Five Years Later ...

Tatty said, "Roar like a lion!" Mommy, of course, is a party pooper. 

Today, on the Gregorian calendar anyway, marks five years that Mr. T and I have been married. Last night, we were assessing the reality of our five years, and, let me just say ... a lot has happened.

• Five years
• Five addresses
• Two countries
• One broken foot (me) and one broken arm (T)
• Six cars
• Four pregnancies (Did you know Tirzah is a rainbow baby?)
• Nearly three children born (I'm due with No. 3 in two months)
• More than a dozen full- and part-time jobs among the two of us

We managed all of that even with Mr. T being stuck outside the country from October 1, 2014 through July 4, 2015. 

How? How is it possible to have been in so many places and created so many lives in so little time? I honestly don't know. It feels like it's been much, much longer. I feel like I've known Mr. T my whole life. It's only moments where he and his friends start talking about things that happened back in 1999 in yeshiva at Aish in Jerusalem that I remember I was in high school at that time. I remember that Mr. T had a whole life before me, another marriage, a beautiful son (who is now an intelligent, Minecraft-obsessed teenager figuring out who he is), a career in the circus, and so much more. 

We've come so far. He still juggles. I'm still tired. 

And yet, here we are. Mostly in sync most of the time. I joke with Mr. T that after this baby is born and it stops breast feeding, and as our kids continue to grow, he won't know who I am. I've been pregnant or breastfeeding pretty much the entire time he's known me. Those two things mean hormones, hormones, and more hormones. It makes me wonder if he'll be able to handle whoever I am after having gone through all these pregnancies and births and child rearing and job changes and anxiety and depression and everything else. He's resilient and positive, a smile and laugh to balance wherever I am and however I'm feeling. And for that, I believe he'll always be here, and for that I love him. Who else would put up with me? 

---

For five years, the oft-lived gift involves wood. If you know us, or you've been to our house, you know that wooden things are our jam. We love natural frames and art, so this anniversary was right up our alley. Mr. T also celebrated his 40th last month, so my birthday gift to him was a nod to our anniversary as well, in the form of a rocking chair a la his beloved papa. I've also ordered something else, but it hasn't shown up yet, so no spoilers there. He got me a beautiful engraved wooden recipe box because I'm at a point where there are a handful of recipes I make on a weekly rotation that I haven't committed to memory just yet. We also just redid our floors (wood laminate) and bought a new hutch that is, well, wood. 

Anyhow, wood is a beautiful metaphor for many things, and I think it sings to who we are as a couple and family and where we are together. 

“Wood, if you stop to think of it, has been man’s best friend in the world. It held him in his cradle, went to war as the gunstock in his hand, was the frame of the bed he came to rejoicing, the log upon his hearth when he was cold, and will make him his last long home. It was the murmuring bough above his childhood play, and the roof over the first house he called his own. It is the page he is reading at this moment; it is the forest where he seeks sanctuary from a stony world.” ― Donald Culross Peattie, American Heartwood

Happy five years together, my beloved Mr. T. Here's to so very many more together in happiness, growth, and acceptance in all things.

Mr. T and Me: A Year Later

The man who changed it all. 

One year ago (on the Jewish calendar, that is), I met Mr. T at the top of Ben Yehuda for our very first date. It was the first night of Chanukah, a Saturday night. I lit my chanukiyah, made sure I looked awesome, and set off to meet a complete stranger with whom I'd only had a few email chats.

We schlepped around Ben Yehuda, Agrippas, and through Nachlaot in the chilly Jerusalem air, the both of us sniffling along the way. We talked about our past marriages, in a no-nonsense "this is what I can put up with, and this is what I need" way. We discussed how we got to where we are, our own unique paths that led us to being "religious" Jews. We talked about our travels, our talents, music, and everything else that came up organically, naturally throughout the night. It was a marathon date, the kind that lasts for hours.

It was incredibly late (or early) when we said our goodbyes. He had to work in a few hours, and I had, well, sleep to tackle.

What happened next was a whirlwind. Roughly 10 days later we worked out a chance for me to meet his son, iBoy. It was my requirement -- no "yes" to a proposal until I meet your son, which didn't stop Mr. T from proposing after our first date, our second date, and every date thereafter. He knew I'd say yes, I knew I'd say yes, but when you're bringing a child from the first marriage into the mix, it's a necessary formality.

Just a few days after our first date, I sent a picture of Mr. T to a friend, saying,

... he's perfectly imperfect and I think he's amazing.

I'd spent my whole life being chased by suitors. I was a tough one to wrangle, always independent and career-driven and destined for big things in New York City. I was pretty sure I was going to be single -- or at least unmarried -- for the rest of my life. Kids were not even a conversation. After getting married the first time around because it was time (I was 27 after all) and having one of the most confusing, depressing, and out-of-body experiences of my life, I was convinced the dream of singledom and a carefree baby-less life was back on, but this time in Denver. When I decided to make aliyah, I was open to the option of marriage, children ... happiness ... again. But I wasn't expecting a magical, miracle pill. 

I wasn't expecting this, I was definitely not expecting Mr. T. One date. Proposal. Ten Days later, engaged. Two months later, married. One month later, pregnant. 

