Ima 2 Eight

I will need to write about my preparation for Rosh Hashana – after the holiday. I can tell you that the days leading up to the holiday are as different here in Israel from the US as the holiday is itself.

It is a time for me to be thinking constantly of my old friends, and to be grateful for the new ones we are making.

It is a time for me to throw off the yoke of mundane logistics and setup, and focus on the big picture; the things that truly matter.

May we all be celebrating this time next year in Jerusalem Habenuya…. and may I have a couch by then.

I hope you can forgive me if I have blogged anything at all to hurt of offend, or if I have upset you by simply neglecting my blogging duties altogether.

I hope this is a year of growth and love, mazal and mastery, overcoming and overflowing, health and happiness for you and your family. .

Shana Tova.

The only feeling stranger than being a new immigrant here, is being a “new” immigrant  the second time around.

The Israeli term for a citizen that has returned from living abroad is a toshav hozer. Because my husband and I both made aliyah, we are toshavim chozrim, or returning citizens now. However the term usually suggests those born and raised in Israel who choose to live elsewhere for some extended amount of time.

We were olim, we are olim, and in many ways I still feel like an immigrant. Other times this does not feel like aliyah at all, it feels like returning home. How strange to be chetzi chetzi – half and half, right in the middle.

Interestingly, our apartment here in our blissful corner of the Judean Hills is also chetzi chetzi; halfway between the top and the bottom of our apartment complex, and just about halfway between the top and bottom of the whole yishuv.

Yesterday I conquered many minor tasks on my aliyah to do list. I was able to (finally) secure kupat cholim, national health coverage, for my family. This has been my number one priority and has taken many office visits in Jerusalem, lots of paperwork, lots of money and many forms and conversations  — all in Hebrew. I also was able to get a doctor’s exam taken care of as a prerequisite for renewing my Israeli license. Once at the licensing office, I pushed my way past two agressive Israeli Arabs in order to maintain my rightful place in line, and was able to negotiate renewing my my license without having to be retested!  I made my way home from Jerusalem without a car and successful navigated a “tremp” along with the rest of the natives.

So while feeling quite triumphant and Israeli, I returned home to children who were distraught and dumbfounded by being left out and treated aggressively in school. I went to help my son with his homework, encountering expressions I have never heard, and then read my daughter’s note from school that explains that her class will be going on a field trip next week – from 7:30 pm to 2:30 in the morning! What???? After getting over the culture shock of this, I realized that we don’t even have a flashlight, or any of the other equipment listed on the school note.

Most of my children were out of the house at a special program just for new olim that is sponsored completely by the municipality here. They are getting help as new immigrants to adjust and feel welcome and supported. (Hence my ability to blog!) At the same time, my youngest is riding a bike outside with a friend who only speaks Hebrew. They have gotten to know each other well enough in Gan (preschool) that he begged to come over.

We went out to Back To School Night at my 2nd grader’s school in the evening. I understood every word the teachers said, but couldn’t tell what the subject were on the weekly class schedule. I took offense at something a teacher said, but after discussing it with her, I realized that I likely simply misunderstood her meaning because of my immigrant Hebrew. While other parents scribbled in the forms they were asked to fill out, I brought ours home. I won’t need a translator, but I will have to sit with them and figure out what they are asking me.

And of course the parents knew each other, caught up on their summer and talked about their kids with the ease of returning families. We, on the other hand, made an emergency meeting with the teacher who is concerned with my daughter’s angst and struggles with adjusting.

So which are we? I didn’t expect to feel any more Israeli than I do, nor did I expect to feel any less of a new immigrant than I do. Yet despite my trying to maintain realistic expectations, it feels so very, very odd and disconcerting to be neither one or the other. This gives me a new appreciation for people who write of being from two races, or two religions. Does one fit in both worlds, or neither? At times it feels like the former, at times, the latter.

In the end, of course, it doesn’t matter. Not only will my self-definition continually change, but others will always perceive me and my identity as olah/toshav hozer/American/Israeli through their own lenses.

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But this does make me mindful of the transition that is the teshuvah of Elul. Our month is not supposed to merely be one of “being on our best behavior”, but rather it is supposed to be a month of house-cleaning our hearts, minds and souls in a transformative manner. We ask to be forgiven our transgressions because we have striven to be different people than the ones who committed the sins in the first place. We return to the land of our soul, returning home, but different.

And this is the story of this strange phase we are in, in this Land – we have returned home….. but different.

I have a guest post today. My father‘s writing is probably the most articulate I have ever read. His ability to express himself in letters in a more poignant and touching way than he can in person is something I relate to personally every day.

