We're Back: Ask Chaviva Anything!

It's been awhile and I honestly don't even know if anyone is interested in this series, but I wanted to bring back the Ask Chaviva Anything series because I'm trying to spend more time here on the blog! Ready? Ask away!

One Month in Israel: Aliyah Without Aliyah

I thought I'd feel something ... something more. More deep, more powerful, more. Just more. 

When I made aliyah in 2012, I felt it all. I felt the air differently, the mornings differently. Every experience was like I was growing into a new and more meaningful life. I saw everything through new eyes, and those eyes felt and experienced things differently. Everything was shiny and new. 

I was a new Chaviva. A better Chaviva. A Chaviva more deeply in touch with her spirit, soul, and emotions. 

Moving back, I've realized I'm not that Chaviva anymore. I'm eight years, three kids, and so many life experiences (both challenging and rewarding) later. 

And I'm struggling with not feeling that ... feeling everything "more."

When we landed, Tuvia was on an energetic high. Every sight and sound was big and special and like coming home to him. I was in awe of him. I envied him. At the same time, I didn't understand why he was able to feel that way when I just felt like everything was dulled. The sights, the sounds appeared as if the shine and shimmer had been buffed clean off. 

Over the several weeks we've been here I've been waiting for that more, that shimmer to return. To look around and marvel. I've had a few moments when I step out on the balcony at sunset and the view sucks me into a world of quiet and light. But it's fleeting. It's so fleeting I don't even know how to describe the speed to you. It's shorter than the blink of an eye. 

You know when you live someplace a long time and it becomes comfortable? There's two types of comfortable you can feel: the type where it's easy and relaxing and always like coming home or the type where it's too familiar and thus uncomfortable. Somehow, that's how Israel feels to me right now. 

I know I should say I'm lucky to be here, and I am. I feel lucky and blessed and so happy to finally be home. But I want it to feel like it used to. I want to feel something about it. Anything really. It feels too familiar, too normal, too run-of-the-mill, too dull. 

I have a feeling it's because I'm working, and the kids are home, and it just feels like summer back in Denver in many ways. But I'm holding out for the moment, the feeling, the shimmer. I know it'll come back to me. 

I need to start learning again and find an outlet that is more than kids and work and marriage. Kids and work and marriage have been all I've had for so long now. I have nothing that's mine or for me. I have to find that something, and I have to find it soon. 

Anyone out there know the feeling that I'm feeling? Drop a line in the comments, please.

The Colorado Life

Sitting in a lounge chair watching Maury.

This is the American side of the Asher Yitzhak. :)

There are two things I can say outright now about being back in Colorado. One positive, one negative. Whether one outweighs the other is yet to be seen.

Awesome thing: Customer service here is amazing. I call and things are handled immediately. I need to return something, and it's not at all a problem. Used a couple of nappies in the wrong size? Take 'em back to Target and return them. Money back? No problem. Gift card form? Not an issue. Mr. T was absolutely baffled by the interaction.

Bummer thing: Shabbat is tough because our walk to the synagogue is along one of the busy drags in town, with cars flying by day and night. It doesn't feel like Shabbat. It's not quiet and relaxing and peaceful; it's loud and noisy and stressed.

There's more, of course. I like being able to walk into a store and get exactly what I need and not pay five million shekels for it. Being able to buy a shirt for $5 and knowing that it isn't going to fall apart is a blessing. Being able to buy the right things I need for Ash is brilliant. Finding inexpensive, delicious gluten-free food is wonderful.

Going places and everyone not being Jewish?

It's interesting. It's a weird adjustment. Even in Israel where not everyone is Jewish, you don't really feel like you're living in a non-Jewish country. Here, I get excited when I see another women in a head covering or sheitel (wig) in Target or King Soopers or at the Starbucks. But having people look at my name and say CHA-viva (like in cheese) is interesting and amusing. It's nice in a way. I get to share a little piece of information: "It's Hebrew," I say.

There's a delicate balance when it comes to living outside of the "Jewish state" of Israel. I find it both easy and hard. It's easy in the sense that it's more obvious here that I'm Jewish. I have to try harder. I have to think about things. I can't just buy things without thinking about it. Keeping kosher becomes more conscious than passive. And you get the opportunity to explain Judaism and its quirks to others when people ask you, curiously, what life is like in Israel.

On the other hand, it's hard because you can't just go anywhere and eat, you can't assume someone knows what you mean when you use certain words. Someone sneezes, you have to consider whether saying "l'vrioot" (lee-vree-oot) makes sense or a "bless you" will suffice. You can't go to all of your friends' homes for dinner, either, making building relationships something of a challenge sometimes.

But there we are. More reflections forthcoming, of course. This life is interesting, as it always has been. I'm just glad you're all coming along for the ride.

Toes Out of Shoes in Ramat Beit Shemesh

The culprit.

We haven't spent many Shabbatot outside of Neve Daniel since Ash was born, which means my consideration for the diversity of communities and their expectations is a "head in the clouds" kind of situation. When friends invited us to Ramat Beit Shemesh for Shabbat, I'd forgotten that there's just a certain way things are done in those parts. 