After everything that has happened over the past month -- the ups, the downs, the twists and turns -- I can't say I would have wanted any other way. The financial and emotional challenges we've faced since meeting and getting married have, if anything, helped us figure out who we are as a couple, as a zivug. If my zivug sheni was granted from my merits, then boy oh boy I must have done something amazing so far to deserve such a life as this. 

I can't believe it's been a year since we first met. Looking back at everything that has happened baffles me, amazes me, makes me smile. No matter how bad things have gotten, the battle has always been worth fighting with Mr. T. And it all started with the longest date ever surrounded by the lights of the chanukiyah. 

Next up? Mr. T + C = Little Z

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.

Shanah Rishona Guilt

Gluten-free enchiladas, granola bars for Mr. T, gluten-free pizza and fries,
pasta with sautéed spinach, sundried tomatoes, and mushrooms. 

One of the toughest things about having a full-time job, being pregnant and energy-less part of the time, and having a busy and awesomely ravenous husband is figuring out the proper balance to my day so that Mr. T doesn't end up eating pita and hummus for dinner and I don't end up gorging at one meal and feeling sick/exhausted the rest of the day.

After the first trimester, where I spent a lot of time sleeping and laying about (which I could do because I was under employed), I got a boost of energy and appetite -- for about two weeks. Yes, there were two glorious weeks where I was a machine from dawn until dusk and was able to eat just about every last bit of what I craved.

Those two weeks were short lived and a huge tease.

Now my energy levels wane from day to day. Some days I am more than eager to get up at 6:30 a.m. when Mr. T's alarm goes off and work all day and stay up late watching TV and having a nice homemade dinner. Other days, I pull myself out of bed at 9:30 a.m. and am crashing around 6 p.m.

So what's the big deal? I'm rocking a lot of "shanah rishonah guilt." What, you ask is this phenomenon? Shanah rishonah is how Jews refer to the first year of marriage (it literally means first year). For religious Jews, this first year means you're like a king and queen, you can hand out brachot (blessings) and instead of dipping your challah in salt you dip it in honey so everything will be sweet.

For very religious Jews -- who often don't date long before marriage and definitely don't live together -- it's also the chance to really spend time getting to know the other person, and the truth is that for Mr. T and I, it's been very much "getting to know you, getting to know all about you!"

Before we got married, I'd cooked for him a few times, and he cooked for me a few times, but we never shared a bathroom or bedroom or closet or space. We've been incredibly blessed that the transition has been smooth -- he's very easy going when I rearrange the entire kitchen or move things around in the closet. There are bigger fish to fry, as it goes.

But for me, there's still that feeling of needing to perform. I might work full-time now, but I'm home all day sitting at a desk near the kitchen, which makes me feel like I should be able to put up a four-course meal every night when Mr. T comes home from a day of hard-labor (he is an electrician after all). I also feel the need to make sure he's got healthy and filling lunches to schlep in every day to work. The guilt I feel when he comes home and I'm still tapping away working is probably unnecessary (he's even said it's unnecessary), but I know that the first year sets you up for life.

And with a tiny alien growing inside me, I have to wonder: What are things going to look like in six months when husband's working full-time, I'm working, baby is chilling out with me at home ...? And what about Erev Shabbat (Friday) when I basically stand up in the kitchen cooking from the moment I wake up until Shabbat comes in?

The truth is, I could probably take a huge load off of myself by not insisting on having an adventurous kitchen and palette. We have a vegetarian home, meaning that it's a constant battle to find protein-packed options for my most ravenous Mr. T (who can eat and eat and not gain a pound). So between work tasks, I'm scanning the web for gluten-free black bean burger recipes and ways to cook spaghetti squash and tips on using tofu that doesn't involve stir-fry (we over did it a few months ago). I don't like to replicate dishes too much, because I don't want to bore myself or the husband (or iBoy when he's around).

So what do you do? How do you rejigger things when your energy is up or down to keep things running at home? How do you fight that relationship-performing guilt? 

The Big Reveal: It's Better, I Promise

The last time I wrote a "Big Reveal" post all hell broke loose. We'll see if that happens this time around, although I don't think it will be the same kind of hell breaking loose.

What do you think?

I'm due mid-December (that ultrasound is several weeks old, and I'm now in my 20th week), for those of you still stuck on the shotgun wedding bandwagon of conspiracy theory. Yes, we got pregnant pretty quickly and unexpectedly, but sometimes, when things work, they work in the most amazing way.

Six months in Israel, and I was engaged, married, and pregnant (and lost two jobs and was broke, but whose keeping score?).

Waaahhhhh?

It was really hard writing that three-months later post about me and Mr. T and not saying anything, believe you me, and it's part of the reason I haven't had much to blog about these days. But I also was trying to get hired and really needed to keep the pregnancy quiet. Why? Israelis don't like hiring pregnant women, unfortunately.

Starting August 1, b'ezrat HaShem, I'll be gainfully employed doing social media, content writing, brand management, and all that good stuff that I like to think I'm pretty darn stellar at.

It's been unbelievably hard not writing about the past several months of the pregnancy, especially when it comes to asking questions and sharing the weird and bizarre moments of being a first-time mom married to someone who already has a child (who just turned 10, by the way), not to mention why my financial stress has been compounded beyond the norm.

