Ask Chaviva Anything: Of Marriage and Mr. T

It's been awhile since I responded to some of the Ask Chaviva Anything questions, so I thought I'd go through and answer a bunch in one quick (hopefully) post. This round of questions is devoted to marriage and family life, in honor of celebration FOUR YEARS of marriage to Mr. T on February 20th.

Ready? Let's roll.

Did you go through the shidduch process with Mr. T?

For those of you not in the know, the shidduch process is a matchmaking process, wherein you rely on a third party to find a suitable, meaningful marriage match. The answer to this is yes! I actually used a website called Saw You at Sinai, wherein there are matchmakers around the world who look through your profile and answers to questions to find you a match. Then they pair you up with people and both sides get the opportunity to deny/accept the potential opportunity to talk or meet. I'd been on SYAS for months, and I can't even begin to tell you how many men declined the opportunity to even talk to me. As a divorced convert, I wasn't such an attractive match, it seems. I tried to be really open and not picky, so I accepted several potential matches, but the first one that stuck was Mr. T. His profile said he was divorced with a kid and was a smoker, but something about his photos and profile sang to me. Shortly after we met, he quit smoking cold turkey (I have asthma, so this was a deal breaker), and the rest is history. 

What / when will you tell your children about your first marriage?

Honestly, I don't know that I'll tell them anything about it. However, if it comes up, or they ask, or they're getting toward the age of marrying, I'll tell them about it, because I believe it provides a valuable lesson about expectations and when to follow your heart and when to follow your gut. My first marriage and that entire relationship is an example of so many things, primary among them happiness, what that looks like, and what you're willing to do in pursuit of it. 

When are you returning home, permanently?

Home is where the heart is. My heart is currently in Denver. If you're asking when we're going to return to Israel, the answer to that is when we have enough money and stability to get by for 2-3 years without worry. It is taking longer than we anticipated for that to happen. I refuse to put my children in the position of "living in the red" and struggling from paycheck to paycheck. It might be the Israeli way, but it's not the way I want to live my life. 

You seem to be having a rough time of it lately, between 2 kids & your job. Do you feel things would have been easier had you stayed in Israel? Or, despite the difficulties, is it still easier in the US?

No. Life would have been rougher had we stayed in Israel. Period. Also, since this questions was asked, I quit my job, and I'm finding that ONE THING that will make me happy, so I'm moving in the direction of finding my happy/stable/productive place.

Do you ever find yourself upset still at how hard it was for your husband to reimmigrate to the USA?

Absolutely, yes. Especially as Little T gets closer and closer to the age Asher was when Mr. T left, I start to see milestones that he missed, and it breaks my heart that he missed those opportunities with Asher, but it also makes me so happy that he gets to experience those with our daughter. 

Next up: Questions About Conversion! Stay tuned ... 

Have a question to ask? Pop over and ask with perfect anonymity!

Ask Chaviva Anything: LuLaRoe and Being a Busy Mom

I was super shocked, but awesomely excited to see so many questions asked so quickly when I posted the Ask Chaviva Anything revival! Here are some quick fun ones y'all asked.

If you could do any job in the world, what would it be?

With everything going on lately with work, I've been thinking about this a lot. For the longest time, I thought being a copy desk chief at The New York Times would have been the most epic job. Then, when I was super happy in my digital marketing role, I wanted to be the social media go-to in the Jewish nonprofit world. I quickly learned that could happen, but not with the financial outcome I'd hoped for. So, now, most recently, my dream job has been writing and consulting on digital marketing and PR. Someday, I'll be able to commit myself to writing again and to consulting (and actually getting paid for it ... because I give out way too much free advice these days and always) and having a schedule that makes sense for me. Someday, yes someday, I'll write my book. That would be the most epic job in the world for me. (Also, stressful as it is, being a mommy is pretty amazing, too.)

How are you enjoying being a LuLaRoe Consultant?

In a word: YES! I absolutely love it. I get all warm and fuzzy when I put an outfit together or talk to other women about clothing or how to style something to feel confident. Honestly, I wish I had more time for it, because I think I could really fly with it. It's really helped me cope with my social anxiety and introversion, which, honestly, are getting more intense as I get older. I'm so great online, in text-based communications, and even Facebook Live feeds because it's just me and the vast universe out there. No social pressure, no expectations. (Find my group on Facebook here!)

Do you have a family mission statement? (We did this exercise as a family and it was a lot of fun.)

This is ... wow. This is great. We must do this. Thank you for the great question and idea!

Some more involved questions and answers forthcoming (including several on Israel, unsurprisingly)! Have a question? Click here to ask me quite literally anything.

The Update: Advance Parole, Immigration, Formula, and Daycare

Stay strong, they say, as I do things I had never intended had I ever become a mother.

And here I am, a mother, with Ash taste-testing some formula I purchased at Target while shopping for his daycare goodies (bed sheets, blankets, bibs, food) for his first day of impromptu daycare tomorrow. For now, he'll be attending daycare with other younguns every Tuesday and Wednesday, so I can get what little work I have to get done done and search for other jobs and interview for those jobs, and if, b'ezrat HaShem, I get one of those jobs we'll talk about full-time daycare.

I lament that I'm trying him out on formula, but this kid is crazy about solid food and seems to only feed at night and in the early morning hours, which means the mommy cow is low on supplies, and, paired with the fact that I've been home basically every day for the past however many months, means we have zero provisions for Ash in the freezer or fridge.

He's chugging the stuff. I'm insufficient. But you know what? It's fine. I'm fine.

I never wanted to put Ash in daycare. I always told myself that if I did have a kid I'd be a stay-at-home mom, or at least a mom who worked from home and was able to manage with a kid.

Fail.

I've also been sleep training Ash while his tatty is gone, because that's what happens when you make one parent responsible for getting the little one to sleep. I am miserable at getting Ash to sleep, so sleep training it is. Luckily, he's taking to it. A few minutes of tears, and he's out. Usually. It's the napping that's suffering, which is why it's 5:36 p.m. and he's asleep. (I guarantee he'll wake up again in about an hour.)

