Chayyei Sarah

2008-06-16T11:41:00.005+03:00

Water, Water Everywhere

I should have known it would come to this: Me, trapped in a bathroom with no door, eating an egg-salad sandwich while the room slowly floods.

And still, we do not know the end of the story.

One of the first things that Liza and I noticed when we moved in two months ago is that the bathroom sure gets a lot of water on the floor. It was bubbling out from under a drain cover in the middle of the room, and resulted in our flip-flops floating away whenever one of us took a bath or ran the washing machine. The plumber came, and removed a handful of detritus from the pipes, construction garbage that an unscrupulous worker or a very stupid cleaning lady had pushed into the pipeworks rather than into the garbage.

And for a few days, all was right with the world.

Then the puddles came back. Smaller, this time, and from the direction of the washing machine, but more troublesome because there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to their appearance. The puddles came whether we ran the machine or not. The puddles came even when we drained the machine, shut off the pipe which brings water to it, and let it sit dry for a week. The puddles would suddenly stop for a few days, and then reappear. When they appeared, I ended up doing a "sponga" (basically, squeegeeing water out of the bathroom and toward the porch, where there is a drainpipe) several times a day.

We called the owner, who said it must be the machine. I called the washing-machine repair company (since it is still under warranty), and they said the repairman would come in a week. Urgh. Meanwhile, we were planning a housewarming party, and the repairman, it turned out, would be coming the DAY OF the party (which is today). The owner wouldn't send the plumber back until after the washing machine was inspected. We've spent the last week praying that the floor would be dry for our party. As of this morning, there was a huge puddle on the floor.

Today the repairman came and confirmed that everything about the machine is dry, and we need a plumber. So I made some calls to the apartment owner to work on convincing him to send someone TODAY, since, you know, tonight our 40 CLOSEST FRIENDS IN ISRAEL are coming to see our house for the first time, and it would be nice to, you know, NOT have a flood on the bathroom floor.

The owner asked that we do one final test: Move the washing machine out of the bathroom, dry the floor, and then wait to see where water appears. If it appears under the machine, then it's my problem to deal with; if in the bathroom, he'll send the plumber.

So, Liza and I removed the bathroom door and pushed the machine into the doorway, where it was then stuck. There IS a way to get it through, since it had, after all, gotten INTO the bathroom, but getting it INTO the bathroom had required my paying two very strong guys to push and lift and twist and shove for about 15 minutes, and Liza and I were not strong enough for that. So the machine stayed in the doorway, with me stuck inside the bathroom, and I mopped up the floor and waited.

And waited. And watched the floor.

**

Sarah: "Liza, can you bring me my sandwich? I think it's on my desk."

**

Sarah: "Liza, can you bring me a flashlight?"

**

Liza: "I just called my boss to say that I'll be late for work because the bathroom is flooding and my roommate is trapped inside. That is the best excuse I've ever had. He asked if he should be calling the police."

Sarah: "Hey, I've got food, and water, and my cell phone. Bring me my computer and I can stay here all day."

**

Sarah: "Liza, can you bring me a glass of orange juice?"

**

Sarah: "Aha! I think I see where the water is coming from! Eureka."

**

Liza: "I have to pee."
Sarah: "That's too bad."

**

Finally, we determined conclusively that in fact the leak was coming from the corner where the bathtub meets the wall. The water would then run along the wall and pool in the area where the washing machine usually is. Haha! Take THAT you landlord, you!

**

So, the plumber is coming in 2 hours. Our party is in 7.5 hours. If worse comes to worst, we'll call it a "pool party" and hope our friends will still love us.

(Oh, and we pushed the machine back in place and replaced the door. I'm free to roam about, now.)

***UPDATE**** Liza's version of events here.

***UPDATE*** The plumber has come and gone, and it appears he has fixed the problem. Our pool party will now be a regular ol' housewarming party, after all.

2008-06-02T14:16:00.002+03:00

"Change Your Place, Change Your Luck"

Since the last episode of Chayyei Sarah, I've moved into my new apartment and adapted to living with my new roommate - not that either of those things were hard.

First, Liza (pronounced Leeza). She is a fantastic roommate for me. I clean, she cooks, and we each think we got the better deal. Many a time I have woken up in the morning to "Good morning, Sarah, there is oatmeal and coffee waiting for you in the kitchen." Or come home to "hi, Sarah. There's a healthy dinner warming for you in the oven." It's like I got married . . . to a wife. I love it. Oh, have I mentioned that she takes care of managing our (sometimes unwieldy) internet network? Or that when some friends gave me a standing fan as a housewarming gift, Liza assembled it for me? Or that she goes to the shuk and does all our shopping, saving us both a lot of money? Or that I really like most of her friends and think they are nifty?

Best of all, it's just so nice to have company. It's only now that I realize just how lonely I'd gotten in my old place. Leeza is a Master's student, so, like me, she's home quite a bit during the day. Between the regular (fun) company and having healthy meals in the house, I've stopped going to cafes so often to work. In fact, even though my rent is a few hundred shekels more per month, I've calculated that it's cheaper for me to live here, because I'm spending so much less on food (and, also, saving a little by sharing the water and electricity bills, internet, etc).

Also, the new place is -- and I say this with infinite gratitude to God -- just gorgeous. It's one flight up, with windows on three sides, and surrounded by trees. All day I hear birds singing outside my windows. Everything was newly renovated before we moved in, and the owner put in some very nice touches, like pretty tilework here and there in the floors, and beautiful kitchen cabinets with some nifty drawers (for example, a corner drawer that pulls out on a diagonal). The floor tiles are all a light beige, giving the apartment a light, airy feel. And I have the "master" bedroom, which is huge both by Israeli standards and by my own, so for the first time in many years I have one side of the room dedicated as "bedroom" space, and the opposite side dedicated as "office" space, and I can psychologically not feel anymore like I'm working in my bedroom.

