It Takes A Village, a Family, and A Whole Lotta Insanity

(That almost rhymes).

Won't make excuses, except for this: Took a year off.

Literally. Took the year off work, off blogging. Returned to the student life and studied something entirely different. No education, no therapy. No hospital.

Turns out, studying midlife is not studying at 19. No night-after-night-awake-until-2am. No running to the library whenever I darn feel like it. Elder Princeski, Always the Imp and

Blondini Boy (who, incidentally, has grown out of those blond curls) need me to look up from those books once in awhile. They can't be expected to understand what's so exciting about all the fine print piling up on the dining table. Even if colorful maps are sometimes involved.

And then, there was the recent Coming of Age Celebration, aka the Bat Mitzvah. (Because we all know how a twelve-year-old is, um, practically an adult. Never mind).

By now a majority of the neighbors have hosted one or more of these events, and this

is what stands out: The child's parents stand up and -- along with happily fawning over their child, and thanking everybody for coming -- praise the community at great lengths, for making the event a reality. It always sounded kind of exaggerated, and I couldn't understand what the big deal was.

Now I really do get it. Elder P & I had this vision, to celebrate at home with a kind of garden-block-party, and my neighbors did every imaginable task to make this thing a reality. An abridged list:

Helping Elder P plan a special Bat Mitzvah tefilla. Sitting with me to plan out the menu, the shopping list, the time table, the program. Hosting our family for a relaxing Shabbat lunch the week before the event. Lending hotplates and water kettles, projector lights and electricity cables. Lending two hours at night, and again the next day -- in the blazing sun --to help That Guy install those lights and electricity cables.

(Pause for breath). Approaching neighbors and asking them to lend all the above (& more), then delivering it to our doorstep. Permitting us to close off the street for the evening. Making salads and fruit plates. Translating and printing Elder P's talk into English so our family could enjoy it. Going out -- at the last minute -- to pick up the food. Taking down the signs after the event (thank you, whoever you are!). Moral support. I know there's more, but I've already forgotten.

One of my neighbors has actually opened a Gama"ch in memory of her father z"l, lending out serving dishes, tablecloths, candlesticks and more so that her neighbors can hold events at home. She came two hours beforehand and set up all the tables, too. What a huge help.

What goes around also comes around. By purchasing our drinks at the makolet (local grocery store) instead of the [less expensive] chain supermarket, we received an offer to store the drinks in his jumbo-fridge until right before the party.

We hired one neighbor to make high-end

desserts, giving her much-needed publicity (and the desserts were fantastic! If you want her number, drop me a line). Another neighbor, all of fifteen years old, is a professional-grade hair stylist who, as you can see, turned Elder P into a true Princess.

E, the son-in-law of friends and a young father raising two young kids while growing his new photography business, was hired to take pictures. We employed yet a fourth friend to provide the entertainment, including individually tailored instruction for the kids and a funny & original juggling performance for all our guests. (Elder P loves juggling, and this was a special surprise in her honor). Three neighborhood teens were hired as kitchen managers and waitresses, and they worked.

We love having such talented friends, and being able to give them our business at such a happy occasion.

And then, there were my parents. The morning of, I sent them a fourteen-item list, Which of these could you help with?, expecting them to chose two or three. They choose ten, and then ran around schlepping stuff from late afternoon until early evening when the party began.

And yes, it was worth it! Elder P had the time of her life, so did the neighbors, and I'm thankful. בשמחות!

Keep the balance,

ALN

Don't Worry, The Blogosphere Is Behind You

RivkA's death has really driven home a point. Yes, the blogosphere really is a community. Of friends, compatriots, supporters, rivals, and everything in between.

On Friday at her shiva -- how odd, and empty, to be in RivkA's home, without her there! -- this topic came up in discussion with her mother and father. Like my own parents, they could not understand at first what would possess a person to write (and especially in RivkA's case, so openly and personally) to a vitual audience, "somewhere out there." After a time, they came to appreciate the regular updates, her shared thoughts, and especially, her very real blogosphere friends.

