House hunting in London

Last week I woke up and it hit me. In four months will reach the two years mark of living in London. It's a silly thing, but I can't believe it's been almost two years. They have not gone as planned at all. London was supposed to be my oasis, my peace and quiet and no more worries zone. It was supposed to give me back the peace of mind and ability to sleep a full night. It was supposed to be, in my head, a smooth ride. Instead it gave us two years full of bumps along a magnificent road.
So I didn't notice the time passing, because I was too busy looking at it through appointments and tests and forms to fill. The only way I track the months is through my friend Michelle's beautiful little girl - every month she puts a photo on Facebook, and every month I "like" it and say out loud to myself "but she can't be 11 months old! She was just born, like, yesterday!" I stopped saying that to Michelle though. For some reason she doesn't find it amusing...
Time is a funny thing, and as we are fast approaching the birthday season around here, it never even occurred to me to connect it to the passage of time in London.
And then another frightening thought hit me - our contract for renting this flat is up. Now you might think that it's frightening because we really want to stay here and the landlord won't renew our contract, or he might up the rent a few tens of pounds a week. But that's not it at all we can stay, and the rent around here stayed about the same this last couple of years so no upping it. No, the real reason it's frightening is because it suddenly dawned on me that we can move.

Just an example for a house and a street around here

Why would we want to move? Mostly because it's been two years, so somehow it feels mandatory. We've never lived anywhere more than two and a half years. In 13 years we moved 6 homes, 4 cities, 3 countries. I just can't think about this flat being the one that breaks our tradition. Then there is the fact that it's practically a shoebox, and not an adult-zise high-heel knee-high-boots shoe box. No, we live in a child-sized shoebox. And it's getting a tad crowded, but then again, maybe only when the kids are around. And thirdly, because moving solves everything. I mean, what do you do when your head becomes over populated with worries and questions and what-if's? You move. If the over population isn't too bad, you move a house, or a city, or in London's case a borough. If the questions become too much, you move a country (or at least that is what I tell Hidai whenever the question of Ron's secondary school pops up).
The problem with it is, that once the the thought of moving starts creeping in, you can't put the genie back in the bottle. Now we have to move because everything about this place annoys us.
So last week we decided to check the area, you know just to see what's out there before we actually start looking.

Look! THere's a rainbow! It must be a sign that it's time to move ;)

And here arose a few tiny insignificant problems. First of all, I have no idea how not to move immediately. Our average time of finding a place and moving is between 2 days and 2 weeks. I always find a place I want to move to, and then it annoys me to no end if I can't. But Hidai said we have to get to know the area better and be much more calculated and reasonable this time around. I on the other hand found three places I was willing to sign with on my first hour of looking.
But we are being calculated and all that, so we sat down to make a list of demands. It turned out we want to live in our flat, if only it included the flat above, just so we'll have somewhere to hide from the kids. We narrowed it down to the most basic two demands - obviously the kids can't change school, and we can't move too far away from Arsenal or Ron will hate us forever. But that's ok, we thought very naively, because we are on the border of three boroughs, two of which have a very good selection of homes in lower prices than what we pay today. Success. But not for us, because we have to stay in our borough. Yon is in the middle of all the evaluation / assessment / registration process and if we move we lose everything and have to start all over. And the worst part is we lose our special advisor, right before he starts year 1. That is a big fat no.
So after a very nice weekend of Zooplaing around the boroughs and selecting a few homes to see and fantasising about all the money we'll save, and the incredibly spacious house we'll have, we found ourselves right back where we were two years ago when we  had one week to find this house - with no choice of properties. Our borough is not an easy one to find a decent house for a decent price in. In fact it thrives on very old houses and very high prices. Mostly because it populates too many "young professionals" who think putting the main loo on the roof is quirky rather than just plain idiotic, its advantages - central, close to the tube, trendy, diverse and close to Arsenal - are also what makes it so hard to find a decent place that fits a family of four.

Our view in Gibraltar

Our view now

Then you have the problem of not actually wanting a house. I have to confess, I am what you might call totally paranoid, and Hidai is what you might call a neat-freak. And we got used to having a magnificent view when you look out the window. Somehow living in an old crumbling house (not because that is how houses in general are, but because that is how most houses that are for rent in our area are), that looks exactly like every other house on the street, that never feels clean, always faces the street, and has no view other than cars, just doesn't seem appealing. But on the other hand, it has a garden and much more space. And also it might have a loo on the roof, which is a feature after all.
Truth is, we love our flat. We love everything about where we live, right from the "legendary address" to the newness of the complex, to the underfloor heating and double glazing, and the view. It's just that it's small. And our downstairs neighbour is against kids and treadmills. And it's been almost two years.
And I am starting to feel those itching feet, that need for newness, the thirst for adventure. I can feel it bubbling just underneath the surface, and I know - hold on to your suitcases boys and girls. We are moving.
Well, not really, we have about four months here, and still no idea what to do with our list of house-demands. Then again, my Zoopla, Right Move and Prime Locations accounts are all set to "immediate alerts" so...