So Mr. T is out of the country indefinitely, thanks to an immigration law that says it takes forever once you start green card processing to get your travel documents, and if you don't have your travel documents, you're stuck in this country. Parent dies? Sorry, unless the right USCIS agent tells you to go to a local office to get an emergency "advance parole" document, you're up a creek. Unless, of course, you go ahead and leave the country anyway, in which case you screw yourself to the point of not being able to re-enter the USA. So that's where we are. I've emailed state senators, I've emailed local representatives. I've talked to a handful of lawyers. Everyone says the same thing:

Why did he leave? Did he know what he was doing when he left? That was a really stupid move. You guys really screwed up. Sorry, there's nothing that can be done. The law is the law. He'll have to transfer his case to the UK or Israel and wait 8-12 months for consular processing. Yes, that means he won't be able to see his son. Yes, that means he'll miss his son's first birthday. Sorry.

So there we are. The result was an emergency visit to the local daycare, an explanation of logistics, finances, and realities. We'll see how I do. We'll see how Ash does.

I keep telling myself that HaShem doesn't hand us anything that we can't handle. I'm starting to believe that this is a test of strength, commitment, and responsibility. Am I up to the challenge? I have to be. For Ash. Everything's for the Shmoogedy Boo. His happiness and well being are my utmost concern, and ultimately those things are dependent on my own sanity, happiness, and health.

Where will this road take us? Who knows. But I must continue to let HaShem guide me and lead me, however obscure and confusing the journey is.

The Sky is Falling, or Why Does it All Hurt So Bad?

"The sky is falling, the sky is falling," said Chaviva. Move over Chicken Little, this mama is struggling.

For two weeks we had Mr. T's son iBoy with us in Denver. It was amazing. Although I spent the bulk of that time guilty that I wasn't actively in the office working because of all of the ups and downs of being back in the U.S., we had an amazing time traversing Colorado. I saved up all the places I wanted to take Mr. T until iBoy was here. We went to the Celestial Seasonings tea factory (alas, no babies allowed, so I got hopped up on tea in the tasting room), Garden of the Gods, to the Flatirons near Boulder, down to the REI flagship store and rented a kayak and went out on the lake in a thunderstorm ... we did tons of things to keep ourselves entertained, to show iBoy how beautiful it is here, and to make sure, above all, he felt like he was our family, that we love him, that we miss him, and that we want what is best for him in life.

It was a hard thing letting him go on Monday, but these things have to happen (legally, of course). Since then, it's been tough to get him on the phone or Skype, which has been hard on us all. Ash got used to him being around, Mr. T got used to having him around and his entire demeanor changed -- after all, wouldn't yours with both of your sons around you? And me? I got used to seeing Ash light up in a new way, to seeing Mr. T so, so happy, and to having the sound of giggling and snoring and the thump of iBoy running around the apartment and begging to go out and play soccer with his dad.

Last Shabbat we spent ages with iBoy and his dad playing soccer, until it started to rain. Ash and I sat and watched, with Ash mesmerized by this bigger version of himself kicking around a ball and falling all over the grass with his dad.

We felt like a complete unit during those two weeks. So it's a bit heartbreaking as we go back to "normal" without iBoy.

On Tuesday, after dropping iBoy in Omaha, we stopped in to check on my dad, who'd taken the week off from work. Mr. T, playing on a Jewish softball league, wanted to pick up my dad's old bag of softball bats that they had out in their storage unit. I don't think my dad had touched those bats since we left Joplin in 1996. In southern Missouri, baseball reigns supreme. T-ball, little league, adult league softball, it consumes the summertime. My dad played on and coached softball teams throughout my childhood, and he loved the sport. His bats were housed in a green, old Navy bag with his name stamped on the shoulder strap. It's not that military surplus stuff, it's the real deal.

Then, on the way out of the unit, my dad started acting weird. Buckled safely into the car, he wasn't answering questions I asked again and again, and then? Then he seized. His entire body clenched into a giant fist. Asher was in the backseat watching Baby Einstein, Mr. T was in the seat next to him, and I was in the driver's seat, my dad next to me, and I held him and panicked.

In an instant I became a child again. I don't think I've called my father "Daddy" in years. All of a sudden it's the only thing I could say, with a giant question mark at the end of every single utterance of the word. He shook, he clenched, it was like I was watching a TV show or movie. It was textbook. I'd seen it before, but never never in person. I knew they were happening, but I'd never experienced it.

I just held him. I held his head when it flung back. I grabbed the storage unit keys from his hand once his body relaxed. We raced to the hospital, not sure if it was the right one, unable to call my mom thanks to T-Mobile having zero service in Lincoln, Nebraska.

He was out of body the entire drive. For 20 minutes he was gone. His head back, my hand holding it up, it was almost like he was sleeping, snoring. I kept on. "Daddy? Daddy? Are you okay? Daddy?"

We got to the hospital and all of a sudden I was in parent mode. My dad slowly became lucid, but didn't know what happened or where we were or why we were there. He was curled into himself, not sure of himself. I coaxed him out of the car with nurses, took him inside. Gave them his information; they knew him, he'd been there before.

They went through the same motions as always. CT scans, EKGs, vitals, etc. He slowly became lucid and realized what was going on. We were all frustrated, especially after several hours when the ER doctor came in and said everything looked fine; they were sending him home. As usual.

I now understand what he is going through, first hand, after seeing it, and after seeing how the ER doesn't seem to have much to say or do about it all. They offer up the usual: three meals a day, cool and calm environment, low-stress activities, plenty of sleep, take your meds.

For months this has been going on. No one seems to really have a good idea of what's causing the seizures or why. So I found an internist who is going to take on his case. And we're going to hope, pray that something gets figured out.

On that note, maybe Mr. T and I will move to Nebraska and set up a B&B or a little shul for passersby to have a nice, quiet Shabbat. We'd be close to dad, rent would be cheaper, we'd have peace of mind.

Ah emotions. Between family and what's happening in Israel, my head is about to explode. The things of the world that do make sense people don't seem to get (you can't negotiate with terrorists) and the things that should make sense (having seizures, a child and divorced parents) just don't.

HaShem? Let us see you.

It's Been So Good!

Check out the family! After an eight hour drive to Nebraska so he can be back with his mom tomorrow, you can guarantee we'll miss iBoy.