In RivkA's case, she was a source of information and inspiration to many, many people. Her writing brought people together. As I told her mother on Friday, whenever I read RivkA's blog, I felt the acute presence of others reading alongside me, a tangible community of supporters and friends.

This afternoon I had one of those -- dare I say it -- "Israeli" experiences... and there was Treppenwitz, right there behind me. You can read his whole piece here (recommended), but meanwhile, here's the the part that hit home:

Sadly, when faced with an immigrant making a formal complaint about a perceived insult (even when the insult can't possibly be open to perception and/or interpretation), the default response of many people in this country is, "You must not have understood...", or "That was not my intention...".

This is doubly frustrating for a non-native Hebrew speaker because even in cases where the insult is so glaring as to be beyond misinterpretation, the immigrant is often expected to feign difficulty with the language in order to allow the insulter to climb down from their tree and save face.

Ahh, so true, I nodded as I read along. And so sad, so frustrating. We've all felt this at some point, but for me today's experience took the cake. For the first time in a long time, I felt a tinge of regret for having moved here.

Here I was, standing in front (underneath, really -- it was cranked up on the repair lift) of my decade-old Beloved Renault, the recent victim of an unfortunate but -- thank God -- harmless accident,* with the insurance assessor trying to convince me that he had not listed the obvious damage to the ABS on the insurance claim because I hadn't initially reported it (I had) and maybe I hadn't understood him properly.

Oh uh, Mister Assessor. Now you've done it. Deep breath, short pause. Think of Treppenwitz, and Rev Up Your Engines.

I let the assessor have it. With a capital IT: Don't you dare pull that one. I understood you perfectly. And you know it.

He yelled, I countered (two rounds). He relented. I got the repair approved.

Thank you, David Bogner, for reminding me that I do understand. Perfectly.

Keep the balance,

ALN

* Wouldn't ya know it? Two days prior to the accident, I'd signed on a trade-in deal to have someone pay me to take the Beloved Renault off my hands. Murphy's Law, still valid. Or maybe just Freud. Oy.

Opening Up

Took a too-long blog break -- this has part of my excuse. Just jump there, and jump back -- it'll only take a second. As for the rest, we have a lot of catching up to do.

Meanwhile, here we are again, 24-hour countdown to Yom Kippur, the Gates of Heaven are nearly open, and with all its good timing, the Night-Blooming Cereus is, as well.

Once a year, about nine p.m., it shares its beauty with its nocturnal compatriots, and just three hours previous to this writing, here it is:

(Both photos copyright the family photographer, i.e. That Guy I Married)

Our neighbor L-C was nice enough to give us a call so we wouldn't miss the annual blooming on her front porch.... and by now it has already closed.

(I was impressed at the timing, then did a quick search noted -- with irony -- that a primary association with this flower has something to do with Krishna worship in India. The timing's still pretty cool though, don't you think?)

Just a simple thought, coming into our Day of Repentence. Last week during class break, a fellow student approached me with a question:

Why should I bother fasting again this year? I know that right after Yom Kippur I'm just going back to all the things I usually do -- not keeping Shabbat, and all that. So what good will it do for me to fast?

She is relatively young, in her mid-twenties, and grew up in a religious household, in the religious school system here in Israel. She no longer identifies as a religious person but remains close with her family.

As in keeping with the tradition, I answered her question with a question: What's the connection between not keeping Shabbat next week, and keeping Yom Kippur this week?

I was convinced, without knowing why, that the two are not inherently linked, at least not on every level, but at the time I couldn't explain it in a way that satisfied either of us.

Today, leafing through Al ha-Teshuva, a text based on lectures given by Rabbi Yosef B. Soloveichik, I found a more exact answer. Rav Soloveichik talks a lot about the individual versus the Klal, the collective. While each individual certainly bears responsibility for his or her own actions and atonement process, there is a parallel process that is the jurisdiction the collective, which, according to the Rav, is an entity with an identity in and of itself.

