The Boy and His Name

Yes, in true English style, our baby showed up to 

his brit in suspenders and a bow tie!

On Thursday, we had the brit milah for our son. Yes, that's circumcision for the squeamish and a covenantal commitment for those of us in the Jewish world.

The wee one didn't cry much (about the same as he cries when we're changing his diaper), but boy oh boy did this mama cry plenty when she heard those cries. The truth is babies cry during their brit out of the sheer fact that they're exposed to cold air, not from pain. Watching the recovery process over the past few days, I can tell you that this little man is in no pain at all. Except, of course, for the chill of the air when it's diaper time.

During the brit milah ceremony, the baby's name is finally announced, and I'm happy to share that our beautiful boy is named Asher Yitzhak, meaning "happy laughter." The latter name was Mr. T's grandfather's name and the first name was a name that both Mr. T and I fell in love with ages ago long before the idea of this baby or one another was planted.

For me, the name Asher, meaning happiness, perfectly describes this baby, as he encompasses true happiness. After a long and winding road of ups and downs and crazy madness, HaShem gave me Mr. T, and I found my happiness. Little Asher is that happiness manifest, as evidenced by how very quickly we got pregnant after getting married. I think HaShem was rewarding the both of us for time well spent doing teshuva and searching for that happy we all deserve.

Of course, this little baby being 10 days old and mostly peaceful natured has been a huge blessing. But it would seem that those first few nights at home of the five-hour stretch of sleep are long gone and a few of the "I'll never do that" rules I set for myself have already been very broken. Constant feedings for a baby in perpetual growth-spurt mode have me exhausted and in a bit of a fog, but content none the less knowing it all goes by so quickly. I'm actually writing this post in our now-dark bedroom because this happens to be where the baby fell asleep (finally) after a feeding. Much like how we must bend to the Torah (the Torah does not bend to our needs and wants), I'm in a position of bending to the baby because gosh knows that mommy wanting a shower is not top priority for an adorably squiggling little lump of baby.

I'm still preparing the labor story, and I'm still preparing to figure out how to approach getting into a rhythm with work, especially on days like today when baby just doesn't want to sleep after a hearty helping of mother's milk. I mean, who wouldn't go into a coma after that? I know, I know. "Take it easy!" everyone says. But it's tough. The baby's food might be free, but mommy and tatty have to eat, too. I'm seriously considering taking Mr. T up on his "stay-at-home tatty" offer.

The sun has set, the baby shivers, and mommy types away. This is motherhood. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Ask Chaviva Anything: The Children Edition

In this edition of Ask Chaviva Anything, I've got some children-related queries from blog readers.

What is iBoy like?

I'd like to say that iBoy is like any other nearly 10 year old out there, but this is a kid who loves tofu and broccoli ("little trees!"). He loves listening to his dad read Shakespeare (in a kid-friendly text, of course), and doesn't demand to watch cartoons and movies as much as he demands games like Taki. He's a very emotional kid who is aware of hurting other people's feelings -- almost to a fault -- but he also knows how to push boundaries like any other kid his age. He's just starting to get really good at reading English and helps me out with Hebrew while I help him out with Hebrew, too! He hates getting up in the morning, has to be reminded to brush his teeth, and is always eager to help when anything is going on in the kitchen. He's a prince who snores like a trucker but will cuddle up with his dad like he is the only thing that belongs in that space.

On a down day, he's the kind of kid who would go out of his way to make you smile with a hug or joke. He's really something special (just like his dad, who he is soooooooooo much like). Does he sound like every other 10 year old you know? Oh, and he loves to draw, which makes him a kid after my own heart. While in the UK I purchased him this amazing book full of things to draw, to fill in, and to get creative with. He kept asking, "Can I draw it like this?" to which I responded, "Kid, it's your book! You can draw and explore anything you want!"

You have mentioned every now and then about wanting lots of kids.  I know that is kind of the norm among Orthodox families but wonder if it's also just something you've always wanted (lots of kids).  I always wanted four kids but after two I may have met my match!  

It's funny how up and down I've been about wanting children. Most of my life, I wanted children (a few) because I was lucky enough to have a little brother who is nine years younger than me that I got to help raise. But then, while I was married and divorced, I had no desire to have children. I became really disenfranchised (so lame and stereotypical, I know) while I was incredibly depressed and decided not to have any children. The fear of passing on the depression and anxiety that I was dealing with, not to mention my fears of how I'll be with my children because of how I grew up (that fear we all have) drove me to vow to never have kids.

