is). In fcat, when the invites had gone out and the RSVP cards sent, D. and were still a couple and had been invited and RSVPed as such. And I knew that I would have to be the one to explain to anyone who asked that D. and i were no longer together, and why. And honestly, its pretty painful to attend a wedding with someone who repeatedly tells you they don't want to marry you. Particularly when the couple getting married have dated 1/4 of the time D. and I have.

But I decided I would fox myself up, look glam and gorgeous, and go have fun. And i mostly did. Sure, about 4 or 5 times during the wedding, I had to excuse myself to go cry in a bathroom stall - once during the chuppah, 2 times during dancing, once when JJ sang Eishet Chayil [Woman of Valour - a "love song" taken from Proverbs, Chapter 31] and once when both JJ's parents and his new wife Bayla's parents were honored with the mezinka dance. The dance actually always makes me cry. I think there is something so beautiful about old love -- two people who loved each other, built a home, raised a family and did such a good job of it that they get to see the last kid married off, and starting the cycle all over again.

When the bride walked down the aisle towards her groom, JJ's face lit up in a way I thought was reserved for lightbulbs. Everyone remarked how happy he looked. He's generally a bright and sunny guy, but this was 1000 wattage happiness. And I realized, I want that. I want my husband to smile like that when I agree to be his wife. Not like D. who repeatedly tells me "Its not that I don't love you....it's just I don't think we're ready to get married" Actually, it is because you don't love me. If you loved me you'd want to show me that, and you'd want to be with me, instead of making up excuses.

I deserve someone who will be that happy, and who will be madly in love with me. Instead of selfishly one-sidedly in almost-but-not-quite love with me.

My thanks this morning to getupgrrl from Chez Miscarriage who provided me with the most honest and truest advice I've received. Someday I know she'll make a great mom. Considering I cried myself to sleep last night, waking up to her wisdom was really needed. Also to the folks at Cafe Hillel for finally getting my breakfast order right and giving me the good tomato jam instead of the nasty fig jam. And two jams instead of one, to go with my brioche challah. Yes, sometimes the sun does come out "tomorrow".

More from the "People-For-Whom-The-Eight-Amendment-Is-Null-And-Void" Category

2004-07-01T14:22:00.000+03:00

Again--these folks make me sick.

What happened to these people as children that they can treat God's creatures this way? Seriously.

Midnight...Not A Sounds From The Pavement

2004-06-30T10:12:00.001+03:00

Several cats, and their assorted families, call my garden home. This may well be due to the fact that one of my neighbors feeds them daily, dry and canned food, and water. I am somewhat annoyed as they then use the garden as their toilet as well as we have so many flies drawn to their excrement it is difficult to enter the building in the summer. Plus roasting cat poo doesn't smell the best.

My dog, Sharona, however loves the cats. She loves chasing them (conveniently forgetting that as a puppy she got scratched in the eye during a similar game and now has vision problems) and she loves stealing their food. As if she doesn't eat enough at home.

Well, last night I was coming off of Mishmar Ezrachi duty (civil patrol) [more on this later] and I see that one of our garden cats is lying in the street. Obviously he was hit by a car, as he was bleeding, but he was still breathing and moving and in pain. I phoned in to my commander to request permission to fire my gun and put the poor thing out of his misery. Mind you, this would have been dangerous, as the cat was laying on asphalt, and the bullet would have ricocheted unless i aimed at him from the side, so the trajectory would have been parallel to the asphalt. Even then there was lots of traffic. And I've never shot my gun before, except at the range.

My commander said he could not give me permission to discharge the weapon, but instead said to call the municipality who would send a veterinarian over. So we called at around 10 pm. By 10:25 they're not there. Then I remembered that there is a vet who lives on my street, named Doni, though I don't know his number or last name. He once helped me when Sharona was stung by a bee and was in a lot of pain. He was really sweet and after telling me which medicine to give her, even offered to come over and check up on her.

My roomate decided to look up "veterinarian" in the yellow pages and started looking for a doctor named Doni. Lo and behold there was a Doni listed and his cellphone number was there. The number looked familiar, so we called it and it was the right guy. He said he'd be over in like 20 minutes. Meanwhile the cat is still alive and trying to move, and the municipality is nowhere to be found. At some point the chevra kadisha (burial society) van pulled up, and for a minute, I actually thought that the municipality sent the chevra kadisha van for the cat. But no, one of my old neighbors had died.

15 minutes later Dr. Doni shows up, and mercifully puts the cat down. A quick shot to the heart, and he's up in kitty-cat heaven. It was very sad, and all the other cats seemed sad, but that is probably just me projecting. And I'm not even a cat person.

Anyway, the purpose of this whole story is to say thanks to Dr. Doni for coming and helping us out. I guess people who become veterinarians are obviously really good people. Not that this is news, but it was a really nice thing to do. And we're still waiting for the municipality to show up...14 hours later.