I hope you enjoyed reading the post :) I would really appreciate two minutes of your time and a vote for Best Writer (and best blog if you are so inclined) at the MAD blog awards -
Just press the photo and copy in my URL - http://londondegani.blogspot.co.uk
Thank you very much!

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Immigration Misconception

"Are you here for good?", Is usually one of the first questions I get asked whenever I meet a new person, ever since I left Israel four years ago. My answer is always the same one, and it will come as no shock to all of you who already know about my incapability to give a straight answer to anything - we are here for as long as it's fun. Usually people look at me quite weirdly after I say that, but it is the only answer I have to give, and the most honest one. "And then what?", comes the next logical question (because by this time we are still new acquaintances and they are not yet aware of the futility of asking me logical questions) "will you go back to Israel?" This is the most loaded question you can ask anyone who ever left Israel. No one really leaves Israel after all. It's somewhat similar to Hotel California in that regard - You can check-out anytime you like, But you can never leave.
Writing about immigration, though I have already tried it once, is always tough, because it is a very emotional and ambiguous subject. There is no straight shining white line dividing right and wrong here. Some people think all immigrants are dirty-unlawful- terrorists, some immigrants think that they can half-immigrate - always with one suitcase packed, always "going back next year", some people think it is better to live in a closed community with "people like me", some people think it is wrong to immigrate, some people would really like to and "if only".
And most, I guess, will find what I wrote upsetting. It wasn't my intention. I wanted to say that when it comes to immigration, everyone has a strong personal opinion, belief, feelings.
"Really?"comes the next question, "so what do you think about immigration?" I really don't like answering this question, because I hate lying to direct questions, and I really can't give you my full sincere answer because I will have no readers left. What I can tell you is that it has changed dramatically after I moved here. In Gibraltar we had a "relocation package", and anyway Gibraltar is like no other place on earth with regard to its openness and acceptance, but we got to the UK as immigrants, and after walking a mile or two in these shoes, I can tell you that it is not an easy road to walk on. Nevertheless it is one that I am not sorry I chose, though there are nights (or moments in front of the mailbox) where I wish it was easier, kinder, more humane.

Defining yourself as an immigrant is a tough moment. Personally I love it, because it frees me from a great many things I don't like being or doing. It gives me wings, and the feeling of not-belonging. There is a certain freedom in not being part, that is hard to explain. But defining yourself as an immigrant is also the moment where you are conceding to being no-one, to having no home. As a parent you are supposed to give your children roots, and yet as an immigrant you will have none for yourself, maybe none to give. Even if we choose to live the rest of our lives in the UK we will not be really British. Even if we choose to go back to Israel tomorrow we will not be really Israelis anymore. We are free, but as the (Hebrew) saying goes "free is totally alone". Our only existence is as immigrants. This is our reference group. And sometimes when you stand in front of the mailbox with yet another official letter, it is not a good group to be in. Sometimes, when you open the newspaper and see that the Home Secretary is planning on "making life unpleasant" for you and people like you, it is not a good group to be in. Sometimes when you open Facebook and discover a series of short news-segments about "The New Leavers" which intends to explain why young people like us choose to leave Israel and instead perpetuates the inner conflict you are supposed to have as an ex-Israeli about that "ex", it is not a good group to be in. Sometimes you open Facebook and the Israeli Minster of Finance calls you a coward, a traitor, and denounces you as the lowest form of Jew - one who doesn't care about the holocaust, it is not a good group to be in.
"So why?" that same person might ask incredulously, "why do you do it?" because still, even with all the difficulties and heartaches and fear, it is a group I choose to belong to. It is the group I feel most comfortable with. Why? well, you might have seen the word "choice" show up a few times in this post. That's why. I am a big believer in choice, and I wanted to know that I chose every aspect of my life. It was always meant to be my choice. From the time I was very (very) young, I reached the conclusion that I don't do fitting in, I don't do closed communities, I don't do long-term commitments (well, except for Hidai and kids that is) and most of all I don't like being told what to do.
I am also very lucky, extremely lucky, to be able to live my life exactly as I choose.
And I chose freedom, I chose quiet, I chose adventures, I chose moving every few years and starting over. I love it, and so I am willing to pay the prices. For me, life is about finding the prices you are willing to pay. Sometimes those prices are very high. Sometimes those prices keep you up at night, sometimes they make you physically ill, sometimes they make you feel lonelier than you ever thought possible. Sometimes they make you feel guilty and sad and afraid.
"Is it worth it?" comes the last logical question. The only question I can answer simply. Yes it does. I wouldn't change a thing.