It is up to the individual to consider him or herself a part of Klal Yisrael, and one way to achieve kapara (atonement) on Yom Kippur is to be a part of this collective -- what he calls the "אני קבוצי," "communal I." In his words (my translation):

We identify with the congregation of Israel, are molded and merged into it, we are made one with it -- and through this, we become worthy of the atonement that it [the congregation] is worthy of (p. 77).

He asks whether the atonement of Yom Kippur is that of the individual, or of the collective, and goes on to explain that the answer is, in fact both. The collective gives us a power of atonement, distinct from our individual efforts, and so (as I later wrote my classmate), as long as you consider yourself a part of the community, on whatever level, your fasting along with everyone is still worth something.

גמר חתימה טובה / Gmar Hatima Tova.

May we all be inscribed for life, blessings, health, and new openings leading to new beginnings.

ALN

Iodine Season

Spring is in the air... speaking of which, many thanks to Gila from My Shrapnel for a great HH #215, and that lovely Julie Andrews song!  But I digress...

Bike Season is officially here, so keep the iodine handy.    A couple weeks ago I brought what was formerly Elder Princeski's long-outgrown, hot-pink set of wheels into the local bike shop for a tire refurbish, and the guys could barely look up from their wrenches and chains, they were so busy sliming and realigning. 

(Slime is, of course, a registered trademark and the brand name of that funky stuff they smear on the inner tubes to make them self-repairing.  The bike shop has a huge tank of it sitting on the floor, next to their scattered worktable, and for a few extra shekels they'll apply it to your inner tubes, saving you much sorry later in the season).

The number of first-time bikers  on our block -- among them, our own Always the Imp --can appear greater than the total number of children around here.  The other afternoon I edged toward our driveway while noting at least a dozen (including a couple of my own) within a three-house stretch, wheeling about like scattering sparrows.   

The scene inspired me.  

A day or two later, That Guy I Married set off with Elder P to get her a new bike, accompanied by my long-neglected red frame, with its shredded seat and failing gear shifts, in the hopes that a renewed set of wheels would inspire me to re-commit myself (yet again) to some sort of reasonable, enjoyable fitness plan.

I can't speak for the future but so far, so good.  I've managed to get myself out on it two days in a row -- if only around the moshav, at this point.  Only 28 more days of this and I'll have myself a habit.  

Nothing like that burst of speed down a hill, that rush of air across the face, to remind me what every kid worth his weight in helmets already knows.  So get out the iodine, and get out there.

The hills are alive...

Keep fit, and keep the balance,

ALN

The Defensive War Out There

My former beit knesset (synagogue) in the Old Country of California has sent out this notice:

We're not the only ones, of course, and in Europe it is par for the course.  I can only hope it ends with nasty notes, and nothing worse.

Keep the balance,

ALN

Live: Parlor Meeting with a Candidate for Head of Our Regional Council

Here's democracy in action.  

I'm sitting in my neighbor's living room, and about 30 additional neighbors have joined us here to meet with Moshe Dadon, a candidate for our local Regional Council (mo'etza).  Unlike the major cities, where voting took place a few weeks ago, our area goes to the polls in January to choose its new Regional Council members.

Moshe grew up in the area (Moshav Luzit) and has served as the Regional Council secretary for the past four years, so he knows the system from the inside.  He described growing up among the chicken coops, and seeing the agriculture lifestyle fall by the wayside as the years went by. The area's needs now are completely different; he noted that much of the moshav property formerly used for agriculture is now factories.

Moshe describes himself as "very green - not in terms of money, but the environment" (It wasn't clear what he means by this, as some of his later statements indicated that he has a poor understanding of certain environmental issues).  He understands that many people are flocking to the moshav expansions for the quality of life, and are not agriculturally minded. He realizes that municipality taxes have been rising, but are not nearly at Jerusalem levels, and that all the local illegal building is only hurting all the citizens because they cannot benefit from improvements if local tax money is not being put back into the system.  

Moshe pledges the following:

1.  Taxes collected locally, stay local.  All tax monies collected for the moshav expansions (of which there are many) will go directly back into moshav coffers.