I just saw this story . What kind of sick f***s are these kids? Who would raise children to do something like this? I hope someone catches these kids and the violates the 8th Amendment and punishes them well. Like sticking fireworks up their asses and letting them run around.

Caught With their Pants Down

2004-06-29T11:03:00.000+03:00

A while ago, a young whippersnapper realized that all this post-September 11th airport security was not really doing its job.

While airport security was busy taking away my eyebrow tweezers (so that if I did take hostages, at least I'd go down in history with well-groomed eyebrows), Nathaniel Heatwole was busy planting boxcutters and modeling clay in the shape of explosives devices on an airplane flying out of Baltimore-Washington International airport. Mind you, he'd taped over the sharp edges of the boxcutters to prevent anyone who found them from accidentally hurting themselves.

After a few days, when no one found the dangerous items (a bit more dangerous than eyebrow pluckers, i'd say) he called it in to the airline. And he had to show them where he hid the items. The items that had made it through our very tough airline security. The items that had hung out on several planes that had been "thoroughly searched on a routine basis".

Instead of airline security saying "Thanks for exposing the gaping flaws in our system, so that we may better protect the American people", they screamed, "Felon!!!" and charged him with a crime that carries a maximum penalty of 10 years in federal prison.

They did what most guys do when caught with their pants around their ankles. They blame the next guy -- always keep the buck moving. Nathaniel Heatwole did a great service. I'm thinking the judge agreed with me here, since Nathaniel ended up convicted of a misdemeanor and fined $500 plus 100 hours community service. A mere slap on the wrist, but I think Natey deserves a high-five.

I hope someone donates the $500 to Nate. Maybe we should take up a collection.

I am just totally outraged. Its like when I was in school and this girl snuck into the dorms after hours, only to discover a gas tank was leaking poisonous fumes. Instead of punishing her for sneaking in, the dean quickly evacuated everyone at 4 in the morning. I'm not sure if she got a slap on the wrist or not, or even reprimanded. She certainly wasn't really punished at all. The big difference here is, it wasn't the dean's negligence that caused the gas leak. I am sure that if it was his fault, he would have given the girl all the riches in the world.

Anyway, hats off to you, Nathaniel Heatwole. You're a hero in my book.

So I Broke Up With My Boyfriend

2004-06-28T15:38:00.000+03:00

Again. For the umpteenth/third time. Umpteenth if you count all the times i told him "This is over" and 8 hours later we were crying in each other's arms. Third if you count serious, long, "real" breakups where I (though not him) dated other people and tried (quite unsuccessfully) to move on.

Its been almost 2 years now since I sat down next to a stranger at a lunch at an almost-stranger's house and 3 days later that stranger called me. I'd been in Israel for 3 weeks, and had been introduced to so many new faces I couldn't keep track. So when this stranger called me and said "Hi, this is D., I met you at Shabbat lunch" I had to comb my memory to figure out which D. it was. He asked me out for dinner, and from then on we were an item. Typical D., his credit card got rejected when he tried to pay for dinner, and though that would normally turn me off (come on people, be prepared!) somehow it didn't matter. [it turned out that there was a problem with the magnetic strip -- not that he was destitute and unprepared/expected a free meal]

Three weeks later he told me he loved me. Though I didn't tell him, I could picture us watching the grandkids playing in the yard. He went off to Egypt for a month, and though I was scared, I went to visit him. At some point I told him about the grandkids...and that was the end of the idyllic phase. Since that point we have broken up now 3 times over why he doesn't want to get married. In 2 years I have heard every reason under the sun...work's too stressful, work's not going anywhere, i'm not ready (honest), we're not ready, you're not ready, wait 'til you meet my parents, wait 'til my parents leave.

D. obviously just doesn't want to get married...either not now or not to me. Or maybe not at all. He swears otherwise, and often tells me "I'll do it...soon". Problem is, soon hasn't happened yet. And while I am don't hear my biological clock ticking yet, I don't want to be in a relationship that could not culminate in marriage. I wouldn't date someone I could never settle down with -- like a non-co-religionist or someone who hates dogs (I have a lovable, fluffy best friend). So I feel like D. is never going to want to get married and will always have another reason/excuse why he can't.

On the other hand, I love him. I think we're past the heart-thumping, sweaty palms kind of love of my "youth", but we have a more mature kind of love. And though I tell him frequently otherwise, I know he loves me. Neither of us is perfect (heck, who is?) and we both have our faults, but we love each other. He's patient, kind to others, deeply intelligent, mostly openminded.