This is My Narrow Bridge: What's Been Going On

The world is a very narrow bridge, and the main thing is to not be afraid. 

כל העולם כולו גשר צר מאוד, והעיקר לא להתפחד כלל

(Rebbe Nachman of Breslov) 

I've been so very mum the past few weeks here on the blog while so many things in my life tumble around. The utterly disgusting reality of what's happening in Israel paired with our own familial issues with my father being in the hospital, dealing with the small tree's worth of paperwork for Mr. T's immigration paperwork, preparing for iBoy to come visit, and the money being hemorrhaged for everything has my mind in a bit of a flutter, my body exhausted, and the concept of decent sleep off in the faraway distance somewhere.

Mr. T and I speak frequently about the guilt that we feel about being in the U.S. with everything going on in Israel. Part of me feels blessed to have experienced the "raining rockets" lifestyle after making aliyah a few years ago, because I now know what the fear feels like. I know what the desperation feels like. And I know what the "life as normal" necessity feels like. We're happy we're here in the U.S. and safe, but all of our friends -- who are so much our family -- are still there, and it horrifies us minute to minute. The deaths of the three teenage boys that seems to have set this all off has me more afraid than ever of raising a child in Israel. Reality smacked me in the face.

Yes, I know that children are kidnapped and murdered everywhere in the world. But it's different. At least in the U.S. it's different.

Here, a random psycho -- even if it's someone familiar with your family -- could cause you and your children harm. It's a fluke, an imbalance, a direct attack.

In Israel, it's a bunch of random psychos who have it in their mind that all Jews, all Israelis, are worthless and unnecessary. It's the continuation of so many episodes of marginalization, murder, and massacre. It's personal. It's different. Those three teens weren't kidnapped and murdered because of a random psycho. They were kidnapped and murdered because they were Jews. Their existence stood in the way of a world that's Judenrein.

It's hard being here. Having iBoy with us for two weeks very soon will be bittersweet. He'll be safe in our home. He'll be loved and cared for and not at risk. No red alerts, no rockets. But then he'll rejoin his mother and go back to Israel and be in danger again. B'ezrat haShem (thank God) the conflict will be over by then, but if it isn't? We'll continue to be on edge.

My father's health is up and down, left and right, and the brain is proving itself elusive and a formidable, frustrating foe that won't reveal why its doing what it's doing. It's scary. I feel the reality of growing up, getting older, even more than when he was diagnosed with lymphoma or had bypass surgery. I feel older than I should with the fear that my dad is mortal, that he's outlived his own parents by dozens of years, and that not knowing what's going on is scary. Very scary. In the moments you should feel like an adult you're sent back to the scary days of being a child and not knowing or understanding.

Mr. T's immigration paperwork has been sent off at last. I have quickly become a pro at filing the i-130, the i-485, the i-131, the i-765, and the dozens of supporting documents required. I've also become a pro at writing checks for thousands of dollars. Become an American is stupid expensive. It's prohibitive. I now understand why there are so many illegal immigrants.

America is not the melting pot it once was. It's a place where they want to make sure you won't leach off the government. Oddly enough, it's the people born here who seem to do that more than the immigrants. They just want to work. Mr. T is desperate to work. It makes me sad that I know people who can work and won't because they're lazy and ungrateful and my husband is desperate to work and pay taxes but can't.

It's stupid.

But small victories in the past few days over people who talk a big game but ultimately have zero clue what they're doing have shown me that HaShem truly does run the universe. The plan is there. It's big. HaShem is big. And although I fall -- constantly -- HaShem gives me the nudges I need to remember that it's all bigger than me.

All I have to do is remember that.

Ask Chaviva Anything: Moving to the U.S., iBoy, and Mr. T

Because of the barrage of Mr. T, iBoy, U.S. questions, here's a catch-all installment of

Why did you move back to the US?

I thought I addressed this question in a previous post, but in case you missed it: bikur cholim.

How are you liking life back in the US? Are there things you missed here? Are there things you miss now? How is your British/Israeli husband doing with living in the US?

Life back here is interesting. There are aspects of Israel I miss desperately (the Jewish community and feeling of Shabbat), but there are things here that I find super comforting (knowing the language, finding what I need in the store, farmer's markets, the superficial things). As for Mr. T, I think he's baffled by the customer service, kindness, and options available here in the U.S. It's the land of everyTHING, so it's easy to find what you need anywhere at any price. In a way, we're being very spoiled right now.

How does Mr. T feel about being in the US? What is happening with iBoy? Is it hard being so far away from your stepson/Mr. T's son?

Mr. T is having a hard time, and really why wouldn't he? He left his almost 11 year old in the care of his mother to move to the U.S. with his wife and infant son to take care of family things. The truth is, he's viewing it as a lesson for iBoy, to see the lengths to which he would go for family. If we had to leave Israel to be with family in the UK it would be the same story, just a bit closer (a two hour time change rather than a nine hour time change). But we're working with iBoy's mother to make sure that iBoy has plenty of opportunities to spend time with us in the U.S. In fact, he'll be visiting in a few more weeks for two whole weeks! Considering the most we got to see iBoy was a few days a week back in Israel, it will be a blessing to have him around consistently for so long. But remember: iBoy's mother has full custody of him, so bringing him with us wasn't even an option, unfortunately. That choice is up to iBoy now that he's older than 10.

How is your husband handling juggling fatherhood with a son on each side of the world?

Considering he stays home three to four days a week while I go into the office to work, he's doing marvelously. He's an extremely extroverted person, so having a non-speaking infant who is teething around 24/7 hasn't driven him mad -- yet. Ash and Mr. T speak to iBoy on Skype (when his mother's computer is working) almost daily if they can manage it. But time differences, dinner plans, and other things often get in the way and make it difficult for Mr. T to speak with his son, which is incredibly hard on him. But as Ash gets older and more interactive, not to mention when Mr. T is able to work in the U.S., things will become a bit easier on everyone, I think. 

I know you said you do plan to head back to Israel at some point, but honestly, reading your blog over the past few years, the place you've always seemed unambiguously the happiest is in Colorado, while you've expressed a lot of ambivalence about life in Israel. Do you really want to go back to Israel?

