Day 3 - More Lessons Learned

I got heckled by a few family members for not publishing this post on time, after promising to post every day.  I appreciate others holding me to my own standards, but the truth is I was much harsher with myself about it than they were.  That's just me, I suppose.

Now let's get down to business!

Turn On the Underdog Radar

After we were married and left North America behind, we did not see our parents until Binyamin was born, a period of about 18 months (except for one time when my mom stopped by for a few hours while in Jerusalem for some kind of conference).  It was the longest I had ever gone without seeing my folks.  But all of a sudden, after there was a grandchild to be visited (and then another, and another), my parents starting showing up on a regular basis, eventually hitting a rhythm of 2.5 visits every year (one time my dad comes alone).  Years later, I "confronted" them over this absence, admitting that I was hurt that they didn't want to see me, just my children.  My mother said, "Look, you we've known all your life, and that won't change if we don't see you for a while.  But we need to build a relationship with your children."  My dad quipped, "Phew, Maralee, good thing you came up with that.  You just saved us from being bad parents!"  These are near-verbatim quotes.  That conversation has stood out in my memory ever since.

Whatever the real motivation was, another answer surfaced about two or three years ago.  I ask my father why he's so insistent on coming out here three times a year, when the kids are all in school, and he basically just becomes a fixture in their routine -- they go to have dinner at his place, he babysits in the evening sometimes, takes them to the park in the afternoon.  We usually don't end up traveling anywhere or doing anything outside of our normal routine.  He said to me simply, "I feel more useful here than I do at home."  Or in other words, here there was meaningfulness in his interactions, he was filling a real need by spending time with children whose parents may be overwhelmed at times, and providing something special for them, even in a very simple way.

Binyamin with friends on his birthday outing.
His Gurevitz (Elad cousins) age  peer is at center, with glasses

I believe it's that same sense of finding meaning by filling a real need we perceive around us that drives just about everyone who I meet and tell that I'm running the household on my own, to offer help.  "Anything I can do," and "just call me up if you need anything," or "if you want you can definitely send a couple of kids over to our place to play" I've been hearing multiple times a day.  Our cousins (on Michal's side) from Elad (a 20-min bus ride away) offered to host any two children every Shabbat.  The offer was made by a recently widowed woman with five kids of her own.  I took her up on it.  Her mother-in-law who lives in Jerusalem offered to take as many kids as I like to a special light show in Jerusalem that's showing this week and next.  I sent two this week, and next week, I'll send the other two (Noam probably would be uneasy with no parents around, and not do well going to bed close to midnight after the show is over).  A close friend of Michal's sent a rice and lentil dish for dinner last night.  I graciously accepted it.  It's nice to have help, and nice to make people feel good about it.

Lost Melodies

In the midst of the chaos and hullabaloo, there is an occasional moment of bright clarity, or a long-lost memory that surfaces like some ancient shipwreck serenely floating ashore.  Yesterday (Thursday) morning was I had one of those moments.

I have a cousin, second cousin, once removed, to be precise, who I visited frequently as a bachelor, and less frequently as a young family, and now I rarely seem him at all.  He lives with his 5 children in the charming town of Kochav HaShachar, 25 min north of Jerusalem by car.  Without a car, it's difficult to get there from anywhere, especially with 6 little ones in tow.  Hence the infrequency of visits.  Yishai Ben Mordechai (Jesse Perlin before aliya) taught me a tune to Shalom Aleichem (sung Friday night at the dinner table before the meal) that I really like a lot, but can never remember how it goes.  For the past few years, it comes back to me fully once every few months, but always on Shabbat.  That means I can't write down the notes or record the tune.  Yesterday morning I woke up, and there it was.  And on the nightstand in front of me, my cell phone.  I quickly grabbed the phone, opened a voice recording app, and now it's stuck with me.  I haven't had to listen to the recorder.  Funny how those things work.  I'd like to share the tune with you all.  For brevity's sake, I recorded just the first stanza.

Click here to hear it (tried to attach it to the post, but for some reason it wasn't loading properly)

The Goat Has Left the Building

The cutest goat to walk the face of the Earth

There's a well known chasidic parable/tale (some might think it's a joke) about the man who goes to his Rabbi complaining he can't take the noise and crowded conditions in his house.  What should he do?  The Rabbi implores him to bring the goat (or cow, there are many versions to the story) from the shed outside into the house to live with his family.  The incredulous man complies, and comes back a week later, now in a state of hysteria, total unable to deal with his new situation.  The Rabbi then tells him to put the goat back outside, and within days the man feels like life is wondrous, his house has suddenly become so quiet and spacious...  This story has become a meme in our household.  "Phew," we'll say to each other when the kids all go out to play in the park or on other occasions when things are a little calmer and quieter than usually, "the goat is gone."  While it is tougher handling all the kids and the house by myself, one serious goat is no longer around.  I'm referring to Elisheva, four months old and unable or unwilling to sleep during the day for any serious stretch of time, and unusually also unwilling to fall asleep if not in my arms, being rocked and walked back and forth in a dark and quiet room.  Now that I don't have to cradle this very cute but not very light sack of potatoes for an average of 10-15 minutes every hour or two, I definitely identify with the poor man in the story.