I'm lamenting that I can't pop over to Target or Old Navy for pregnancy attire, that the comfort foods that I so crave (Mexican, Mexican, and more Mexican) are practically unavailable in this country, and that I always feel like it's about 110 degrees. The pluses about being pregnant so far in Israel? I know that I'm going to have a ton of help finding all the bobbles and necessities for a baby thanks to a huge network of moms who share, lend, and swap everything from cribs to baby clothes. Oh, and my awesome mom is making sure things from the U.S. come over, too!

But here I am, ready to share and regale y'all with yet another interesting chapter in my life. It's going to be a wild and interesting ride folks!

Note: For those of you uninitiated, that cartoon is done in the style of BitStrips a la Facebook. 

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!

The KitchenAid

From the most amazing mum-in-law in the world. 

Now to find, purchase, and acquire the grain mill attachment.

Soon, all will be right in my gluten-free world!

The Face of Utter Joy

Ask Chaviva Anything: Of Mr. T and Snark

Ah, another fun installment of Ask Chaviva Anything, chock full of questions that some people would consider pretty darn invasive. I'll admit, some people have been complete jerks -- giving people the power to anonymously ask things is just ripe for this, and I accept that. But seriously, come on folks. Grow up! And now, on to the questions.

Have you found a Rav in Israel? If so, how did you find a Rav in a place with so many people who are Rabbis? In general--as a woman and a ger--have you found it easy to find Rebbeim and to be open with them? (I ask, because I find that discussing personal things with men who aren't relatives or friends to be difficult).

Great, amazing question. The reality is that I still consult my rav back in the U.S., and Mr. T has a rabbi here and a rabbi back in England that he consults (in addition to him being crazy knowledgable on things from his studies). That being said, if and when I decided to seek out a new rav, I think that Jerusalem is one of the best places for it because there is every flavor and shade of observance and halachic understanding here. The easiest way to find someone is to run around in circles with like-minded people, live in a community with like-minded people, and seek out a rav there.

What do your parents think of your second marriage?

If I could share with you how amazing my family has been about my marrying Mr. T, your minds would be blown. Mr. T and I Skyped with my family right after we got engaged, and it was an utter blast (my little brother and Mr. T were hilarious). A few days before the wedding, my father sent me the sweetest email about his take on Mr. T and me and how happy we seem. My father always worried about me in the past, and he always expressed his concerns for my happiness. The great thing? He sees my joy and loves Mr. T and gave us his blessing! 

How old is Mr. T? [and] Is it weird that both of your husbands have the same name?

How old is he? Is it relevant? And as for whether it's weird: Nah. It was kind of like "WHOA" in the beginning, but I just have amazing proof that a name is just a name -- it doesn't make the man, at all. The beautiful thing is, someone suggested that my neshama knew I needed a Tuvia, it just took a while for me to find the right one. 

I know that you resist Orthodox labels.  What about Mr. T?  What "type" of Orthodox is he?  Is this the same or different from how he was raised? [and] When/where was Mr. T ordained?

You know, maybe I should do a Q&A with Mr. T to answer this question. I don't want to put words in his mouth. We're very much on the level with our individual approaches to Judaism. Hold the line!

Drop out of ulpan yet?

What gave you the idea that I would drop out of ulpan? Yes, I was toying with it when I was offered a very well paying job, but I opted to stay in ulpan and hold out for something that was a little further up my alley.  

Stay tuned for future installments of this fun series. I'm toying with doing a LIVE Ustream chat with Q&A. Thoughts?  

Getting Married: The Video and More

For those of you who weren't able to "attend" the wedding on Wednesday night in Israel (come on, we only had 24 people plus a mashgiach in attendance, although it was pretty amazing when Pey Dalid showed up), the entire thing was recorded and is available online. It's 1 hour and 19 minutes long, but I can tell you the first 20 minutes are excellent, then the chuppah starts at 45 minutes or so, and then is the rest of the shebang.




Feel free to comment here, there, everywhere! I was so happy to have so many people watching and so many people commenting. Seriously, I love you guys!

Oh, and here's a bit of Pey Dalid singing us into the end of the meal, too.


Stay tuned for more pictures and details about everything (I can actually call myself a rebbetzin now, eegads!). For now, I'm just enjoying being married, it being Purim, and living in the most beautiful country in the world surrounded by the most loving friends and family a girl could ask for.

HaShem's blessings are so prevalent in my life, and I want to thank you all for being such a major part of those blessings!

PS: For those of you who have heard tell of the hilarity that is now my last name, please see this informative expose on the topic. 

Ask Chaviva Anything: The Stepmother Query

This installment of Ask Chaviva Anything! has a fairly easy-to-answer query.

How do you feel about becoming a stepmother? 

I'm not sure if I've said it on the blog before, but if I have I'll say it again: I'm not becoming a stepmother so much as becoming iBoy's dad's new wife. Why do I say it that way? iBoy is at an age where he doesn't need another mother figure in his life, and it's not a role I can fulfill at the age he is, either. Heading to 9.5 years of age, iBoy has a mom and a dad, as well his mom's new husband and soon his dad's new wife. Zehu.

The word "stepmother" has excessive negativity attached to it, and that's just not something I'm looking to adopt. Yes, at the very basic level, I'm going to be iBoy's stepmother, but I'm not looking to fulfill the role of a mother that rears a child from the very beginnings of his or her life in a way that is critical and distinct -- for that purpose he has had a mother.