2.  Sliding scale taxation.  Everyone should pay arnona, including residential buildings, local businesses, quarries and other industrial properties, according to their ability.  Anyone who qualified for a discount will receive one accordingly.  The Arab sector, which has been neglected until now, will also receive the amount entitled by law.  

3.  Financial independence.  The general dependence on the system for financial support is unjustified and has to be changed.  Every community can then become independent and make its own decisions according to its needs.

4.  Infrastructure.  By law, 5% of tax money collected by the Regional Council is designated for internal development;  that means 12 million shekels has to be distributed every year to the local municipal governments, for use as they see fit.

5.  Primary Education.   The local educational system should be run locally, by a professional with a doctorate in education.  Most of the local population is religious, and any new local school would have to be religious and include all the children in the surrounding local moshavim.   Until now, our religious school system has not provided a good education, period, and many families send their kids to a different school district.  

6.  Secondary Education.  High schools in the area have been closing, but the local population is growing and we'll need to develop a series of local high schools here in the area. Competition is good for education, as it is for everything else.  By law, only the head of the Regional Council is entitled to choose where kids go to school.  At this time we have 4000 high school students, and the system doesn't have room for new students, even if it were a good system and people were willing to send their kids.

7.  Transportation to School.  For now, funding from other budgets, such as the building budget, to fund school buses for local kids.  There is no governmentally funded option for transportation for high school-age pupils.   Children need to go to good schools, locally, such that there won't be a need for transportation.  School buses are a temporary measure until we have good schools in the area.  Pupils can't succeed if they spend hours on buses, and there's no equal opportunities for all citizens until we have quality local schools for everyone.  We don't have time to wait.

When it was pointed out that building all these schools will take time, he didn't have a clear answer, except to improve the existing schools.  One neighbor offered a temporary solution of not having kids for the next few years, which got a few laughs but underlined the seriousness of the issue.  Moshe grew up in the system, continued to be involved in the local education system after his high school graduation, and sends his kids to the local schools, so he is aware, from the inside, of just how bad it is.

When asked about the decision making powers of the local municipality versus the Council regarding expansion issues, he spoke in favor of allowing the municipal council to receive tax monies and make most local decisions.  Regarding division of properties, especially public and moshav properties, he cited a local example of a town within the region that wanted to build a swimming pool with public develop monies, and the Regional Council refused to grant permission.   

A participant described one local conflict regarding the use and upkeep of moshav property, an issue which has put residents of our Moshav extension at odds with the decision-makers of the moshav's municipal council, with no legal redress... As this neighborbor pointed out, this type of conflict usually stays on a minor and limited level, but the same problems tend to repeat themselves, and our current expansion has only brought the issue to the fore.  Moshe did not provide a clear answer regarding this issue.

Regarding the protection of nature conservancies, Moshe supports expanding into parts of those ares for the benefit of the local populations.  He cited the building of a new school as one example.

Moshe has pledged to bring educated, reliable and honest workers into the Regional Council, and here he was asked regarding the type of people he would, indeed, bring with him.  (It has been said that our local government has become bulky and corrupt over the years, and I can testify to the number and quality of shiny cars in the parking lot).  

Moshe responded by pointing out that there is one person in the regional government overseeing all 180 local kindergartens in the region, with a similar situation for the primary schools...  "No one person is a workhorse."  A neighbor responded with cynicism, that the only department in the council that returns phone calls is the Collection Department.  Generally, those present at the meeting did not express satisfaction with the so-called reforms he claims to have made until now.

Moshe referred to a total rearrangement of the governing system, especially the educational system, and that in his view this includes, among other things, encouraging older workers to retire, and having others transfer to departments where they are needed.  "If one doctor is no good, do you blame all the doctors?"

He continued to refer to poor air quality, although he offered no clear solutions.  Prior to this, he claimed not to understand the connection between electricity and the quality of the environment.   Regarding a specific road in the area which has been declared unsafe and whose legal status has remained unclear for years (the road remains open but the police sometimes distributes tickets to those who travel on it), he offered no clear answer, except to point out that the Regional Council has been trying to resolve the issue.