Speaking of office space, this is also the first time in my life that I had an opportunity to buy the desk of my choosing. In the past, every desk I've ever had was either provided by someone else (eg my parents, the college dormitory, left behind by a previous tenant, etc) or I purchased it on the basis of limiting factors; in my old apartment, I had to conserve space, and though I liked my desk OK enough, I didn't love it. I'd chosen it on the basis of its being a space-saver.

In my new apartment, I have a huge wall against which I could put any desk I wanted. And since I work from home, I decided to invest in a dream desk which would give the honor to my career that I would like for it to deserve. A desk befitting the career I want to have, so I can be inspired by my workspace and grow into it. I went around to many, many furniture stores, sitting at every desk and imagining how I'd feel working at it. You know the scene in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, when Harry tries out different wands until one of them resonates for him? That's what I felt when I found my desk. It's a beautiful work station, 207 cm high and 166 cm long, with light oak wood, blue-tinted cabinets and drawers, and lots of shelf space for my dictionaries, books about writing and grammar, the magazine holders with my published articles, CD's, photos of my family, etc. Every day I look at it and think "Thank you, God! Thank you Thank you Thank you."

** A huge "bli ayin hara" over this whole post! **

FYI, to all my personal friends: I'm coming to the US in a few weeks. I'll be in New York, Cleveland, San Jose, Pittsburgh, and then New York again. Hoping to see as many of you as possible.

2008-04-13T16:36:00.002+03:00

Absorption Experience #5,016: Police Report

Something which used to be true, but isn't anymore, is that when dealing with Israeli bureacracy, it's best to bring a book, be prepared to wait for several hours, and then be prepared to be given some sort of run-around. These days, one who assumes that this "common knowledge" is always true will often be in for pleasant surprises. (Not always, but often.)

Last night I went to fill out a police report about my stolen backpack. Now, the Israeli police are not exactly known for being warm and fuzzy. And it's probably true that if I'd been in the police station because I, myself, had been suspected of having committed a crime -- petty or otherwise -- I probably would have had a much harder time.

But as it was, I was there to report that I'd been the victim of a crime. I got there prepared to wait for an hour or three and then to be "processed" by a bored and unfriendly clerk who couldn't care less that my bag was missing.

In truth, I waited for five minutes. There was no one ahead of me, and I just had to wait for the officer on duty to get off the phone. (Later, when I left, a line had built up with about 7 people in it; I guess I was lucky to have gotten there immediately after Shabbat ended.) In the waiting area were big posters, listing the rights of crime victims in Hebrew, Arabic, English, and Russian.

The woman who took my complaint was courteous and thorough. Yes, she picked up her ringing phone a few times, but it was clear that each of her calls was about internal police business and that she was getting off each call as quickly as she could. A few times I heard her tell the callers "I can't speak with you right now, I'm with a mitlonenet (complainant)." At one point another officer came in and interrupted, and she actually told him "you are going to have to wait until I finish filling out a report for this lady here." When I said "wow, that's good service," the other officer -- the one being rebuffed-- smiled and said "we like to give good service here."

What country am I in, again?!?

I also think it should be noted that everyone who hears that my passports were stolen has the same reaction. First, they express dismay because stolen passports can be used by terrorist groups for less-than-honorable purposes. Then they say: "Oh, getting a new Israeli one won't be a problem, because the Ministry of the Interior is pretty efficient. But you lost your American one? Oh, man. That means a trip to the American consulate. That sucks. I'm so sorry."

The times, they are a'changin'. (Except in the American consulate, which apparently is as mean-spirited as ever, including to American citizens.)

2008-04-11T15:32:00.003+03:00

Grrrrr . . .

So, I went in to teach today, and then I went for breakfast at the little plaza next to the Mister Zol supermarket on Shai Agnon Street. One of my students came by, so we sat together and drank our respective drinks (my coffee, her "ice vaneel"), and shmoozed about Macbeth and The Great Gatsby and about her high school.

When she left, my backpack was gone. I knew she hadn't taken it. It had been next to me, on my side of the table. Someone extremely talented must have swiped it while we were engaged in conversation.

Grrrrr . . .

So now I'm spending my afternoon cancelling credit cards, cancelling unused checks, having the locks changed on both my old apartment and my new one, and trying to make a list of everything else that was taken so I can deal with them on Sunday - everything is closed now for Shabbat.

Driver's licenses from two countries. Israeli ID card and passport. My cell phone. My new lease and another important document which will be a pain to replace. Some of my students' journals. My grade register.

Receipts that I needed to send to a client so I could be reimbursed for expenses. That's about $200 right there.

And there is the backpack itself, which I loved.

If there is time before Shabbat, I'll go file a police report.

All I can say is: THANK GOD my computer wasn't in my bag. !!!!!

Argh.

2008-04-10T00:53:00.002+03:00

Pre-Passover Fire Safety Tips

As Passover approaches, Jewish homes everywhere are up to "here" with lots of boiling water, which people use to kasher their kitchens and to cook.

The oven is going constantly, the stove is going constantly . . . more kashering, more cooking.

And families get together, and light candles for Shabbat and the holiday . . . lots of fire there, in one place.