I wish I could say "we love each other, i'm in no rush, i'll just wait". But this standing-still-in-one-place has taken a massive toll on our relationship. I firmly believe a relationship has to always be moving to be successful. And we're up against a brick wall. Its been 2 years and we've got nowhere to go anymore. And instead of moving forwards, we're going backwards. I'm pissed and I pick fights for no good reasons. Or maybe there's a reason, but it doesn't warrant the fight we have. Its getting to the point where I can't remember why I wanted to marry him after all. And he's thinking "If she's gonna get on my case because I didn't call when she thought I said I would, can you imagine what the next 60 or 70 years would be like with her?"

So, folks who have far more experience than this little Jerusalemite, any suggestions? I've already heard from the "take no prisoners, you deserve better, i'm cynical and just want a ring on my finger" crowd, so now I'd like to hear from the romantics in the crowd.

2004-04-25T11:14:00.000+03:00

So it's been a while since I've written, but then a friend told me that blogspot is giving away free Gmail accounts, so I figured I'd better post something and get one for myself.

When Bad Things Happen to Bad People

2004-03-21T14:44:00.000+02:00

Now, you all might think I am a wicked person, and I know this is way wrong, but last night I found myself rejoicing at someone else's misfortune.

I was attending the Bar Mitzvah of the son of two very lovely, salt of the earth people, with whom I used to work. We all worked for a dot.com (I would post a link, but I don't want anyone to go to that site and accidentally boost their page hits), which more or less tanked. But it took all of us down along the way.

The CEO would always pay us late (there's a shock for a dot.com) and by around August of last year, salaries stopped coming at all. If one's monthly salary was, hypothetically, 9,000 NIS, they'd throw you 1500 NIS to keep you quiet and working, and a few weeks later you'd get another couple thousand shekels. By October they weren't even doing that and by November I quit. One might ask, why didn't I quit when the salary stopped coming regularly (as in all of it, on the first of the month)? Well, they basically let you know that if you'd left, you'd never see what was owed to you.

And they made it seem like this was a temporary money crunch. Right.

Eventually I quit, and about a week later we were evicted from our office space, for not paying rent. That day, I, along with 4 other employees, went into the office space and basically looted, taking all the equipment we could carry. I don't mind sharing this, as we later had to tell the court what we pilfered and I proudly told them: 2 Flatscreen monitors (one 19" and one 17"), a computer, a scanner, a digital camera, and lots of bits and bobs.

Meanwhile, we found out the CEO, who had at many points cried big fat crocodile tears about how proud he was to support Israelis and the Israeli economy, had never once paid his taxes. That's right - no income tax, no healthcare tax, no bituach leumi. Despite having taken them from our salaries each month, he had never turned them over to the country. Support the Israeli economy my ass -- he was a drain on it.

We eventually had to file a forced liquidation (we made them declare bankruptcy at OUR expense). Meanwhile we had people in the company who were in such poor financial situations from this whole mess, that they literally could not afford to feed their children. Collections were taken up to feed those that were really off, with donations made by those that could ill afford it.

And all the while, our CEO had been taking all the company's assets out of the country, and had been signing a large deal with Ma'ariv to create the english online version. So please don't visit Maariv International -- you will be supporting people who thieve from the tiny State of Israel.

So there I am, at the Bar Mitzvah of these two people, who got hit particularly hard as they both worked for the company, hence had no money coming in. The husband was forced to take a job in Canada to support his wife and 5 kids, and in fact was leaving from the Bar Mitzvah to get back on a plane to his job. The whole business still makes me angry.

Then, a former co-worker came over and told me that the lying, stealing prick, I mean former CEO, had fallen on the ice back in New York, broken his leg in 6 places (that's right, 6!), the bone was sticking out of the leg, and there was even a possibility of amputation. And my first thought was....

"Yay!"

It might be petty -- and I know I am supposed to turn the other cheek and all that. My former coworker called it "cosmic karma" -- you know, what goes around comes around. I like to think of it as an act of God. All too often in this world we see bad things happen to good people -- I think its about time we see bad things happen to bad people.

I am thinking about sending the CEO a get-well card.
"Dear Elliot. We are so sorry to hear about your pain. We are even sorrier to hear that they are giving you morphine for it. You don't deserve that -- you should have to tough it out without medicine. Hope you get to keep your leg...."

My boyfriend thinks I am an absolutely awful person for rejoicing in my enemy's downfall (literally). I'm not saying it is right --- but it only reinforces my belief in God.

2004-03-17T18:06:00.000+02:00

I thought it was about time I stopped mass emailing my friends, or speaking to too many strangers on the street and set up my own blog.

I've been living here in Jerusalem for almost 2 years (where does the time go by?) and have only switched careers twice so far. Plus, I don't think I've lived in the same city for this long since i was in 7th grade. Pittsburgh, Cincinnati, Pittsburgh, jerusalem, New York, Boston, New York, Philadelphia and now Jerusalem.