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Family visits - oh no they're here again...

"What time is it?", "When did they say the will get here?", "What's their flight number again? What do you mean they didn't give us the flight number? Why are they so irresponsible?", "Did they call already to let us know they landed?". You would think we were talking about teenagers on their first flight alone somewhere, but you'd be wrong. Dead wrong. We were talking about my parents, who visit every 3-4 months, and have made the trip from Israel to London many many times. More than we have. But they still don't give us their flight number.

Visits. If you've never lived far from your family, you would think I'm crazy, probably that I'm exaggerating, and more than that you will look around you and say - OMG. Thank God I don't have to go through that. And if you have lived far from your family and had to endure them -The Visits, tell me that you haven't uttered those same questions...

They travel light

Pre-visit.
A Visit starts about two months before the actual arrival time. It starts innocently enough with a "You didn't send us the shopping list for this time" I know. It's because it's still two months to go. In this moment in time I really prefer to not acknowledge that you are actually coming. Also, I still haven't manage to finish everything you brought last time. I promise I will "get right on it" and they ignore me and start buying things like crazy. We then move to what will be our main topic of conversation every call - "what do you think the weather will be like? What do you think I should pack?" To which there is only one correct answer - freezing cold. When you live in Israel, the weather in London is always considered winter. 20 degrees Celsius? winter. 18 is getting them to coat level, and below that it's snow-gear. "But what are YOU wearing?" I am wearing a short-sleeved everything because we are in the middle of a heat wave. How would I know what I will be wearing in two months time? "So do you think I need a coat? which one?".
As the weeks inch closer to the arrival date we add the entertainment issue to the mix "What do you have planned for us?" Ahem... Nothing. I learnt my lesson way back in 2008 when I really really tried to plan a family vacation in London. It was a disaster that almost cost us the relationship with my parents. Since then I limit my planning to one event per visit. "do you think Hidai will take days off?" Sure. Because we didn't just finish six weeks of summer holiday, where he took his time off, and his project is going live this month (tfu, tfu, tfu). Of course he can take more time off to spend with his in-laws. In fact, he is looking forward to it. "Will you come shopping with us? We didn't see you enough last time we were there" Sure I will. And so will Yon, whose school year starts on the 16th. And we all know how fun taking a four years old shopping is. No? oops. My bad. So we'll go after the school year starts. All the shopping you can do between nine to twelve pm.
From entertainment we move to communication and transportation - "do you think we have enough credit on the british sim-card to call you when we land?" no. Because last time we checked you only had 8 pounds, so obviously that is not enough to text me from Heathrow with. "can you top us up a little? So we'll have money to call. Just put a fifty there" (I will leave to your imagination my answer to that). "And do you think we have enough money on the Oyster to get to you?" Yes, because you have auto top-up on your Oysters. You can go to the moon and back with them. "And will Hidai come get us from the tube station?" no. because he hates you. It's like every time is the first time.
But I do have to hand it to them, they stopped asking if I can read Hebrew on my British iPhone, because, you know, you didn't buy it in Israel.
And then we add the last topic - the food. "What are you making for us this time?" "You never bake for us" "You still owe me bread pudding / cheese cake / lemon meringue pie". Cheese cake will be bad for your stomach, you don't even like lemon meringue pie and I know I promised bread pudding, but I don't bake when you are here because I spend my time with you... But a few days before they land I give in and bake around four different types of sweets, and then it's "but we are on a diet" "you know we can't eat this kind of food" "why didn't you make me....."

First day at school

The visit.
The visit itself has a rhythm we perfected throughout the years. And it goes like this...
My parents can't start the visit until they unpack. The two suitcases full of food and other necessities they brought from Israel. Kitchen usually looks like a bomb went off in it when they take out more and more things. They are like some sort of supermarket/pharmacy Mary Poppins, and I keep waiting for the time they will have a coat rack in their suitcase. When you think there can't possibly be anything more there, they move to their room and start unpacking the bottomless suitcases, and move to the "we've bought a few bottles of pills with us". So if any one is in need of any kind of medicine known to man, contact me. I'll give you a good price.

Unpacking

No need to buy food for the next year or so. Or at least until the next visit.

From there we move to the electronics hub formerly known as our hall. It was once a nicely organised place for keys and post. Now we can land a spaceship from it, and whatever you do - don't press the red button.
I have to admit, I like my house organised. Very organised. I have married a guy with some OCD tendencies of his own, and raised two very order-minded kids. Seeing my house in this state is killing me, so we gave them our room and we keep the door closed at all times. Out of sight - Out of mind kind of thing.
Having your parents in your house for more than a few hours has an interesting affect - it makes you lose some twenty odd years, and you go back to being 16 again, with your parents "giving advice", "asking inquisitive questions and showing interest in your life", "dispensing helpful hints" and "not at all criticise your life choices, your clothes and the way you raise your kids and run your home".
As entertainment goes my parents are really easy going. As long as you spend every waking minute doing exactly what they want and stop for about ten snack-times. Every visit has to include - three visits to Primark, one to SportsDirect, a purchase of one electronic device, four visits to the 99p shop, a visit to Sainsbury's, and two fights.
We try to spice things up, and sometimes have two fights and one argument.
I'm kidding.
We might have two arguments and one fight.