He wrote a message to my children after they came home defeated by their second day of school in Israel.  It sums up so much, so beautifully, that I need to share:

“Your message to your mother was less encouraging about your children’s adjustment to a new school. Understanding a language and being able to learn in it and to write it are different things and your kids, who are used to being the very best at school, must find their new school lives quite frustrating. Tell them that they will overcome this challenge because they can and because it is their destiny. Their great great grandparents needed to do the same thing when they emigrated from Russia to the U.S. over 100 years ago- it is in our history and our DNA as Jews to overcome these challenges and while it is difficult and sometimes quite scary, they are the next generation of Jews bringing their skills and intelligence to a new place to improve the world- actions truly of kiddush hashem. Also, their grandparents love them and their parents very much.” 

Helping children understand the macro picture of their place in Jewish history while reminding them of the micro reality that they have people who love them and are cheering them on is a delicate balance and a very special role for a grandparent. We are all so fortunate that they “get it.”

Perhaps most importantly the kids were able to read these words before school – and absorb them.

Let’s hope today is a better day. It probably won’t be, as the next month or months of days will remain hard.

But what a gift they took with them this morning.

Ask most moms, and my guess is that they will agree that labor is not the hard part of having a baby.

Okay, labor is really hard. It isn’t the hardest part. That is day 3, or 4, or 5.

When you have a baby you have all sorts of drugs (natural as well as perhaps otherwise) in your system from the pain and adrenaline. You are thrilled to be done, G-d willing successful, and no longer pregnant. You have this beautiful baby!

A few days pass, and you come home from the hospital. Your milk comes in, suddenly your baby wants to eat in a serious way – and all of the time. Your hormones kick in. Your husband turns to you and says that work is done cutting him slack and it is time to go back/get serious/work more hours. Your other children decide they have had enough being big and brave and supportive and are ready for some “you need to show me you love me too” attention. All at once. And somehow you realize that your house is a disaster and a week’s worth of laundry has piled up. And this all comes down on you as day 3/4/5 of sleep deprivation makes your coping skills really, really limited.

Am I right?

So this is what this particular phase of our aliyah feels like.

The kids put on a brave, positive face. They made it through camp, and have really made tremendous efforts. But one month without furniture and a whole week home without camp in which to notice is just about enough. School starts soon and the “orientation” meetings didn’t really help, they just brought the reality of starting over in a new language to the forefront. Anxieties are at an all time high. Places of refuge and comfort at “home” are at an all time low.

My husband and I too are done allowing all of the take out food and the ‘getting by’ – we are also anxious for familiarity, routine and doing one thing – anything – that doesn’t take three times as long as it should.

The heat is at its highest and patience is at its lowest.

On day 3/4/5 after having a baby I routinely want to handle the situation by crawling under the covers, ignoring everyone and falling into a deep, blissful sleep for three or four days. I dream of someone else coming along and being the Ima for a day or two, taking care of it all — including me. None of that happens, but the phase does pass.

I find myself craving the same solution here.  And similarly, I usually manage a daily escape into sleep for about 45 minutes instead. It helps.  Now, as then, there is no one else to be the cheerleader and to say “yihiyeh b’seder” (it will all be all right) another one hundred times. There is no one else to make sure I drink enough, sleep enough, eat enough.

There is no other Ima coming along to say “I’m sorry” after every complaint, and the complaints these days are endless.  They are entitled.  This move is asking so much of them.

Everything I learn as an Ima is a tool to help me be wiser in the rest of my life – at least if I am fortunate enough to learn as I should. I know this too shall pass. The time will come when they will tell me I am exaggerating their current woes when I recall them. There is a time that the “aliyah baby” will coo and be adorable and I will forget just how miserable day 3/4/5 was. I know the day will come.

But I gather my strength and endurance to make it through until it does.

I couldn’t post anything just prior to making aliyah, because I was too busy prepping for aliyah. I couldn’t post anything just after making aliyah, because I was too busy making aliyah. I am still very busy, but I am grateful to finally be able to make the time to sit down and write.

Having been inspired by Laura Ben David’s book “Moving Up: An Aliyah Journal”, I recorded the first few days upon arrival. I decided not to post them as blog posts. This isn’t an aliyah blog and I don’t think the entries are terribly interesting to most of you, my readers. But they are now posted here if you do want to read them.

I cannot comprehend that it has already been three weeks. It just doesn’t seem possible. So much has gotten done, and so much has not.

Our lift arrived in our house ten days after our arrival. Although it didn’t contain much furniture, and therefore it didn’t swallow up the house, or help us feel moved in a whole lot. Most of our bureaucratic paperwork is done. The kids have teudat zehut numbers, the bank account is up and running, school registration is done and school supplies have even been purchased.

We have very little furniture, and no oven. We also are getting around in a borrowed car which has been a lifesaver and the key to anything else that has worked since we got here!

But what about our hearts and minds? Are they moved in? I think, miraculously, they are.