It's true that I'm very happy in Colorado. The weather here does something to my emotions and psyche. I feel confident and happy and proud here. When I lived in Colorado in 2005, I was going through a bit of an awkward breakup and I found my confidence and self worth while here. When I came here after my divorce in 2011, I did the same thing. I found my happy place, I realized I was worth so much more than I ever thought I was. Now, being back, I wake up and see the sunshine and mountains and I feel like HaShem is really here. Is this the place everyone should be? Nah. It's just a place that makes sense for me. But that being said, Israel will always be the place we're meant to be. I wasn't always happy there, and I was frustrated with the language, the politics, the state of war, but you get to be Jewish in a unique way there. A way you can't be anywhere else. And that's something that is very important to me. 

On the other hand, what's going on right now in Israel makes me scared. Teenage boys being kidnapped by terrorists makes me scared. That could be my boy, my little Ash, in so many years. It could be iBoy. It could be the sons of friends of mine. That reality is horrifying. 

Yes, the U.S. is riddled with school shootings and kidnappings and horrible things, but here it's one psycho in one act of selfish psychosis. In Israel? It's a group of people with the unwavering desire to kill all Jews and destroy an entire nation. That's so much bigger, so much scarier. 

So, with all of that, I am ambivalent about life in Israel right now. Here I'm closer to my family, closer to comfort, closer to the "easy" life. But is that the kind of life I want to instill in my children and the future generations? I'm not sure. Only time will tell. 

Have questions? Ask away!

Back from the U.S. and ...

Photo taken by my mom, Debbie, at the Omaha airport before

we hopped on the first of three legs of air travel back to Israel. 

Oh hello there blog. What? I've been neglecting you? Yes, yes I have. With traveling back and forth to the U.S., work, and raising the fastest growing bundle of cute ever, I haven't been as active here on the blog as I want to be. I've got a bucketload of book reviews (including a few cookbooks of mention), a book giveaway, and tons of pictures and insights about being back in the U.S. to share. It'll take some time, but I'll get it all up. I promise.

The first and quickest thing I have to say?

Flying back into Israel, I always felt a rush of "I'm home!" in the past. Every trip I got the same sensation. This was the first time since 2009 that I saw the coastline and my thoughts turned to, "Is this really home? Is this really where I'm happiest?" I then reminded myself that home is where the heart is, and for me, home is where Ash and Mr. T are. They're here, I'm here, and thus, that's where my happiness can be found (for now anyway).

The U.S. was a time of comfort, a time where I could go to any grocery store and easily find vegetarian, vegan, and gluten-free products worth eating. Where convenience foods were just that, and I didn't have to think about cooking something from absolute scratch in order to be able to eat. It seems like a shallow, superficial thing to care about, but with the diet I'm sporting these days (gluten free as always, but now without many eggs, and without any dairy) it's hard to live in Israel.

But more on that later.

Also? Adventures in breast feeding were fun. That's going to be a post, without a doubt.

Time to go snuggle with the hubsters and little one. We're all sick, so we make for good company. Happy company, that is.

That Woman: We're Heading Stateside

We're seven weeks in to life with Ash, and it's magical.

Magical.

The first few weeks are hard and exciting, then things get rough if and when baby gets colicky, so you try a few things, figure out a plan, and attack. Then baby gets better, happier, and then the cooing and moments-that-sound-like-giggles-but-aren't-exactly start and it's falling in love like the first moment all over again.

I've learned to truly appreciate the Asher Yatzar blessing that Jews recite after going to the bathroom thanking HaShem for the proper functioning of the body. With a colicky baby whose gas and reflux make him a mini Godzilla, you realize the blessing of communication and proper body function. Can you imagine not having the ability to say "it hurts here, please help me" ...? That's a baby's life.

And now, with baby having calmed down a bit, we're off to the United States so he can meet his Grandma Deb and Grandpa Bob, his Uncles John and Joe, his cousins Owynn and Oliver, and his Aunt Jess. And ... maybe, just maybe ... he'll meet another new cousin if she shows up on time.

I'm scared to death of becoming "that woman" on the plane. You know, the one with the screaming child that won't calm down. I don't sleep on planes in any circumstances anyhow, so I don't mind being up and about with Ash while Mr. T catches some Zzzzs, but being "that woman" has always been my greatest fear when it comes to parenthood.

Assuming all goes well and the three legs of the flight go according to plan, we'll be stateside on Tuesday for a few weeks in Nebraska and Colorado. I'm hoping for snow, lots of cold weather, and all of the comforts of being back in familiar surroundings (Target, gluten-free and vegan food out my ears, and the ease and quiet of a life I know well).

I'll admit I'm anxious about going home. The fact that I call it home is enough to get me lashed here in Israel, too.

When you make aliyah to Israel, you are home. Right? But I still refer to Nebraska as home. If home is where the heart is, does it mean my heart is in the U.S.? Does it mean I'm not really committed to life in Israel?

It's stupid that I'm eager to shop at Trader Joe's and pick up the gluten-free food that made life easy and liveable back in the U.S. I'm excited to go to Target where the clothes are inexpensive and fit me. I'm elated to see coworkers I haven't met yet and to spend even half a day working with them in a "normal" work environment for the first time in a year and a half. But at the same time, it isn't stupid. It's just the life I know. The life I've been comfortable with. It's the life I know how to live. Emotionally and financially.

Since Ash was born, I've been scared to death of postpartum depression because of what I've been through in the past. I've been keeping the most obsessive and close tabs on it. Luckily, I haven't been experiencing depression.

But am I happy?

There's something a little askew right now, and I'm worried that going home is going to show me that little bit that I'm missing. That nudge of what I need to feel stable. And then what?

I suppose we'll see what two weeks in the U.S. does for me. Maybe I'll have the reaction of some friends that people in the U.S. are commercially obsessed and life there is miserable. I have an inkling that it will be quite the opposite of reactions.

Either way, I hope Ash doesn't make me "that woman" on the plane. Let's start there.  

