"We have met the enemy..."

Yom chamishi, 28 Sivan 5773.

It's no secret that Israel is in trouble right now.

I'm not speaking about the threat from Iran with all of its obvious (to anyone not playing ostrich) bomb building.

I'm not referring to the danger at various borders caused by the hemorrhaging "Arab Spring."

Nor am I drawing attention to any "fifth column" issues within Israel's borders.

Our greatest danger is and always has been internal, within the Jewish family.

We are fighting with each other, and the fights are getting uglier.  No "side" is blameless.  The tragedy is that if we truly tried to feel what the other person might be feeling, to hear his side (even without expecting our minds to be changed through the exercise), we could not throw chairs nor invective, we could not disdain nor patronize.



דאס טוט נישט פּאַסן אונז.  Das tut nisht passn uns.  This is beneath us.



A friend has invited me to participate in a special day tomorrow.  It seems a worthwhile exercise... as long as it is the beginning of better behavior on my part, and not merely a shekel dropped one time in a pushke.  Here's what the originator of the plan, Akiva Gersh, wrote on his Facebook event notice:

Let's not wait until Tisha B'Av to think about how we can increase Jewish unity and ahavat hinam ["groundless" love] in Am Yisrael. We know what hate and intolerance have done to our people in the past. Let's not let it happen in our generation. While ahavat hinam is something we could and should focus on everyday, there's incredible strength in hundreds, if not thousands, if not millions of Jews focusing on it on the same exact day, especially on Erev Rosh Hodesh. 

The idea is that, on that day (29 Sivan/Friday June 7th), each of us will perform a "random" act of kindness for at least one other Jew, ideally a Jew who comes from a different religious/political/lifestyle perspective than you. That action will send them the message that you have honor and love for them despite any differences that exist between you two, that you have honor and love for them simply because they are a fellow Jew.

May our acts of kindness on that day increase our awareness of the inherent unity that binds all Jews together and strengthen our dedication to making ahavat hinam a priority in our lives every single day.

Our Sages deal with a question about what will finally bring the Era of the Moshiach.  How could I, so lowly, so lacking in knowledge and good deeds, possibly bring the Moshiach, if Dovid HaMelech couldn't, if the Chofetz Chaim couldn't?  Chazal answer that the operation is cumulative.  Our good deeds "stand on the shoulders" so to speak of the good deeds of previous generations.  Only G-d knows which good deed will be the last one necessary.

Join me, won't you?  And if you happen to read this well after the day, don't be discouraged.  Your act of kindness, your thoughtful word, your decision to listen fully to what the other person is saying, your plan to be more careful, may just be THE act that changes everything.  YOU could singlehandedly be the person responsible for bringing the Moshiach.

No matter with what or if you cover your head; no matter if you and I agree or disagree about religion, politics, lifestyle, or child-rearing techniques -- I look forward to standing in line to thank you personally.

The Fonder Heart

Yom rishon, 24 Sivan 5773.

It is very hard to be an ocean away from people you love.

That is the hardest thing for me about aliyah.

But I truly cannot complain.

I made aliyah in a time more technologically-advanced than I could have imagined when I first entertained the idea, back in the "olden days" of the early '90s.  I can visit my grandchildren (even babysitting one of them briefly!) via Skype or Google Hangout.  I can once again sit in the dining room of my Rabbi and Rebbetzin, chatting about Israel, and about how blown-away we are by technology.

I can spend a glorious hour on Mother's Day watching a grandson walking around in his dragon outfit, trashing his parents' house as he shows me every. toy. he. owns.  (Who says you have to "be there" to drive your children crazy?)








And sometimes, on Erev Shabbat, my Soldier Boy in America can sing Shalom Aleichem and Aishet Chayil to his mother, after learning Mishnayot with his father.

Thank You, Hashem.  It will never be easy to be away from those we hold dear.  But thank You for making it easier than ever before to "touch" each other, even while holding fast to our ideals.

You never promised us that this life would be easy, or comfortable.  But in this time, You have wrapped the difficult in a lot of clearly-discernible love and compassion.


Happy 28th wedding anniversary, Dearly Beloved!  Thanks for helping me to raise these amazing young men!

Holy Soles, Sushi, Soldiers and Smiles

Yom rishon, 3 Sivan 5773.

