First trip back

I've been scrambling the past few days to get everything in order for my first trip back to the Old Country since we made Aliyah over a year ago. Renewing passports, finding something to wear and choosing one child to come with me has been surprisingly time consuming. I guess it's because it's not only that but the preparation at home that it takes to make sure that TPH can run the homestead as calmly as possible while I'm gone. 


I'm not the "make-a-dinner-for-each-night-and-freeze-it-in-nice-little-containers" type, but to be fair I did stock the fridge and cabinets with just about anything anyone will need over the week that I'm gone. 


Going on this trip is a surprise. I told my family I'm coming when I got the tickets this week, but what I mean is that it's more of a surprise for me. 


Unless you've made Aliyah it's really, really hard to understand why that first trip back is so hard. I told my family earlier this summer that there was no way I could come. N is impossible at home these days, and I could never leave him. Tickets are ridiculously expensive, so I probably couldn't bring him, and even if I could there was so much potential for disaster that I just threw my hands in the air and said, "Forget it. I can't come."


I see now that these were excuses. Valid perhaps, but excuses none the less. But as always, TPH saw through my excuses even before I did. It's one of those things that make him T. P. H. And gently, as only he knows how, he insisted that I go. He would find the money to send me. He would be fine with everyone at home for a week. Yes, even N. He gently encouraged me to find the strength to get past whatever it was that is holding me back, and to go and spend some much needed time with my family.


I went to Gymboree with a friend a couple weeks ago and we were talking about going back "home", and she said she just doesn't think she'd be emotionally ready to face everyone and everything yet. I am so thankful to her for having this conversation with me because I was worried that maybe I was the only one who was feeling this way. It helps to know there are other normal people out there like me and that I am not alone.


The problem is that I'm scared to go back. I'm scared to see who and what I left behind again. I'm scared I'll want to leave or that I'll never want to leave. I'm scared to see my house again with lush yards and trees and I'm scared I'll compare it to my current rented apartment with dirt for a yard. I'm scared that everyone has stayed the same and that I have changed. Or maybe that they have changed and I have very much stayed the same. 


I'm sure it'll pass and that IY"H the trip will go just fine. I am very, very excited to be able to make it to my brother's wedding and will be forever grateful for a husband who knows me better than I sometimes know myself. TPH, thank you for being just that. Perfect. 

A Very Lucky 13

My FaceBook friends and family know that yesterday, TPH and I celebrated our 13th anniversary. 13 years is a long time. Especially because if you catch me off guard and ask me how old I am I'll say in all honesty, 27.

13 years for us has meant 6 (KA"H) kids, 14 pets, 10 moves, 3 houses, 8 cars, many challenges and lots and lots of love.

My first thought is a smug, hey, look at us. But when I think about it for even a minute it's replaced with, wow, are we lucky. Yesterday we were talking about our engagement and wedding, and TPH reminded me about five couples that we knew that had also gotten engaged or married around the same time that we did. Sadly, only 1 other couple besides us is still married. So I guess that 13 isn't something to sneeze at. The truth is that even with Any Perfect Husband, a marriage is work. Much, much more work than anyone could've convinced me of 14 or 15 years ago. I'm only beginning to understand how much patience, respect and fine tuning a marriage takes.

When I was in seminary, I still remember a teacher saying, "Whatever you do, don't think that you are going to change your husband." Who he is when you marry him is who he'll likely remain. If he doesn't do x, y and z before you get married, you aren't going to wave your wand and get him to do so even 20 years down the line. I've found this to be true on some levels, but what this or any other teacher didn't mention is how much you'll change and grow together, as a couple. How after all this time the line between who he is and who you are starts to fade. The memories you share together are more than the memories you each have individually, and how your goals and aspirations become not only your own but for each other and the amazing family that you share.

It's a beautiful thing, and I've been very blessed indeed.

Noteworthy

I would be remiss if I didn't jot down just a quick note about today. 


Today is one year since TPH's grandfather AH"S (Grandpa W) passed away. As I type, TPH, A and B are at Saba's house for the Yartzeit Seuda. Not only do we miss Grandpa W, but it's an important milestone for us as well. One year ago, TPH escorted the aron on the flight to the levaya (funeral) in Israel. And one year ago, TPH made his decision; it was time for him and his family to return to Israel.


I don't want to sound like some cow-towed wife who follows her husband around the globe at random, but since the very first time I met TPH there have been two things about him that have stood out above all others; his tremendous kindness and sensitivity towards others, and his unequivocal love for Eretz Yisrael. 


Besides these, TPH is smart. So smart in fact, that he visited schools while here for the shiva without telling his wife. So smart that he met with principals and other families with kids our ages. So smart that he applied to said schools and got accepted. Then he came home and started the not so long process of selling that wife on the idea of moving back. 


So, it's been one year today since this whole craziness began. 


We miss you Grandpa, and thank you. In your merit eight of your children and His have returned home. 

A Few Precious Moments

Blogging is not something that can be done on command. Ever.


Having a husband that works from home is 90% Awesome and 10% Not Awesome. Take for example, the fact that he can dodge out several times a day to drop off and pick up R from gan. Awesome. Or, that when we are having a homework meltdown or episode, or simply have four kids who need help at once, he can jump in when needed. Very Awesome. Or, when scary Arab looking man is at the door (plain old Sefardi water guy) I can panic and send him to answer it instead. Totally Awesome. 


But then there are the times when he is trying to work, and small people with red hair cry incessantly by his locked door to be let in and played with. Not Awesome. Or when he has a conference call and we have to tiptoe around so he can actually hear what the other parties are saying. Not Awesome. Or, my least favorite of all, when my laptop is in the shop, and somehow it is MORE IMPORTANT for him to work than for me to check FaceBook or blog at my own convenience! Not Awesome at all. Hmpff.


So, during this time of  withdrawal computer repair, I have concocted several sneaky ways of getting him off the computer for 3-5 minutes at a time. Like, "TPH! The toilet upstairs has a leak!" This usually gains me 2 minutes, enough time to update my status and quickly return his settings to normal, until of course he realizes the toilet is functioning perfectly fine. Or, "Could you PLEASE go and get some milk?? Diapers? Eggs?" is actually a pretty good one, and will give me a full half an hour to myself.  


Only those of you who have computeritis like myself know how serious this can truly be. The day starts off fine, with a perky, "I can SO do a day without the computer!" attitude. Until about lunchtime.When I start to shake and get that scary look in my eye he'll mope out of the room to give me a few minutes to fuel my addiction. 


So, during those rare times in the past week or so where he's given up his favorite toy, I have had to force myself to write, and on command! And as you can see, it is not pretty.


Shhh...here he comes.

Clean all the things? :(

It's Sunday. Again. 


Somehow it's either always Sunday (I guess for you Americans that would be Monday) or Friday. Those days in the middle of the week just seem to flit away before they've even arrived.


Every Sunday before I even get out of bed, I think of this post that has to be one of the funniest blog posts I've ever seen. (Special thanks to DK for turning me onto this blog)


http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/06/this-is-why-ill-never-be-adult.html


So my Sunday mantra has now become "Clean all the things? :(" I can still get a chuckle out of TPH if I tilt my head and wilt to the side just the right amount. 


This morning was a bit easier though: Uncle S was here and took N to the park so that I could Clean All the Things. Then, I remembered it was Rosh Chodesh, and I just Cleaned Some of the Things. 


This post was really supposed to be about BAW. When I got engaged to TPH, I promised myself that no matter how many long and wonderful years we were married, I would always appreciate him. I've been good so far, but wanted to share a story with you that shows how much of a better man he is than I.


First grader S came home from school on Thursday with a note that he needs to bring "Chips" to the class party on Sunday. I assumed (even though deep down I knew) that the teacher couldn't possibly mean "french fries", which is what the Israeli's call "Chips". After all, I'd already done all my shabbos shopping. How could they expect me to get to the store, fry up some french fries for 35 kids on Sunday morning, and then send them to school with a five year old who walks there?!


After we clarified that it was indeed french fries, my first reaction was, OK, forget it. The teacher said 4 other kids are supposed to bring FF also, so we'll just skip out on it. But BAW said, "No. We're team players, and we are going to get the FF." We were supposed to walk up to the store last night, but TPH wasn't feeling well so we ditched that idea too. 


Cut to: the next morning at 6:30am. I groggily come downstairs and find TPH peeling, cutting and frying potatoes so that S will have some to bring. 


Now sorry, but THAT is just awesome.

On TPH's "Why We Go"

So, there you have it.

I could not have said it better myself. His words are beautiful, and the only thing better is the sentiment that every word is true to the core. Now you know why through all my kvetching I still forge ahead. Now you know why I am willing to uproot our kids, leave my family and start all over AGAIN. Now you know why I have followed him through move after move. Packing, unpacking, packing, unpacking. You can't argue with words and sentiments like that.

It's simply, Why We Go.

Why We Go

Guest Post by: "Big Abba W" or "The Perfect Husband"

Ever since we started telling people of our plans to move back to EY, I invariably am met with one of 3 types of replies.

The first is a happy wistfulness "Wow, that's so great!", "Good for you, I wish I was going too." "Amazing, I would totally make aliyah if it were not for X" (let X =spouse/job/chinuch/family/security etc.)

The second type of reply is a sort of polite acknowledgment combined with genuine puzzlement: "Moving to Israel? Um, that's good", "Oh really? Why?"

The third type, (which thankfully was limited to only a few people) is negative bordering on downright confrontational: "Why would you want to move there?" "Do you want your kids to get screwed up?", "Don't you know that the government hates frum Jews?" and (horror of horrors) "Do you want your children to grow up to be Israelis?"

Most of the time when confronted with the latter two types of responses, I just shrug it off and change the topic. The person either does not understand, or has their mind made up, so nothing I say will really make any difference. This post though, is my way of exploring exactly why we are going.

Why are we willing to uproot ourselves from a warm loving (if somewhat dysfunctional) community? Why am I going to subject my children to the trauma and culture shock of moving to a different country? Why are we willing to subject ourselves to the huge financial emotional, and psychological burden of packing up and moving 8 people overseas?

This post is not about arguing emuna, religion or theology. There are many great sfarim on the topic, and I'm sure there are hundreds of shiurim as well, but that's not what I want to discuss.

For me, it goes much deeper.

EY is the only place where you can truly feel that you are part of a greater whole- Am Yisrael. A place where, regardless of religious affiliation, cashiers, clerks, and bus drivers will wish you "Shana Tova" before Rosh Hashana and "Shabat Shalom" on Friday. A place where Chanukah and Purim are celebrated on a national scale by chilonim in the Shenkin and by Chasidim in Meah Shearim. Going to the Kotel for mass Birkat Cohanim on Pesach and Sukkot, or walking with the crowds to the Kotel before dawn on Shavuot night. You cant help it, anywhere you go, (for better or worse) you are reminded that you are part of something, something much bigger than sum of its parts.

EY is a place where every inch is steeped in history, our history. It gives you a sense of context, an understanding of where we came from, and where we are going. Just in the 5 mile radius of our new home we have the valley of Eilah, where David slew Goliath. The Caves of Luzit and Beit Guvrin- where Jewish rebels and zealots hid and waged guerrilla war against their Roman oppressors. Netiv Halamed Heh, the rocky mountain trail where 35 young men, soldiers in the fledgling IDF, were killed because they showed kindness to an old Arab shepard. Each place has a story,a depth that is revealed, not by studying a textbook, but by walking the land, feeling the rocks and earth, living the history.To explore these places with my children, to tell them the stories, to give them a sense of perspective, is priceless.

The unique combination of the spiritual and material, the land and the people, the memories and the future, they all combine to something that is truly great, a massive endeavor, and we can take an active role in it.

This is what I want for my family, no more, no less.

True, these are lofty sentiments, and I probably wont experience or think about them daily, on my way to the makolet, on the bus riding to work, or waiting on line at the Bituach Leumi, but they are there nonetheless.

At every major decision in life, we are always plagued by a little voice in the back of our heads, "is this truly the right choice?", but here, I do not doubt, I know that this is going to be a good thing for me and my family. True, my kids will probably grow up eating Bamba and drinking Petel, perhaps they will loose their English, they will have to make hard religious/cultural choices in life, they will have to sacrifice the best years of their lives for their country, they will be Israelis!

They will be Bnei Eretz Yisrael, and that's all I can ask for.