First visit to Primark - done.

But seriously, my parents are very easy going people, they will be happy to criticise the movies I've prepared, the TV shows I like, and the way I spend my evenings before opening their iPads and going on a Candy-Crush marathon while comparing how much we pay for every thing (how am I supposed to know exactly how much my toothpaste costs?).
And last but not least, how can we forget the "end of visit countdown", where everything is measured in "how many times we'll do it again before we leave". Only 12 more walks to school. Only 2 more visits to Primark. This time next week I'll be at work...
Sure you can understand that, but it starts the moment they land at Heathrow.

Post-visit.
The house is suddenly so quiet when they go. It's too empty. Too quiet. We never say goodbye without the next visit already decided, and it never gets easier to see them go. Not to us and not to them.
Having said that, five minutes after they are gone the room is scrubbed clean, everything is back to being tidy, and we have one month before it all starts again...

That was taken before this post...

*This post was sponsored by my parents, who I love to bits and paid me with half a supermarket. Any reader in Israel who encountered a shortage in food supply - I am sorry!

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Happy (Jewish) new year

Ever had a holiday that baffled you? That you just couldn't decide how you feel about? Do you like it? Do you hate it? Do you want to celebrate it? Do you just want to ignore it? This is the problem I have with Rosh Hashanah, (Jewish New Year for all my non Jewish readers). Every year it is the same, except it is getting worse. September arrives and I feel lost, and am left with one nagging question - is there a way to justify celebrating Rosh Hashanah outside of Israel? What is left of one of the biggest Jewish & Israeli holidays when you leave Israel? When you reside in a non Jewish borough? When year after year you sit alone at the holiday table? And on the other hand, how can we not celebrate one of our biggest holidays? How can we abandon our traditions just because we live somewhere else? and if we do, what will be left of us, of our identity?
Well, I spent the whole day yesterday thinking about it, what do I do? This year my parents are coming over from Israel for a month long visit, and they will be here on Rosh Hashanah for the first time in years, so it is a bit different than previous years and we can celebrate the holiday as it is supposed to be, but on the other hand I feel so tired and stressed and to be honest I just don't have the energy to do the whole extravagant meal thing. My life is so hectic right now, so full of stress and uncertainties. I am tired of chasing things and places I no longer have. About a week ago one of my blogging friends wrote a post about something that required her to go back to somewhere she moved on from, and I told her my life philosophy is "never go back". So why am I trying to go back to celebrating holidays that somehow no longer feel like they belong to me?

Traditional Ron, 2008

I couldn't make up my mind what to do, and it even messed up with my baking. And nobody touches my baking. It is my safe heaven, my thing. So Hidai suggested I do a list, because everyone loves a list, to clear out my mind, and put it in writing - the on the one hand/on the other hand, the pros and cons, the yay and nay of Rosh Hashanah.
First of all, the calendar thing, I mean we live according to the Gregorian calendar, even in Israel, unless you are very religious you do, I won't be able to tell you the Jewish date of my birthday, of my wedding, of my kids' birthdays, of today (to be honest, it takes me about four months to accept the change of year anyway so remembering two calendars is just too much). But the holidays are all according to the Jewish calendar. And that is why they keep moving, and every ear we play our favourite game "find the holiday" where we all sit around the Google calendar and start searching for all the holidays. The winner gets a sticker - holiday ace. And that is why the New Year starts at September. Let's talk about that for a second - who in their right mind wants to celebrate the new year in September? At the beginning of autumn? When everything is grey, the weather is getting colder, the days are getting shorter, and the leaves are starting to fall down? What exactly are you trying to say here? May your new year be grey and miserable? On the other hand, you have to remember in Israel it is the summer that is the harshest season and not the winter. Autumn is also the time when you plant new crops and start the new cycle, it is the start of the new school year, it is a time of hope and excitement in the life of children and parents, and as such it makes absolute sense to celebrate the start of a new year in September. In Israel it is a big holiday, you get that holiday feel in the air, and it is contagious. Here it is on Wednesday. Just a regular Wednesday, the day before Ron starts school, my parents are arriving that night, Hidai is working. The only thing in the air around here is stress. And apparently a stomach-bug.
Then you have the traditions, because I can hear you all out there (or maybe it's the voices inside my head) with the judgemental - but don't you care that your kids don't know the traditions you grew up on? Their Jewish traditions? Don't you care that your kids won't know? Won't have the same memories? It is a complicated subject, that the short answer to is - no, I don't. If I wanted my kids to grow up like me I wouldn't have left. The longer answer to that same question is - yes, of course it makes me sad to see a photo of my beautiful nephew celebrating the Shabbat (Saturday) in nursery in a way my Yon never did. Of course it squeeze a bit at my heart to see all the photos on Facebook of kids dressed in white while mine are wearing blue jumpers. But then, I have no idea what traditions I am supposed to pass on in regards to Rosh Hashanah. Is it the calendar? Because if so, then I have it covered. I told Ron about the different months, and I think he remembers about three out of the twelve. Is it the atonement thing? Because if so I have issues with it myself. I have never done any of the required atonement things. I don't believe in a specific day for I'm sorries, for atonements. I find it too cheap, an easy escape. How can I teach my kids something I don't actually believe in? That I don't practice? Is it the religious habits? Because we are not religious people. We have never been overly religious, and are not planning on becoming more so. Where does that leave us? What big holiday traditions do we have? On the other hand, there is the real meaning of the holiday - the new beginnings, the reflection on last year, the happiness and pensiveness that goes hand in hand, the recognition that you have to learn from your past, that new beginnings are dependant on what you have done, on the road you travelled. And I do like that, I want my kids to know that. I like the music and that my boys know the holiday songs. And the food.