My "little baby," Sports Guy, completes basic training.

It was a great week for the folks at Chez Mizrachi.

It started with a small miracle, followed by food and friends, promotion and pride, and ended with a successful surprise birthday party for a lovely young family friend.

First, let's set the stage for the miracle.

I have the great privilege of having a professionally-licensed personal trainer as a daughter-in-law.  There are wonderful benefits.  Basically, Champagne Girl has me on a treadmill, and on an exercise regimen.  She is not taking "lazy" or "busy" as excuses; so every day, I am doing something toward my health, blast her.  (Uh, I mean, "baruch Hashem.")

I needed new tennis shoes, as my old pair was built sometime during the Carter presidency.

This by itself was a pretty amazing adventure.  When you haven't purchased new sport shoes in a couple of decades, new shoes feel like something designed in space: super-light, flexible and -- let's face it -- unbelievably cute.

Menashe Sport, 81 Yafo Street, Jerusalem

   At Menashe's shoe store on Yafo, where we have purchased shoes and had leather goods repaired for the past five years, we had the next leg (you should pardon the pun) of our adventure in minor miracles.

As mentioned earlier, I don't buy shoes yearly.  I buy really, really good shoes that last for ages.  I choose my shoes less for fashion than for the requirement that they transport me many kilometers without hurting my feet.  So before leaving the house, I put on my trusty (ancient) Naturalizer Mary Janes, which have more than earned their keep over much of the land of Israel.  As I began to put my walking shoes back on after boxing up the cute little treadmill trekkers to take home, I suddenly felt a bit unstable.  Sitting back down, I removed my shoes... to find that the sole of one shoe had completely crumbled, from old age and dry rot.  (Can you say "perfect timing"?)

Needless to say, I walked to the bus station in the new tennies.

Menashe means "pride in workmanship."  I'm sure of it.

I told Menashe how sad I was to throw out the old friends.  After all, they'd seen me from Rosh Hanikra in the north down to Sderot near Gaza, and from the coast of the Mediterranean to the border with Syria.  The uppers were still in excellent shape; and to get shoes of this quality, I'd have to fork over in excess of 600 shekels -- not in my budget these days.

Menashe, always ready with his expert leather stitchery, offered a solution.  Come back in a week, he said, and for 150 shek, he'd rebuild my shoes.  And he did!  They look and feel like they could go at least another decade.

"Mash'hu, mash'hu! You won't believe it!" said Menashe's wife proudly.  He even polished them, as Menashe never does anything by halves.

 If you need leather repair of any kind at reasonable prices (as well as shoes in a surprising variety of sizes, also affordable), contact Menashe at 050-760-9902, or 02-622-2912.

A taste of everyone's offerings.  There wasn't a bad bite on the plate.

Sandwiched in between the broken shoes and their repair was an enjoyable and educational Rosh Chodesh evening here in Neve Daniel.  Women from our community got together and showed off their favorite chalavi (aka milchig, aka dairy) delicacies.  Of course, I forced myself to try everyone's culinary offerings, not wanting to offend the neighbors.  (What lengths I will go to for peace!)  Little did I know that I am surrounded by world-class cooking talent, right here in my small town!  Fortunately, there will be a cookbook forthcoming -- as soon as all of you turn in your recipes to Haya.  (No pressure.  Well, a little pressure...  I really want to prepare these delights for my family!)

I have been making sushi for years.  But the tricks I learned during Corinne's sushi class helped me get over one hurdle: the rice-on-the-outside roll.  Yesh!  And I had a great time with friends.

Proud Cornhusker and newly-married blogger buddy Chaviva shows off our group talent.

There were mitpachot (head scarves) and handmade jewelry for sale, as well as gifts of kedusha available.  Each of us was given our own personal pasuk of Tehillim, with an explanation of what it might mean for us personally, by another lovely and learned neighbor.

My assigned verse: "Your laws were music to me in my dwelling place."

Another son, Sports Guy, was officially inducted into the IDF, at his tekes hashba'ah (swearing-in ceremony), at which he received the Jewish state's weapons of war: an M16 and a Tanach.  (There is something very perspective-enhancing about receiving a Jewish Bible from one's military commander.)

Sports Guy's Coach on the Judean Rebels is also his proud papa.