Niddah and Childbirth

Something I've been thinking about over the expanse of this pregnancy is what happens after the pregnancy. Yes, there will be a baby and chaos and madness and a lack of sleep and insanity, but what happens between husband and wife?

Now, I'm not about to get personal on you here, but this is a topic that a lot of women in the religious Jewish community have to deal with, and I think it would be nice to have a quick, concise understanding of what happens once baby arrives. Also, I never thought I'd like being able to canoodle with my husband 24/7 without those monthly disturbances, but after being married one month and getting pregnant, I've been spoiled on the ability to always get a hug when I need it.

What is niddah? 

When a woman isn't pregnant or breastfeeding and her menstrual cycle is functioning as normal as one does, she goes through the ebb and flow of being a niddah. Contrary to popular belief, niddah doesn't mean "unclean" or "dirty," but rather "separate" or "moved" according to ritual impurity. Yes, the term impure is a pretty loaded term, but there are plenty of ways for men to become impure as well.

A woman is considered niddah after her menstrual cycle ends and she experiences seven clean days without bleeding and when the total of bleeding + clean days adds up to at least 12 days. Yes, that means most women will spend half the month and year in niddah, unable to do a variety of things like having sex with her spouse. There are differing opinions on the 12 days rule among different groups of Jews, and Yoatzot.org goes into some of those here.

Once the clean days have finished, a woman goes to mikvah (the ritual bath as its known) and dunks, and is once again back to normal life with her husband.

So what does this have to do with being pregnant and giving birth?

In the final stages of labor, a woman becomes a yoledet, which puts her in the same category as niddah. There are a ton of different aspects of the birthing process that complicate or intensify things like whether it's a natural birth or C-section, whether she's having a boy or a girl, and so on. But basically a woman becomes a yoledet and the rules of niddah take over. For a woman in the midst of birth, I can imagine, this can be a pretty emotionally rotten time for her husband to be completely hands off.

I'm struggling a little bit with this concept, especially because (in my mind) after you give birth or in those final moments you want your partner's hand to squeeze and a kiss after going through the crazy ordeal of bringing a miniature human into the world, but it's all hand's off because of niddah.

There are even many rabbis who have ruled that a husband shouldn't even be in the birthing room at the time of labor because of the laws of yoledet/niddah, which prohibit the husband from seeing his wife naked, let alone any other graphic things that go on in the birthing room. Luckily, Rav Moshe Feinstein has said that it's okay for the husband to be in the birthing room supporting his wife, but there's still a hands-off approach (Igrot Moshe Yoreh Deah 2:75).

This might be one of the reasons that doulas are a popular addition to the Jewish birthing process, me thinks. Giving birth is such an all-sensory experience, I find it hard to imagine not sharing the physical side with Mr. T. No kiss? No hug? No job well done?

And, since you become a yoledet/niddah in labor, you have to go through the normal cycle as you would any other time. Once the bleeding after birth stops, you have to count seven clean days and visit the mikvah. Then you're back to that pre-baby pregnancy bliss of being able to canoodle your spouse whenever you like. Heck, squish that baby between your faces and smooch away!

At least that's how it works for some women. Your period can return anywhere between 11 weeks and 24 months after you give birth, depending on oodles of different factors. Some women start menstruating right away and can get pregnant immediately, others opt for birth control to regulate things and put off a baby a bit further. As all things with a woman's body go, it's a complete crapshoot.

It will be interesting post-birth to see how this all impacts me. I've never been a super touchy-feely person when it comes to significant others, but I've grown to enjoy the comfort of knowing there's a kiss or hug around the corner when I need it. Knowing that birth can do all sorts of wackadoodle things to your hormones has me in a bit of a stomach knot, because observing the laws of taharat ha'mishpacha means that you live within the confines of Torah and it doesn't bend to your will or want -- even when you think you need it.

On the other hand, it might be nice to get back into the mikvah-going mindset. Once-a-month getaways with some silence and relaxation to reconnect to myself, my body, and HaShem? Sounds divine. It really is a toss-up, and I only wish I could see the future.

What has been your experience with giving birth and being a yoledet? Was it difficult? How did you cope with being physically "alone" during such an intense time? 

A Memorial Day Tribute

I come from a devout military family that, up until my generation, treks back hundreds of years throughout Europe. My father was a Navy man, my mother an Army brat, and the military representation just keeps going.

I'm blessed because my mom's side of the family traces itself through the Duval Family Association, which documents a very well-documented family hailing from France and arriving in the U.S. while fleeing religious persecution in 1701. (Think Catholics marrying Hugeonots!) These folks rubbed elbows with George Washington and other well-known historical giants.

But let's get to honoring so many of my family members who defended freedom.

My dad's dad, Joseph Edwards, was a military man who served during World War II in France, but what he did there I'll never know because the facility that held his military records burned down in the 1950s or 60s, which I find hugely disappointing. What I do know is that he ended up in France after the liberation, but I don't know what he did there, what his rank was, or anything like that. Joseph -- my middle name sake -- died of a heart attack on August 17, 1965, just 11 days after my dad turned 12 years old (his mother died a few years prior).

My mom's dad, John Baskette, was a Navy man who served during World War II in Pearl Harbor -- and yes, he was there when the attacks of December 7, 1941 happened. He spent his entire life in the military, and when my mom was born he was stationed in France. He died in April 2007 after quite a long life devoted to retelling what happened at Pearl Harbor. When I was in Middle School in Joplin, Missouri, I got to do a huge report on my grandfather and even borrowed my dad's old Navy uniform and dressed up like him.

Much further back, we're talking Civil War time, I have oodles of family that served. John Howard Baskette was born in 1829 and died in 1884 and was a Colonel of the 68th Regiment of Tennessee Militia of Coffee Company (mmm ... coffee). Then there was Dr. William Turner Baskette (the aformentioned's father) who was caught three times by the North while traversing across the war line. His house still stands today in Mufreesboro, Tennessee, where the local Women's Club now meets.

William's father, Abraham, was a private in the War of 1812, and his father William Semple Baskette was a Baptist minister in Virginia who was a Lieutenant during the Revolutionary War.

There are dozens of other members of my family that served in the military, but I think this will suffice. I wish I knew more about my father's family line, but with his parents having died so young, there are a million questions I didn't get to ask and will probably never get the answers I need.