Last year's holiday baking

Which brings us to the last section - food. Jewish holidays are all about the food (and usually how someone tried to kill us. But since they didn't succeed, we can eat). Rosh Hashana is no different. First of all you have the Eve, where you have a big family dinner with enough food to feed a small country for about a month. Then you have the next day's gigantic lunch. Someone has to eat all the leftovers after all. And if you are completely unlucky and have his & hers families, you get another gigantic meal. I remember one year, I think it was 2004, when Hidai & I had four such meals in three days. We gained two kilos each by the end of the holiday. A festive meal is a must for a Jewish holiday, but the truth is I don't like cooking, the kids are very much against changing their evening routine, and when it is just the four of us, the question that always comes to mind is - why bother? After all, the real thing about Rosh Hashanah is the sweets.

Honey cupcakes, recipe on my Facebook page (Hebrew & English)

And this is where we come back to baking. You see, because we are starting a new year, and we want it to be happy and successful and sweet - the real traditional food is apple dipped in honey. Not one of my personal favourite I have to admit, but Ron is crazy about it. Because of the sweet motif Rosh Hashanah is a baker's heaven - you have sweet bread, you have honey cakes and cupcakes and cookies, you have apple cakes and trifles and crumbles. To my surprise, the kids actually adore honey cakes. Yesterday, in an attempt to get into the holiday spirit, I made some very easy and quick honey cupcakes. It is true that it said on the recipe that it is loved by kids, but I was still shocked when both Ron & Yon ate two each.
So there you have it. I guess I did raise my children to follow my lead, to keep my traditions, and to know what's important in life (and holidays) - always go for the cake.

Have a happy Jewish new year everyone!
(and don't forget to dip your apple in the honey...)

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Life in Gibraltar

Life in Gibraltar was the name of the blog I was writing while we were living in Gib (this is how everyone calls Gibraltar, and how I think of it. So this is how it will be called here). Don't go looking for it, it's hidden, and in Hebrew :) but I was taking a trip down memory lane the other day when I was trying to find the answer to a question about something that happened while we were in Gib. It was so weird looking back at myself, my life, what I wrote about. That, coupled with the fact that Gib is constantly in the news these days (at least in my news it is) because of the whole mess with Spain, made me break my rule of not writing about current affairs, and write about Life in Gibraltar.
I have to just say here, that I don't write about current affairs because I don't belong enough anywhere. I can't write about things in Israel, because I left, and lost my right to have a voice. I can't write about the UK because I didn't grow up here, I didn't go through the process of becoming an adult here, so I think it is rude and uninformed of me to try and say "I know better" or "I know at all", when I clearly don't. Also, I have learned that there is nothing that causes a rift and an argument more swiftly and easily than politics (except maybe for Football), and this is not that kind of blog. And lastly, one of the main things I love about being an expat is that I don't "have to" listen to the news, read the papers, follow current affairs. I can (and do) choose to do all these things, but I no longer have to, like I did when I lived in Israel, and with years of it under my belt, I love the freedom of having a choice.