Yes, Mr. T packed his suit because colorful shirts and Chuck Taylors just don't fly, but I didn't think twice about packing my open-toed shoes because the weather was toasty and warm and my feet are my traveling air conditioning units. 

So after the gents went to synagogue, Ash and I went for a little walk up and down the road in an (futile) attempt to get him to rest after a few days off schedule thanks to movers coming and packing up our apartment (it takes 6-8 weeks for stuff to transit to the U.S.). 

As we walked near the park, I noticed little girls staring at me funny. Yes, I was wearing a tichel (head scarf) in a very wig and snood heavy area, but it wasn't completely abnormal for Ramat Beit Shemesh. I considered my outfit as we did another round, and despite my long black skirt and simple blue top with a black cardigan over it, one girl made it painfully obvious what was resulting in the funny looks. 

Open-toed shoes. 

Yes, I was exposing my toes. What's more, I was exposing toes without any kind of pantyhose or tights (which, let's be honest, would have masked my naked toes anyway). 

Naked toes! May HaShem strike me down. 

Truth be told, they don't know any better. They're told not to wear open-toed shoes, so seeing someone with them must be like someone walking down the street in a burqa, I guess. They can't help but stare. 

I'd forgotten that there are places like this. They didn't throw rocks at me or say anything rude to me (that I heard anyway). They didn't go to my  hosts and demand they never invite me again. But when we're back over Passover, I'll remember to pack the black shoes and maybe, just maybe, some stockings. 

Note: The most beautiful thing about RBS is the sound of singing, children running around through the streets without a care in the world, families gathering and moving about at a slow and comfortable pace. Sometimes I'd like to take the people from my community and embed them there, mix it up, and see what kind of community I get. I think it might be the perfect community -- for me anyway. 

You Asked, I Answered: The New Apartment

Yes, we moved -- again -- back in September to a new apartment and finally, at last, we rented out our old place after two months of double-paying on rent. The new place accommodates at-home workspace for me and space for the new baby while also giving iBoy his own space, too. The best thing, however, is that it gives us space to have people for Shabbat and to feed them properly, too.

Check it out:

Israel and My First Sukkah

I'm sitting in my favorite Jerusalem coffee shop because our wifi in the new apartment isn't working and I am a "work from home" desk jockey, and right before my eyes, arising out of nowhere, is a sukkah! (And it's coffee themed, no less.)

Yes, the beautiful thing about living in a Jewish community is that all of your favorite restaurants throw up sukkot -- or booths, huts, shanties -- for the weeklong holiday where we're commanded to eat, drink, and be merry all outside in the sukkah. The great thing about living in Israel is that this is basically happening everywhere. Why? It's a mitzvah to eat in the sukkah! So if you're the kind of establishment that wants Jews of every flavor and religious leaning to show up during the holiday, you put up a sukkah.

Note: The sukkah is meant to be reminiscent of the temporary huts the Israelites were forced to dwell in during their 40 years wandering in the desert. It's also one of the Three Holidays that the Israelites/Jews would pilgrimage into Jerusalem to the Temple. Oddly enough, according to the prophet Zecheriah, in Messianic times, all nations of the world will celebrate Sukkot and pilgrimage to Jerusalem to celebrate. So to my non-Jewish readers: Brush up on your sukkah knowledge now! You never know when Mashiach will show up and you'll have to set up your own sukkah.

It might be hard to believe, but after "doing Jewish" for around 10 years now, I've never had my very own shiny, sparkly, law-abiding Sukkah. Despite a Reform conversion in 2006 and an Orthodox conversion in 2010, my sukkah experience has been relegated largely to community huts and those of close friends -- not to mention Sukkah City 2010, which was quite the experience.

One year my ex-husband attempted to install a sukkah on his deck, but he got flack from the neighborhood association and it fell down before we could even use it. I have experience with one-person pop-up sukkahs, large community sukkahs (including one that fell down around me), and sukkahs built in backyards, front yards, and everywhere in between.

But never have I built or decorated or dwelled for even a moment in my very own Sukkah! So this year, folks, this year is the year! It's the year of My First Sukkah. It's also the first year that I only have to observe one official "holiday" day at the beginning and end of the weeklong holiday. (In Israel, most of the Jewish festivals are only observed for one day, because theoretically we're close enough to Jerusalem know the calendar. Outside of Israel, most holidays are two days, because the idea is that Jews in the Diaspora would have to wait to hear when holidays began/ended. Yes, we have the internet and calendars, but this is just how we roll.)

With the holiday just a few days away, however, I'm left with a bit of panic: Where do I buy decorations? Do I even want to buy decorations? Should I create a theme that will create a tradition in our family? Should I go minimalist? Ahhhh! Plastic fruit: yay or nay? Cheesy posters of the patriarchs (who we invite in like visitors, because it's a huge mitzvah to invite people into your sukkah)?

The benefit of never having a sukkah of my own was that I never had to decorate it. May this be the worst of my problems this year, right?