So, here is Chayyei Sarah's traditional pre-holiday fire and burn (and, while we are at it, poison) safety reminders! This information is based mostly on a press conference which was held by Mount Sinai hospital a few years ago before Passover. (They said that Jewish holidays are the most busy times for their burn unit!)

Keep small children away from toxic and caustic cleaning agents; do not leave bottles of cleaning fluids out where tots can find them.
Keep small kids out of the kitchen while you are kashering it; teeny tykes and and boiling water are not a good combination.
Place tape on the floor, creating a perimeter of several feet around the stove/oven unit, and instruct children that they may NOT cross this line.
Tables and counters which will have candles or boiling food on them should not have tablecloths or other hanging decorations which a child might pull on. This is equally true in synagogues as at home.
Light holiday candles well away from curtains.
If you are using a crock pot, make sure the electrical cord is situated such that children won't pull on it.
When visiting the homes of friends or relatives for the holiday, find out the first day you are there where all the fire exits are - and make sure everyone in your family is informed.
If you have guests for the holiday, show all of them where the fire exits are shortly after they arrive.

Best wishes for a happy, kosher, and safe Pesach!

2008-04-08T18:16:00.003+03:00

For Pete's Sake

I haven't even finished unpacking my suitcase from England, and I now I have to pack everything I own and get it out of here on time to move out by May 1. Totally overwhelming. A good problem to have, but still sort of a problem since I am too overwhelmed to know how to solve it. In some ways, it's fantastic that I'm moving around Pesach time, because Liza and I have agreed simply not to bring any chametz into the new place -- perfect -- but meanwhile it means I can't, for example, pack up all my kitchen gear and bring it to the new place. So what to do with it meanwhile?

Someone who is interested in moving in after May 1 is coming on Friday to look at the place, and meanwhile everything I own is out on the floor. Everything. To get from one end of the apartment to another involves stepping around a complicated maze of boxes, bins, suitcases and just . . . random stuff everywhere. Because, seriously? I really don't know what to do right now with my Thanksgiving decorations, or my vacuum cleaner, or my sticker collection from when I was in elementary school.

In other news, this morning the air-raid siren went off -- yes, in Jerusalem -- and at first I freaked out. And then I went to sit in the only place in the apartment that is not in the direct line of a window. And then I remembered that today they had scheduled an air-raid drill.

Oh. OK.

2008-04-07T12:56:00.004+03:00

Moving!

Liza and I signed a lease yesterday, paid April's rent and a security deposit, and got keys!

I'm moving into a gorgeous, stunning, pre-1948 (read: beautiful Arab architecture with high ceilings) apartment with an amazing porch. The place was just totally renovated and has brand-new floor tiles, brand-new plumbing and electricity, a brand-new kitchen, and a brand-new bathroom. Wow. I'm one of the luckiest people in the world.

Now. To all my long-term readers. The ones who have been with me for years, through the Shabbaton-from-hell series, and the posts about the Second Lebanon War that got forwarded around. Remember how much that post about unleashing the guinea pigs of war meant to you?

Now, do you see that PayPal button on the right?

I'm just sayin' . . .

;-)

2008-04-03T15:31:00.002+03:00

Moving Right Along

Thanks to everyone who wrote to me with comments re: my singles article. The response so far has been gratifying, with pretty much everyone saying that the story is sad, but well-researched and well-written. That's all a journalist can ask for!

A few things going on with me . . .

1- Last week I went to London for the first time. Did you know that Europe is much closer to Israel than it is to the States? :-) I plunked down $900 and got a round-trip 5-hour flight and 3 nights in a really nice hotel in exchange. I love Daka-90! After being sick twice this winter and losing an apartment I'd been planning to buy, I was in desperate need of a vacation, and I got it. Tower of London (amazing!), Madame Tussaud's (amazing!), the rebuilt Shakespeare's Globe Theater (amazing!), a play in Leicester Square ("The Mousetrap" by Agatha Christie, the world's longest-running play. Amazing!), a bus tour (great!), and dinner in Golder's Green with my roommate from Michlalah, whom I haven't seen for about 15 years. I think that last was the most meaningful; it turns out that, though the details are different, our lives have taken similar paths, with both of us moving around a lot, switching careers, getting higher degrees, and really taking advantage of the time "given" us by being single - though regretting being single. Nice to know I'm not a freak!

2- My friend Lisa (who, actually, is going by her Hebrew name, Liza-- that's LEEZA) finally got out of her lease at the Hebrew University dorms, so we have begun the search for a new apartment! I've seen two places and both were great, actually. Liza is planning to come to Old Katamon tomorrow to check them out too, and hopefully by Sunday we'll have firm plans to move! Woo hoo!

3- In somewhat bad news, I'm going through something of a religious crisis. Nothing new here, it happens every few years. What kind of Jew would I be if I didn't do some questioning every once in a while? But it sucks while I'm going through it. Really, really sucks.

That having been said, I'm basically doing OK. Feeling refreshed from my trip and looking forward to getting out of my little studio and having a porch, and a living room, and some company. NOT looking forward to packing, but come to think of it, pre-Pesach cleaning and packing can go together a little and I'll kill two birds with one stone.

Oh, and

4- I love my teaching job! We're studying Amos Oz's A Tale of Love and Darkness, and it's a truly engrossing read, and my students are very engaged and motivated. Such a pleasure!

2008-03-31T17:44:00.002+03:00

It's Finally Published!

My singles story is up! At last!

