House number nine

Way back when we started thinking about moving a house we really did meant for it to take three months to find a new house. We planned on being less in "shopping mode" and more in "browsing mode". Fast forward exactly one month an we think we found The One. Yes, I know, we really are not to be trusted in these matters. Honestly though I really have no idea how that happened. We've compiled a very long and detailed list of things that will make everyone feel happy about the house, and after Hidai said I can't just store it in my head but we have to write it down, he made me break it down to "must have" and "nice to have" and we called it in the apt name "list of demands" and sent it to all the realtors around. It is a very long list.
In the end we've seen a grand total of nine houses in real life and (dozens more on the internet), and house number nine won us over.

House number nine

The thing is, house number nine is... Well, it is a house. We have never lived in a real house with three floors and cracking floorboards and what people around here like to call "character" or "period features" and we usually call "uninhabitable" (yes, renovated was one of the must haves). We have no idea how you live in a house? Ever since we moved in together all those years ago we lived in flats, and though our first one was over three floors, it wasn't a house and it wasn't on the ground floor but a part of the weirdest apartment complex you have ever seen.
We loved the control and closeness an apartment gives you - for better or worse there is nowhere to run in an apartment, and when the boys were tiny it is exactly what we wanted, to able to know what they are doing and where at all times. It kept the scribbling on the wall to a necessary minimum. But now we found ourselves having our Weekend lazy coffee and cake sitting on the floor in our bedroom because the boys are a) watching a movie or b) playing something very loud on the xBox or computer or iPad or c) running around in some sort of weird pretend-play.

Coffee and cake on the bed, because this is how we roll

And as fun as hiding on the floor with cake sounds, the penny finally dropped on the day I found myself hiding under Ron's bed (he has a raised bed with a very nice reading / hiding corner underneath) while the kids invaded the living room with their loud noises and electronic games. They can sit there together, Yon with the iPad watching YouTube movies about his favourite games (Infinity and Mindcraft) and talking back at it, while Ron is playing his Fifa on the xBox with that annoying soundtrack and shouting at the screen and all the while music is blaring in the background. So I did the only thing possible - I hid under the bed. In my defines we have heated floors and that spot is the best in the house, but still. So we decided it might be time to expand, and have the boys banished to a floor of their own where they will get one bedroom for beds and quiet reflection (also known as reading time) and the other for more physical activities (also known as playing football in the house) and electronics (as in breaking our own rule and kicking the xBox from the living room ), while we get a floor of our own and we all reconvene around mealtimes in the lower floor. We are willing to let them pass through the kitchen not on mealtimes on sunny days to release them in the garden for a bit of outdoor football, but that's it.

Hiding under the bed

The problem with the whole thing is that I never wanted to live in a house, I have never thought of myself as a house person, as "house material" and now I found that I stopped looking at apartments completely. I guess it is the natural order of things, and I guess the majority of the ten people who will read this post live in a house anyway and won't understand how people can raise a family in an apartment.
I can explain about my bad knees and (very justified) fear of falling down the stairs, or the too many horror movies and TV dramas where the people get killed in a HOUSE, or the fact that I don't do well with gardens, or insects. But the truth is it is the stereotype, the one I have in my head after too many years of lousy American TV and too many romance novels - the suburban wife/mum stereotype. And I am really worried that I will become exactly that.
But on the other hand, that is all it is - a stereotype. And it is a big step for me in letting the boys grow and starting to let them go. So we decided to treat it as "a house adventure", after all in the past five years, living life as expats, we learned to look at most things like that - a two year adventure and then we'll see.
We decided to take the boys with us to all the viewing, so they could get a "feel" of the houses and we could see how Yon is managing the stairs, because we were and still are to be honest really worried about how he will handle it when he is hurrying or when he, as usual, goes around without looking (yes, friendly stairs were a must have). They loved it in house number nine, didn't want to go home in fact, and Yon ran up and down the stairs without fear (he did went down on his bottom and held the rail on his way up, but he did not let it ruin the game for him).
And that is what won us over. Yes the house ticked all the must have's and most of the nice to have's, but so did other houses we've seen. The thing is that house number nine has something that the others didn't. It has the love-in-first-sight and that all important x-factors that makes a house into a home.
House number nine is the first house we've seen that actually made us want to live in a house, and hopefully it won't take us long before we embark on our very first two year House Adventure.