And then? I met Mr. T. We met, got engaged 10 days later, and if I had had my way, I would have been married instantly and with child at this point, folks! There's something about being with the right person at the right time that just punches you in the face and says "Be a mom, darn't!"

I know what you're thinking -- I'm already in the role of offering female support and guidance for a kid in my life, so that should be something, right? True, I'm getting a certain sense of satisfaction making delicious nosh for this amazing child in my life, helping put his healthy lunches together, watching him play soccer with friends, reading him Hasidic stories and him asking for more ...

But having your own child is something uniquely special. I know I'll feel it more when I do get pregnant and have my own child with Mr. T, but at this moment, I'm starting to feel where that thin line exists. There's a lot to be said about being a woman marrying a man with a child versus a man marrying a woman with a child. I'm debating on whether to write it up for Kveller.com and seeing if they'll start publishing me. I think I'm going to end up with a lot to say about parenting.

As you settle into married life and seek to start a family of your own, I wonder; as an Orthodox Jewish woman, how would you respond if your son or daughter told you that they were gay/lesbian?

This is a great question with a short answer. I was raised in a household where -- by and large -- I was allowed to explore the life that I thought was good for me. Mind you, I had a very vanilla childhood and never broke the rules, drank, smoked, or anything until I was in college and the depths of the newspaper world sucked me in and turned me into a temporary alcoholic (seriously, I'm kidding). Mr. T also was given a lot of freedom to be a wild and unique individual (and believe me, he was). As a result, if there's one thing that Judaism teaches that has been so potent for me over the past few years is that when someone lives a life that we do not necessarily agree with, we're meant to pull that person closer, not push them away (like most people do). Your children will always be your children, nothing changes that. Nothing. Life is short, you only have one family, and I'm going to be as strong as possible to do everything to make sure my children know how much they're loved, no matter who they are or what they do. 

Okay. That was a lengthy post. So much more to say about parenting and children! Have questions? Just ask!

Ask Chaviva Anything: The Mish-Mash Edition

Another installment of Ask Chaviva Anything! Let's do some random ones this time. To start us off, we have the following.

Can we meet you in Israel? (Not trying to be sketchy)

Sketchy? Psshaw! Never. I'd love to meet anyone and everyone who visits Israel or lives here. I'm also going to be in the UK over Pesach for a few weeks, so if you live there, shoot me an email and we'll get together.

This one isn't a question, but I'll address it anyway.

I asked questions that we never answered.

You did? What were they? Feel free to re-ask at the link or to post your questions below. Alternatively, you can email me at kvetching dot editor at gmail dot com. I try to answer all questions that are asked. However, I don't answer questions that are derogatory, mean-spirited, or just plain hateful.

The next question could be a long-answer query, but I'm going to keep it short.

Why are there so many different "catagories" of Orthodox Jews? Where do you fall in?

Like everything in life, and in every religion and country, we feel most comfortable when we can categorize someone or something. It makes it easier to say "He is this, and I am not" or "She eats that, but I do not." Without these boxes or categories, people find it difficult to breathe. It's sort of like the joke about the Jew on a deserted island who is rescued. When the rescue party shows up, they notice there are two synagogues on the island that he built. They ask him why, and he points to one and then the other saying, "That's the synagogue I go to, that's the synagogue I wouldn't step foot into." Humans are creatures of adjectives -- it's just how we function. The bummer about this is that we limit the adjectives and categories we have when it comes to religion.

Most people would peg me as Orthodox, or, here in Israel, as Da'ati Leumi (National Religious or Religious Zionist) because of how I dress, how I will cover my hair, the people I surround myself with, etc. However, I don't like to put myself in boxes. I've written about it before, but these days I'd just call myself shomeret mitzvoth -- I observe the mitzvoth that HaShem has gifted us.

Next up?

Do you want to have children?  A lot? A little? Do you think Israel is the ideal place to raise children?

Yes, yes, yes. It's interesting how when you end up with the right person the thought of children is almost compulsory. Many of you will remember in the not-so-distant past that I was hesitant about having children. Because of some strained relationships, I thought that I would not be a good mother, that I would do more harm than good with having children, so I was considering just writing off kids forever. Moving to Israel and meeting Mr. T has changed my needs and wants astronomically. For the first time in my life, I can actual picture myself having children (as many as HaShem has in store for us), because Mr. T is an amazing father already. He lights up eyes in children without any effort, and I find it beautiful and inspiring. We're eager to have our own brood so that we can screw them up as much as possible. (Joking, of course.)

