Several items of note:
1) Rav Natan Slifkin lists the seven wonders of the Jewish world.
2) Maya has some great tips for getting what you want in Israel. (Mazal tov to Maya and her husband on the birth of their baby daughter!)
3) Rafi G. shares a very funny pretzel commercial.
4) Laura baked a well cake and ring cookies in honor of Parshat Chayei Sarah.
5) Batya discusses the future of the Jerusalem Light Rail.
!שבוע טוב
Today marks the yahrzeit of my dear grandmother z”l, a Holocaust survivor originally from Kovno, Lithuania.
As the oldest grandchild, I was privileged to enjoy a unique and close relationship with her, and from the time I was a baby and throughout high school, college, and beyond, her house was always my second home.
In fact, Bobi a”h (we spelled it “Bobi” – even though we pronounced it “Bubby”) played a major role in every stage of my life, and thus, there’s so much I could write about her.
I could tell you that she was the world’s best cook (as I’ve noted elsewhere on this blog); how she would sew gorgeous clothes for me; and how she taught me to drive.
I could describe our countless shopping expeditions; how she danced at our wedding; how she gave me cooking tips when I was a young bride; and – most of all - how she was always available to talk, to listen and to encourage.
But for now, I’ll suffice with three things that come to mind whenever I think about Bobi z”l.
1) First, I recall her love for Israel.
She came from a religious-Zionist (aka “Mizrachi”, as it was called in those days) family, and as a girl, she attended a Hebrew-language gymnasiah. (Whenever she saw her Israeli grandchildren and great-children doing their homework, she would say with a smile, “I also studied math in Hebrew!”)
After the war, she yearned to move to Eretz Yisrael. But since she was pregnant, my Zaidy a”h felt that it would be too dangerous for her to sail on a Ha’apalah ship and risk being detained by the British in Cyprus.
And in every US election, she would always make sure to vote for the candidate who was "good for Israel."
2) Second, I remember how much she treasured her beloved family.
Her kibbud em (honor for her mother) was legendary. Her marriage was a true partnership and a model of shalom bayit.
And, as far as she was concerned, nobody was more amazing, more wonderful or more perfect than any of her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. No matter what we all did, she was convinced that there was no one better.
Her greatest joy was having any of us come for a visit, and she would spend weeks in advance cooking, baking, and planning elaborate menus for us.
3) The third thing about Bobi a”h that always stays with me is her quiet, inner fortitude.
It was this strength that enabled her to survive the war’s horrors - young and on her own.
It was this strength that allowed her to leave her mother (after they had finally been reunited at the war’s end) and move with my Zaidy a”h to the US - a strange country, with a foreign culture and a foreign language.
It was this strength that transformed her – within an astonishingly short period of time - from a right-off-the-boat new immigrant to someone who would read English books for pleasure; who was the best-dressed woman wherever she went; and who knew all the latest American styles and fashions.
And yet, at the same time, it was due to this strength that when it came to important values and principles, she refused to compromise.
No matter that the “American” relatives insisted that public school was the “correct” choice. Bobi’s kids went to the local Jewish day school and to yeshivot, and Bobi and Zaidy were pillars of their Young Israel community.
And finally, it was this inner fortitude and determination that helped her do what she needed to do as a relatively young widow – such as going out to work (a difficult step for someone of her generation) and moving twice to a new state.
It was therefore an incredible honor, privilege, and comfort that a mere two weeks after Bobi a”h passed away, I gave birth to her oldest namesake yblt”a.
May all our children continue to emulate and learn from their special great-grandmother z”l.
.יהי זכרה ברוך
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*This post was based on a speech I gave in honor of Bobi’s Shloshim.
Last year, in a post I referred to as an antidote to the meraglim, I discussed one of the many, many things I love about our wonderful Land: namely, the fact that Israel is a Jewish country. What follows is yet another example of this amazing phenomenon:
A Tale of Two Hospitals
In the comment section to my post on Israeli maternity wards, I reported that in the States, I gave birth in a Catholic hospital and added that:
“The hospital's logo - which included a cross - appeared on the hospital gowns, and each room had a small wooden crucifix on the wall.”
Now, as some of you know, one of the Shiputzim kids was born right before Christmas.
Unsurprisingly, this meant that the entire hospital was awash in trees and holiday decorations. In addition - despite my covered hair and YZG’s unmistakable kippah – many of the nurses kept gushing about our “lovely holiday present,” and at one point, I even found myself being serenaded by a group of carolers.
Fast forward to when our first sabra was born, and I was going to have to spend Shabbat in an (Israeli) hospital.