But I can already tell that I'm going to be bad cop and Mr. T is going to be good copy. After all, I got iBoy to do 10+ pages of math homework one afternoon without too much trouble. Mr. T is the fun one, I'm the "get things done" one. I'm a friend, a cool lady, dad's new wife.

All in all, I think it's going to be quite the time.

That being said, I'm sure there are those of you out there who have massive amounts of wisdom on this topic to which I'm just not privy. My father grew up with a stepmother, and for many of my mother's siblings either/or of her parents were stepparents. Fortunately, most of my friends growing up had parents who were married, so the whole divorce/stepparent thing never entered my orbit. Feel free to lay your wisdom on me!

Goodbye to the Bangs?

This is me in June 2011 in Israel. I miss this scarf. Will I miss my bangs?

I've spent a long time on this blog talking about hair covering or, more accurately, head covering (kisui rosh), both before, during, and after my first marriage. Some of my most-read posts are on both the religious/halachic and historic origins of hair covering, head covering, and sheitels (wigs). 

• Covering Your Hair: Why?
• Covering Your Hair: Leprous Plague?
• Taking the (Hair) Plunge
• The Hair That's There: You Can Never Go Back

Through the years, I moved from "yes I'm covering" to "yes I'm covering with scarves and knit hats" to "maybe I'll get a sheitel" to "okay I bought a headband fall" to "I'm uncovering because I'm divorced."

And now? I'm a mere three weeks away from getting hitched (Part Deux: It's Going to Be Amazing), and I've been saying for quite some time now that I'm more than ready to get back to hair covering. A lot of observant women struggle intensely with the concepts of tzniut and kisui rosh, and there are a lot of gray areas that people cling to as they struggle with where they are in their observance.

For me?

Getting rid of my pants was a breeze. You mean I don't have to spend the rest of my life uncomfortably and angrily searching for the pair of perfect jeans? You mean I can purchase skirts that are both sexy and flattering and fit a whole lot easier than pants ever did or will? Yes, please. Fulfilling a mitzvah of walking modestly with HaShem in the process? Yes sir!

As for head covering, everyone has their up days and down days, and even I kvetched when I was covering my head with scarves. Yes, I left my bangs out according to the rule of the tefach (hand's breath allowed showing), but even now I'm struggling with whether to keep them or not. It gets hot in Israel in the summer (sweaty foreheads aren't hot), and I've done bangs before. I'm going to cover, and in Israel scarves in beautiful colors and styles are the norm, making life a lot easier than when I was schlepping a scarf-covered head through the Carolinas. Hats? No. Knit hats? Probably, but the hotter it gets, the chances of me sporting them decrease. The major kvetch I've had in the past about scarves was that I didn't have long hair to create body with my scarves, but there are all sorts of tricks that people use in Israel to create height and body, so expect some changes in the scarf department. So why am I excited to get back to head covering? Life is easier, simpler, more easily changeable when all you need is a tichel in the morning. Am I simplifying the mitzvah? Maybe, but I know the why, it's the how and when that are coming back to me now.

The one thing I'm minorly struggling with is the trip to England over Pesach, where I'll be -- for the first time in a long time -- in a place where scarves are not the norm. The question is, do I cave to cultural pressures or sport my classic Israeli-style scarves?

Now if I could just start the covering now. I grow weary of having to do my hair. I'm looking forward to growing it out, seeing what I can do with it to keep Mr. T happy, and see where the world of Israeli head coverings can take me!

Sick Day

This, folks, is the petri dish -- Ulpan Etzion. 

There's a trend that people have told me about but that I've been very skeptical of until now. Yes, when Tuvia and I met we were both rocking pretty gnarly colds, but I'm suffering an all-out, full-blown something bad right now. They call it "cholah chadasha" -- it's a play on olah chadasha (new immigrant, with cholah meaning sick).

I blame Ulpan Etzion because it's a petri dish of sickness at the moment with half the ulpan down and out with something or another (teachers included). I thought maybe I would be okay, but with other students around me hacking up their own lungs and not the proper way (into your elbow, people!), I've been afflicted.

Lucky for me, Mr. T is a master care-taker. Yes, he's been plying me with hot water paired with honey and lemon juice, he went out and got me medicine, and he even made homemade Chicken Soup -- aka Jewish penicillin. Yes, I'm breaking my weekday no-meat rule because it's a proven fact that the qualities found in Chicken Soup do have a healing quality. With lots of sleep, lots of healthy nosh and rest, I'm hoping to bounce back in the next few days. I hate being sick, and I'm such a dude when I'm sick. Also? Missing ulpan sucks, and not being able to take two seconds off from work because even the internet is accessible from home so work in my world never stops is kind of lame.

The good news on top of the sick news comes three fold.

1. My wedding dress is in the country! Yes, it passed through customs and is floating around somewhere in the country. I just need to get it, try it on, get it tailored if need be, and find some shoes and a veil. Oh, and get a haircut. My hair is a little out of control right now. 
2. Mr. T and I are going to England for Pesach! Holy wowie zowie. We're going to stay a few days after the chag because so much is closed during Chol ha'Moed (the intermediate days) because Easter falls around the same time as Pesach this year, and I've never been to England before. Color me utterly stoked to be able to visit the land of my forefathers (quite literally). 
3. We were approved by the vaad to live to Neve Daniel! Our lease starts on February 1, and come February 20, we'll be living there as a family. Stay tuned for a video tour once I get it semi-set up. Yes, Mr. T and I will have a home of our own! I'm super stoked. And iBoy will have a space of his own, too. 