As for Israel being a good place to raise children, I would say a million times yes (especially in Neve Daniel). There's a freedom and comfortability here for children, and I'm eager to bring Jewish kids up in a place where they're free to be Jews but where I also can teach them about the global community in its diversity. I'm blessed to come from a non-Jewish family, so my kids will never exist in a bubble where the world is all Jews, all the time. At the same time, they'll be comfortable and happy in a country where being Jewish is more normal than in many other places.

We'll close off this round of questions with another easy question.

Will there be a photographer at the wedding and will we be able to see the pics? : )

Yes! One of Mr. T's friends will be taking pictures, and I'm going to have several friends there who are Social Media superstars, so there will be lots of live-action Tweeting and Facebooking going on, I predict. We're also still trying to figure out whether a livecast on UStream or YouTube is possible, so be on the lookout for that.

Can You Tell Me How to Get, How to Get to Shalom Sesame?

I had the pleasure of visiting Sesame Street last week.

No, I didn't take something or get food poisoning, I visited the Sesame Street Workshop in NYC for a screening of brand new episodes of everyone's favorite mesh of English and Hebrew and Israeli and American: Shalom Sesame! It was quite a trip, and I'm really wishing I had some little kids under my apron to share the awesomeness with, but, for now, I'll have to share it with y'all and play on your nostalgia and perhaps convince a few of you that the new Shalom Sesame will delight your own kids.

Photo op! Eeee!

The moment I stepped out of the elevator, I was struck by the color. It was a Crayola explosion, primary colors everywhere, and on the sconces in the elevator bay? All of the characters we love, like Elmo and Cookie Monster and Bert and Ernie. Our host came out and ushered me to a photo op with Oscar the Grouch (color me star struck), and then into the screen room with lots of yummy nosh from Our Most Favorite in NYC. The meal was complete with Sesame Street juice boxes, which made me feel nostalgically child-like. And then? The screening of an episode in which Grover learns Hebrew.

The new Shalom Sesame is a 12-part series, of which two of the DVDs are out, including a Chanukah episode (which was in our goodie bag upon leaving!). The entire series revolves around Anneliese van der Pol (of That's So Raven fame) and Grover heading off to Israel and their adventures in the land and on Rachov Sumsum. In the episode we screened, Grovery learns some of the basics like boker tov and mishpacha from his friends on the Rachov, and the events there are interspersed with cartoon clips on family, counting by none other than the Count, and a segment on the aleph-bet. Here's a preview of the first episode:




The characters are crossovers from the Israeli version of Sesame Street (Rachov Sumsum), but there are some new characters. Kippi, that gigantic porcupine, is no longer on Shalom Sesame, but there are characters like Avigail, Moshe Oofnik (the Israeli Oscar the Grouch), Brosh, and Mahboub. There's also a new cast of human characters, including Anneliese, Boris, Kobi, Lemlem, and Shoshana. I'd say that Shalom Sesame covered all their basis with that cast, as it appears to include American, Israeli, Ethiopian, and Russian Jews!

But I'm sure you're wondering what I thought, right? As someone with no kids but a box full of toys in her apartment so kids will come visit, I have to say that I really enjoyed the episode we screened, especially because in my Hebrew classes at UConn, we watched old Shalom Sesame episodes that were seriously outdated and needing revamping. I laughed -- a lot -- more than I thought I would, and so did most of the adults in the room. There were a few kids there, and they were bobbing along to the music and laughing at the funny moments just as much as the adults.

My only beef -- or question -- after viewing this episode and anticipating the rest is the presentation of the traditional family motif. I'll admit I really don't know how kids programming folks address this issue, but there was a segment on family and what makes up a family, which included both a segment with real people and a cartoon version (with some gnarly music with kids singing like 80s hairband stars). The songs presented used the, I have a father, a mother, and XX siblings -- the standard family unit -- as the basis for the song. There was a brief mention in both versions (human and cartoon) of a family with a grandmother, a mother, and the kid, but no single-parent households existed. No step-parents. No grandparents-only. No dad-only. I was really uncomfortable during this segment, and I'll be honest I'm not really sure why. My parents are still married, and I have two brothers. I am the "traditional," American family unit. But I know a lot -- a lot -- of people who come from the real traditional family unit nowadays: single parents raising several kids, grandparents raising kids, fathers raising kids, mothers raising kids, etc. What do you guys think -- should shows like Sesame Street give this more play?

After all, the point of this kind of programming is for kids to see themselves on the screen, right? To put themselves onto Rachov SumSum and in the shoes of Grover learning Hebrew!

But I don't want this to be heavy. I really really loved my time at Sesame Workshop, and the folks there were so warm and welcoming. I have to think that working in such a colorful environment must have to keep morale higher than a kite. I'm really excited to see the rest of the series, and, I'm also really excited to open up the Chanukah episode ... Tuvia and I are the kind of people who -- even at our age -- enjoy the simpler, child-like things in life. I mean, come on, I keep Super Grover in my car at all times, just in case, you know, I need a hero.

Stay tuned for more on Shalom Sesame, and be sure to keep checking back at their website www.ShalomSesame.org for plenty of resources, games, and educational materials for kids, adults, and educators. You can purchase the first two episodes and pre-order the rest by clicking here. I'm really excited to see how educators and parents use the awesome tools that are coming up on the website, which should be launched soon enough. There are aleph-bet games, resources, e-cards, and more. I'll be sure to post when the website goes live, so stay tuned!

Books and Being Thrifty.

I just got back from the library, where I picked up a couple graphic novels (for the cleansing of my reading palate), as well as a book on the Dead Sea Scrolls and at the suggestion of another blogger, "A Heart of Many Rooms" by David Hartman.I also started reading Michael Chabon's "The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay" this morning, and I'm pretty enthralled with it already (I've started a variety of books in the past week, none of which kept me interested beyond a chapter or so -- hence the palate cleansing graphic novels).

Since my friend Nic is visiting next weekend, I've decided that I'm going to spend no more than $5 this weekend as a way of saving money (remember, in about a month I'm out of a job and in poor-student mode). Of course, I've planned into this that if I spend another dollar at Argo Tea, I get a free $5 on my Argo card! So in reality, I can spend a whole $10 this weekend at the tea shop and I'll be set. On the other hand, I figure I'll spend some time out on the beach or at the harbor reading and really take in some nature time.

This thriftyness and book reading hopefully will play into a few blog posts I have in the works. I want to blog about words (etymology) since I spent some time this past week reading the dictionary (don't ask), not to mention that I found a list of Yiddish words (thanks to a question posted on Twitter by the folks at the Jewish Treats blog) that have worked their way into the American Lexicon. Likewise, I've been reading some essays about Orthodox Judaism found over at the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, which has given me some interesting food for thought. And finally, after a series of conversations with a friend about the place of religion in my (hopeful) future marriage and life with children, I have a lot to say and think about; very much talking out loud -- basically, I seem to attract and am attracted to folks of the non-Jewish variety, typically people with no real hardcore beliefs system (believe in a higher power/G-d, but not super religious, basically apathetic). Essentially, I'm trying to force myself to make a firm decision about whether I will or will not pursue a relationship with a non-Jewish person. This friend said that if you're in love, it shouldn't matter, right? Oy. If only that were how it is.

Anyhow, I just wanted to keep all of my readers (ha! right!) abreast of what's going on in Chavi land. Tomorrow's the Fourth of July and with a day off work, I'm sleeping in, being productive academically, and then heading to the Orthodox shul for synagogue and *hopefully* a Shabbat dinner if I can wedge myself into someone's (ay! I feel so bad doing this!).

Happy Fourth! Be safe, be thankful, be happy, be restful!

A little news bit from Israel.

Someone on an Orthodox listserv I'm a part of brought this story to our attention this morning. You can read about this little destroyed synagogue here or here. Essentially, this synagogue -- built by children and called Chazon David has been ruled an "illegal synagogue" by the courts.

The video is about 3 minutes and 30 seconds long, and is definitely worth a quick watch. These kids are serious about what they're doing. The video was made by Akiva of the Mystical Paths Blog.

Child abuse.

This morning on the Red Line, a woman got on at Sox-35th with her child. This woman proceeded to smack the child around for the next few stops until I got off at Garfield. The kid was playing with a newspaper, and this woman was hitting him, slapping him (or was it a her? I couldn't see). People on the train just stared -- what do you do?

I got off the train and went up to the train conductor, who upon my talking to her gave me the nastiest look.

There's a woman on the train smacking her kid around
----She just got off the train, whatchu want me to do about it? (Points to a woman walking by with two kids)
No, she didn't, she's sitting in the back of the train, hitting her child.
----Where she at?
In the back of this train car, the first train car.