The week ended with yet another of the stunningly complex surprise parties that my personal young people have been throwing for other young people.  (Yeshiva Bochur:  "I've put a ban on all surprise parties among the brothers for the next year.  Seriously.  These are wearing us out.")  Somehow, the young person being surprised always "falls for it," much to everyone's joy.  Once in a while, we old people get to play a part.  I got to show off my inside-out sushi for our young friend, who prefers fish and rice to anything al ha aish (Israeli-speak for barbecued), and the Dearly Beloved and I put together a watermelon "cake" for her, since she doesn't eat cinnamon rolls.

What to make for your favorite health-conscious, vegetarian birthday girl? Watermelon, cut in the shape of a cake, with fruit decorations attached by toothpicks. Nutritious, delicious, and cute!

That surprised smile from our young friend Molly McMolly and the "job well done" smile from Stunt Man were more than worth the effort.

Next up:  The Kraft Family IFL (Israel [American] Football League) Awards Banquet, followed by Shavuot, meaning cheesecake and all-night-learning (for the guys.  To paraphrase Dirty Harry: "A woman's gotta know her limitations."  And this woman holds by early to bed, early to rise).  Then the Strung-Out Quartet performs at the Judean Rebels' year-end barbecue.  Should be a fun and joyful week, bs"d!

May we share many more joyful stories than sad ones.  Chodesh tov, and shavua tov!

Hey, Bal'mer! Just catching up with the folks back home.

Yom sheni, 12 Iyar 5773.

Even with all the cold, wind and rain (baruch Hashem for the gift of more water in the holy Kinneret!), there are some things about Spring in Israel that cannot be missed.

Because we were sick, we almost missed the annual trek to the Mahane Yehuda shuk for fresh garlic.  When we finally arrived, all of the special deals had passed; so we ended up paying top shekel for three beautiful bunches of this rosy Israeli Garlic.  (Experience has taught me that it's better to pay for the good stuff, if you want it to last and keep its quality through the whole year.)  We've been trying new ways and places for drying it.  This year, the landlord put a window in the opening on our patio.  It will help to keep the wind from putting out the lights of the chanukiot at Chanukah, with Shabbat candle lighting at Sukkot... and it appears that the garlic may have found a home as well.  (Yes, I know -- I'll have to figure out the logistics when I start lighting fires on the shelf below...  We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.)

The kale is still growing for a little while longer... so I can make wonderful breakfast shakshuka to start the day.

Simple ingredients -- fresh garlic and onions, home-stewed tomatoes and grated Parmesan make a nice addition to the kale and a couple of eggs.  With a side of piping hot coffee from Sipsters, of course.  (Watch for a future interview.  These guys are worth knowing, and knowing about.  And the coffee is GREAT!)

The sunsets have been amazing.  I wish I had the kind of camera (and skill) to truly share them with you -- but here is a picture offering a small hint of the beauty.

The colors G-d chose that evening were straight out of a Maxfield Parrish painting...

 The grown kids have been around a lot.  It's nice.  It's like I'm sitting in a very comfy theater chair, next to the Dearly Beloved, and we're watching this entertaining movie of these fully-capable young people functioning in our kitchen.  And we helped produce the picture.  (At least some of the main characters...)

They cook!   They eat!

They even clean up after themselves!

Occasionally, the weather has been nice enough to allow forays into the Holy City -- where everything from the sublime to the silly can be found.  We run into holy friends, enjoying a family day together.

Missed having you in the photo, Yoshi...

And the sweet smiles on these young ladies' faces sort of make you forget that they are enjoying one of the tourist pastimes of Jerusalem: having their feet -- ehhhhhh -- catered to by bacteria-eating fish.  Yes, indeed.  You can find 'most anything in Israel.

There are just some things we'd rather read about than do...

We had lovely celebrations with friends at Yom Ha'atzma'ut, that I was enjoying far too much to photograph.  My son wrote a short piece about the juxtaposition and power of the three days of Yom HaShoa, Yom Hazikaron, and Yom Ha'atzma'ut:  The Price of the Independence BBQ.

One son went into the IDF; another has completed his service.  Another is adjusting quite nicely to married life, around his continuing service.  It will be a pleasure to continue watching as the winds of Spring finally blow in temperate weather, and whatever change is in store for us in the coming months.  Looking forward to seeing more friends and family coming to visit -- and coming Home!