There is nothing else in the world that I need or want right now than to get my life started with Mr. T. The only thing I really need is a KitchenAid with a grain grinder for my new kitchen. Why? I am SO eager to get back to baking challah (yeah, I can't eat it, but making it is therapeutic and important to me) and baking yummy things. Also, grinding my own grains is a lot cheaper than buying them pre-ground in this country. 

Now? Back to hot beverages. And resting. And watching television. 

Life Ch-ch-ch-changes

This is the view from the apartment we didn't take. 

I can't believe how long it's been since I last sat down and wrote a blog. I've gotten really spaced out in my blogging (in more ways than one), and for that I apologize immensely -- to you and to myself. I guess I've just been spending a lot of time trying to figure out life, what with a lost job, ulpan (intensive Hebrew learning) starting, and figuring out the logistics of marriage and starting life anew. 

So I've been applying to dozens of jobs every day, hoping to land something even part-time in the copywriting, editing, social media, SEO, or blogging world without much luck. I still have my part-time gig with Taste Guru back in the U.S., which is going really great (watching the Facebook likes and Twitter followers rise every day is the best treat in the world for me), but it doesn't pay all the bills I need it to, unfortunately. I'm happy that Mr. T has gainful employment and that he supports me in whatever I do (honestly, too), but after being financially arrested during my marriage, I found my way on my own with employment, paying off credit card debt incurred during my divorce and move, and living independently, so not having that comfort now with my lost job with CAJE has my stomach in knots. It's a weird feeling. 

Thus I've started Ulpan Etzion and have finished about a week in the program, although the first few days were lots of ice breakers and administrative things that didn't put us in the classroom. Right now there are roughly four levels below where I am, and several above. Essentially, I'm smack dab in the middle of the more than 200 students in this "class" of Ulpan Etzion. We're the 127th group to go through Israel's oldest ulpan, which is a pretty amazing feeling to be part of such an amazing and historic group of people. I'm in Kitah Bet Echad (כיתה ב-1), but I'm already feeling like I possibly should be one level up because the verb review and grammar are like air -- easy as breathing for me. I also think that being surrounded by people who are also stumbling in their various ways has allowed me to actually start using my Hebrew verbally, which is nice. I find myself talking to Mr. T a lot in Heebrish, but I still struggle when I'm in a store or restaurant. It's like I know they know that I'm Anglo and that chances are good I'm going to say something absolutely silly. 

But the truth is that I'm loving ulpan. I might not be learning much right now, and I might hate the textbook we're probably going to be using (I used the textbook in my first year of Hebrew at the University of Connecticut and actually finished the book, so …), but being in an environment where there are people devoted to learning the language and where most are taking it fairly seriously is a truly unique experience. It doesn't compare AT ALL to my experience at the Middlebury College ulpan, which took me from aleph-bet to where I am now, because there people spoke Hebrew in class, out of class, at the coffee shop, and in the car. It was everywhere, and that's what made it stick. In Israel, Hebrew is everywhere, but so is English. From the first month I was here until now, I use Hebrew a lot less. I'll be honest -- Israel makes it too easy to keep English as your 24/7 language. 

In other news, Mr. T and I are moving! Well, we've shaken on it so far, but we're moving to Neve Daniel so that I can join Har Ha'Bloggerim! We found a nice two bedroom, two bathroom apartment there with a beautiful mirpeset (balcony/patio) that has a small living/dining space that we're happy with. Mr. T has the most amazing outlook on life, and that is that we try something out, see if we like it, and if we don't, we figure something else out. He's easy going, confident, and patient. The funny thing is, I'll be able to get to Ulpan Etzion more quickly from Neve Daniel than from where I live in Jerusalem … and yes, I know I'll now be living "over there" across the green line. Am I worried? No. I've spent plenty of time in the Gush, and it's the most beautiful place on earth, if you must know. In some places, you feel peace, serenity, and you know that HaShem is there. That's how the Gush is for me. 

What else? I'm getting married in less than a month. Wow. Also? I might be going to England for Pesach, which is amazingly awesomely cool because I've never been to only two countries in my lifetime so far -- Israel and the U.S. 

Life is nuts. I feel like I have so many Israel-based reflections to make on the people, the food, the aura, everything, but the moment I think of it, *poof* it's gone. So what do you want to know? Hop over to Ask Chaviva Anything! and fill out the form. Seriously, give me a reason to think!

Marriage: Going to the Rabbanut

Will we get the stamp of approval!?

Don't take my word for it, but going to the rabbanut -- which Wikipedia says is recognized by Israeli law as "the supreme halachic and spiritual authority for the Jewish people in Israel" -- to open a tik (file) for marriage wasn't tough.

And I'm a divorced convert.

A lot of people complain about the politics, the rabbanut, the religious domination in this country and how difficult it is to do anything within the confines of halachah like get married, but so far? I'm not feeling oppressed or angry or upset or anything. In fact, going to the rabbanut was less annoying/stressful than going to the DMV in the United States.