Your comments are welcome, either here on the blog or -- even better -- to feedback@worldjewishdigest.com

PS I used to have a link here to the article, but heard from readers that the link led to Very Bad Things - has the WJD site been hacked? Anyhow, go to www.worldjewishdigest.com and click on the cover article. It will stay on the homepage for another couple of weeks.

Thanks to everyone who wrote in with feedback!

2008-03-16T22:57:00.002+02:00

Things I'm Not Blogging About

Oh, so many things I could be writing about.

I could blog about why the crane accident in New York is freaking me out.

I could blog about how excited I am that I might, maybe, soon be moving out of my little studio and into a bigger apartment which I'll rent with my friend Lisa.

I could write about what idiots they are, as a group, those Israelis who continue to be vocally left-wing. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I could write about how vocal right-wing Israelis, as a group, are among the most hypocritical people eh-var.

I could write about my brilliant three-state solution to the "Arab-Israeli" conflict, and what Israel and the US should offer Egypt and Jordan to accept it.

I could write about how being sans television reception, and getting ALL my news by reading it, affects the way I process and form opinions about world events.

I could write about the amazing lesson I taught today about Chapter 7 of Amos Oz's memoir, A Tale of Love and Darkness.

I could write about how pleased I am that my editors love the singles story, though it is incredibly depressing. And though writing a second draft is a pain, there's not so much to do, considering how long the article is.

I could write about some blogs I've discovered, including a new one by my friend RivkA, who has cancer, and this great one by a nurse whose feet I want to kiss.

I could write about my ongoing sleep problems, as a result of which I'm too tired and disorganized to, say, fight Meuchedet for the hitchayvut I need to be tested at the sleep clinic. :-(

But . . . I'm too tired. So instead, I will just sit here and stare, glassy-eyed, at the computer screen.

2008-03-12T21:39:00.002+02:00

Last night at 4:45 am I pressed "send" on that story I've been writing about single Jews in America.

Nothing like falling asleep as the sun is coming out and the birds are singing! I feel like a truck ran over me.

But, it is done. Or the first draft, anyway. Thank God! I'll post the link when it's published online.

Meanwhile, here is a fun little story I just published in the New York Jewish Week's "Catered Events" section. Enjoy.

2008-03-10T12:23:00.002+02:00

Crazy, Life-Affirming Day

Yesterday was insane. The school in which I teach called me: Another English teacher had resigned without notice, and could I start teaching one of her classes in addition to my own? Like, in a couple of hours?

I'm happy to help, and the kids are great, but . . . this is crazy.

And last night I spent 6 hours at an incredibly fun and very beautiful wedding. It seemed that every single person I know (I mean, every unmarried person I know) from Old Katamon was there, in addition to many couples I like a lot. It was fantastic. I danced up a storm.

Meanwhile I have a 3,000-word article to finish. I'm feeling some anxiety about it, but seeing the editor at the wedding last night - and doing the Twist with her - helped!

But the craziest part happened after my classes, when I went to buy a coffee on the way home and discovered that my wallet was missing. I realized that before class I'd sat on a bench outside the school to eat a sandwich - and had left my wallet there. Trying to stay calm, I retraced my steps and went back to the bench, but the wallet was gone. I took a deep breath and decided to wait a little bit before panicking or canceling my credit cards, because in my experience people who lose their wallets usually get them back intact.

I called the voicemail at my house, and sure enough an elderly-sounding gentleman had left a message saying "My name is _____ Rosenberg. I have what appears to be your wallet with your credit cards and identity papers - call me so you can pick it up." Turned out he lived only a few blocks away, so I walked over there and got my wallet back. Indeed he is an older, refined man who lives in a sunny apartment with his wife and lots of books. I offered him 100 shekels, which he refused. I said "you can put it in a tzedaka box." He said "YOU can put it in a tzedaka box." I thanked him profusely and left.

The wallet had EVERYTHING still inside. I'm planning to make a donation to Tafkid and ask them to send Mr. Rosenberg a card saying that it was made in his honor.

After what happened in Jerusalem last week, it's nice to have a day that is crazy - in a good way.

2008-03-06T23:25:00.004+02:00

No Words

I'm just sick over what happened tonight at Merkaz Harav. Those poor boys.

May the injured be quickly and completely healed, and may the families of the dead students "be comforted among the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem."

UPDATE:

From Haaretz.com:

The fatalities have been identified as Yochai Lipschitz, 18, of Jerusalem; Yonatan Yitzchak Eldar, 16, of Shiloh; Yonadav Chaim Hirschfeld, 19, of Kochav Hashahar; Neriah Cohen, 15, of Jerusalem; Roey Roth, 18, of Elkana; Segev Pniel Avihayil, 15, of Neveh Daniel; Avraham David Moses, 16, of Efrat; and Maharata Trunoch, 26, of Ashdod.

Three of the wounded in the attack at the Mercaz Harav yeshiva in the Kiryat Moshe neighborhood were serious condition, and taken to Hadassah Medical Center in Ein Karem.

The other six were lightly hurt and taken to Sha'arei Tzedek Medical Center.

You can send messages to patients at Sha'arei Tzedek Hospital here.

And I can't be sure, but it looks like if you send messages here, they will get to patients at Hadassah.

2008-03-05T18:21:00.002+02:00

Worth it to Wince

Last week I called the family of my third cousin. As my long-term readers may recall, I have very few family members in Israel. The only family I have here within an hours' drive is my third cousin, who is ultra-Orthodox and lives with his wife and 10 (bli ayin hara) children in a 3-bedroom apartment in the Bais Yisroel neighborhood. I once stayed with them for Shabbat, but the noise and activity level in their house was a bit much for me. So what we do now is that I sometimes stay with friends in Ramat Eshkol and walk to Bais Yisroel for Shabbat lunch. Basically, I see these cousins about 2-4 times per year - enough to keep up a family connection, but not enough to really be close.