The Rock

But Gibraltar is a different matter. It's not that I can claim too much knowledge of the history of Gib, we only lived there for 2 and a half years, from December 2009 to June 2012, and they were the happiest and hardest years of my life. I can't tell you about its history, or cite economy or politics, I didn't have a right to vote, and to tell you the truth I didn't really know or care about any of these things when I lived there. I can tell you that I support wholeheartedly the Gibraltarians' right to remain British, I think everyone does except the Spanish Government. I can tell you that they are British, that they love being British and that there is no excuse to the way the Spanish government is treating them. But I can't really tell you about the politics behind it any more than the newspapers and the news can.
I can tell you about Gib. About what it was like for me, living in Gib. Not many people know where Gib is. I know that before Hidai started working for his old company I didn't. It is a tiny place located in the South of Spain, and is actually a British Overseas Territory (I think I got it right).
And it is like no other place in the world.

This is where Gibraltar is

Gib is hard to explain, and I really hope I will do it justice in my post. I really want to. It deserves it.
When you read anything about Gibraltar you usually read two things - the Rock & apes and the runway. It's understandable I guess, because the Rock is magnificent, the view from above is breathtaking, on a clear day you really feel you can touch two continents. And the apes... Well, I can't say I am a huge fan, especially since one stole a bag full of Yon's toys right from my baggy, but as I did get the bag back (with the toys untouched) I am trying not to hold it against all of them.
And the runway, well it is kind of funny, wonderful, really annoying (depends on how in a hurry you are) to see how they shut down the main road in & out so a plane could land / take off.

The ape

But for me, Gibraltar is so much more -
It's the quiet. You get a certain kind of quiet in Gib, that I haven't been able to find anyplace else. It comes together with "manyana". What's the rush? There is no rush. You're in Gib.
It's the work-life balance, that means all dads are in every school / nursery thing there is. Everyone leaves work and attends every sports day, parents meeting, assembly. For the first (and only) time for us, there was no work on the weekends, on nights, on holidays.
It's the distance. Everywhere is measured in walking distance in Gib. Many have a car, we got one after a year and a half, but walking is still what you do most of the times. Because wherever you want to go, it will probably be easier and faster on foot than braving the narrow streets and dead-ends. Especially when you're new.
It's the blue. I love the sea, and have always lived close to it. But never like this. We lived right on the Mediterranean. And when I say "right on" I mean every single cruise ship that entered Gib waved hello at us. There is no green in Gibraltar, except on the Rock, but there is so much blue and it is breathtaking.

This is our old apartment

and this is the view

It's the people. We have found in Gib friends that became close friends, that became like family (can't name you people. It's a public space. But you know who you are). But it's more than that. People accepted us not as expats, not as strangers, but as just normal people. When Ron was on the football team they were just two kids that weren't native Gibraltarians - him and another Israeli boy. No one ever made us feel that they were "less", or "different" or uncomfortable. I can't say I know all Gibraltarians, but I can say that out of 30,000 you end up meeting quite a few over the years, and all of them were friendly, warm, helpful, nice. They were just... Gibraltarians.
It's the lack of bureaucracy. It's amazing. On the one hand they will go by the book (especially in regards to closing times) but on the other hand, they will do their best to try and help you with whatever you need and they can. When we were looking at moving to the UK and needed help with understanding the process we just went to the governor's office. You know, as you do. They actually sent someone to sit with us, go over the paperwork and explain everything.
It's Summer Hours. On paper it's supposed to be - start work earlier (or at least at the same time) and finish earlier because, well because it's summer and you want to go to the beach. In reality it means that everyone starts work late, and finish it early. And most of them come to work wearing bathing suits. We've never worked summer hours, and there are times in which you find it a bit annoying, but just the notion itself is enough to put a smile on my face. Summer hours.
It's the weather. They say Gibraltar gets 300 days of sun a year. When we got there in December 2009, it rained for 4 months straight, and you can't ignore the weird climate phenomena that happens because of the Rock - the fog and the wind. But mostly Gib has the perfect weather as far as I'm concerned. Really hot summers, not really cold winters, and nice autumn and spring.
It's the everyone knows everyone, and you can't go anywhere without knowing most of the people on the street, in the place you go to, on the way back. It's a small place Gib, and even us outsiders ended up knowing quite a few people. The locals? They know everything about everyone.
It's the Morrisons, because you have to love the Morrisons. It's the main supermarket in Gib, the biggest and the only one I know that imports everything from the UK. The rumour is it's the most successful Morrisons branch there is. I loved the Morrisons. I loved living across the street and taking the trolly home (and back. Of course we returned it), I loved how every time you entered it it was an adventure - what will they have and what you won't find (like the big milk shortage, when we learned to always have long-life milk at the ready), and then you have aisle rearranging when everything changes place suddenly, and aisle 8, or how I liked to call it - magic land. You never know what they will bring to aisle 8 (it's the seasonal things aisle), and because I still miss it.