Mr. T and I headed to the rabbanut on probably three different occasions, constantly getting the hours wrong. You see, in Israel a lot of the government offices close down in the middle of the day for lunch and then reopen for like ... an hour and a half. We finally managed to get into the office with all of our necessary paperwork -- get (religious divorce decrees for each of us), my conversion paperwork and name change paperwork, and our teudot zehut (Israeli ID cards). I also brought along a bunch of other paperwork because I honestly was anticipating some kind of insane experience of putting me through the wringer.

Silly Chavi, you were paranoid for no reason! They gave you candy for the love of Pete!

The rabbanut offices are under massive construction, so we had to ask around where to go. We ended up at an awkward desk with a man and woman sitting behind it. They got Mr. T's information and had a problem with what he'd brought to show that he was divorced and then proceeded to realize that I was a convert and then we had to go see the Big Cheese down the hallway. We sat down in a large office, the walls lined with pictures of famous rabbis, while the Big Cheese (you don't need to know his name, just know that he was incredibly friendly, sweet, and got us moving) looked over our paperwork. He asked several questions and made some copies, told me that I needed to have two legit Jews email him letters saying that I was, in fact, Jewish and awesomely amazing, and then he sent us back down the hall to wait to get registered.

We sat down at a desk after a few minutes with a nice woman who input our information (names, addresses, wedding date, etc.) into the computer. We paid a fee (which was discounted thanks to me being a new immigrant) and were told to go out to speak to another person.

Person number three looked like a rabbi, so we'll call him the Yiddishe French Rabbi, because he used a lot of interesting yiddish for a man who spoke French so well. At this desk (the wall where a door once was gutted out to a large hallway), we were asked questions about whether we were related, our family, how many siblings we have and whether our parents are still married and where they live, what we want our names to be after the marriage, and a series of repeated questions about our marital statuses and the names of those we've been married to before.

By the time the Yiddishe French Rabbi finished with us, the offices were technically already closed, but if there's one thing that Israel does right, it's that if you're there, everyone who is pertinent to what you're there for has to stick around until you're done and gone.

The next stop was to a woman to make sure I knew I needed to take kallah classes (where you learn about family purity and the laws of niddah and such), which simply required the signing of a form, some stuff being shoved in my hand, and being sent on my merry way back to the Yiddishe French Rabbi, who took the paper I signed and put it in our file, wished us a Mazal Tov, and we were gone!

Zip, done. I think the entire ordeal took about 2.5 hours, which seems like a long time, but with the company I had it was a breeze of a situation. I didn't feel like I was being put out, questioned, or oppressed in any way. The only other step left is that Mr. T and I each have to have two Jewish men go into the rabbanut to verify that we're both single and able to marry. Luckily, I had two early takers and we're good to go.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again -- like my aliyah process, everything has gone so very smoothly. Between meeting Mr. T and dealing with the rabbanut, I feel like I'm being led through life with a real purpose at last.  With the wedding coming up next month, there's so much to think about. Luckily, most of the thinking involves needing things like bookcases for the apartment and some proper furniture and things and stuff like that. I suppose maybe I should have paid for the lift to bring all of my stuff over, eh? I didn't know I'd be making a home so quickly!

So the next time you worry that Israeli living will be too hard for you, that things will just be too difficult and too much to handle, remember that often what we hear are the horror stories. Those are the easier stories to tell, after all. When things to smoothly, it's not as interesting -- it doesn't make a good headline, right?

Well, that's what I'm here for. To remind you that things can go smoothly.

Marriage: The Details

I walked in the store, it was the first ring I saw. It was the ring
I had always wanted. And the shop keeper told us, simply from
our birth dates and names, the story of who we are, what we
need, and what kind of couple we will be. It was mind blowing.

Okay okay!

So you're wondering what on earth is going on with me, right? Why haven't I been writing about every oozy love filled moment I'm experiencing with my fiance? Who is he? Where did he come from? Have I gone off the absolute deep end meeting and getting engaged to someone so very, very quickly?

Or, perhaps those of you who relished in my hair covering posts are simply elated that such posts will continue. Maybe there are some of you who are eager to see what me -- married part deux -- will look like in the blogging universe. I'm guessing someone of you are just waiting to pounce and the comments section will inevitably be filled with a mixture of mazal tov and "you're nuts, why are you trying to solve your life's problems with another guy you barely know?!"

Yes, I can read you (my readers) like a book.

The truth is I've been enjoying the past month of my life in a way that I haven't enjoyed my life privately for years. And when I say years, I mean years. For the first time, I decided to keep my dating experiences off the blog, as well as all of the information about the guy and how everything went down and how absolutely utterly perfectly imperfect we both are and how when you know, you just know. I've been relishing (although, I've been more public about it on Facebook and Twitter since we got engaged) about this man who is brilliant and funny and ridiculous and who has a life story that could possibly champion mine in a real bout of insanity. We've both been married, we've both really experienced all that there is to experience in the outside world, and we both were sold immediately on the potential of what is going to be a relationship of growth, communication, understanding, patience, love, and hopefully some babies -- together.