Moshe's closing statement (summary):  We have the opportunity to develop the area, to give everyone an opportunity and quality of life.  The problem is not as other candidates will tell you, that this or that individual bureaucrat is responsible.  The money is the issue.  If we want to develop the area, our money has to go to the right places;  quality education for everyone, and local development.

* * * * *

On Wednesday, another candidate will be coming to impress us.... stay tuned.

Keep the balance,

ALN

We Already Do -- Correction

My good friend and neighbor Q read this post about Simhat Torah and pointed out an inaccuracy that needs correcting. (Thank you, Q!).

In fact, I am happy to report, one of the two retired rabbis in our community does not at all object to women dancing with the Torah and finds no source in halacha to forbid the practice.

My apologies to this rabbi for misunderstanding his position.

Keep the balance,

ALN

We Already Do (and You're Welcome to Join Us!)

I just wanted to weigh in with SuperRaizy, and so many others (she lists some), regarding women's participation on Simhat Torah.  

In our community (as in RivkA's), which shall remain nameless to protect the fully involved, women dance with a sefer Torah.  This year I had the privilege of dancing with a sefer Torah in front while carrying Blondini Boy on my back, an experience I hope he'll never forget.

Following the hakafot (dancing with the Torah), we have a community kiddush, complete with a reproduction of the beit hamikdash constructed from cake and candies by the kids of the community.   

Then, in parallel to the regular Torah reading in the beit haknesset (synagogue), women who choose to participate, meet in the garden of a private home for a women's reading of Parashat v'Zot haBracha.  When we finish we return to the main reading for the children's aliyah (again, refer to RivkA's post -- only we certainly remembered the candy this year, and way too much of it if you ask me) and all the rest.

Then we have a community picnic / barbeque in the park next to the beit haknesset for some excellent, jointly prepared food.  What a wonderful way to share the cooking on the last day of a slew of holidays!

It's not without its complications... The sefer Torah we women take for the hakafot is the only one of three that we use, since its donors do not mind that women dance with it or read from it.  The  donors of the other two sifrei Torah disapprove of the idea and we honor their request.  Also, both of the retired rabbis in our community do not approve of the women's reading, and have voiced their disapproval, but not in the form of psaq halacha.  

(Addendum, 28 Oct:  Please see this post which corrects an inaccuracy).

It took many years for these customs to become status quo around here, but now they are. The girls (and boys)  of our community will certainly grow up thinking it's the status quo. Call it Facts on the Ground...?

Keep the balance,

ALN

Agunot: What's Being Done, and What You Can Do

Please jump over to  The Rebbetzin's Husband, who gives us a crucial reminder of all the successful, behind-the-scenes efforts to release women from their recalcitrant husbands.   With every success, you have turned a family's world back around, strengthened the community, and restored the faith and hope of many.

(By the way, the same thing also happens in my line of work... we hear about all the tragedies, but in reality 80% of pediatric cancer patients survive their illnesses.  We, too, have to remember to constantly inform the public of our successes, in order to balance out the pain of the failures).

Meanwhile, on the aguna / msurvot get front, there is much work to do.   Jameel has photos up on The Muqata.  Finding these guys brings the women one step closer to freedom (until we manage to institutionalize the solution), and now we have the technology to advance the issue.  It was heartwarming to hear that the Rabbinate as an institution is taking a step in the right direction, in addition to the many efforts, large and small, of rabbis all over the world.

For the record, That Guy I Married and I set up not one, but two pre-nups:  one with the Beit Din (Rabbinical court) and one with the secular Israeli court system.  Then, soon after the wedding, we let all our friends know we had these agreements, with a full explanation of how we arranged for them.  May we never need them.