So here's to soldiers -- past, present, and future -- who fight for peace, freedom, and liberty!

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!

The UK: Feast!

Hello market!

Despite the title, this isn't a blog post about the food I experienced in the UK. The truth is that the food I experienced in the kosher world was rather limited (we went out for kosher Indian and ordered in kosher Chinese), but being there over Pesach definitely limited the options. No, this blog post is about a market in West Norwood called FEAST!

I know what you're thinking. I've posted about a coffee roasting experience and now am posting about a local hipster market, what about Big Ben and castles and changing of the guard!? Being married to a gent from the UK hopefully means I'll have several trips to England in my future, so I was excited to experience the local flavor where my brother- and sister-in-law live. So after a schlep down from Edgware to South London, we popped out to the market, which spans several blocks and features food, local crafts, antiques, and oodles of other awesome things.

Vintage is cool! There were so many beautiful antiques. 

This was the first place I was exposed to Volcano Coffee Works, not to mention a bounty of unkosher and delicious smelling/looking food that was out of reach. The local flavor here is intense!

This was the kind of place (much like Camden Market) where I could probably easily drop hundreds of dollars on local goodies. I ended up walking away with a cup o' Joe and a beautiful pair of purple coconut shell earrings from a vendor who is incredibly green in all of her jewelry design, focusing on vegetarian ivory, old magazines, coffee beans, and coconut shells. I also stumbled upon African Inyoni artwork by Marika du Plessis, and I seriously struggled to not buy one of the paintings. The colors were so vivid and bright, but how do you schlep a painting back to Israel when you're limited on luggage? Argh!

This pic is funny because the sign says it's an alcohol-free area,
while fresh alcoholic cider is being served in the tent next to it. D'oh!

After walking around the market we walked through an incredibly old cemetery, saw the beautiful Greek structures that were adorned oddly enough with stars of David, and then partook in a picnic lunch at home followed by a trip to a local pub so I could get the true taste of the English pub. The most shocking thing about the pub experience? Babies, children, and pregnant ladies everywhere! Aside from the prevalence of children the smells of the pub reminded me of college days long gone by. Unfortunately the quintessential aspect of pub life (the food) was something we couldn't partake in. 

Maybe that's what Israel needs -- a kosher, British pub! Find more photos from my day on Flickr!

Ask Chaviva Anything!: Of Loathing and Family

And now for another installment of ...

Questioner number one asks,

"Besides the shaving issue, what are you disliking about Israel? Do you have a strategy for meeting someone?"

The thing I probably dislike most about Israel is the amount of people who smoke, all the time, everywhere. Shopkeepers leave their cash registers unattended to stand in the doorways of their businesses and smoke. It's that excessive. I feel like I can't breathe half the time, and I'm not looking forward to when it's crazy hot outside and I actually can't breathe. The other thing is how there doesn't seem to be a cozy coffee shop scene like what I had in the U.S. You know, the small, crowded, indie, hipster coffee shops where everyone's working and blogging and writing their life's work. 

As for a strategy for meeting someone, that's a big huge no. I'm on the traditional sites like SawYouAtSinai (major fail) and JWed (formerly Frumster) and jDate (which actually has religious people on it here believe it or not), but so far I haven't had much luck. I've met a few creeps, some crazies, and had a lot of disappointing turn-downs. I honestly was hoping that once I got to Israel that my network of friends and acquaintances would go all shidduch on me and set me up with eligible folks they knew, but so far that traditional means of getting to know people hasn't panned out. I manage to spot cute religious guys all the time, but in this world you don't just go out on a limb and talk to someone. 

Seriously, I'm willing to take suggestions. Or, if you're a cute, religious blog reader out there, I'm also up for super fans. But as one friend said to me, "You sound desperate." So I'm trying to keep all of my dating adventures and experiences offline. It's hard. It's really, really, really hard. But guys don't dig chicks who come off as desperate, now do they?

Questioner number two asks,

How has your family reacted to such a big move? Any plans for them to visit?

Great question! My little brother seems to think it's pretty awesome, and he's been asking me lots of questions about where I am, what it's like, and such. We text quite a bit (thanks Google Voice), which is how we communicated before my move, so it's not like much has changed. In my perfect world, I'd save up the cash to bring him to Israel for his 21st birthday, which happens to come in 2013. 

My dad was really upset about it, because I'm daddy's little girl and I'm moving halfway around the world. He worries, no matter where I am, because that's the kind of mensch that my dad is. But we email regularly, I've called him a few times (also thanks Google Voice), although I seem to always miss him, so we email every other day or so. We keep in close contact, and he also reads the blog when he can (hi dad!) to keep up on things I forget to mention in emails. So we're solid. I also hope to save up to bring him over! Back in his Navy days, my dad floated around in this part of the world, even shuttling some soldiers into the Suez Canal back in the early 1970s. 

As for my older brother, that's kind of a question mark. He's checked in on me a few times, and I still haven't managed to get my adorable nephews on Skype, although that's something I need to pursue more hardcore. I wonder if they're talking yet? It's hard to be far away, and I see cute bobbles all the time that I want to buy for them and send home. Dear Brother, if you're reading this, what do you think of me moving, eh? 

When it comes to the rest of my family, I'm not so close. I don't know if all of my family even knows that I'm overseas, to be honest. I put up a good front working U.S. hours and all of that, don't I? I of course want to visit. The question is when and whether I can afford it. I thought I'd be back in March for SXSW Interactive, but it looks like that's a bust. So I'll probably shoot for the summer, when leaving Israel is actually a good thing to do because it's so blazingly toasty.

Don't forget to ask your question online!

The Pursuit of Happiness

I started off writing a post about my Passover experience. Detail by detail. Seder to Seder, meal to meal, joke to joke. But it didn't feel sincere, when all I can think about is how disconnected this year was compared to every observant Passover I've had since 2008.

For the first year since 2008, when I had the world's greatest experience in Chicago thanks to Rabbi Asher Lopatin's help finding me a seder, I was spending Passover mostly by myself. The past three years I enjoyed the tale of our Exodus from Egypt with Evan's family -- the first two years in Florida, poolside, visiting his grandmother, aunt and uncle, and last year in Monsey with cousins. Those were family holidays, how I always envisioned Passover to be. In Florida, four generations gathered around a large seder table eating matzo and cracking jokes.