So what do you need to know? All you need to know is that Mr. T and I are happy. Yes, we're going to call him Mr. T, because every loved one needs a fun moniker on a blog like this. Mr. T is an Englishman, a juggler, a storyteller, a jokester, a father, someone who can fix anything, and that he treats me unlike I've been treated ever in the history of the many men I've dated. He proposed to me a half dozen times, including the second-to-last time by text message. While we were sitting at the same table. That's how well he gets me.

Fish and chips and phone calls and tea. 

We'll be getting hitched just before Purim in the world's smallest (okay maybe not) wedding (we're talking roughly 25 people), because I've earned the right to relish in the closeness that I feel with Mr. T. We don't want a big shibang, no fancy halls, no giant family reunions, no giant wedding dresses, no upscale bouquets. Just us, our family (in my case my adoptive family, although my intent is to Skype in my family back in the U.S.), and a few of our very closest friends. Then? A few of the traditional sheva brachot in Neve Daniel, Ramat Beth Shemesh, and Jerusalem (tentatively that's the plan), and then the rest of our lives just enjoying each other's company (he recites poetry from memory, I regale him with my many speeding ticket stories).

And that, folks, is what's happening. My life has become a whirlwind of busy things and entrepreneurial projects, which I hope to share with you all soon once they launch. Ulpan also starts next month, so my life will become even more heartily hectic.

Conferences, meetings in the sun on Emek Refaim, lots of tea, smiles, laughter, love, shiny bobbles, friends, and happiness.

This is life in Israel. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise!

Going to the Chuppah

Another Saw You at Sinai success story. And I thought it couldn't be done. Who was I fooling?!

Just like aliyah, this was the smoothest, calmest, most meant-to-be thing that's ever happened to me. 

Stay tuned!

Ask Chaviva Anything!: Of Aliyah and Marriage

Now? Another installment of Ask Chaviva Anything!

As an American who married an Israeli, I am bracing myself for the move to Israel in a few years. I feel paralyzed by fear sometimes and, just as quickly, guilt-ridden for not wanting to dive head-first into what I know is the right place for us as Jews. I am also a convert, and feel devastated that I'll be leaving my family here. Can you give me any advice or motivation on how to stay positive?

This is a tough one. A very tough one. And I'm not sure it's one I'm fully equipped or prepared to answer because I come from a pretty different place than you. I only saw my family so many times a year and relied largely on e-communications to keep in touch, I wasn't married, and the motivation to move to Israel was wholly my own. That being said, I think that having the time to plot and plan almost makes the entire waiting period worse -- you'll hyper-analyze every aspect of what could possibly go wrong on the move. It's an incredibly frustrating thing you're going through, I can only imagine. 

So I'm going to put this one out to my readers. Does anyone have advice? 

The next question?

Can you post more of your cute apartment?

Yes! But only after my closet shows up. Hopefully it will be here by November 21. Stay tuned!

Here comes another, closer to home. 

I thought you weren't looking to get married again or so you said on the blog multiple times awhile back. When did this change?

Late last year/early this year I had said I wasn't sure I wanted to get married again. But that's also when I was dating someone outside Judaism, was bitter and angry about a lot of things, and was still coping with divorce and family problems I was having. A lot of therapy later, making the decision to keep my happiness at Number 1 on my priorities, and making aliyah, marriage has been in the cards. The truth is, my desire not to get married was largely a result of the guy I was seeing not wanting to get married. I was doing my best to believe in the "marriage is a sham" bit. But I want very much to get married, to have kids, to do my part in growing Am Yisrael. Shockingly, it's not nearly as easy as I thought to meet people in Israel.  

And we'll end with an easy one. 

How long do you think you'll stay in Israel?

Forever? I made aliyah -- I moved here, permanently -- and my intent is for Israel to be my home indefinitely. I'm not naive enough to think that life hands us things we are most unprepared for, so who knows what is in store for me, but making aliyah means moving to the land, possessing it, making it my home. So that's what I'm doing!

Ask Chaviva Anything!: The Get

Don't forget to ask your own questions online!

Here's a doozy of a question, around which this entire post will revolve,

Was getting a get difficult? 

I say doozy because it talks about the topic of divorce, which honestly is something I am so very much over I sort of wanted to ignore the question. It's not a painful topic, it's more like, meh. The truth is I don't think I ever talked about the literal process of getting a get, or Jewish divorce document. There are a lot of resources online that walk you through the process, but the actual experience itself was pretty painless for me. In fact, it had a sweet ending from the rabbi. But I'm a bit ahead of myself here.

I asked for a get on a Monday. By the following Wednesday, I had it. By and large, the giving of a get and the organization of the whole thing doesn't happen this fast; most people were surprised at how fast a beth din (rabbinical court of three men) was mustered up for us. I had a friend come with me, which turned out to be a huge blessing because a lot of Yiddish was tossed around and she helped me out when they were talking to each other over something about what to write in the get itself.

The truth is that the get is a very simple document, and it is very short. Although the origins of the term get seem to be clouded in rabbinic tales and historic assumptions (my favorite is that the Hebrew letters gimel and tet can't be used to form a word, so thus a couple whose marriage fails cannot come together to create anything), the biblical term comes from Deutoronomy 24 and is sefer keritut.