I don't know how close I want to be. They are very nice to me, but sometimes they or one of the kids will say something that reminds me how different their lives and outlooks are from mine, and it's a little uncomfortable for me. For them, too, probably.

Anyhow, I called last week to see if we could set up a time for me to see them. I usually speak with my cousin's wife, Chevy - because she's the one who is home, and also because, I think, he's not really supposed to be having friendly phone calls with a single woman, not even a third cousin. He learns full-time at the Mir.

Chevy asked if I like the theater. I said "Uh, yeah, of course." Because I do. But since when does this family go to the theater?

"My mother is directing a play at her seminary, and the show is next week. Do you want to go with me and [my oldest daughter]? My mother will make sure we have great seats."

"Um, OK," I answered. Because they are the only family I've got within 50 miles, and what am I supposed to say that doesn't sound rude?

So last night I went to a play performed by the American girls at a new Bais Yaakov seminary program in Jerusalem. It was about a 13-year-old haredi boy whose chassidish father is killed in the Yom Kippur War (he is in the Galil teaching soldiers how to wave the lulav, when a bomb falls on them all). To raise money for his poor mother and two sisters, the boy goes to England to take a job as a mother's-helper in the home of an assimilated British Jewish family.

At this point I knew: The play will end with the whole family becoming frum, because of this boy's influence. I whispered as much to Chevy, who confirmed it, and so the show was over for me.

Meanwhile, a few things were clear:
a) Given that the girls had only 2 weeks to rehearse (due to logistical difficulties), they did a fantastic job.
b) There is only so well they could do, with only 2 weeks to rehearse.
c) One girl, who provided comic relief in the character of the family's cook, was absolutely hysterical. There were a few other girls who also did a really great job.
d) They could have used more time to rehearse the scene changes. As it was, it took a few minutes between scenes, and I fell asleep a few times, waiting.
e) The production was a few steps above the level of my high school plays - these girls actually had song and dance numbers, with full choreography, microphones, professional lights, etc.
f) It was only a few steps above a high school play.

Imagine going to a high school play because the mother of your cousin's wife directed it. Oh, God. Help.

g) A level of complexity was added to the plot: The British mother becomes ill and might die, and we don't know at the end of the play whether she will live or not.

I amused myself during the down times by imagining fantastic endings:
The mother will die, and the father will become frum and marry the hero's mom!
They will all become frum, and the British boy will marry the hero's little sister someday!

h) None of that happened, but indeed the whole family is frum now! Hashem has guided our hero to exactly where he needed to be! All's well that ends well! (Except that the mom might die. But that's OK because she has become frum before it was too late.)

Oh, God.

When the lights went on and my cousin and her mom asked me what I thought, I smiled and told them, sincerely, "the girl who plays the cook is absolutely terrific."

Anyhow, for all that it was a night of internal wincing punctuated, occasionally, with a laugh, I'm glad I went. The proceeds went to charity, and anyhow, that's just what you do -

for family.

2008-03-04T17:04:00.002+02:00

A Special Kind of Dumb

This morning I had the following conversation with a friend, who is also an American immigrant:

Sarah: I don't understand. Why are all these people voting for Obama?

Friend: Because they hate Hillary.

Sarah: What it is about him? He's got this "Obamarama" thing going on, and people are responding to it. Why? Why?

Friend: The bottom line is that Americans, as a group, are stupid. Don't get me wrong, I now live in a country where there is all manner of 'dumb,' but, boy, Americans . . . there are no words.

Sarah: Well, to be fair to Americans, our friend R. [who is from Toronto] once admitted that Canadians are 'no more and no less stupid than Americans.' Maybe everyone is stupid.

Friend: Yes, but Canadians are stupid in the manner of Europeans. And as we all know, Europeans are stupid in their own special way. But Americans, boy oh boy . . .

Now, I bring this up as a preface to the next story, so as to assure you all that when I bring up the foibles of Israelis, I am not singling them out for special treatment. I am 100 percent an equal opportunity stereotype monger, OK?

Now. Here we have this lovely news item, which goes basically like this:

Knesset Director-General Avi Balashnikov: Hey, ladies, it's International Women's Day!

Female Knesset Employees: Yay! Do we get mints on our desks?

KDGAB: No! You will be required to come to special presentations and take a self-defense workshop!

FKE: Um, why only us? Why not the men who work around here, too?

KDGAB: What? And take them away from their important work? Come on, you need these workshops. You need to hear how men discriminate against you, and learn to defend yourselves.

FKE: Yeah, whatever. Talk to the hand.

KDGAB: What? How dare you skip presentations that celebrate you and your needs! We planned all these activities just for you, and by jove, if you don't come and revel in International Women's Day, we'll . . . we'll . . . I know! We'll deny you promotions and pay raises!

FKE: You are discriminating against us because we failed to comply with a discriminatory policy that we, and only we, must participate in a day meant to decrease discrimination?

KDGAB: That's right, biotches. You snooze, you lose.

2008-03-01T22:50:00.002+02:00

Carrie Moment

I had dinner at The Coffee Mill, a wee little coffee shop snuggled between an ice cream store and a soap shop on Emek Refaim. I was meeting a Barnard Junior who is spending the semester at Hebrew University. The place is adorned from floor to ceiling with framed covers of The New Yorker, and has excellent sandwiches, gourmet teas, and of course lattes. And wireless internet. I often go there with my laptop and write articles with one hand while sipping cappucino with the other. It is warm and comfortable.