Each of the children has made friends. Everyone has gone on at least one sleepover except for my four year old.  We feel that the choice of Neve Daniel was so right, and that we have just “clicked” with several different families. Everyone has been wonderful. I often drive the boring routine route of a SAHM with errands and camp schedules, and think to myself “I can’t believe I get to live here.” And I hope that feeling never subsides.

Ask anyone who has ever gone on shlichut from Israel to another country, and they will  tell you that they loved it, that they had a wonderful experience, that the community was great – so great to them – and they are richer for the experience. But it wasn’t home.

Our friends who were there for us when we left Israel twelve years ago are the ones who termed our important mission to the US as “shlichut”.  We were leaving Israel for a defined period of time with a clear(ish) mission to be as central a part of my stepson’s life as possible while he was growing up.  We always saw our time in America that way, and it always felt that way.

I cannot imagine having landed in a more warm and special spot than Twin Rivers, New Jersey. But now we feel like we have finally come home.

Some of my kids with the Kodish Family, who have done anything and everything to help us with this move.

The transition for our children has certainly been a different one.  I don’t know that they could have perceived our time in the US as shlichut no matter how hard they tried, given it was their only reality. Each child is having their up days and down days – lots and lots of anxiety about school which looms only two weeks away- and challenges with the language, not to mention the lack of a sofa to sit down and read on!

Yet they all have unequivocally expressed that this is home. This week each child has let me know that they are impatient for furniture.

They have no idea just what a fabulous sign that is. 

This morning I am surrounded by overstuffed suitcases, carry-ons and “personal items” – with pillow pets peeking out of them.

Today is the day that, if Hashem decides they will go according to our plan, eight of us will board a plane for Israel. One-way tickets.

The ninth, the first child, my stepson, will say goodbye at the airport. Before I met my husband I never in a million years thought I could be a stepmother. Then I met my stepson.

In a million years I never thought I would leave Israel. Then my stepson moved to NJ. There was no other choice for us.

In a million years I never imagined it would hurt just this much to leave him here. He is a grown man, going off to college. But that doesn’t matter. Not to him, not to his father, not to his siblings, and not to me. We moved here just so that we would mean enough to him that it would be this painful and heartbreaking to be apart. This tremendous ache is our sign of success.

He knows, as his stomach churns and his heart aches, that this is what we need to do. For us. But it doesn’t make this part easy.

It has been a crazy and intense three weeks of limbo in Cape Cod, our “magical place”. Surrounded by my parents and brothers and a steady stream of visitors, we have tried to squeeze in a little bit of pre-trip errands as well as a few dabs of much-needed vacation.

I am sorry I haven’t been able to write about it. Perhaps when this adventure starts to calm I will find the time.

… But we all know this adventure won’t be slowing down anytime soon, right?

I packed up for our big move to Israel early. It made a lot of sense under the circumstances. My parents really wanted us to come for our annual extended stay in our magical place, Cape Cod. So why lose out on rental income on our US house by delaying the inevitable?

So I made plans to have our lift picked up seven weeks before we left the country, and we cleared ourselves and 12 years of living in the US out of our home three weeks before leaving for Israel. I tried to have a plan. I tried to be organized. I tried to get it all in the right bags: donate, sell, bring to Israel, bring to Cape Cod, bring to Cape Cod, then Israel…. I am sure you can imagine just how much reality fell short of that goal.

We got out of our house a full 36 hours later than we said we would. And someone went back to get something I left there after that! But I was fairly confident that I had put the important things where they need to be.

Something inevitably was going to fall through the cracks, and I prepared for that eventuality. We will buy new whatever it is, I told myself.

But I wasn’t prepared for it to be my daughter’s precious case full of items that are very sentimental to her. I can buy her a new case, some new trinkets, but I can never, ever repay the emotional value of the items that are now missing. My heart breaks. She hasn’t yelled or screamed. She remains optimistic that it will “pop up”. I, in contrast, have dreams of the case in free fall down into an abyss. I am so scared that it was left behind and that our renters threw it away without any idea what it was, or something equally awful. For now, I am grateful that it is hurting me more than it is hurting her.

I know that our road home to Israel will be paved with many, many bumps, twists and turns. I just hoped the little heartbreaks along the way could be mine, and not the kids.

I also know that this period of transition is part of the process, and that I have to accept many things won’t go as I hope, many things will be hard for my kids, and many things I just won’t be able fix quickly and easily.

Still – please, Hashem, make all the falling through the cracks from hereon in be MY stuff…..

I have to be out of my house by Friday. My aliyah date isn’t until July 22nd, but we won’t be here. We are going back to my parents’ house/summer getaway/magical place on Cape Cod first.