Even the first year I observed Passover in Chicago, the seder was a family experience. Led by a grandfather at the father's house with grandmother and the orphans of the community around the table.

I'm not saying this year didn't feel like family, but it wasn't the same. The seders were outstanding, filled with intelligent queries and questions of why, why, why. And there were families there, generations represented, but they weren't my family.

An old friend (circa 2006 when I was working at The Washington Post) stopped in last week for the first seder (her first, as far as I know) while working on a story for GOOD magazine. We spent a lot of time talking about my conversion and what I'm really looking for in life, the thing that Judaism was meant to represent for me -- community, family, connections, belonging.

The pursuit of family.

There's something about the seder that asks us all to be a part of a continuum, from generation to generation, and for so many -- even the most secular of Jews -- the seder creates a consistent timeline within a family. For about three years, I was part of a continuum, a story within a family that could serve as a history.

And now? I'm an orphan, a random. And I'm trying so hard to remember that family is more than immediate connections made through marriage or birth. I'm trying to remember that the Jewish community is a family all its own.

But for some reason, I feel so outside of the community. Self-imposed out of fear? Fear of rejection, chastising? Perhaps. I don't know where I've gone wrong or how I ended up here, but despite the inclusion I received at seders and end-of-chag meals, I still feel like that piece of furniture that no one can seem to place. Who bought it? Where do we put it? Should we throw it out? Put it in the attic? It's as if no one knows what to do with me, and worse yet -- I don't know what to do with myself.

Passover, I think, was eye-opening for me. It made me long for something I've lost -- my Jewish family. So the question is: How do I recover what I had, what I lost, and what I need?

(Note: I don't want this to sound like I am diminishing the amazing friends who keep me afloat -- I'm looking at you @melschol -- but there's so much more that I long for. I crave memory, family, history.)

A Mushroom for a Memory

Last night, as I prepared Kale and Mushroom Soft Tacos, I took a sampling of the mushrooms from the saute pan. Plain, warm mushrooms enticed me to close my eyes and consider the flavor. And in an instant, I was transported back to childhood and the flavor of Fried Mushrooms from the Schwann's man that my mother would deep fry in our open kitchen. My dad was always a big fan of fried mushrooms, fried gizzards (we'd buy them on almost every trip to Dillon's), fried anything. We were a family of fry lovers. But Fried Mushrooms are something I haven't had in probably 10-15 years, and the sensation of a juicy, warm mushroom was enough to remind me of such a simple piece of food.

Our senses are strange like that.

The recipe was simple enough, although I screwed a few things up in the process and will probably add a few things next time. Overall? A fresh, tasty dinner!

Ingredients
1 bunch fresh cilantro, stemmed
1/4 cup olive oil
1 jalapeño, seeded and deveined
(Recipe called for unsalted pumpkin seeds, but I didn't have 'em)
1 Tbls lime juice

8 oz cremini mushrooms, sliced
2 cups cooked, chopped kale (I just blanched mine in boiling water for a few minutes)
8 corn tortillas
Sriracha

Okay, so the first thing you're going to do is place the cilantro, olive oil, jalapeno, seeds if you have them, and lime or lemon juice (again, the recipe didn't call for this, but it really needed some acidity) in a blender or food processor and puree. This was really difficult for me because the stuff kept getting stuck to the side, but if it's not completely smooth, it still makes an excellent topper.

Put about 1 Tbls of olive oil in a saute pan and add the mushrooms, cooking until tender. Set those aside, and throw the cooked kale into the pan to take in the mushroom juices, and heat until just warm. The idea is that the kale you're using is "leftover" but, well, I never have leftover kale. So just go with it.

Warm the tortillas and place equal amounts of kale, the mushrooms, and the green salsa-y stuff on each tortilla. I also topped with gobs of Sriracha because, well, I like things spicy.

Note: Make sure that the kale and the mushrooms aren't too liquidy. This caused my tortillas to break when I attempted to eat them like real tacos. Nobody likes a soggy tortilla!

The Roadtrip in a Nutshell

I'm back in New Jersey after a whirlwind week-long schlep to Nebraska and back. Our trip included some interesting stop-offs like Antique Archaeology (a.k.a. the home of TV's "American Pickers"), the World's Largest Wooden Nickel, a former bank robbed by Bonnie and Clyde, Freedom Rock, and, of course, Ken's Diner in Skokie, Ill., for a bit of kosher nosh. We visited the Omaha Zoo, which was amazing and included the Skyfari -- a ski-lift style ride over the expanse of the zoo, and we spent a bucketload of time hanging out with my nephews Oliver and Owynn. I made my parents dinner, and I got to spend some time with a few of my best friends from high school. And I can't forget to mention the beautiful sunsets and the 360-degree view of fireworks on the Fourth of July.

For oodles of photos from my trip, check out my Facebook Album! And check out this very brief video of the sleepy ones in action!

I have a lot to say about the trip, especially how it made me feel. I can't lie: the trip left me feeling kind of sad, but not in a nostalgic way. More like, why haven't I tried harder to keep in touch with people and keep up on their lives? When did I stop being a friend to my friends?

A Jewish Funeral Experience

It's been around 13 years since I attended a funeral. At least, that's the last one I remember. It was my Uncle David, who wasn't really my Uncle David. I wrote a poem about it in college, recollecting the man who was more of a grandfather figure to me than anything else. Uncle David was my father's step-mother's family, distant, but oh-so-close to my father and to us kids. From the poem, "Uncle David Stole My Nose" ...

When I think about the funeral,
I remember looking into the casket
and seeing Uncle David’s face.
I remember, at that awkward age between
childhood and becoming a young woman,
wondering why he wasn’t smiling.
I remember telling my father, as we
left the burial site after crying and hugging
and holding relatives close, that Uncle
David’s lips should have been curved up.
Smiling as he always was.
Because that’s how everyone knew him,
that’s how I knew him,
when he was alive. ... 