Samantha Moment

After my Barnard connection left, I took my laptop to Tal Bagels, where I am very much a regular.

When I got there, the guard had just prevented two young men from going in, since he wasn't sure there were any free tables. The hostess came outside, saw me, and said to the guys "Sorry, gentlemen, we only have a table for one." She ushered me in ahead of them and led me to my favorite spot in the back, where an empty table for 4 became all mine.

It may not be a hot bar in Manhattan, but that was so cool.

2008-02-26T16:41:00.000+02:00

A Personal Essay by Moi

My latest for the World Jewish Digest.

2008-02-25T00:12:00.000+02:00

Star Wars IV as Retold By a Three-Year-Old

2008-02-24T17:55:00.003+02:00

You'd think I would learn

Years ago, when I was at NYU getting my Master's in Journalism, a professor helped me get a job as the New York correspondent for the Jewish Chronicle of London. I had that job for quite a long time, pretty much until I made aliyah.

In the middle of my tenure at The JC, the World Trade Center was attacked and fell, and for days and then weeks, there were many victims whose bodies weren't found. In the cases of Orthodox and Conservative men who had disappeared in the rubble, the event caused a halachic problem for their widows, as well as a traumatic emotional one. For, if a man's body was missing, and it therefore was hard to prove that he was dead, on what basis would his wife be allowed, by Jewish law, to marry someone else someday?

The JC had me write a full-page feature about "Trade Center Agunot." I did many, many interviews for this story. I spoke with two widows -- one chassidic, the other Conservative -- about the halachic impact the tragedy had had on them. You can imagine how heartbreaking those conversations were. I spoke with leaders in the "Orthodox feminist" movement, and with rabbis who were serving on batei din which were making decisions about these women's futures. I remember that in particular Rabbi Yonah Reiss was both extremely informative and extremely helpful -- and also, that after speaking with him and the other rabbis, I went into a kind of 3rd-hand depression. Because . . . it was hard for them to be in the middle of the stories of these families, and now it was hard for me to hear how hard it was for them.

That is when I realized that as much as journalists are supposed to be objective and dispassionate, there is no getting around it: If you write about something depressing, you are going to get depressed (if not clinically, then in the colloquial sense). Spending days or weeks talking to "experts" about something that is hard to hear is not going to make for a fun project.

And yet, every time, I forget.

Editors call me, they say "hey, Sarah, we want you to do this story on a really important topic. You'll get lots of space, and front-page play, and we'll pay you well. We know that you are talented and not so many people can write about something so important as well as you could. Can you take the project?"

And I, being flattered, and desirous of sinking my teeth into something meaningful which readers will actually remember, and desirous of making money, say "yes."

And then I have to do the interviews, and more interviews, and spend days and weeks thinking and ruminating and talking about something hard. And it is . . . hard.

Diseases, death, social problems that are causing people pain . . . the reasons that thinking people become journalists in the first place . . . we want to educate and inspire thought and positive change . . . . but it's much more draining, on a personal level, to produce an informative article about a pressing social issue than it is to produce an informative article on, say, the differences between American Jewish wedding dresses and Israeli ones.

**

I took an assignment to write about "why are Jewish women in their 30's having such a hard time finding Jewish husbands."

I am such. an. idiot! What the hell was I thinking?

Oh, yeah. I was thinking "this is important."

But now, I have had to actually spend hours and hours researching the extremely bleak prospects for Jewish women in their 30's (especially if they are Conservative or Reform and live in America).

Please. Send. Chocolate.

2008-01-21T15:27:00.000+02:00

Gaza in the Dark

I rarely, but oh so rarely, agree with, well, anything political over at Seraphic Press. I have great, great respect for Robert Avrech, his intelligence, and his talent. But oh so rare is the day when I agree with his politics.

But I have to say, for those of you concerned about the fate of those Palestinians who now do not have electricity because Israel is no longer allowing in the fuel they need (though Israel continues to provide Gaza with 70% of its electricity), there is indeed another side to this story, and it is expressed clearly here. Go forth and read.

(Also here, but I like the way it's said at Seraphic Press (as quoted from Naomi Ragen's blog) better.)

2008-01-21T09:55:00.000+02:00

Looking for Suggestions

So, ever since I've started recovering from my bronchitis+gastroenteritis health crisis, my life has been moving along. It consists of the same old routine: get work done, do the laundry, run errands, make Shabbat plans, blah blah blah.

One thing I'm learning about myself is that it helps me a lot to take a short but real vacation -- a going away and staying somewhere else and seeing new things or sitting by the beach or pool vacation-- every six months. Since I work for myself and don't have any kids, I can do that.

But money is an issue.

So, help me out here. I need to plan something fun for 3-5 days, something that will take me out of my normal routine, but which is very cheap.

Any ideas?

2008-01-16T15:41:00.000+02:00

Reframing

I have decided that before I can get married, Hashem apparently wants me to go through a certain number of ridiculous, stupid, unwanted situations regarding my singleness. Therefore, when I encounter people who say stupid or insensitive things, I should thank them for getting me that much closer to a good relationship.

I was at a wedding yesterday. It was a wonderful wedding -- the story behind the bride and groom and how hard it has been for them, and how they met, etc is really beautiful -- and I had a wonderful time.

Except when we were milling around at the "kabalat panim," and a woman I'd never met before came over to chat, and we had the following conversation:

Her: So, how do you know the bride?

Me (smiling): We have mutual friends.