Keep the balance,

ALN

Missed Connection, Reconnection

We got back to Israel safely, bodies exhausted, luggage intact.  I only wish I could say the same for my head, but the J-L word has been rearing it's ugly head.  I've now tried the stay-up-really-late-method, the take-a-nap method, the don't-take-a-nap method, the no-caffeine, no-alcohol diet, the caffeine -and-alcohol diet... it all sort of comes down to "Damn!  Here I am, awake  between 2 and 5 a.m. yet again."*  Last night, Shabbat, was the worst,  -- all the lights were out (no reading) and using the computer was out of the question (no blogging... all those posts, composed in my head, the permanently lost in memory wasteland / oblivion).  Sometimes I envy those locals (read:  EU members) whose flight back to The Old Country costs them only six hours of their lives, plus waiting time, and possibly a couple of time zones.   I know, I know, it could be worse;  Australians must envy everyone.

(A recent conversation companion suggested that the lengthy travel time might serve a higher purpose, giving our minds and bodies time to readjust to the new environment.  I'm not sure what that means, since I'm assuming that if not for the jet-lag, my adjustment time would near zero, even accounting for other adaptations). 

Straight off the plane, the white light is blinding.  The abrupt weather transformation -- from California balmy to Middle East heat bake -- shocks my system with an immediate, unforgiving reminder that the sun is stronger here.  Like the emotional charge of everyday interactions, this heat is a force to be reckoned with, a consistent reminder to budget your energy and appreciate the basics:  Clean water, the roof over your head, a cool evening breeze.  

For the first few days following our return our house always seems so small and dusty, but that's only because, in comparison, my parents' house is enormous and several thousand miles from the Sahara.  After a few days our house goes back to looking its normal self (reasonably large and dusty).  

We visit the Old Country every two or three years, and each time it feels more like a foreign country.   Yes, my English is still fluent (though some would claim otherwise), and I remembered to say Have a nice day and Nice to meet you like I really mean it.  But the differences inevitably reared their heads. I could still think in inches, but no longer in pounds.  In the supermarket, the endless selection of every category of product was truly overwhelming.   Parking lots became their own sprawling world, filled with superfluous SUV's, and the twelve-lane freeway where I'd learned to drive as a teenager had somehow transformed itself into a massive, threatening behemoth.

I came to Israel as a college student, unattached and uncommitted to any particular person, child, job or goal beyond trying to find a place to live, finish my degree, learn Hebrew.  Within a year or two those goals expanded to include finding a beit knesset, acquiring job skills, searching for a spouse... and then, building a home, having children, developing a career and joining a community.  Every one of these steps furthered my integration into this life and this society, even as it increased the barrier -- without my noticing -- between this life and my old life.   On this trip, I began to understand that while I grew up in California, I actually became an adult in Israel.  Marriage, motherhood, career, community -- all of these seminal moments happened in Israel, which means that my integration of these experiences also happened in Israel.  

By living so far away, I am also keenly aware of what I am missing, and causing others to miss.  My grandmother finally has three great-grandchildren -- who might as well be a million miles away.  Was this trip our last chance to see her?  I really, really hope not.  My Mom savors every long-distance telephone call, but nothing compares to helping her grandchildren practice their swimming in the neighborhood pool.  I can't remember a visit when my Dad hasn't "threatened" to kidnap one of the kids, so he won't have to wait another two years to see her.  

My good friend Q asked, as she always does when I return, Do you ever feel the urge to stay there?   No, I don't, even though coming home means coming back to the regular routine.  Gearing the kids up for a new school year.  A less-than enthusiastic return to the stresses of work.  Grocery shopping and carpool schedules.  Trips to the doctor, the dentist, the veterinarian.  Household repairs and reorganizations.  A fish tank in need of scrubbing and disinfecting.  A pile of laundry that dares to reach the ceiling after three days.  Dust.  Everywhere.  I know all too well that for me, "California" now means "vacation."  Were to we live there, I would still have all of the above and more, that is, all the ingredients of a regular life.  