I am linking this post with #MotivationalMonday over at Pinkoddy because... Well because this house motivates me to move on and to let my boys grow. And with #MagicMoments over at The Oliver Madhouse because it was a magic moment for us to feel the possibility of living in a house!




I hope you enjoyed reading the post :) I would really appreciate two minutes of your time and a vote in the writer or family categories in the Bib blog awards - Just press the photo and copy in my URL - http://londondegani.blogspot.co.uk Thank you very much!
 

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Losing the Hebrew

My boys are losing their Hebrew. I guess it was only to be expected, after all Ron has been four when we left Israel, and Yon was five months old. They have both passed the "most of their life" point and can now safely say they have lived in English speaking countries far longer than in Israel. To be honest I don't think I really noticed it, after all I sometimes feel Hidai and I are losing our Hebrew too. It is becoming so much easier to talk about work, blog, school in English. More than that, it makes more sense, after all life is being lived in English.
It was never our intention to lose the Hebrew. We really tried to keep it alive. To tell you the truth the first couple of years it felt weird talking out loud in English. You always feel like you are making one mistake after the other, you forget all the lovely words and expressions you know and are left with the same English a ten years old has, and that is on the good days. And the accent, don't get me started on the accent. I still feel my accent is a weird combination of idiotic and Russian. And when you feel like that, why would you want to volunteer putting yourself through it? Add to that the fact that our vocabulary in Hebrew was bigger and more profound (not like a ten years old), the fact that it is part of our identity, what comes out naturally when we open our mouths, and the feeling of utter betrayal.
A language is so much more than just words, and when you move to a new country it is sometimes your last connection to the place you left behind, where you felt you belong, where you felt you are understood. Where you never felt like a ten years old.

But the years go by, the kids get older and your "keeping the Hebrew" resolve begins to crack. The kids go to nursery or school and you find that when you tell them to tidy up in Hebrew they look at you and smirk but when you say it in English they actually do it, because it's like in nursery. You find them talking amongst themselves in English, you feel like an idiot walking around the supermarket with a list written in Hebrew to buy in English, you need to talk about something that happened at work but it's only funny in English, and so you find that the English has breached your defences and is in your house. It happens so slowly, so gradually, that the first time you say "oh, how do you say that in Hebrew?" you don't even notice it. That's when you start mixing and get used to talking in what can only be described as utter Gibberish to anyone listening from the outside. And still you don't really notice it, because how am I supposed to remember what shoes are called in the mornings before I've had my coffee?
Then another year or so goes by and the kids are embarrassed when you talk Hebrew next to their friends, so you start talking to them in English when you pick them up from school, or when you help them with homework because they have to understand it in English and besides they don't know what you mean when you say weird Hebrew words. And when you talk with people in Israel they use slang and references and words you've never heard of because your Hebrew got stuck somewhere around 2009, and one day you find yourself saying something about how much easier it is to write an email in English.
And still you don't notice it, until one day your parents come for a visit and say "Orli, did you notice that the boys answer more in English when we talk to them?" "No. Of course they don't. You are getting senile. And your hearing is bad". But then you start listening and you notice that it is true.
Then comes the day when you have to face the fact that there is no more room in the house, and if you want the boys to have somewhere to put all those Christmas gifts you need to clear some space, and your the corner of your eye catches those hundred books in Hebrew you bought for them over the years and you realise that they are there so you would feel better, that you would feel like there is some chance that someone will read them.

Books for sale

Then. When you take out all those unopened books and put them in bags. Then it hits you, we've lost the fight. A fight we didn't even know we were fighting. Because it is not the fight for the Hebrew we've lost, it's the fight for a shared past. That is the moment you realise how much we take for granted the invisible chord connecting the generations through songs and stories and school and TV. How much we rely on it when we want to create shared history, traditions, a family.
Even when you know it in your head, even when you can rationalise the decisions (It will be enough of a challenge teaching Yon to read English with his eyes, we won't even try with the Hebrew), even when you know that understanding the language is more important than talking, or reading and that writing is last in that sequence, even then it still knock the air out of your lungs. Even then you still feel a little piece of your heart breaking.
We gave away all the books, and DVD's. We tell them to answer in whatever language they want, and find we talk to them more and more in English. Because when you stop and think about it, the thing we want most is a connection with our kids. All the history, traditions, and invisible chords won't be worth it if my kids won't feel they can talk to me. In whatever language they choose.

