As the days passed, the thought of writing became more daunting because the sheer number of thoughts I wanted to include grew. So here I am, the kids have left for school and Hillel is still sleeping (getting over a stomach virus -- Tamar told me they call it "Oleh Choleh" (sick immigrant) because of all the new bugs we're exposed to) and the house is quiet. Ignoring the dishes in the sink, I will start with current themes and we can catch up on the history bit by bit.
In the interest of protecting the kids' privacy, I will not identify anyone or give much detail. I will say that some are feeling pretty happy to be here, making friends easily, enjoying various aspects of life in our little community and not complaining about school. That's the easy part! Others, despite the friendliness of their peers, really miss Oakland, their friends and OHDS. There is a lot that's different, and the little things -- like how kids here expect a lot more food sharing among friends and find popping helium balloons fun -- sometimes leave my kids feeling taken aback and overwhelmed. Mostly, though, I think that the combination of not feeling fluent in the language (wait, the teacher just said something and everybody's laughing but I didn't understand what she just said) and not having old, close friendships leaves some people feeling lonely and homesick.
It's hard, and as a mom I feel bad -- I did this to them, after all. I do believe that it will get better and that this is the best place for them. But when someone is tearful or expressing negative thoughts in strong language, it's hard to keep my need to respond kindly and patiently at the front of my mind because I feel guilty for creating this situation in the first place. My instinct is to talk up the good parts and while I do reinforce the idea that beginnings are hard (which is just a good life mantra anyway) I try to keep the other responses in my own mind because they shouldn't have to deal with my guilt, they are busy dealing with adjusting. So I tell myself all the things I want to tell them -- it will get better. It's always hardest at the beginning. Ride the wave of everything that's hitting you and you will come out on the other side. It will get better.
It occurred to me that this really is their first big move and in addition to beginnings being hard in a general sense, they have no context in which to place this. No memories of how past moves worked out, no first-hand knowledge of how new friendships form when you don't have old ones to fall back on, no experience of something foreign and new becoming familiar and comfortable. The only way is straight through and while I was expecting early transition hardship, this particular dimension of moving is still hard.
I, aside from trying to be supportive to the kids, am doing really fine. My days are mostly filled with mundane, logistical items to make life in the house normal. Call the contractor and see if he and the architect can come at the same time (so the kitchen can get fixed up. Our tenants all said that it's a great house but we'll want to do something about the kitchen...). Pick bookcase colors for the living room (so the hundred or so cardboard boxes in the living room can be unpacked). I should really take before and after pictures! Get the flattened boxes to the cardboard recycling spot near the supermarket at the top of the hill (no curbside pickup here...). Etc. Really not that interesting. I started a Google spreadsheet with a grand to-do list that is shared among the four oldest members of our family and that helps! So when someone notices that her window doesn't close right -- just add it to the list.
There is a daily Tanach shiur hosted by my next door neighbor and taught by a different member of the community every day. That is a real treat -- after the kids go off to school and before the day really gets started, a half hour of learning. Next door! Love that. I also started reading Rabbi Aaron's book on Tefillah as part of my ongoing project to make davening a more consistently meaningful experience.
I have been taking pictures of examples of how life in Israel is more tailored to living a Jewish life and wondered why I liked them so much. I believe there are many great reasons to make Aliyah, but, as much as I enjoy easy access to kosher Gouda, Jewish convenience is just not one of them. So then I thought -- it's not the cheese, or the ease of finding a mincha minyan or toveling your dishes -- it's the message of welcoming and normalcy that it sends. You're not an outsider here for needing to find kosher food or tovel your dishes or attend minyan -- you're home. It reminds me a bit of that part on the picture book "Stellaluna" where Stellaluna finds herself back with bats (instead of birds, in case you aren't familiar with the book) and realizes she's not strange after all.
Anyway -- please feel free to comment or ask questions and I will do my best to address them.
We miss you and think of you often and try to keep up with goings-on in Oakland (Mazal to Karpels, we are SO happy for you!). We love getting your updates too, so keep them coming!
Best,
Naomi
Shoshana and Hodayah on the first day of school in front of our house before the bus arrived. No more carpool for daily school.
The sign states that there is a daily Mincha minyan at 4:30 at the Kia Motors garage on the equivalent of Oakland's Auto Row on Broadway.
I found this leaflet on my car this morning -- it's an ad for Arba'at Haminim -- the four species everyone will need to buy before Sukkot, now only a month away.
Our local cheese counter.
The police station in Talpiyot/Jerusalem has the verse about appointing judges and police people from Devarim on the wall of the waiting room.
Thank you for posting! <3
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