The Pain and Power of Yom HaShoah

Yom rishon, 27 Nisan 5773.

This is a four-year-old post.  Sports Guy is now a soldier, as are all of his brothers.  I can't say it better now.  Please share your thoughts.

Photograph from the Main Commission for the Investigation of Nazi War Crimes, courtesy of USHMM Photo Archives.

Tonight is Yom Hashoah.  Sports Guy (all of 14-years-old) attended a Bnei Akiva event to educate Israeli youth about the Holocaust.  I only hope he didn't see the video. Of all my children, he is the least able to cope with the Shoah.  I remember standing in the public library with him as he tried to do research for an assignment for his third grade class.  He was supposed to write something regarding the period between 1930 and 1945.  It was clear that the teacher was gearing up these Jewish kids to do a paper on the Holocaust.  We pulled out a book designed for children.  (It was important to me as a mother to keep my kids from seeing stuff that was more graphic than their ages should be able to bear.)  We were looking at this kids' book, which dealt with the subject in a very sensitive manner.  And then my Dani looked up at me with eyes frighteningly shining with tears.  "I can't do this, Ema."

My eyes filled.  "I know, Honey.  I know."

After a long quiet hug, we found something else about the Thirties to write about.  I don't remember what it was -- something about a US president, probably.  But we established a clear understanding between us at the time:  Dani doesn't do Holocaust.  Intuitively, I understand that he "carries" it differently than my other sons do.  Is he "an old soul"?  Does he have dreams like his mother's?  I don't know.  But I respect that he handles this differently than his brothers do.  His brothers all want to crush and destroy anyone who would threaten the Jewish people ever again.  Dani agrees.  But something in Dani remembers or just knows how much it hurt to be a Jew then.  He feels it in a way they cannot.

As I type, I glance at the clock.  I know that I am going to ground him for being late getting home, just like normal mothers do in normal times.  Baruch Hashem, he will say that he is sorry, and that he will get better in the future.  Just like normal kids, in normal times.  Thank G-d.

"Nu?"

"I'm sorry.  I was hanging out with friends.  I lost track of time.  I know -- it's my fault."

"Did you see the film?"

"No.  I'm sorry."  (He thinks I'm disappointed.  Oy, vey.)  "I was talking, and I came too late.  A couple of mothers and a kid talked.  Hebrew.  I didn't understand much.

"Then, we all sang 'Gam ki ailech' and 'Ani ma'amim' and 'Hatikvah.'  That was pretty cool."

"You know what it was all about?"

"Yeah."

"Any questions?"

"Nope."

"You okay?"

"Yeah.  You?"

"Yeah.  Go to bed, okay?"

"Okay, Ema.  G'night.  I love you."

"You, too, buddy."

%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%

After Sports Guy trundles off to bed, I think of a cherished memory.

Soldier Boy was younger, and was -- uh, let's just say he was "giving me fits."

But deep down inside him was a kid who wanted Mama and Papa to be proud.  He has a beautiful voice, does Soldier Boy.  He learned all of the words to "Mama Rochel," a famous Yaakov Shwekey song, written by Abie Rotenberg.

We don't speak Yiddish in my house.  Not our cultural upbringing.  But he memorized all of the words, even the Yiddish words.

And while he was singing the Yiddish words at the end, I thought suddenly of my father's grandmother, Ruth, for whom I am named.  As far as I know, she was the last religious person in my father's family.  As the story goes, the family was pretty wealthy.  They had gathered at the family farm just outside of Warsaw...  and then the Nazis came.  One of them said to my father's lookalike cousin, "Here boy -- catch!"  And this animal threw to my father's cousin a hand grenade.  My grandmother saw "her son" blown up -- and even though they presented him later (he'd been hiding under a haystack) -- Rita was never the same.

There was a mentally-retarded girl in the family.  The Nazis decided to take her into the woods...  Of course she was afraid.  My paternal great-grandmother, Ruth, said, "I'll go with the child."  They were taken into the woods, and that is the last anyone in the family knew of them.

So when I heard my son, in his unbelievably sweet tones, singing this Yiddish lyric...  I thought I could hear Ruth, Hy"d, saying:  "I won, Adolf.  I am still here, through this boy.  YOU are gone.  But I am still here."