Luckily, for us, our sukkah in the new apartment is up year round. According to the laws of sukkah, we're covered by the fact that there are two cement walls attached to the apartment where there is a glass sliding door, plus the rails on the fourth side of the balcony (with a beautiful view, I might add). We're borrowing the "roof" (called a skach in Hebrew) from our new landlord, and we recently picked up some plastic chairs that are currently serving as our dining room chairs (we're classy, and not rolling in money). As far as the basics, we're set.

As of now, the only "decoration" I have is a printed out and laminated infographic on Sukkot. I could run with the theme and just go nuts printing out and laminating infographics on the holiday, but that might be a little wonky and once Little Z is less fetus and more small child making cute pictures in school, I don't know how well they'll match. (Here's a thought: Teach Little Z about infographics in-utero!)

Decorations or not, I'm just blessed to live in a country where on every corner, on every balcony, in every little nook and cranny in this country, I'll be privy to sukkot of all shapes, sizes, and colors.

Do you have a theme for your sukkah? If you don't have your own sukkah (yet), what would be your theme of choice? 

Shana Tova!

It's funny that this time last year I'd just pulled into Denver after a quick divorce and really had all the time in the world to sit down and pen a thoughtful and pensive post about life changes, ebbs and flows, and HaShem's plans for me.

This year? I was busy cooking, cleaning, working, and trying to get everything perfect for the three-day Jewish version of "Eat, Pray, Sleep." (Two days of Rosh HaShanah, the Jewish New Year, with Shabbat tagged on at the end -- oy!)

The funny thing is, basically every year of my life since I graduated college in 2006 has been something completely and utterly different. Whether it was my physical location, schooling, who I was dating, conversion, life's tumults ... something was always changing. I haven't had two years of fairly consistent anything in a long time.

So my prayer is for the mundane with a twist of excitement in the unexpected, as usual. I pray that this time next year, I'll have a happy little baby on my hip, a wonderful husband at my side, and a home where people come and go and it feels like home. I don't think it's too far out of reach, either.

To everyone on the face of the planet who I've wronged in the past year -- please accept this meager attempt at an apology for misspeaking, misunderstanding, or just plain wronging.

So here's to my first year in Eretz Yisrael. It started out wonderful, got really, really rough, and has picked up since then. People say that this land tries with all its might to chew people up and spit them out, and I don't doubt the accuracy in that statement for a second. Judaism, as a whole, has a tendency of doing the same thing. You have to really want -- nay, need -- to be Jewish, to be all in with this fight for religion, peoplehood, identity, and culture.

Nothing here comes easy. Nothing.

Happy New Year. Shana Tova. Even if it's the absolute least you can do, eat those apples and honey with a huge smile on your face. This life is a gift. This life is all we have.

Let's start 5774 off right.

From Webb City to the Gush

I'm such a weirdo. This absolutely made my day. Yes, a scale that measures in kilograms made my day. Why? I'll tell you why.

Mr. T and I went to the doctor to go over some blood test results as well as to discuss my ultrasound from last week. The baby is great ("Nothing spectacular," says the doctor) and growing at the right rate ("But why nothing spectacular," asks Mr. T) according to all of the measurements so far ("You don't want spectacular!" the doctor says with a smile). After getting referrals for a 32-week ultrasound and a dietician (if I happen to need it) and the three-hour glucose test (which, hopefully will come back negative for gestational diabetes so I can rip up the dietician referral), I decided to hop on the scale since I neglected to make an August appointment with the nurse to check my weight and all of that good and fun stuff.

Of course, I made Mr. T turn around (he went to the bathroom) and started moving the scale around to detect my weight. As I landed on the same figure (less one pound or 1/2 a kilo) that I had in July when I weighed in (huzzah!), I noticed -- next to the brand name of the scale -- ", MO U.S.A." so I moved the weights a bit and bam!

Webb City, MO U.S.A.

You guys, I practically squeeeed with joy at this. I know, I sound like a nutcase, but you have to understand: Webb City was right down the road from where I grew up in Joplin. Webb City was where I spent my summers going to the drive-in movie theater. Webb City was like a mini-vacation from Joplin.

From 1921 E. 33rd Street to the Drive-In Movie Theater!

[And, please note my devastation as I just discovered that the movie theater was torn down to build a Walmart Supercenter ... sigh ... ]

Seeing a little piece of "home" from so long ago in a medical center in Efrat, Israel is like ... wow it's a trip for me. A real trip. It makes me wonder how a scale made in Webb City (in kilograms at that) made it all the way to the Gush of Eretz Yisrael.

It really is a small world after all.

Musings of the Pregnant Lady

Mr. T makes a mean salad. I'm one happy (and full) pregnant lady.

While Miley Cyrus was busy getting down and dirty on stage at the VMAs (goodbye childhood), I was fast asleep (or something like it) preparing for the all-important glucose test to find out if Little Z has come with the fun accessory of gestational diabetes (cross your fingers that it's a no!). Luckily, the Israeli system has a overly sugary lemonade-style drink, which outdoes the disgusting, throat-burning orange soda stylings of the U.S. healthcare system's diabetic testing process.

The hour that I was sitting idle waiting for jitters to set in (they didn't), and without an iPad (had to sell it to pay the rent), I spent people watching. Efrat, where the medical center is, is across the main highway that runs through this region, and is very friendly to the English-speaking community. It's interesting how clearly American some folks are, but how they can turn their Hebrew off and on like a switch (with a pretty impressive accent, too).