Her: Are you married?

Me (thinking "when did it become OK to ask me if I'm married before you ask me for my name?): Uhhhhhhh . . . no . . . . (starts turning to walk away before I blow a gasket)

Her: You know, the man who is taking photos is also single. Do you want to meet him?

Me (thinking "when did it become OK to offer to set me up with someone before you know my name . . . and to base the shidduch on both of us being single? But then again, who knows where one's Redemption might come from? Perhaps through this stupid woman. Who am I to say "no" out of hand? Besides, my mother warned me that if I tell people I don't want to be set up, they will think I'm a lesbian . . . thanks, Mom): Uh, I don't know. Can you tell me something about him?

Her: Here, I'll point him out to you and you can see if he looks good to you.

Me: Ummmmmmmm . . . . OK I guess . . . .

Her: Come, follow me . . . see, there he is -- the man in the blue shirt holding the camera.

Me (agape, and in an unnaturally high voice): Um . . . how old is he?

Her: I think he is about 58 or so.

Me (wondering whether I'm so prematurely aged that I appear 20 years older than I actually am, and feeling very insecure and unattractive): I'm 35.

Her: Oh, I guess it isn't a match then.

Me (breaking out in a sweat): No. But, uh, thanks. Have a good time at the wedding. Bye.

That woman probably went home and thought "I'm such a nice person, always on the lookout to make people happy by setting them up." Apparently no one has told her that offering to set people up on the basis of zero information does not make them happy. It makes them go in search of the ladies room, lock themselves in a stall, and spend several minutes shaking one's fists in the air and doing "silent primal screams" and basically having a fit and practically pulling a ligament, before pulling themselves together so they can have a good time at the wedding.

**

And then, today, I got an email from someone with whom I attended ulpan, a group email informing his friends that after 4 years, he has not been able to find a decently-paying job in his field (which is forestry . . . I could have told him, but he didn't ask me . . . . ), and that he and his wife and 2 kids are returning to Europe, and they hope that someday they can move back to Israel.

I spent a fairly significant amount of time writing a response with the story about how I came on a pilot trip in 1994, and realized that I couldn't earn a living here, but by 2003 the internet, combined with my having gone to journalism school, had created new job opportunities for me. I wrote that my hope for him is that he is very successful back in Europe, and that in the near future something will change in his industry, or in the world, or with him, which will allow him to return and earn a good living here. Please note that he himself had expressed this to be his wish, so essentially my email was saying "what you want for yourself, I want for you, and hopefully my own story will give you hope."

His reply: "Thank you Sarah. It's very unfortunate that I haven't been able to find a job that will feed my family . . . Hopefully we'll be back. May we dance soon at your wedding. Sincerely . . . . "

Um, thanks for that non-sequitor, the one that indicates to me that you can't even exchange emails with me about your making yeridah without thinking about the fact that I'm single. Oh, and thanks for reminding me that I'm single, because, you know, I'd been thinking and working on other things, like planning a sheva brachot for the bride who got married yesterday, and getting work assignments done, and finding a ride to an event I'm attending tonight, and God forbid that 5 minutes should pass without my remembering that all people seem to want from me, and for me, is to dance at my wedding -- something that is not entirely under my control to provide. I was feeling pretty adequate until you reminded me that I'm missing a wedding. Can't have that.

**

But still . . . must. maintain. one's. serenity . . . . reframing, I'm reframing . . . THANK GOD there are people like them in the world, for helping me fill my quota of pre-marriage stupidity.

So, thank you, well-meaning but stupid people! Thanks to you, maybe there will be a wedding for you to dance at someday after all! Woo hoo!

2008-01-13T23:10:00.000+02:00

Things my Shaliach never told me

In the States I wasn't a big avocado eater. I liked them a lot, but rarely bought them myself. I considered avocados a delicacy to find in my salad when I went to other people's homes for Shabbat meals.

It is now avocado season, and they are just so yummy here. They are amazing. I have become an avocado fiend. I will do anything for an avocado. Luckily they are available, ripe and delicious, in the little grocery store around the corner.

I scoop out the green yumminess with a spoon and eat it with whole-wheat crackers.

Delicious and filling and oh so good. It makes me so happy.

Funny, that my shaliach never told me about the avocados.

2008-01-10T12:45:00.000+02:00

Various Thoughts

1- In an article about Bush's current visit to Jerusalem, some Israeli official was quoted yesterday in the New York Times as saying that the government will not squash free speech (that is, the right to assembly, peaceful demonstrations, etc -- at least, that is my interpretation) while Bush is here, but that they are worried about "extremists." That immediately set off alarm bells for me. Who defines "extremist"? In my world, an "extremist" in this case would be someone who actually tries to physically harm President Bush or his entourage. I might also include protesters who chant something like "death to Bush." But in reality, the way the government here defines extremist is often as "anyone expressing opinions we are really, really uncomfortable with." And indeed, so it has come to be.

2- So, according to news reports, Bush is saying that we might have a peace treaty with the Palestinians within a year. Three comments on this:

a. A peace treaty with whom? Have we forgotten that Hamas is still the elected party in charge? Why isn't all of this being postponed until after the Palestinians have had new elections someday, so we could see what happens? Oh, right, Bush wants a legacy. Good luck with that.

b. Haven't we already reached an agreement in the form of the "roadmap"? Why are they trying to reinvent the wheel? The roadmap sucks but in principle both sides have agreed to it - or, well, Fatah agreed to it, anyway. Why are we now rehashing the same tired issues?

c. A friend of mine married a very intelligent man who has been living in Israel for many, many years, and he has this to say about Israeli newspapers: Never put too much stock in a headline whose verb is in the future tense. It's so true. Israeli media is full of stories on "Minister X predicts such-and-such" and "Action Y will lead to chaos, Minister Z says." And mostly none of these predictions come true, and all that is happening is that a lot of politicians are blowing hot air and creating a lot of tension, fear, possibly some hope -- over nothing.

3- The funeral for Rabbi Wohlgemuth was actually very nice. I know that sounds strange . . . but the atmosphere at a funeral is always a little different when the recently-deceased was very elderly and had been sick for many years. The sense is that the death is sad, but not tragic. I was happy to see that dozens of Maimonides alumni showed up for the burial; I counted about 80. There was a little bit of a reunion atmosphere, mixed with sadness. I saw people from classes ahead of me whom I hadn't seen for about 20 years. (And some of them have aged . . . does that mean that I've aged, also? Surely I have not aged the same 20 years that they have . . . ) A member of the Class of 1966 spoke of Rabbi Wohlgemuth's love for his students, and how three generations of day school students from Boston know how to translate ancient Aramaic because Rabbi Wohlgemuth introduced us to words like "Matnitin" and "aymahtai." He spoke about the Biur Tefillah class which was a required course for decades (though unfortunately, was not offered while I was at Maimo), and how hundreds of people pray with a little more "kavana" (focus/meaning) because Rabbi Wohlgemuth helped them look at the prayers, and at the act of praying, a different way. He reminded us that Rabbi Wohlgemuth never had a bad word to say about anyone, to the extent that parents often went to him last on parent-teacher night, because they knew that he would leave them with a good impression of their child. There was a lot of nodding-in-recognition from the audience. Then Shlomo Wohlgemuth, the rabbi's son, gave a beautiful dvar Torah, and we followed the body to the site where it now lies, next to grave of Mrs. Berta Wohlgemuth. Watching my fellow Maimonides alumni shovel the dirt back into Rabbi Wohlgemuth's fresh grave, I realized that we were all burying part of our adolescence. And as immigrants who all hail from the same city, we were also burying part of our community, part of what to us is "the Old Country."

4- Yesterday I went to Tel Aviv to see my brother-in-law, who was in Israel for business meetings. It was so nice to see a close member of my family! I'd had some grand plans of sightseeing we could do, to maximize his one free day, but in the end at his request we just went to Azrieli Center to shop for gifts for his kids. Do you know, in that entire huge mall, we did not find a single item of clothing that had Hebrew on it? We were looking for kids' tshirts with Hebrew slogans of some kind, and none were to be found in the entire mall. (Comments my friend Yael: The only people who want Hebrew on their t-shirts are the tourists.) We found almost no Judaica except for about 5 cheapy items in one of the department stores, and, other than Michal Negrin jewelry (which is not my sister's style) and the Hebrew books in the book store (which are too advanced for my nephews), or shoes (not good gifts), nothing which is unique to Israel - that is, nothing that my sister can't buy just as easily in America. About 90 percent of the stores' names are in English, and half the products are made in China. It was Little America. We left after 3 hours completely empty-handed and went to lunch, having decided that maybe he'd have better luck at the Central Bus Station, where the wares are more, ah, salt-of-the-earth. (Our search for a particular restaurant I'd heard about is a story in itself. Let's just say that if you want a nice kosher meal in Tel Aviv, you have to really know where to go, because they don't just pop out at you. In the end we went to a perfectly nice meat place on Rothchild Boulevard, called Petrozilia - and it was delicious indeed.) Later, Luiz told me that after he dropped me off at the train station, he went to Dizengoff Center and found a store there that sold "army surplus"-type things, so he got IDF t-shirts and kippot for his boys, and a "birkat habayit" for my parents, and a cute gift for my sister which I won't divulge here in case she is reading this.

Can I just say that I really love Jerusalem?

Oh, and he brought me, from the States, two new sets of sheets (which fit my American-sized mattress) and a copy of Real Simple magazine! Yay!

That's all for now.

2008-01-07T19:31:00.000+02:00

End of an Era - Baruch Dayan Haemet

I just got this email from the Alumni Relations director at Maimonides School in Boston . . . about the passing of the teacher under whom I studied gemara every Shabbat for many years, my neighbor of many years, my ride to school for many years, my Chumash and Gemara teacher for two years, and one of the nicest, most caring teachers anyone could hope to have . . . Rabbi Isaiah Wohlgemuth. The man taught Jewish texts to Jewish teenagers in Boston for well over 40 years. Baruch Dayan HaEmet.

I'm looking for a ride to the burial tomorrow, in case anyone from Jerusalem is reading this . . .

January 7 2007

Dear Maimonides School graduate,

With profound sadness, I am writing to inform you of the passing late
Sunday of Rabbi Isaiah Wohlgemuth, z"l, beloved teacher, scholar, advisor,
role model and friend of the Maimonides School Family for more than 50
years.

The funeral is scheduled for 1:30 p.m. today at the Jewish Educational
Center, 330 Elmora Ave. (Route 439), corner of Livingston, in Elizabeth,
NJ. Burial will be at Eretz HaChaim Cemetery, Beit Shemesh, Israel,
Tuesday at 3 p.m.

The shiva period will be observed at the home of Rabbi Wohlgemuth's son
Shlomoh, 950 Magie Ave., Elizabeth (908-352-8870) Wednesday after the
family returns from Israel.

May the Wohlgemuth Family be comforted together with the mourners of Zion
and Jerusalem.