To carry on. To keep singing and telling over...  To let them know that we will never let them down again.  To fight to protect our people, in our land.   And everything that means -- even to protect the holy aspects some of our grandparents did not know.

That's what it's about, isn't it?  Never, ever again.

Polish Lemon Tart: Not Just for Pesach

Yom rishon, 20 Nisan 5773, Erev Yom Shvi'i shel Pesach.

This is not a very important post.  But it is delicious, works for Celiac sufferers and non-gebrokts folks and Paleo-centric diners, anybody avoiding potato starch on principle, and for kitniyot and non-kitniyot types alike.  In other words: World Peace is possible over this dessert.  Unless you never, ever eat butter during Yom Tov... in which case, I cannot help you.

The recipe was borrowed and modified (of course) from About.com, by Barbara Rolek.  Check out her original recipe here:  Polish Lemon Tart Recipe - Tarta Cytronowa.

200 gr. softened butter
200 gr. sugar
4 large eggs
300 gr. almond flour (aka finely ground almonds)
2 large lemons, zest and juice
113 gr. while chocolate, chopped

1.  Preheat oven to 177 degrees Centigrade.  Spray sides and bottom of 24 x 17.5 x 5.5 mm pan with Pam or similar substance (unless you happen to have a springform pan for Pesach, in which case you are welcome to line it with parchment paper, as Ms. Rolek suggests.  I've done it both ways.  It works either way.)
2  Cream butter and sugar till fluffy.  Add eggs and beat until nicely blended.  Mix in almond flour.  Add lemon juice, zest and white chocolate pieces.  (I don't own a Pesadike blender; and this recipe works just fine with a spoon and a bit of vigor.)  Transfer mixture to prepared pan.
3.  Bake 45 minutes to 1 hour.  You will know your oven; and the main thing is that the cake should be golden brown at the edges, but moist throughout.  This is why it's better than most potato starch cakes.  It is NOT dry as dust.  Just sayin'.  (If you have a moist potato starch cake recipe you'd care to share, I'm open-minded.)
4.  Serve directly from the pan when cool.  Honestly, does the powdered sugar platter presentation make it taste any better?

The only thing that could possibly make this taste any better is to serve it with a nice almond liqueur and coffee.  I know... right???

And Baby Goes to Battle

Yom chamishi, 3 Nisan 5773.

Saying a temporary goodbye to an old friend?

I have a remarkable ability to live outside moments that are particularly HUGE until I'm in them.  This means that I don't suffer from anxiety for weeks and weeks before an event.  It also means I crack my husband up in the days or hours before an event, as I go into hyper-accelerated meltdown.

My youngest baby -- all 183 centimeters of him -- is being inducted into the Israeli Defense Forces on Sunday.

And my face isn't exactly melting.  But my heart is beating more rapidly than it usually does.

You might ask why this has my attention, when all of that brutal activity on the gridiron just has my awe and pride, rather than my fear.  (See the short video at the end of this post, and watch for Number 20.  How does he do that????)  Many mothers have pointed out to me, in the most loving possible terms, that there is something wrong with a mother who doesn't freak out about her kid playing American football.  But it's just who Sports Guy has always been.  Taking the essence of my children away from them in order to keep them safe has never been my style.  So I just don't think about the danger.  Except for those isolated moments, late at night, when the prayer and the bargaining with G-d sneak in...

All of Sports Guy's brothers are or have been soldiers.  I spend a lot of time not thinking about this, focusing instead on my gratitude and pride in them for their service to our country, and on the fascination of watching their adult selves emerging from the boys I'd raised with their excellent father.

Suddenly, the baby of the brothers is changing uniforms.  From the orange and green of the Judean Rebels to the olive drab of the army.  He's not more special to me than his brothers.  I have been blessed to have such extraordinarily different sons that Soldier Boy is my favorite.  And Yeshiva Bochur is my favorite.  And Stunt Man is my favorite.  And Sports Guy is my favorite.  It's just the end of an era... and it's always hardest to say farewell to the last guy out the door.

While the Dearly Beloved and I have already discovered that we like the empty nest (as long as the chicks fly home every once in a while), today through Sunday and a while after will feel a little odd.  And then will be the day he comes back home in uniform...

We'll just keep cheering you on, Brothers.

Thank you for this wonderful video, Pavel Archavsky.  I'll probably be watching it a lot over the next few months...