I also felt reassured that babies seem to know when there's a pregnant woman nearby. I swear babies look at me like they know something, like they have a direct line into my uterus and see what's going on. Have you ever had a baby look into your soul? Yeah, I feel like that regularly.

Last week we went for the "big scan" where they check for organs and limb length and heart development. Unfortunately we didn't land many good pictures because Little Z was moving around like a maniac (same during the first ultrasound), and I appear to have an anterior placenta, meaning that it's both difficult to feel much movement at this point and to get clear pictures of the baby without forcing it to move (which, by the way, the guy did and I've been sore in the tummy ever since). The most beautiful things we experienced with Little Z were seeing the spine and ribs and hearing the heartbeat. We did get one good picture, in which Little Z looks just like a lot like Mr. T and, it appears, is holding a microphone and doing karaoke in-utero (that's my kid ... but it's probably the fist).

As I approach my 25th week, the flutter of insane "OMG AM I READY!?" thoughts are whipping up a storm. If it's a boy can I handle the bris? (We went to a friend's baby's bris last week and that little wail kills me every time.) If it's a girl can I handle the possibility that she's going to be as bratty and as much of a pain in the tuches as I was?

What do I need when the baby comes home? Wait a second, I have to choose a hospital? Will a larger apartment appear so that we don't have to eventually put a new baby in a room with a 10 year old who has had his own space his whole life? A birthing plan? Do I need a doula (midwife)? Do I know enough about breastfeeding and diaper-changing and not getting any sleep ever for the rest of my life (not that I get much now anyway)?

And then, today, while sitting in a coffee shop working, Little Z started acting like a mad person flipping or hopping or doing a jig of some sort ... I felt bumps and lumps and for nearly a minute all the insanity of glucose tests and cloth versus regular diapers and the reality of never sleeping ever again drifted away.

There's a baby in there. That's weird. Have you ever considered how absolutely bizarre and strange it is that a human being can grow another human being? I mean, that's miraculous, folks. It's weird, but miraculous. And for someone like me -- who for the entire extent of my first marriage didn't want to have kids because things weren't good and then swore off children -- the fact that I got pregnant so quickly after getting married and after being off birth control for a millisecond after 12 years of being actively on the pill ... I mean ... how does that happen?

Sometimes, I'm able to marvel at the life I lead. It's nothing glamorous. It's nothing special. I'm light years away from the free and single New York City-dwelling journalist superstar I thought I'd be 10 years ago.

Last night, before drifting off to sleep (and before Miley's crazy teddybear-inspired hump fest), I checked my social streams to find one of my former copy editors, who I managed what feels like ages ago, tweeting and instagramming from the VMAs as an editor at Mashable. For all intents and purposes, he's leading the life I dreamed for myself so long ago.

And yet, here I am, going through the motions of a first-time mommy, anxiety about nesting and doing the right thing and raising kids right in tow.

HaShem has a funny way of taking us through life. But I wouldn't have it any other way.

Note: If you don't have the app Timehop, you should get it. Every day I wake up and look at my life a year ago, two years ago, and even five or six years ago. Not everyone is nearly as social as I am online, of course, but it's quite the interesting adventure. 

Planning: What Happens Now?

We all know the saying: Man plans, G-d laughs. 

Several weeks back, I listened to a podcast -- a repeat from years prior -- on Plan B, that thing we have when life doesn't go the way we want the first time around (our Plan A). As I listened and considered my current situation, I began to think about my own plans and how many of them I've had.

My first plan, when I was a child was to be an artist. My entire childhood I longed to be involved in the arts, and my parents put me through art lessons, I entered art competitions, and I saw myself attending the Kansas City Art Institute. When I was in middle school, that all came to a crashing halt as I realized that my friend Kim was much more talented than I could ever be. Suddenly, it was all about writing and photography. The latter dream died when I was in high school and shadowed a photo journalist for a day and decided that it was the last thing on the planet I was willing to do.

After that, I decided poetry was where it was at and pursued that effort for the rest of high school and into my first semester of college with a degree in English. After a visit to the dentist and seeing an English degree on my dentist's wall, I realized that maybe it wasn't the most useful degree on the planet and quickly switched to journalism with an emphasis on copy editing.

As it turned out, copy editing was my true Plan A. I dreamed of working my way up and through internships and jobs to a post at The New York Times. I worked at the Daily Nebraskan for four years, landed a prestigious Dow Jones Internship at The Denver Post, was picked up by The Washington Post for an internship that turned into a job, and I was ready to stick to it. But unhappiness drowned Plan A.

Plan B didn't come about for quite some time. I moved to Chicago and worked for a Nobel Prize winner as his "Devil Wears Prada"-style assistant before applying to graduate school in Judaic studies. It was at that time that I realized Plan B was to teach. After a graduate degree from the University of Connecticut and starting up at New York University, I suddenly became aware that this Plan B wasn't exactly going to work out -- my Hebrew wasn't quite up to snuff and social media in Jewish schools wasn't something anyone had in mind.

And then?