aisle 8 on Valentines

The Morrisons

It's the language. And the accent, and the mixing of English and Spanish in a way that only Gibraltarians understands. For us foreigners it's always seemed so impressive, the ease and speed in which Gibraltarians use both English and Spanish. They do it on Facebook too.
It's the school. Because we brought them a non English speaking child, in the middle of the year. And they accepted him and made him feel loved and at home from the first day. Because the head-teacher, deputy head, and the Reception teacher went well beyond their call of duty, and gave him & us the peace of mind we could only dream about before we arrived.
It's the tolerance. As small as Gib is, and it is tiny, it is full of expats. Mainly because when you get there you fall in love with it and want to stay (and that is why so many people will start their story with "I was just here for... And I couldn't leave. I love it here"), and because there are a lot of gaming companies there that needs people with different languages and knowledge. And it is amazing how at home everyone feels. How accepted.
It's the safety. Nowhere in the world is as safe and secure as Gib. It is so liberating, and different, and fun living like this. Real Gibraltarians don't lock doors. Or cars. Or bikes.
it's National Day. Where everyone's out on the main street, wearing red and white (usually with a "Gibraltar is British" slogan), drinking tinto-de-verano (summer red wine) from as early as nine a.m, eating calentita (the national food) and talking to everyone. I can't describe how much pride and love goes into National Day, but I can say that I loved being a part of it, even if it was for a short time.
And the fireworks. National Day fireworks are done from the pier in front of our apartment. And they are magnificent. Every year is a show to be remembered. But I have to say the first time I saw the other fireworks I was amazed. In Gibraltar, everyone lights fireworks, from their roof, from the Morrisons parking lot, form their balcony. You always fear someone will burn the whole place down. But no one ever does.

 

I could go on, there are things I didn't put in, but if I have to choose just one thing to describe Gib, it will be that Gib is existing in the present and in the past at the same time. It is as if you are living at the same time in 2013 and the 80's. And it's magnificent. I don't think there is anyplace like it in the world. I loved living in Gib. It has its downsides, like everything and every place, but for me, even though we've only lived there a short while, it will always be home.

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Music, When Needed

A couple of weeks ago, I opened a new Pinterest account. I am not really sure what Pinterest is all about, and how other people use it, but for me, it gives me a place to be as kitsch as I want, and Pin all the kitschy-sappy quotes I want and can find, without being ashamed of the fact that even though I am a die hard (and quite pessimistic) cynic, I actually like kitsch and “inspiring quotes”. That is why if you go to my Pinterest you will see mostly quotes & kitsch. I give myself 20 minutes a day, right after dinner, for finding more of them, and I have to say I really am enjoying it. Last week when I was in one of those twenty minutes, I found a quote about music being the answer to everything.

I don’t remember if I pinned it or not, because, well, it isn’t. But it still stuck with me. A few days after that, on Saturday, I got an invitation from Kelly, who writes the lovely blog Tiasmums 12 to join a meme about “my ultimate summer driving playlist”. I have to admit I have no idea what a “meme” is. A quick glance at Google was no help, but as far as I could understand it it’s a chain thing, where I am supposed to write about my chosen summer music, and then tag a few other unsuspecting people to do the same.

Why would someone choose me for something like that, I have no idea. Obviously Kelly did not read my Changes, Kellogg's & iPads post and was unaware that I am incapable of taking a simple question and giving a straight answer. I love complicating things unnecessarily. Just because I can. 
Also, she was unaware that I don't own a car. Or go anywhere.
I didn't want to be a grouchy person, so I thought about actually participating in this meme, but the more I thought about it, the more I found that I have a difficulty with it, with writing about the music that I love. It felt like an intrusion of privacy to me. Funny, because I can and do share so many things others will feel are much more private than music. But my music, the music I wanted to write about, is so much more than music. Some days it's the only thing that kept me sane. That kept me going. And putting it out there to be scrutinised and laughed at, was a tough request. 

But in the end of the day I decided to kind of participate in this meme, because the thing is, music is important to me. To all of us. We have music in the background most of the day, we try and educate the kids that there was music before One Direction, and mainly because I often feel like life should (and do) have a soundtrack. I guess that's why we try to find a theme song for different periods of life. At the moment it's Bob Marly's Three Little Birds, because it's the kids choice, and because we need to go with the "every little thing is gonna be alright".

Having said that, I have to admit that I am very bad at recognising songs or artists, remembering lyrics and music, and being able to listen to a whole album from start to finish. My playlist is an amazingly disorderly mess of almost every genre of music and era out there, played on constant shuffle. It used to drive Hidai crazy. He likes a certain type of music (he calls it "alternative Rock". I call it "people shouting at you"), and to listen to his albums one at a time. It took him a long time to concede and accept that when we are all together, my playlist will be the one playing. I sometimes think this is the reason he likes working on the computer at night. Out of all the activities men can do alone at night, Hidai writes emails & documents and listen to his music. Even Ron has a playlist of his own since he was 6 years old. 