The conductor gave me a nasty look and then went to check it out. As I was riding the escalator up, she was back in her position, driving the train car away from the station. She did nothing. She just wanted me out of her face. I was distressed.

I couldn't get out of the train and go about my day without saying something. I didn't know what else to do, and I thought perhaps the lady would stall at the station, call to the security upstairs (there's always security at the Garfield station), and maybe they'd hop on the train and watch. Call child services? Something. Anything.

If this woman was willing to beat her child in public -- and, I'll be honest here, my parents spanked me in public all the time, and I don't think there's anything wrong with it, but this woman was just wailing on the child for no reason -- imagine what she does in the privacy of her own home. Child abuse is such a serious problem, but -- like those on the train -- we mostly remain mum about it.

I didn't know what else to do. But the image of that child being smacked around while the passengers looked on in horror is going to stay with me all day, if not longer. Sigh.

A Note, Part Deux

A note for the children who someday will call me "mother" and the grandchildren who will call me "bubbe," I can only hope. Part II

At Stapleton Elementary School in Joplin, Mo., where I went for K-5, there was something special about the cafeteria. Not only did the cafeteria serve as the multi-purpose room, stage for presentations and awards and as a, well, cafeteria, but there was something that editing a menu for elementary schools for the Extras section at my current job that sparked a memory. In the cafeteria, sometimes we'd have to sit boy-girl-boy-girl and sometimes we'd have to sit with our class. Other times, we'd sit all girls on one side and all boys on the other side. The rules changed daily, it seemed. I remember going to the large, box-like silver milk container to get chocolate milk from the red crates -- usually I went for the still-partially-frozen cartons. I'd proceed up to the lunch counter and they'd give us our helpings of this and that. Only after everyone was seated would they announce that there was enough for seconds -- but on a first-come, first-served basis. The most popular items seemed to be the miniature Mexipizzas. But what was so special about the cafeteria?

The traffic light. A real, genuine traffic light -- red, yellow, green.

Sometime in my later years at Stapleton, the principal installed a stoplight at the front of the cafeteria/gymnasium. During lunchtime, the lights would change, depending on the volume of the chattering children. When someone would start mixing their mashed potatoes with their pineapple tidbits, a table would roar with laughter from boys and squeals from girls with bows in their hair. The moment noise grew louder than a hush, the light would move from green to yellow, a sign that it was a little too loud and to quiet/settle down.

If things got really out of hand -- let's say someone decided to initiate a minor food fight or one of the boys was picking on one of the girls -- laughter would boom and girls would squeal louder. This usually meant that the cafeteria monitor would switch the stoplight to red, which meant (in plain terms) "shut the hell up." At the red light, a single whisper was asking to be sent to the principal's office or to have recess stripped away. After a few minutes of complete silence -- with the exception of clattering pots and pans from the lunch ladies and silverware scraping plastic trays -- the light would return to yellow and slowly work its way back to green. Usually by that time, though, it was time for recess.

Recess, of course, is a whole different story that includes the honeysuckles, the big tree at the far end of the playground, the four-square courts, the metal railroad cars/monkey bars and the big metal slide where a kid went down head-first (and cracked open his skull, of course, on the gravel and rocks below). I'll tell those stories eventually.

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My Judaica blog also seems to be wanting to float into a log of sorts. Lately I seem to be having small chance memories of things I haven't thought about in ages. Autumn and wintertime do that, though. It's the scents of this time of year where you cloes your eyes and are transported to a completely different time and place where your feet were much smaller, hands quite tiny and your eyes were much wider. So that's where I'll head. Wherever the moment takes me.

A tisket a tasket.

A note for the children who someday will call me "mother" and the grandchildren who will call me "bubbe," I can only hope.

I went grocery shopping today and in the produce section I stopped by the pears. On sale, 10 pounds for 10 dollars, I picked up three. And while handling the oddly-shaped fruits, I thought of my father. My father who used to cut slivers of his pears for my brothers and I. My fruit intake as a child consisted of pieces of pear my father would slice off, paper towel cupping the green fruit and short knife slicing pieces small enough and big enough for a child. I loved him more for each piece he gave me. He'd do the same with apples, but it's pears that remind me of my father.

It's the only produce that reminds me of anyone, really. Keep small things like these. They'll keep you smiling while handling fruit in the produce aisle thousands of miles from the people who helped you grow.