While in graduate school I realized the power of my social media prowess and decided, well, maybe this will work out as Plan C? In Denver I put it to the test and landed three different jobs doing social media, building my skills and talents, and I was pretty set that this is where I belonged. After aliyah I kept those jobs and forged forth learning, doing, being.

Now? I'm at a crossroads where my superficial childhood plans and the various plans of adulthood seem to be saying "nope, this isn't it," and wondering what I am supposed to be doing. Writing? Back to editing?

I spend my days searching for work and mulling about on Social Media, trying to stay fresh, but I can't help but feel that I'm losing my edge, that my talent isn't exactly a talent so much as a skill I acquired that anyone could acquire. I've always said that it isn't that I know how to do all of these things perfectly but rather that I'm resourceful and willing, eager and able. I know where to look to find the answers to any problem, I know how to troubleshoot anything with a quick Google search.

Some people take comfort in the search for the next job opportunity or the next experience, but I find myself bored and frustrated. This blog hasn't seen much out of me recently because the truth is I'm best at blogging and working when I'm busy, when I have a million things going on at once. When there isn't much going on, the day just floats by and productivity slacks.

I'm trying to figure out what HaShem has in store for me exactly. Is the lull a nudge to look inward? Is it a push to reexamine my strengths and talents and figure out who I'm menat to be? Is it a forced vacation after 11 years of work, work, work?

Perhaps, then, I should be thankful instead of angry, happy instead of forlorn. What do you think?

Three Months Later

Well, it's been three months since I hitched my wagon to that of the most wonderfully charming and loving man I've ever met.

Three months ago (on ye olde Gregorian calendar) we gathered with 24 of our closest friends and family for a small ceremony and delicious Moroccan food.

We haven't quite had a honeymoon yet (no, England wasn't a honeymoon), but we've decided to head to the U.S. at the end of August before the High Holidays so that Mr. T can meet my family, I can get a bit of my American convenience fix (hello Target!), and we can do a bit of honeymooning. I know, the U.S. isn't an exotic honeymoon location, but with my love of Colorado and Mr. T's having never been there, I plan on dragging him into the mountains for a day or two. Wish me luck!

How can I describe three months with such a gift? Well, first of all it's funny because we haven't even known each other six months yet. On the other hand, we've known each other long enough to know our biggest hangups, frustrations, quirks, likes, dislikes, and everything else you try to spend forever getting to know and understand. When it's your second go 'round, it's brass tacks in the beginning and then on to the rest of our lives.

If I'd have to guess, I'd say that Mr. T is going to be making me laugh until the end of my days, may they be long and as happy as they are now with him. Here's to dozens and dozens of years of happy moments, Mr. T!

Neve Daniel: Sushi Style

The final (veggie) sushi! Produced by me and the illustrious Ruti!

There are a lot of people who still don't "get" why I am living in Neve Daniel, or rather how I can be living in Neve Daniel ("It's not your land!" they say), but while I can't please everyone and can only defend my right and responsibility to be here to so many people so many times, I can say that living here is one of the greatest gifts in life right now.

Tonight was a women's pre-Shavuot event, complete with sushi-making demonstrations, the selling of beautiful scarves and mitpachot, and lots of delicious noshing on the samplings of Shavuot menus. I was hesitant about signing up because of my gluten-free issues, but I was assured by a few of the organizers who even went out of their way to label the gluten-free goodies for me.

As the evening approached, I wasn't feeling super hot, but I decided to power through it and go anyway, as I've been scolded for not being social enough here in the community. I mustered up the strength after a lengthy nap, put together a gluten-free, potato-crusted broccoli-and-cheese quiche, and schlepped off. (The quiche went CRAZY fast -- I was elated!)


I'll admit, it was a pleasant surprise to be there and catch up with friends and meet some new folks. And making sushi for the first time? Most excellent. It's not nearly as hard as I thought. Then again, I didn't have to make my own sushi rice.

Okay okay, so I need to be more social. More involved. Get out and get recognized by my community members. Heck, maybe I'll even organize something.

The Six Month Aliyahversary

The view from the garden. My neighbor's flag 

waves in the breeze against the clear, blue sky. 

On the Gregorian calendar, exactly six months ago, I hopped a plane to Israel, landing and officially making aliyah on October 16, 2012. That makes today's Yom ha'Zikaron (Day of Remembrance) and tomorrow's Yom ha'Atzmaut (Israeli Independence Day), two very significant days in my calendar. I didn't realize it when I made aliyah, but the lining up of my aliyahversary and the anniversary of Israel's independence speaks volumes to me. I can't believe it's been six months -- the past three or four just flew by, like a rug from under my feet, and I'm flying.

Ever since I arrived in Israel, life has felt right. The food tastes right, the air smells right, the quiet feels right, the relationships I've discovered and built feel so right. This rightness and light that I feel wouldn't be possible if there was no Israel, if 65 years ago a great struggle had not occurred, a struggle that is perpetuated every single day for Israelis and Israel.