A couple of years ago we were going through some rough times financially, and we didn't see the light at the end of the tunnel, and as part of trying to believe it will be ok I created the playlist "Orli When Needed". At first it was rarely used, but somehow, slowly, it became our evening soundtrack. Every evening when we sit down to eat, will come the question - "which playlist to put on?" and the answer "Orli When Needed, because it's needed". It has become such a regular question at the start of the meal, that yesterday we were sitting to eat lunch and Yon looked at me and asked - mummy is it needed? It wasn't. The playlist has grown somewhat in the past year, mainly because Hidai said he is tired of listening to the same songs all the time, but for this exercise I've decided to give you the ten songs I listen to, when it's needed. And it usually is.

1. Temporary Home - Carrie Underwood. Makes me cry every single time. Every. Single. Time. Because this song, to me, is the symbol of all the ways I am failing my kids. Of being totally and utterly lost. Of searching. But it is also a symbol of going forward. In the time before we left Gibraltar I listened to it a lot, feeling like I am tearing my children from everything they know, and taking them to an unknown future. Feeling that they will never have a home that isn't temporary.

2. September - Daughtry. Because September is never an easy time for me with the house becoming empty, Jewish New Year (which we usually celebrate alone) and Autumn. But this song also belongs to the "before we left Gibraltar" period. It was a very tough time for our family, and not an easy choice to make. I really needed the "it was worth it in the end" line there to be true. 

3. What doesn't kill you (Stronger) Kelly Clarkson. Because it's how we live. What we teach the kids. And the single most important lesson in life. I do apologise to my neighbours for usually in every bad day I have, this song will be heard in a few blocks radius.

4. Just Breathe Pearl Jam. Because It's the only song from Hidai's favourite band I can listen to (and I actually love). And for the same reason it's the name of my blog. It really is what I tell myself every single day, and it's my constant wish, to some day be able to Just Breathe. 

5. Weightless - All Time Low. The one song that made us fly to London and watch an entire show together, for the first time in almost 10 years. Just to hear them preform this song. The clip doesn't do it justice. It was the theme song of our life for a while. In some days, it's still is. 

6. Many shades of Black - the Raconteurs. Because we learned that there really are many shades of black. And we've been through quite a few of them over the years. Because we try to take it as it comes and be thankful when it's done. 

7. Sweet Silver Lining - Kate Voegele. because I think every word in this song was written for me. To me. About me. If I had to choose one phrase to describe myself it will be from this song (unless I would choose Tolkien's "Not all those who wonder are lost") - 

"so many people are looking to me
To be strong and to fight but I'm just surviving
I may be weak but I'm never defeated
And I'll keep believing in clouds with that sweet silver lining"

8. Home - Daughtry. Because we don't have one. A home. A place where we belong. But because we also don't regret the life we chose for ourselves. It was another one of the songs we listened to on those dark days in Gibraltar, when we realized that we are destained to keep moving, that realising your dreams and living the reality of them is two different things, that the prices for our choices are high, and that we are each other's home.   

9. When You Say Nothing At All - Ronan Keating. Because it was true ten years ago when we chose this song to be the song that will be played when we walked down the (Jewish) aisle, and it is even more true today. 

10. Have I Told You Lately - Van Morrison. The first song we danced to at our wedding. Kitsch. Told you I am a secretly kitschy person. But how can you not absolutely love this song? For me, this song is the personification of love. It sums up so beautifully what I need to tell Hidai and my kids every single day. Ten years, and still every time I hear this song I get the urge to dance with Hidai.

There you have it. My ten songs for When It Is Needed. In my life today, they are needed a lot. Sometimes more than I would have liked. Writing this post took me back to that time when our future was so fragile, so bleak, so frightening, that I sometimes felt we will not pull through. That we will never be ok again. We did. We are. For me, music isn't the answer for everything, but it is the soundtrack to it and so much more. There were days music was all we had, in good times and bad times, music is a constant companion to our lives. It makes them better, easier, more bearable. It gives us a place to shout, to scream, to feel. Music is magic. it reminds us, day after day, that there is good and light and love. Even when it doesn't seems so.  
My life is still tough, sometimes unbearably so. Sometimes it seems it will never end. Trial after trial. Fall after fall. Hurdle after hurdle. But looking back reminded me that it really did not kill us, and it really did make us stronger, closer, more determined.

*No more kitsch. Next post, is business as usual.
** All these songs are my favourite because of their lyrics. But if you have a few minutes, and especially if you have a Special Child, you should check out Sara Barreiles's Brave. For the video clip.
*** I am not really sure how or if to tag anyone else, so I am leaving this one open to whom ever wants to create a Summer Playlist of his/her own.

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