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Happy Hannukah - Expat Holidays

Yesterday was the first day of Hannukah. It is, by far, my preferred Jewish holiday. Well, how can you not like a holiday that demands you eat doughnuts for eight days? True, by the end of it we all look somewhat like a doughnut - rounder around the middle and full of jam - but it's more than that. Contrary to what people outside of Israel think, Hannukah isn't really one of the biggest or most important holidays for Jewish people. In fact, it is one of those tiny niche holidays reserved solely for children, I mean you don't even get days off work for it! But Hannukah has been my favourite holiday for many years, so I make a very big effort to celebrate it even now, after we've lost so many of our other holidays.

I've talked to so many immigrants over these last four years and they all said the same thing - celebrating a holiday that does not belong to the country you live in is hard, in fact sometimes it feels almost impossible. You never give it any thought when you're in your home-country, but so much of celebrating a holiday is about family and togetherness and the community - the feel in the air that washes over everything before a holiday arrives. Maybe it's part of the reason we like Christmas so much - that need to belong, to be able to feel that holiday spirit once more. When we left Israel, it was just after Hannukah of 2009, and to be honest we revelled in the freedom of not having to celebrate anything belonging to any location or religion. With all my love for holidays, big gatherings have never been my thing, holidays in Israel make me into a bundle of nerves and I guess we needed to rebel a little bit.
Though that rebellion was short lived, it did teach me something. Living so far away gives you options. You can get rid of everything you don't like or don't approve of. There is something about that distance from everything you knew that makes you examine your life in a different way. A way that actually strips it all down to the basics - what in the traditions you grew up on is really important to you? What do you want your children to know? You can pick and choose. That's the good part. The bad part is that after you picked, then comes the reality of just how hard it is to actually celebrate what you chose. I guess that is why a lot of people choose to live in closed communities, or send their children to religious schools - to give them more of the tradition than we can, to give them more of that sense of community, of belongingness than we can do here. We are not religious people, nor are we really the community types, so we live here, where you don't hear Hebrew on the streets, and there's nowhere to buy good Hummus. But it does mean that we can't give our children a "real holiday" like it's traditionally done,
but then again do we really want to?

Over the last four years we picked and we chose and we made an eclectic list of holidays and traditions that more than anything else, makes us happy (one of the main conditions to being on that list is having a food. A holiday with no food is not a real holiday in my book). And at the very top of that list is Hannukah, because it's in the middle of winter, when you really need a reason to celebrate, because it has such great food, because it's a children's holiday. Just like Christmas I guess, it gets a whole new meaning and dimension when you have children. As an adult it feels somewhat idiotic to light a few candles and sing some songs no one understands. With children, oh with children it lights up the whole house - you have three menorahs, dreidels, doughnuts, latkes, music, laughter. With children it's a real celebration.

But the real reason it's my favourite holiday is because it has a story, a moral if you want, that resonates with me. Mainly because I'm into big-important-sappy morals, but also because it really is the way we try to raise our children. And so I love Hannukah because I love telling them the stories and meaning the holiday has for me - it's not the traditional way, nor is it what you hear in Israel, because for me Hannukah is far more than the story about who tried to kill the Jews this time. When you get down to the basics, it's not about Jews or any other specific religion, it's about the belief that you fight for what's right. It's about not standing on the sidelines when there's an injustice. It's about the fact that one tiny candle can light up the entire darkness. And most of all it's about the freedom to be who you are and believe in whatever you choose.

I choose to celebrate Hannukah with as much resemblance to the way it's done in Israel. Some of it is my wish to keep some of my tradition alive and build a connection with my children that will be lost otherwise, and some of it I guess is a  defiance against the Christmasing of Hannukah - we don't have a Hannukah bush, we don't give eight presents (or any presents for that matter. We go with the traditional chocolate coins), we don't have Hannukah cookies houses, or any other Christmas elements in our Hannukah. Because we save all that for Christmas.

For me, holidays are always more secular than religious, they are more the meaning you give them than the traditional one, they are more about connections and family and belonging, and more than anything else - they are about love and laughter. 

And there is no better way to get all that than with a doughnut and candles. 

Happy Hannukah everyone!

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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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