Uprooting your life to move with school-aged children is honestly crazy. Finding a way to say goodbye to your close friends and family is crazy. Finding a way to say “goodbye” to my stepson as he leaves for college and finding a way to tell him we are still his parents and love him but will be six thousand miles away? Definitely crazy.

Love makes us do a lot of crazy things, and my love for the land and the people of Israel are worth it. But right now in the middleof the storm of crazy I am spending a lot of time trying to have faith and hold on tight.

This move feels a lot like giving birth. And we are getting close. I think I am in the ninth-month-with-braxton-hicks phase right now, and when I was pregnant, that made me pretty crazy too.

Just as then, I know what will come in the end is all worth it.

….But if anyone wants to borrow some stir-crazy, bored, emotionally strained children for a few days, just let me know. :  )

Wow. I have been gone a really, really long time.  I think I may have mentioned once or twice (or a hundred times) that we are moving (back) to Israel. Everything else has experienced some neglect, not just the blog. I hope to make up for it, all while sharing tremendous mountain views from the  Judean Hills. 

While we are in this intense period of transition we my children are having the very expected roller coaster of mixed emotions. We went through a particularly challenging bump in the road for about a week in which we thought the perfect picture or plan “we” had made was in peril. Of course Hashem had a better plan and the pothole in our road was a gift, but at the time the sudden upheaval and uncertainty was extremely distressing – and therefore not lost on the kids.

When I was suddenly standing on uncertain ground (again) it was too much for them to bear. “You told us everything was set!” they cried.  “What do you mean things may change!”… “If you weren’t right about what school I would be in, then how do I know anything else you told me is really going to happen?!?!”

I sat them down on Shabbat morning, and I told them the story of the Peer Group Retreat I went on with Weston High School in 10th grade. I never really understood why we went to “peer group” or what the point was of putting their perceived “leaders” in the school all in one room. Shouldn’t we have been meeting with “non leaders”? (Whatever that means.) But it meant some measure of status to be chosen, we told ourselves it would look good on college applications, and it probably got us out of other classes. So we went.

I didn’t want to weigh in on the Time Magazine “Are you Mom enough?” cover.  But, alas, I am.

I have heard enough other people talk about it (and talk and talk and talk…) and I am sorry, but I think they are all missing the point.

Some have said “Why pit moms against each other?” with which I definitely agree.  The fact that we let TIME use shock value to exploit any mom and her choices to sell their magazine is indicative of a publishing business run wild and a lack of empowerment of mothers to use our mighty grip on the consumer dollar as we should.

However, I have heard disparaging remarks about stay-at-home mothering, attachment parenting, breastfeeding and…. feminism. What I haven’t heard is the important connection.

In the 1970’s, there were several kibbutzim, or communal farms, in Israel. The policy on the kibbutz was for the children to live in the “children’s house”. While they visited with their own parents, all of the children lived together in one home, an expression of the kibbutz movement’s communist ideal.

Twenty years later, those children of the kibbutz who remained, working the land and continuing the dream, abolished the children’s houses. It wasn’t a decision made en masse through a unified decision, or as a united body. It was a decision made by the mass majority of kibbutzim (kibbutzes) on their own. These children who lived the policy knew that they didn’t want their children to feel like they did. They knew how much they missed living with their parents, so they reverted back to a more traditional, less communist policy on this one issue.

The writer of the article, Kate Pickert, gave an interview afterward in which she stressed that the reason so many women today seem to choose attachment parenting is because of issues that they have from their own childhood.  At least in the video interview (available here she made it sound critical, as if parents who wear their children and breastfeed past 6 months are all “damaged goods” foisting their issues onto their children.

I would argue that the precise opposite is true.  Like the children of the kibbutz in Israel, women (and their husbands) across America know what the feminism of the 70’s took from them, and they want to give it back – to their own children.

family photo from 2001, three children ago.

The decision on the part of a growing number of parents to prioritize bonding time with their children, to be attentive and loving, natural and deliberate may be, in fact, filling a hole in the parents.  But the hole is there because the generation that raised them overemphasized freedom from the punative shackles of nursing and child rearing.  The 70’s told mothers and fathers that they could divorce when ‘it just wasn’t working’, and the kids would be better off. Who is shocked that those children, now adults, are holding their babies tight? The magazines all told women that they could “have it all”  “just like men” and their children would be fine.

They weren’t fine. They want better for their kids. As much as TIME may want to make Dr. Sears into an innovator and a god-like leader of some strange breed of followers, the truth is that Dr. Sears only elucidates child-rearing practices that have existed in hundreds of cultures on every continent for thousands of years. They lasted because they work.

For a true feminism to thrive, it must be honest and self-aware enough to learn from its own mistakes. There must be a way to elevate the importance of all things female in the world, empower women and give us options…. And still prioritize the healthy needs of every developing child.