I’ve try to forget the funeral and the burial,
while trying to keep Uncle David as
he was the last time I saw him before
he looked so sad in that big black box.
But I continue to recall driving past the Big Boy
where we’d eat with Uncle David every
now and then when we visited.
I remember crying and thinking about how
empty my dad was, because he’d
lost a father figure. But I know I cried
mostly because I’d lost a
Grandfather, and my nose would stay put
and I realized I was no longer
a child.

That funeral took place during a bizarre weekend where there was a wedding and a funeral. Emotional ups and downs were extreme. But this is my memory of funerals -- Christian funerals. 

Until this past week, I had not been to a Jewish funeral. I've written about paying shiva calls and the difficulty of really coming to terms with that tradition, but nothing could have prepared me for this week. I was, in plain words, an emotional wreck graveside. 

At my Uncle's funeral, it began with service at the funeral chapel, there were Bible verses read, the mood was depressing and morose, and seeing my dead uncle in the box put a forever-image in my head. We all took off to the graveside service afterward, where, everyone, dressed in black, huddled around the plot that had been carved out. The beautiful casket was held on props while words were said, words from the Bible were read, and then we departed. Only after that was the casket lowered -- we didn't watch the casket go down. We left knowing that he was still floating somewhere above the service. 

At Roszi's funeral (I blogged about her passing here) -- as I assume is true at all Jewish funerals -- the casket was lowered simply in its wooden-box form into the space in the ground. A rabbi related Roszi's life to those of us huddled under umbrellas in the cold rain, and then, then the men took a shovel and heaved dirt onto the wooden casket. 

Thump. Thump. Thump. 

And I lost it. I don't know why, but my tears just streamed -- and as I write this, my eyes are welling ... and I just don't know why. The sound of dirt -- dirt to dirt -- hitting a simple wooden casket was something I hadn't expected. Something that, to be honest, would never have happened at a funeral back home, back in my old life. The sounds ruptured something deep within me, emotions for a woman who I had barely known and who had not known me at all. 

"How many times did you even meet Roszi?" my husband asked after the funeral. 

I suppose that this is the purpose of such a visceral display of Jewish burial. It is participatory, permanent, and real. In a way, I suppose it seals the truth and the reality of what has happened. As people started to walk away, people were chattering and smiling and everyone except for the immediate family and I seemed to be unshaken by the events. 

I started to wonder: Have I become a softy? Overemotional? Or was it simply my neshama crying out for the loss of a soul so tortured for absolutely no reason.

Baruch Dayan ha'Emet.

That's Roszi, on the left. Probably taken in the early or mid-1930s.

I've known for some time that the generation of Holocaust survivors has been disappearing. Old souls are finding their way to shamayim, and in some way, are finding their way to peace after facing some incredible horrors. But -- as someone who in the past struggled to tie herself into the memory of the Shoah -- the reality of the passing of a generation never truly hit home.

Until now.

I've been meaning to write for such a long time about my husband's family and all of the amazing things we've found out about those who perished in the Holocaust. Tuvia's been cleaning out the home of one of his great-aunts and his great-uncle, and he's found some amazing things, including a document of donation to a British Mandate organization that supported a Satmar Hungarian community in then-Palestine, as well as the only surviving photo of Tuvia's maternal grandmother's family.

Tuvia's family hails from one of those places in Europe that switched hands a million times from Hungary to Romania to Austro-Hungary to ... you get the picture. They lived in Viseu-de-Sus, and we're fairly sure that's where the older siblings -- three sisters -- were born. When anti-Semitism started up, they move to Oradea, Romania, where the only surviving photo we have was taken. The family was shuttled off to the ghetto there, which was the second largest in Hungary, and were taken from the ghetto to Auschwitz in May 1944. The yartzeits (anniversary of death) for two parents and four siblings is in May 1944, because that's the last time the three surviving sisters saw their kin. (The parents and three of the four siblings are in the photo above -- a younger child was born after this picture was taken.)

After that, the sisters took a horrible journey that I will not detail here. My intent is to someday write the full story down, but the problem is that the stories are muddled and only one sister recorded her version. Records are impossible, the family stories are many, and ultimately the conclusion is that the Sisters Berkowitz journeyed to hell and back.

For one of the sisters -- Roszi -- that journey ended Saturday night.

From what we know from the one recorded history, Roszi suffered the worst of the sisters, both during and after the Shoah. After the war, Roszi lived in Sweden and then in Israel, and in one of the last legal documents by President John F. Kennedy, signed just days before he was murdered, he declared that Roszi was to be brought to New Jersey to be reunited with her family.

When I heard that she passed, all I could think was that she finally has her peace. I've spent simchas with Roszi, but I'm sure she never recognized me. Her mind was tired, and her soul was tired. Baruch dayan ha'emet. 


It's real now for me. The memory is slipping away. I can feel it, like sand through fingertips. What will happen when all of our memories -- the survivors of the Shoah -- have grown tired and faded away? I'm scared, really. I'm scared that history will repeat, and sooner than we anticipate we'll return to the earth as dust.

I'm an Aunt (Times Two)!

Yes, it's true. Twins have graced my life in the form of nephews in Nebraska, and I'm happy as a clam! My mom let me know on Friday that my sister-in-law was going in for a C-section, so to stay tuned. As the day rolled on and Shabbos grew closer, I heard nothing. Finally, my mom texted to say to check Facebook. Frantically, I headed to Facebook and saw ... nothing! Minutes before Shabbos, I called my mom -- no answer! I texted her, and then called her again, and left a message urging her to call our home phone, only realizing that she didn't have the number! Ach! Luckily, Tuvia's mom stepped in and let my mom know when and where to call: around noon on Saturday, because we could listen to the message as it recorded!

Thus, around noon today, while we sat at our Shabbos table with two other couples, my mom called and I relayed the names and weights to our guests and Tuvia. Our family welcomed to the world the most lovely of baby boys, with more hair than I'd expect on twins born early. Here they are!

Mazal tov to parents John and Jessica Edwards! I can't wait to buy these kids TONS of clothes and toys ... I'm going to use and abuse the title of "aunt." I'm toying with having the kids call me Aunt C or Aunt Jo. What do y'all think?