The requirements for the get itself -- we're talking what it's written on, who is writing it, how it's written, how carefully it's written -- are incredibly important. The validity of a get can be chucked out the window for the smallest thing. The most interesting thing about a get is that it can't be predated and has to be hand-written then and there. (For a full text of the get document, click here.)

So yes, you're sitting in the room with the beth din, your soon-to-be ex, and a sofer who is using as steady a hand as possible to make sure that he doesn't have to write and rewrite the document.

In my case, it was the beth din, the sofer, my ex, and my friend in a classroom at a Jewish school in New Jersey. It was a stale room with a big board-room style table and fairly comfortable chairs. I feel like the entire thing took about an hour, and most of the time was spent with me talking to my friend out of nervousness, listening to the rabbis discuss my name and where it came from (one had to pull out a sefer to explain something about it), watching the sofer carefully dip his quill into a dirty pot of overly used ink with such precision ... and then came the ritual.

It was a very odd, forced, choreographed bit that I don't know if I fully understand even now. The document is completed, the rabbis look it over, it's properly dated and signed by the present rabbis, and then? We were informed of the documents contents if I remember correctly, the most important aspect of which are the lines,

And now I do release, discharge, and divorce you [to be] on your own, so that you are permitted and have authority over yourself to go and marry any man you desire. No person may object against you from this day onward, and you are permitted to every man. This shall be for you from me a bill of dismissal, a letter of release, and a document of absolution, in accordance with the law of Moses and Israel.

The rabbi took the get and folded it up into small packet. My ex took the document and dropped it into my hands, which were cupped with my palms upward. I took the get and was directed to walk toward the door, as if I was leaving. I stopped and walked back, and the rabbi took the get from me. Corners were cut, and the document was put away until our civil divorce was complete -- only after that would we get our official copy of the certification of our Jewish, religious divorce. Nice insurance, right?

After the entire thing was said and done, one of the rabbis dismissed the sofer, the other rabbis, my ex-husband, and my friend who accompanied me and took me into his office. I was pleased because it gave me a chance to ask about hair covering (about which he gave me the blessing from Rav Feinstein that as a young woman without children to uncover), but there was something that meant a lot more to me.

"I want to speak with you briefly," he said.

I walked into his office, and he said,

"You know, if someone walked in here and told me a convert and a born Jew were getting divorced, I would have thought you were the born Jew.  

"The reason," he said, "is that you seemed so much more involved and interested in what was happening, you seem more knowledgeable."

Wow. I'm permitted to any man (well, not a kohein), and this rabbi clearly thought there was something special there for me, and in that moment, it meant so much to me.

So, in a nutshell, was getting a get difficult? No. It was a cakewalk. Would I wish the experience on anyone? Never in a million years.

A Zivug or Bashert?

When we go through life looking for that other half, the piece of ourselves that was incomplete at birth (what Kabbalah calls plag nishmasa – half souls), we often say that we're searching for our bashert -- our soul mate. But what about your zivug? 

In search of my bashert, a Yiddish word meaning destiny, I've run into the term zivug quite a bit, and I'll be honest in saying that I was unfamiliar and unaware of the terminology. From what I can muster up online, zivug is your preordained mate or match. In the Talmud (Sotah 2) Rav Shmuel bar Rav Yitzchak says in the name of Reish Lakish that a man's zivug is made only according to his deeds. The gemara then challenges Reish Lakish by citing Rav Yehudah in the name of Rav, who says that it's about mazal as forty days before creation of the embryo a bat kol issues forth and pronounces his zivug.

We've all heard this before, right? That before we're even born HaShem has already played the part of shadchan (matchmaker). But the gemara goes on in this deeds versus mazal (luck, aka Rav Yehudah's take) to say that in truth they are both right, because there actually are two matches: zivug rishon is based on mazal and zivug sheni is based on deeds. 


Wait, what? Are we being set up to fail!?

According to Rashi, the reason why the zivug is determined according to one's deeds is that if a person's deeds are meritorious, he is given a better zivug. The thought process is that if you're some crazy tzaddik whose deeds go above and beyond what mazal provided, then chances are there's a better zivug out there for him. So his wife dies, he gets a more meritorious bride, and everyone lives happily ever after. The Mekubalim explain that this second matching only happens if one deserves it because of his good words. If he doesn't merit to receive his intended match, he ends up with another woman.  [Note: This whole concept seems to only apply to widows and widowers! (According to Rabbenu Tam.)]

But it makes me wonder if maybe my first marriage didn't work because some tzaddik out there has merited me as a wife. (Oh geez, seriously Chaviva, come on, really?) Wishful thinking never hurt anyone, right? But there's a lot more weight on that second zivug. After all, it's based on our merits. "Under Pressure" doesn't even begin to describe the heft resting on the shoulders of someone searching for their zivug sheni. 

I guess you could say that because of the idea that man and women are created as one that and that because their neshama is as one, that you can have options with zivug, but that only one of them is your bashert. In a way, it's a contingency plan that HaShem has put into place.

I know, I know. I'm providing a very simplified version of the zivug rishon and sheni issue. Read all of the insights here. There's also a great article here that explains things a little bit further, including some of Rambam's approaches to this issue.

And now, back to your regularly scheduled flashbacks of Chaviva performing as the mother of Mottel in Fiddler on the Roof in 2000 in Lincoln, Nebraska.