I was somewhat apprehensive about this, but as it turned out, I needn’t have worried.
On Friday afternoon, the staff placed a large table covered with Shabbat candles right outside the maternity dining room.
At first, I wondered why they had bothered setting up that many candles. After all, a significant portion of the women on the ward didn’t appear to be outwardly observant.
But sure enough, when the time came, almost every candle was lit.
Secular, traditional, national-religious, haredi – the divisive and meaningless labels faded away, and standing side by side, the new mothers welcomed the Shabbat as one.
And then, on Friday night – just as we were sitting down to eat - one of the mothers got up and announced that if anyone was interested, she was making kiddush.
Immediately, every. single. woman in the room rose to her feet and stood in respectful silence for the duration of the kiddush. And when it was over, everyone responded with a loud, heartfelt, and awe-inspiring “Amen”.
Words can’t do justice to that incredible, only-in-Israel moment.
However, I can tell you that as I wiped away a few not-so-surreptitious tears, I looked around the room and noticed that many of the other women were similarly overcome by their emotions…
May this beautiful achdut (unity) become an everyday occurrence, and may we soon be privileged to witness the final Geulah (Redemption).
.יה”ר שיבנה בית המקדש במהרה בימינו
.אמן
Have an easy and meaningful fast.
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The latest Haveil Havalim is available here. Special thanks to Ima2Seven for including my visiting day post.
In a comment to the previous post, Toby of the very funny A Time of the Signs blog wrote:
On the flip side of this, I've discovered that those folks calling to collect for various charities are very forthcoming about giving their names. As in, my kids will say, "Eema, Orli is on the phone." I'll pick up, wondering which Orli it could be, and I'm greeted with, "hi Toby, this is Orli from such and such an organization..."
This happens to me all the time, but the ultimate example occurred less than a week after our first sabra was born.
I answered the phone to hear a cheery voice gush excitedly, "Mazal tov, [Mrs. S.]!"
Clearly, it was one of my nearest and dearest friends.
But while my sleep-deprived brain tried to figure out exactly which one, the voice continued.
"It's Michal!" she chirped unhelpfully.
Now I was completely mystified. Still in the throes of my bleary, postpartum daze, I mentally ran through the list of Michals I knew.
Apparently, I was even more exhausted than I had thought, because I couldn’t remember having a best friend named Michal!
Finally, she put me out of my misery and explained that she was calling from one of the infant formula companies...
_____________
P.S. In case you were wondering, I politely told her that I was nursing exclusively, thanked her for calling, and hung up…
מזל טוב
to commenter SPYYZ* and family
on the birth of
Meirav Hodaya ‘שתחי!
Mazal tov also to all the grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins who read this blog.
יהי רצון שתזכו לגדלה
בדרך התורה ולחופה ולמעשים טובים
___________
* I guess you’re going to have to start using a different name…
Those of you who recognize the address in the title will be surprised to learn that this post is actually subtitled: “Life on an Israeli Maternity Ward”.
Let me explain. No, there is too much, let me sum up…
First, two caveats:
Caveat #1: My American experiences obviously pre-date our aliyah, and even my Israeli experiences aren’t very recent. (After all, BA”H, our “baby” isn’t exactly a baby anymore…) However, I can’t imagine that there have been any significant changes in the interim.
Caveat #2: This post is not about giving birth; it’s only about the postpartum period. However, I should note that the medical care I received in both countries was excellent and equally advanced.
Basically, two main issues distinguish Israeli maternity wards from their American counterparts:
1) Ambulation: In the States, the objective seems to be to let the new mother get some much needed rest. In contrast, here in Israel, the message is: You’re not sick; get out of bed. Obviously, if chas v’shalom anything is wrong, the mothers stay in bed. But, assuming that everything is fine, the mothers are encouraged to get up and walk around. For instance, as long as the mother is up to it, she goes to get her baby from the nursery (rather than waiting for the nurse to bring the baby to her). Also, in some (most?) Israeli hospitals, the new mothers go to a small private dining room to eat their meals. Only mothers who are non-ambulatory (e.g. after a C-section or within the first six hours after giving birth, etc.) receive their meals in bed.
2) Socialization: Unlike in America, Israeli maternity wards serve as postpartum support groups. Except for at night and – perhaps – during the traditional 2-4 PM rest hour, the curtains separating the beds remain open. By the time I left the hospital after each birth, I knew all kinds of personal things about my roommates. In contrast, in America, I barely knew my roommates’ names!
The net result was that when each of my “sabras” were born, I felt like I was back in Stern College (hence the title!) – with two notable differences:
