A modest proposal

Shanah tovah!

By a show of hands, who is in favor of the following proposal:

Every one of our illustrious politicians who voted to extend daylight savings time into October – and thereby added a very unwelcome extra hour to today’s fast – should be forced to fast for an additional TWO hours this evening…

And in the meantime, in keeping with a long-standing Our Shiputzim tradition, here’s the requisite fast day food post:

As I’ve noted several times, the dessert situation tends to improve dramatically here in TRLEOOB (=the real life equivalent of our blog) during the summer months, when the talented Shiputzim bakers have some extra time on their hands.

This past summer, one of the aforementioned bakers whipped up these yummy treats:

Chewy Chocolate Chip Granola Bars

Adapted from here.

Ingredients

• 1/3 cup canola oil
• 1 cup brown sugar
• ¼ cup sugar
• 2 TBSP honey
• 1 tsp vanilla extract
• 1 egg
• 1 cup flour
• ½ tsp cinnamon
• ½ tsp baking powder
• pinch of salt
• 1½ cups oats
• 1¼ cups rice krispies
• 1 cup chopped almonds
• 1½ cups chocolate chips

Directions

Combine the oil and the sugars. Mix in honey, vanilla, and the egg. Add flour, cinnamon, baking powder, and salt. Add oats, rice krispies, almonds, and chocolate chips.

Spread the batter into a baking-paper-lined 9x13 pan. Bake at 350 degrees for 25-30 minutes or until the bars are lightly browned.

Cut into bars and let cool in pan.

!צום קל ומועיל

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

Ever since the dawn of time, come the first week of the brand new school year, teachers – for reasons best known to themselves – inevitably feel that what the world DESPERATELY needs is yet another batch of literary masterpieces entitled, “How I Spent My Summer Vacation.”

Unfortunately, however, their students never seem quite up to the admittedly daunting  challenge of condensing two glorious months of fun and freedom into a couple of dull and boring sentences.

<brief interjection> I strongly suspect that when my parents read this post, they’ll ask me, “Why didn’t you write about the tuna?” And so, before they do – and with your permission – I’ll recount this ancient tale of woe.

According to family legend*, back when I was about 7-8 years old, I [allegedly] reduced a vacation packed with trips, outings, and countless activities to the following:

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

We went to visit my grandparents. We bought tuna fish there, because it was cheap.

The End

*At the advice of counsel, I will neither confirm nor deny this story…

</interjection>

Yet, oddly enough, no one ever asks the parents to describe what THEY did during the vacation.

Which is a shame, really, because most parents would undoubtedly enjoy sharing their valuable tips for making it through the annual endurance test that is summer vacation spending wonderful quality time with their delightful offspring.

For instance, Gila has an ingenious solution (i.e. a pahTENT, for the Hebraically-oriented amongst you) she likes to call  “Next Safety”.

Meanwhile, here in TRLEOOB (=the real life equivalent of our blog), we prefer a more low-tech approach and instead rely on a tried-and-tested system* of automatic parental responses to frequently asked questions.

Here’s how it works:

Question	Automatic Response
What’s for supper?	Probably food, but I’ll have to get back to you on that one.
When are we going to do [a long-awaited but costly activity]?	Not today.
Why won’t you let me go?! Everyone else’s parents said they could!	Ah, but no one else’s parents ever won the prestigious “Meanest Mother in the World” contest!
Why do I always have to set/clear the table?	Because we like your siblings better.

How did YOU make it through YOUR summer vacation?

(On a related noted, be sure to check out this JPost essay about the end of summer vacation.)

!שבוע טוב ומבורך

______________

*Satisfaction is not guaranteed. Void where prohibited.

Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles

Warning: The following post may exceed the recommended daily allowance for hyperbole. Proceed at your own risk.

As every desperate/bemused/frustrated/resigned (pick your favorite adjective) Israel parent is well-aware, Chodesh Irgun is upon us.

So, why haven’t I mentioned this important fact, you’re no doubt wondering?

Two reasons, really.

a) It’s kind of hard to mention anything, when one is busy neglecting one’s blog.

b) I figured that by now, I’d pretty much said everything there was to say (and then some…) about Chodesh Irgun.

But then yesterday, a miracle happened.

Yes, a miracle.

Right here in TRLEOOB*.

<brief explanation>

First, a quick refresher for those who – for reasons best known to themselves – have not committed every single word I’ve ever written to memory. (But if you consider yourself to be an OurShiputzim expert, please feel free to skip ahead…)

Chodesh Irgun usually includes at least one communal seudah shlishit, and said seudah shlishit is inevitably preceded by the Call.

As I noted in my original post on the subject, the Call is when the madrich/madrichah (youth group leader/counselor) calls (hence the name) each of the chanichim (youth group members) to arrange who will bring what to the seudah shlishit.

Without fail, the Call arrives about an hour before Shabbat (when no one has time to run out and go shopping, even if the stores weren’t closed) and involves the most random items (which the typical family rarely stocks in their pantry).

</explanation>

If you’ll kindly consult your calendar, you’ll see that yesterday was a MONDAY – i.e. many, many, MANY days before Shabbat.

Yet, amazingly, it was, indeed, yesterday when one of the Shiputzim daughters got the Call from her madrichah!

And as if the Call’s timing wasn’t shocking enough, the Shiputzim daughter in question was merely asked to bring a bottle of drink and a can of pickles - neither of which is remotely obscure or exotic.

Astonishing, no?

In fact, I’m sure you’ll agree that this means that TRLEOOB* now qualifies for a recitation of שעשה לי נס במקום הזה (“Blessed is… the One Who performed a miracle for me at this site”)…

______________

*TRLEOOB=the real life equivalent of our blog

Tales of a Chatan Kol HaNe’arim’s wife

Warning: Although it’s now Rosh Chodesh MarCheshvan, which – according to every opinion – falls firmly within the “acharei hachagim” (literally, “after the holidays”) parameters, the following post pertains to Simchat Torah. (Hey, if Israeli gannanot can celebrate Simchat Torah after the fact, so can I…) Proceed at your own risk.

The main problem with shamelessly neglecting one’s blog is that there’s no clear protocol when it comes to resuming one’s blogging activities. Do you apologize? Pretend that you never left? Offer a long-winded explanation/excuse for your absence?

Which is why I’m just going to jump right back in with the following news item from TRLEOOB (=the real life equivalent of our blog):

YZG was our shul’s Chatan Kol HaNe’arim (i.e. CKH in OurShiputzim-speak) on Simchat Torah.

In many congregations, CKH is sold to the highest bidder. However, in our shul, the gabbaim award it to someone who is very involved in the shul and the community, and as those of you who know YZG in real life are aware, this was certainly a well-deserved honor.

Here are three things I learned in my role of CKH’s wife:

1) It seems that proper Simchat Torah etiquette teaches that both the CKH and the CKH’s wife deserve hearty “mazal tovs.” I confess that I never knew this before, but I quickly got into the swing of things and made sure to say mazal tov to the Chatan Torah, the Chatan Breishit, and their respective spouses…

2) It turns out that there’s no statute of limitations when it comes to corny CKH-related jokes. Sample groan-worthy fare: “If your husband is a chatan, that makes you a kallah! Shouldn’t you be wearing white?” {cue: canned laugh track}

3) And finally, I discovered that in our shul, the CKH’s wife is in charge of distributing candy bags to all the kids. (Fortunately, the shul covers the cost; someone else volunteered to do the shopping; and assorted neighbors helped the Shiputzim kids stuff the bags.)

Which means that within two minutes of Kol HaNe’arim’s conclusion, the CKH’s wife (that would be me in this case, for those just tuning in at home) is suddenly beset by nearly 200 (BA”H) overtired, hyped-on-sugar (in our shul, Kol HaNe’arim takes place AFTER the communal kiddush), impatient kids.

Ah, good times. Good times…

How are Chatan Kol HaNe’arim, Chatan Torah, and Chatan Breishit chosen in your communities?

How to compute the KQ

A couple of days into the new school year, and parents across the country are STILL walking around with deliriously happy grins on their faces as they greet each other with joyful cries of “mazal tov!”

Their beloved offspring, in contrast, don’t appear to be QUITE as thrilled that the powers that be over at the Education Ministry saw fit to shorten summer vacation (i.e. chofesh hagadol, for the Hebraically-oriented amongst you).

But, dear readers, there is an upside.

Because one person’s misery is another person’s blog fodder, and in this case, the younger generation’s less-than-celebratory mood inspired me to shake the dust off the old blog and discuss… the kvetching quotient (i.e. the KQ, in Our-Shiputzim-Speak).

Parents the world over are very familiar with the KQ – although many prefer to call it:

“A quantitative measure of the incessant complaining that features prominently in every family outing and that seems to increase exponentially as the kids reach adolescence.”

Yet, I wondered, does it really? (Increase exponentially, that is.)

And so, in order to get to the bottom of this pressing issue, I turned to the Our Shiputzim Mathematical, Statistical, and Actuarial Department - you probably didn’t even know that we HAD such a department, did you? – who came up with the following helpful formula:

KQ(E) = c / (3y + t)

Where:

• KQ = the kvetching quotient
• E = a given event or trip
• c = the average number of complaints, snide remarks, sarcastic comments, overly-dramatic sighs, and (if you’re talking about Israeli kids) loud “oooofs” per hour
• y = the number of younger kids
• t = the number of teenagers

In other words, according to our experts, adolescent grumbling does, indeed, have a much greater impact on the KQ than the milder, less-grating type of whining which precedes it.

Do you agree with our experts’ findings? Why or why not? Don’t forget to show your work…

____________________

P.S. The latest Haveil Havalim is available here. Special thanks to Batya for including our visit to the Nesher Cement Factory.

How to tell if you’ve finally become an Israeli

The Our Shiputzim Editorial Board proudly presents:

The Top 10 Ways You Know Your Klitah* Is Complete

(10) Your American relatives mention that their kids’ school has a strictly-enforced “no-nit policy,” and you assume they must be joking.

(9) Your husband has been to at least one wedding without a jacket or tie, and you had no problem with his attire.

(8) You know what everything on the school supplies list means.

(7) You casually call your children’s teachers at home, and you don’t feel guilty about it.

(6) When one of the aforementioned teachers announces to the class, on the first day of school, that she prefers “10-shurot notebooks” - even though the list said “14-shurot notebooks”  (see item #8) - you don’t panic or immediately run out to the store. Instead, you politely ask (see item #7) if you can keep the 14-shurot “because of the expense of replacing them.” And when the teacher answers your question with a question and inquires if you think your child can handle the 14-shurot, you blithely reply in the affirmative – even if you haven’t the slightest idea if this is actually true…

(5) You can barely remember the days when you used to talk about things like “shalosheudes” and “yontif”.

(4) Not only do your kids speak fluent Heblish, but so do you…

(3) You see stunning photos of gorgeous autumn foliage and pristine snow-covered lawns, and all you can think about is how grateful you are that you no longer have to worry about raking leaves or shoveling your driveway.

(2) During winter trips abroad (i.e. to chutz laAretz or chu”l, for the Hebraically-oriented amongst you), you wonder why all the homes you visit are ridiculously and uncomfortably overheated.

(1) You have discovered that when all else fails in sticky social situations – you know, the kind your Israeli offspring refer to as MAH zeh fadichah! – there is absolutely no statute of limitations on skillfully playing the powerful New Oleh Card…

What would you add to this list?

__________

*Klitah (קליטה) – Literally, “absorption.” Refers to the process of adjusting, adapting and acclimating to Israeli society.

Lag BaOmer in the fall

No, don’t worry, your calendar is correct. It really IS Elul – and not Iyar.

I mention this, because if you’re the parent of Israeli teens, you’d be forgiven for thinking that you blinked and somehow missed half a year.

After all, sometime in the past few weeks, your child probably stayed out all night on a school-sanctioned activity and then had a day off the following day, and it’s understandable if you mistakenly assumed that Lag BaOmer had come early this year.

And, so, I’m here to tell you – because your shaliach probably didn’t – that in many places, Elul boasts not one, but TWO official excuses for going without sleep:

1) Siyur Slichot

A siyur slichot (literally, a Slichot – i.e. penitential prayers - tour) is a nighttime trip during Elul to a religiously-significant location (such as Yerushalayim’s Old City or Tzfat), and typically involves a scenic walk (a Shiputzim son hiked this week from the top of Har HaZeitim to the Kotel, via Yad Avshalom and Sha’ar HaAshpot), an inspirational talk or two, and finally, reciting Slichot.

2) The Hashba’ah

The hashba’ah (literally, swearing in ceremony) is a sort of traditional initiation rite organized by the high school seniors (i.e. the shministim*, for the Hebraically-oriented amongst you) for the young freshmen (patronizingly-referred to as chamshushim*).

<Brief aside> I was under the impression that the hashba’ah is pretty much universal, but Hannah says that none of her kids’ schools have one. How about your children’s high schools? </aside>

But lest you’re picturing a cruel hazing ritual, I should explain that at least in the yeshiva high schools and ulpanot, the ra”mim/mechanchot are in attendance the entire time and ensure that the event remains strictly within the bounds of what the school feels is appropriate.

In fact, as the nervous ninth graders quickly discover, the much-hyped hashba’ah - which they were originally so scared about - proves to be little more than a surprise nighttime tiyul, and everyone gets a t-shirt at the end... :-)

As noted above, the day after the hashba’ah and the siyur slichot, the kids have a day off – even though the school year just started and all the Tishrei holidays are right around the corner.

And thus, both events fall firmly under the category of: “Things I Still Don’t Understand, Despite Having Made Aliyah 13 Years Ago”…

_____________

* The terms shminist (literally, one belonging to the shminit – i.e. the eighth) and chamshush (a semi-derogatory way of saying “one belonging to the chamishit” – i.e. the fifth) are both vestigial throwbacks to the gymnasia system. The first form was the equivalent of today’s fifth grade, and the last – or eighth – form corresponded to today’s twelfth grade.

Pre-season talks

{quickly flips through the blog and discovers, with some surprise, that the topic of English classes for dovrei Anglit (literally, English speakers) hasn’t yet been discussed}

Nearly a week into the new school year?

If you’re an Anglo parent of elementary school students, you know what that means.

Yup, that’s right.

It’s time for the annual dovrei Anglit negotiations to begin.

Because as we’re all aware, just because the school offered DAC (=dovrei Anglit classes) for our kids last year, that’s clearly no guarantee that it’ll do so this year.

Moreover, just because all the relevant parties had computed the cost, the number of English speakers per class, and the number of hours per week last year, that’s also no guarantee that the same calculations will continue to apply this year.

And hence, the negotiations.

Of course, in a handful of predominantly Anglo communities, the DAC are par for the course.

Indeed, in some neighborhoods (yes, I’m looking at you, RBS…) where the vast majority of the kids speak English, not only do the schools – partially or even fully - subsidize the DAC, but they start on (gasp!) the very. same. day. as the regular English classes. (Shocking, isn’t it…)

But in most locations, the DAC require a significant financial outlay on the parents’ part and, as noted above, mean that the parents have to spend the first week of each school year haggling with the school and reinventing the DAC wheel. (“That’s strange! These same kids spoke English in 5th grade, and now, look at that, they still speak English in 6th grade! What are the odds?!”)

So, why do we bother, you ask?

Well, the reasons vary from family to family, but basically, most Anglo parents feel that the classes serve as a [relatively] simple way to give our kids an advantage later on in life.

Not to mention the fact that it’s kind of ridiculous for them to sit there, watching their classmates break their teeth as they dutifully repeat, “My name is ____. What is your name? This is a banana. The banana is yellow.”

Admittedly, some English-speaking kids think this is very amusing, but others find it to be extremely annoying.

But either way, it’s a huge waste of time. (One year, together with a friend, one of the Shiputzim kids spent the first week of school – before the negotiations ended and the DAC finally began – painstakingly drawing a detailed map of the school…)

Furthermore, the teachers don’t want the English speakers in their regular English classes. For under such circumstances, even the most well-behaved child will disturb the rest of the class. (See: the aforementioned mapmaking session…)

Not that the DAC teachers have it easy either.

Because, inevitably, the students range from straight-off-the-NBN-flight new olim to veteran Heblish-speakers with thick Israeli accents…

Feel free to use the comment section to vent share your DAC experiences.

Tradition, tradition

Even bloggers who shamelessly neglect their blogs can’t mess with tradition.

And, so, I present (better late than never!) the now-traditional picture of this year’s fruits of our annual school supplies shopping spree:

For comparison’s sake, check out last year’s picture.

Best wishes to all the younger readers – and their parents - for a wonderful, successful, happy, healthy, and productive school year!

________

P.S. The newest Haveil Havalim is available here. Special thanks to Esser Agaroth for including my post on Herzl’s speech at the First Zionist Congress.

Fine Arts Friday: 5772 Calendar Edition

As you may recall, every year my mother prepares a beautiful family calendar.

And so, in honor of Rosh Chodesh Tamuz, here are the Shiputzim kids’ contributions (in ascending order, according to the young artists’ ages) to the 5772 calendar.

As always, please click on the pictures for a closer view:

September 2011 (roughly corresponding to Elul 5771)

July 2012 (roughly corresponding to Tamuz-Av 5772, including the Three Weeks)

!שבוע טוב וחודש טוב

Kaf Tet B’November

Several items of interest from around the J-Blogosphere:

1) Tomorrow is Kaf Tet B’November (literally, the 29th of November) – the anniversary of the day the UN voted in favor of the 1947 Partition Plan. Jameel shares a film about the historic vote.

2) Due to the ongoing drought, the Chief Rabbinate has called yet another fast day for tomorrow. In the meantime, those of us fortunate to be living in this incredibly beautiful yet autumn-challenged country can enjoy Leora’s stunning fall foliage shots.

3) The latest Haveil Havalim is available here. Special thanks to Homeshuling for including my negotiation post.

שבוע טוב וגשום לכולם!

May we finally be privileged to enjoy a winter filled with rains of blessing!

Season’s greetings

In honor of MAG – who’s the only one of the Shiputzim kids to start school this week – here’s the annual school supplies photo:

Note that in what can only be described as a highly unorthodox break with tradition, this picture (click on it for a closer view) was shot outside – rather than on the living room rug.

And on a related note, kol hakavod and thank you to the Resident Ulpanistit for singlehandedly taking inventory, compiling lists, covering books, and labeling everything!

The Our Shiputzim Editorial Board extends its best wishes to all our younger readers* for a productive, happy, healthy, and fruitful school year.

_________

* And to the parents of said younger readers, we say: Let the celebrations begin…

Gannenet Appreciation Day

Warning: This post may exceed the recommended daily allowance of snarkiness. Proceed at your own risk.

****

The thing about Israeli gannenets is that it’s very easy to make fun of them, and as long time readers know, I’ve taken ample advantage of this convenient fact.

Indeed, I’ve frequently mocked discussed with obvious love and affection gannenets’ many foibles and idiosyncrasies – including their pyromaniac tendencies, the ritualistic pageantry of gan birthday parties, and, of course, the bizarre gan meeting.

And so, it’s only fair that I also give them credit where it’s due – namely, their innate resourcefulness.

You see, their creative, never-say-die attitude is what enables them to erect straw men identify pressing problems and then skillfully knock them down devise clever and original solutions.

Here are two examples:

I. The neglected holiday

Problem: Coming, as it does, at the tail end of the festival-laden month of Tishrei, Simchat Torah always gets short shrift in most curricula.

Solution: Gannenets don’t even try to cover Simchat Torah before the holiday. Instead, they use the “hakafot shniyot” model and throw a big party on Friday, Erev Parshat Breishit. Decked out in their most elegant kacholavan, the kids dance, sing, and imbibe inordinate amounts of candy.

Ahh, good times, good times…

II. The missing season

Problem: In a recent post, Mother in Israel discussed autumn in Israel – or the lack thereof. As she correctly observes, there’s no real transition between summer and winter. Furthermore, aside from a few noted exceptions, the traditional signs of fall – i.e. the brilliant foliage, that crisp autumn air, etc. - simply don’t exist here in Israel.

Solution: Israeli gannenets teach that autumn in Israel is nonetheless significant, because it heralds the arrival of the… nachlieli (white wagtail).

The gannenets ensure that their young charges are very familiar with the distinctive, long-tailed, black-and-white bird. In fact, even as adults, Israelis of every stripe can still easily pick the nachlieli out of a bird lineup.

Moreover, the gannenets stress, seeing a nachlieli is a joyous and momentous occasion.

Thus, last week, a certain gan-age child of my acquaintance came home bursting with exciting news. The breathless report soon followed: They had gone on a siyur stav (literally, “an autumn tour” – i.e. a nature walk), and – guess what?! – they SAW TWO NACHLIELIS!!! (Space considerations prevent me from including the full complement of exclamation points, but I think you get the general idea…)

And so, dear readers, the next time an obscure blogger sets his or her sights on the much maligned and often misunderstood gannenet, please refer them to this post in order to provide them with further ammunition to remind them to appreciate all that the gannenet has to offer…

P.S. On a serious note, I’d like to take this opportunity to thank the incredibly dedicated and talented gannenets who have done – and continue to do - such a wonderful job educating the Shiputzim children over the years.