At the same time, on these days, with the sirens blaring (which scared me because I thought we were under attack) to mark moments of silence, I'm struggling to process what it means to live in Israel. Having gone to the UK and returned recently, I was reminded of how different life is here. It's a more expensive life, a more complicated and frustrating life (bureaucratically and emotionally), a more uncertain life. I'm thankful for all that Israel has provided me, but what does it mean? What does it really mean? Israel isn't just another state, another country. It's unique because it's so young, so fresh, so torn between the past and present, between war and peace, between hunger and satiation.

On Yom ha'Zikaron, I personally honor Chaviva Reich and the 23,085 Israeli soldiers who have fallen so that I can become Jewish, live Jewishly, and be an Israeli. On Yom ha'Atzmaut, I honor the great struggle of those who have fallen and those who stood tall to make a state of Israel a possibility. Without Medinat Yisrael, becoming Jewish and living openly as a Jew would not have been as easy. Without Medinat Yisrael, I would not have obtained the support I did in making aliyah happen. Without Medinat Yisrael, I would not have met the love of my life and started building the kind of life for which I have so longed.

I have so much to say, but for some reason, in this moment, words are all clogged up in my head and heart and can't be painted in the colorful way I wish they could. I'm happy, speechless, full of love and appreciation, and eager for what tomorrow brings.

For the first time in my life, I think I'm unafraid of what the future holds, because I know I'm where I'm meant to be, where HaShem needs me to be. This is life.

Oh a Tremping We Will Go!

If there's one thing in Israel that I still haven't latched on to like a mosquito on fresh, pale skin, it's the entire concept of "tremping."

For the uninformed, tremping is when you stand by the side of the road, stick out your finger or hand or hold up a sign saying where you need to go, and hitch a ride with a perfect stranger to your destination. It's basically hitch-hiking, but much safer. Sort of.

My dad used to tell me about how he'd pick up hitchhikers in the 1970s, but nowadays in the U.S. it's highly illegal and incredibly dangerous to do so. In Israel, however, it's normal. In fact, some people get around solely by tremping, never needing a bus ticket or to buy gas for the car.

When I first moved to Neve Daniel, tremping became a necessary reality. Yes, Mr. T and his business partner have two vehicles, but most of the time they're needed on the job site (and one of them is manual, which I just don't do). Every now and again, I wander up to the entrance of Neve Daniel and stand, somewhere between the tremping bench and the bus stop, hoping and praying that the bus comes soon so I don't have to tremp. Why?

I'm a scaredy cat, that's why.

I've tremped roughly a half-dozen times, and during all of them I've been perplexed. Do I tell them where I'm going? Where I need to get off? Do I just sit here? Do I say something? Do I offer a tip? WHAT DO I DO!?

Today, for example, I was at home and realized that the construction going on in my building was going to push me off the ledge for the umpteenth day in a row. The floor was vibrating, my head was banging, and I needed to get out. I packed my things and headed to the trempiada (the fun word for where people stand to catch a tremp). A few other women joined me there, and eventually a car came along heading to Tzomet HaGush, the central spot in the Gush where there's a grocery store, some restaurants, an electronics store, and so on. It's also a place where all of the buses in and out of the Gush always stop, and it's home to a gigantic trempiada. So I tremped to Tzomet HaGush and then walked over to the trempiada and hitched a ride into Jerusalem. Backwards way of doing things? Probably, but guess who was fresh out of cash for the bus? This chick!

Now here's the thing. The guy said he was going into Mercaz ha'Ir (center of the city), which can mean a lot of different things. So what did I do? I just stayed in the car. We kept passing places where I could have gotten off, but me not being sure how to say "Dude, let me out here, please," decided to just ride along. This guy could have driven to Taiwan and I would have sat there quietly like a nice, Midwesterner.

Luckily, he was traveling to a place where I could hitch a bus back to where I needed to be that we drove past. My carbon footprint was big on this one, and I feel bad, but seriously, I don't know how to get out of a tremp unless the other trempers say "I need out here." So that was the impetus for me to get out of the car -- someone else needing out.

I haven't learned all of the hand signs yet, but I've learned that they're largely irrelevant these days. People pull over, roll down a window, announce where they're going, and people either get in the car or they don't. It's a fairly efficient system, if you ask me.

The question is: When I'm driving, do I pull over and pick up trempers? When I'm alone, it feels really weird and unsafe to me. You can tell the girl out of Nebraska, but you can't take Nebraska out of the girl. The one time I did stop, no one needed a ride, and the only time anyone has ever gotten into the car was when I pulled in to Neve Daniel and gave a guy a ride up the gigantically ginormous hill.

Either way, tremping is something that I feel like I'll never be good at. I don't have the chutzpah or patience or ... whatever it takes ... to be a skilled tremper.

Is it just me (and the U.S. at that), or is hitchhiking a thing of the past? Is it common in Europe? Asia? South America? 

Too Busy to Breathe

I made gluten-filled challah for the first time in exactly 1.5 years.

Mr. T and iBoy got to take part, and I heard it was delish. 

Oh, and it also was the first time I was able to say the bracha. Winning!

Hello faithful blog readers. Yes, I've been neglectful -- horribly neglectful. What happened? What have I been doing? How is married life? How is ulpan and work? How is Israel? Am I still sane?

So very many questions, so little time. I have some announcements to make about some executive decisions I've made, some fun quips about being married, and some hilarious tales about the goings on with bureaucracy (I am now the "mayor" of the Ministry of the Interior in Jerusalem, if that tells you anything). But for now, I'm going to give you a collage of the various head coverings over the past several weeks. I'm going to work on a few videos and some tutorials on how I rock my scarves because I've had requests.

For those that are curious this very second -- no, I don't watch other videos or read books on how to tie my scarves, I just do it naturally. How? Why? It's the neshama, folks. It was born to love gefilte fish and wrap mitpachot, what can I tell you?

So stay tuned. I promise a post in the next few days. Also? More wedding pictures because we just got the gigantic load of photos from the wedding from our amazing photographer Shmuel Diamond.

Want to know something? Demanding answers about what's going on with me? Just ask!

An Unexpected Turn of Events

Listen, it was really bright outside. But hey! Snow! It's our first

snow together as an "us." Talk about a highlightable moment.

Life has this funny way of being completely and utterly and ridiculously unexpected an oftentimes unpredictable. Some of those unexpected mometns are horrifying and scary and some of them are amazing and uplifting.

It's me and the illustrious Laura Ben-David at the engagement
party. Mad props to Mr. Ben-David for the excellent photo.

Last week, Mr. T and I gathered with dozens of friends (who spanned my life in Connecticut, Colorado, and Israel) of ours at Ha'Gov to celebrate our engagement. People just kept coming! There was a lot of laughing, noshing, reminiscing, story-telling, and general joviality. The most unexpected result of the evening for me is something of a PSA for any and all naysayers:

My dearest Melissa, a friend who helped pick me back up a week after my get when I arrived in Colorado, thank you.

The news below impacts my coworkers Sue (left in the picture) and
Melissa (right in the picture). But we're still happy to be together!

Here's another case in point from this week of the unexpected and unpredictable. Many of you will read this and say, "Aha! Things aren't going so smoothly now, are they Chaviva!?" But I urge you to read all of what I write and then 

On Monday night I got fired from a job I have absolutely loved and done nothing but kvell about at every conference and to every Jewish professional I've run into. Yes, the Colorado Agency for Jewish Education has let me go starting January 15, 2013. The moment I found out, the feelings I had weren't so much of panic or devastation but more a sadness that another Jewish agency is losing it's ties to any kind of presence in social spaces. Immediately I put the call out on Twitter and Facebook: "Help find me a job!" The next morning, I had a half-dozen jobs in my inbox sent by dozens of people. I've applied to them all, and I have a very important and hopefully fruitful call on Sunday afternoon. B'ezrat HaShem (with the help of G-d), I might have this full-time loss filled up more quickly than I can possibly imagine. This job loss was unexpected, and I had no clue it was coming. I anticipated at some point the distance with Colorado would become an issue, but the reality was finances -- not distance. Mr. T, the amazing man that he is, has reassured me time and again that we'll survive, and it's amazing how much I feel that. I'm not panicked, I'm not worried, I'm not stressed out. It's a funny feeling to be in the right space and to know that somehow HaShem will provide.

So, with IKEA bookshelves in our possession, a dryer on its way, wedding plans just about finished, life is moving along. The amazing thing about Mr. T and me is that we have something unique going on in that we manage to communicate everything, and even when we disagree, we don't fight. It's funny, and really unexpected, but I didn't know that having an argument didn't require yelling, crying, and hurt feelings. (Yes, we looked up the Merriam-Webster definition of argument just to be sure.) I feel incredibly lucky to have someone so easy-going, hilarious, and positive in my life. May things always be this good, even when they're not.

Onward and upward!

A Snowy Israel

It has snowed in Israel! So far, I have yet to experience a non-snowy winter.

I have to give major props to Mr. T for schlepping around in this weather (yes, we went to Ikea). It turns out I'm great at coaching snowy driving and he's great at driving in the snow.

It also turns out that there's an amazing coffee shop nearby and that Israel tends to get more of the hail before the real snow comes (when it does).

Just consider me a happy camper who happens to be snowed in because this country has zero clue how to function in snow, sleet, hail, or ice.

A Very Narrow Bridge

Today, on the two-month anniversary of my arrival in Israel according to the Gregorian calendar, I am being utterly adventurous and brave and perhaps fearless and putting on the brand new boots that I received this time last week that attempted to kill me -- twice.

Yes, some nice, wide, knee-length boots that were shipped by the amazing Leah to me in Israel that cost me quite the pretty penny were worn last Sunday without a care in the world. I walked, and walked, and walked, and didn't even slip. Then, on Monday, I fell twice, busting up my knee pretty badly. Yes, it's doing all the beautiful natural things like scabbing over, but the bone is bruised and still incredibly sore. I'll be honest in saying that I don't even know if it's healing right because in my ramshackle life I had some gauze (which I was using in place of cheesecloth in an attempt to make vegan cheese that failed -- for now), and that was it. So I gauzed it without any kind of antibiotic ointment initially. I got some later (thanks to Yoni), but I'm beginning to think that it might be a touch not okay. We'll see.

So I'm putting the boots on, wearing a long skirt (protecting the knee in the instance of a fall, please HaShem), and going to go about my day.

This, I'd like to think, is a little lesson from the following.

Kol ha'olam kulo gesher tzar m'od.
כל העולם כולו גשר צר מאוד.
All the world is a very narrow bridge. 

If you know the phrase, it's probably because you were singing it in Hillel or at camp or on a birthright trip or something. I know I learned this while in ulpan back in 2009 that is now reverberating in my life now. What you might not know is the rest of the phrase, that comes from Nachman of Breslov -- "... and the important thing is not to fear at all."

I spent an amazing Shabbat in Ramat Bet Shemesh with some new folks that I think will now be a very regular part of my life. While at the Shabbat table, everyone went around and mentioned some way that they saw G-d in their daily life that merited another day in this world. For me, it was a recollection of the very significant moments that I experience every day where I'm reminded how amazing, beautiful, and absolutely right this place is for me. I'm in such a good place in my life right now and every day there are these moments where I feel like I'm being reminded, "You've made the right choice in the right moment, you are home." Riding on a bus, walking through the shuk, sitting at home -- I can't really describe the moments, but I try to capture them by being completely thankful.

I've fallen a lot in my life, and I've picked myself up and put myself someplace new, in new situations with new people in an attempt to stay on this very narrow bridge of life. I've always thought that the important thing was being on the bridge, always on the bridge. What I never really considered was that the important thing is to understand that we're meant to fall, because it is narrow. It's picking ourselves back up that is the important part.

Something has changed with me here. I'm more in-sync with who I am, what I need, and hopefully a little closer to understanding what HaShem wants from me. As everything slowly aligns and feels more whole and complete, I'm realizing how possible it is to be content, to be okay, to be happy.

Be fearless, be intentional, listen to the still, small voice within and let it really guide you to where you were meant to go, who you were meant to be. You'll be blown away at how easy it is.

Here is to two months in Israel and to years and years and years beyond!

Contradictions

This is completely unrelated to the post below, but I thought it was funny.

Spotted this at Max Stock (an EVERYTHING store) today. Party plates!

An article that came out today in the Times of Israel paints a contradictory picture of Israel.

The report finds woefully inadequate transportation infrastructures, low productivity in an Israeli work hour, an education system producing a generation of low-achieving students, and employment levels dramatically lower than in much of the industrialized West.

And further,

Based on OECD data that links GDP to the total working hours of the economy, Israel ranks 23rd out of 34 OECD states in terms of the productivity of an Israeli working hour. Worse, Israel has been falling ever farther behind the OECD average since the mid-1970s.

Everyone tells you when you move to Israel that there are particularly frustrating aspects about the country's infrastructure. 

The fax machine is still king here, but the bank likes to send you text messages updating you on activity. The army has a crazy active social media presence where you can find the most up-to-date information, but getting an appointment with your aliyah counselor might take a good month. And the list goes on and on. 

The most obnoxious case-in-point for me is the banking system here. It's not enough to send me screaming or taking up hard drugs, but it is pretty annoying. It's like they want you to have to come into the branch (and, on that note, you better go to the branch where you set up your account or else things just don't work right). In the U.S., when you set up a bank or credit account, you set up your PIN to access the ATM when you set up your banking account or by calling into a 1-800 number and choosing the PIN. In Israel? No dice. In Israel, you have to come to the bank (the right branch, remember) to get your PIN, but first you have to request it. And then wait a week. And if they never send it or something strange happens, it could be a month later and you still can't access your money through the ATM. Instead, you have to go to the branch to get your money whenever you want it. And the card not working at retail outlets? Yeah, that one is a mystery -- to you, your banker, and the shop owner. (Note: The you in all of this is, of course, me.)

You can't call a number, you can't choose your PIN, it's all pretty arse backward if you ask me for a nation that calls itself the Start-Up Nation. In a place where high tech abounds, lo-tech seems to be the norm in most places, and I find it particularly frustrating. There's one place in Jerusalem where you can find quality Apple products (resale!), and there are tons of places that just plain don't take credit cards. And yet we have some of the most amazing medical and military technologies in the world. If quality counts in only some things, I guess medicine and defense are it, but why is it so hard to find quality floss or Q-tips in this country?

Walk by any given shop in Jerusalem and you'll find the shopkeeper standing outside smoking or schmoozing with his fellow shop owners. So it doesn't surprise me that we rank so low in productivity. The busiest shops? Shoe stores. Israelis love shoes, did you know? It doesn't take much to be productive in a shoe store. 

If anything, I suppose knowing the slowness of the system gives me pause as I consider what going to the doctor is going to be like. I anticipate putting it off as long as humanly possible, at least until I'm in the midst of a good book that might keep me occupied for however long it takes. I don't mind waiting. It's just knowing that Israel has the potential to be such a magnificently First World country that drives me nuts. I find it difficult to accept the fax machine and a banking system that doesn't let me choose my own PIN and insists I wait a week to get it.

They say Israelis are prickly on the outside and soft on the inside, which is 100 percent true. I suppose that the country itself is quite the same, with the personality it projects as being one of technological advances and an internal struggle with old tech.