But just in case I'd ever forget where home is, my kids wouldn't hesitate to remind me.  From the moment we left Israel, they struggled with the separation from their friends.  For four weeks they begged me to find them someone to play with;  even our three-year-old exchanged email photos to his nursery school girlfriend.  Driving home from the airport, the kids were barely out of the car and they were already asking, pleading to call their friends, invite them over, visit their houses.  Seeing my neighbors on Friday evening felt like a real home-coming, my neighbors sitting in the Beit Knesset, welcoming Shabbat, while the little kids ran around in the park.  They all looked so beautiful.

I love coming home. 

Keep the balance,

ALN

_____

* Note the time-stamp.  And yes, that's Israel time.

Imagine the Alternatives

When I was only 75, it didn't occur to me to think of myself as old... 

But I'm 94 years old and you know, I'm starting to feel my age.

For the past few days my grandmother has been staying here at my parents' house, to see her great-grandchildren and to check out potential "retirement homes."  (Ahh, what a nice euphemism.  My grandmother has been retired from her career as a school speech therapist for what, thirty-five years?)  For the past 24 of of them she's lived completely on her own in a beautiful "retirement community" -- there's that word again -- in the rolling hills of Northern California, where all residents are over 50, most own their homes, many drive,* and more than a few continue to lead active lives into their eighties and nineties.

Residents keep busy, with social and political groups, hobbies and parties.  The community hosts a variety of clubs and resident boards, so even the most mobility-challenged can find a way to participate. As they progress in age, their world narrows geographically like a target, until, like my grandmother, they find themselves living closer to the bulls-eye, and dependent on other, younger residents -- or the local dial-a-bus -- to transport them to the supermarket, the hair salon, the dentist.  

A couple days ago, I asked my grandmother how she sees the whole thing.  Could she imagine herself picking up her whole life, leaving her community and all her friends, to move into a "retirement complex" where she would live in a much smaller apartment (more of a deluxe hotel room, really, albeit with half- or full-size kitchen)?

She isn't sure.  Retirement homes are for old people, she tells me, completely serious.  I'm not old.

That sounds strange coming from a woman halfway into her hundredth decade.  Unless you know my grandmother.  

She lived through the Depression, got a scholarship to college, and graduated with a teaching degree, at a time when few women -- or men, for that matter -- had a chance at higher education.  She persevered through the kind of marriage later generations of women would have ditched, and loyally took care of her husband through a serious, drawn-out illness.  She was (and remains) an advocate of non-fluoridated water, vegetarian eating, and healthy living, during an era when that kind of lifestyle was commonly derided.  When her husband died, she didn't miss a beat, traveling the world while she was young and healthy enough to do so.  She purchased her own home, collected art and music to fill it, and continued her travels well into her eighties.

During our conversation, my grandmother described in detail all of her current available human resources, (and which she had called into action two days before her trip, when she leaned down, thought she cracked a rib, and finally agreed for her friend drive her to the emergency room.  Only a dislocation, it turns out: You know, something just snapped out of place.  This morning I pushed it back in, and now it's fine. 

I asked what she thought about the potential benefits of transitioning to this type of living arrangement, and she mentioned her difficulties fixing herself dinner every evening.  Breakfast and lunch, you know, they're small meals, I can handle that.  But dinner is another story.  She still does her own weekly grocery shopping;   her friend and neighbor, 82-years-old, drives her every week.  But not all of her neighbors are feeling capable any more.  Some of my friends, they're getting older.  Not old, you know -- only eighty, eighty-five -- but they're starting to feel older, and wonder where to put themselves, what to do with their bodies.

And the drawbacks?  For one, the price.  Places like these cost about $4000 a month, not including the phone bill.  Currently, she pays $250 a month in fees for some utilities and upkeep of the grounds, a few hundred for additional utilities, and about $400 a month for food. She now owns her house and so does not pay a mortgage.  My grandmother has savings in the bank and budgets carefully.  She allows herself some luxuries (she is a very stylish dresser), and can't help but worry, with good reason, over the financial commitment this move would entail.  Her unspoken worry:   What will happen if the money runs out before I do? 

Another drawback?  The feeling of losing her independence, feeling isolated, starting all over in an unfamiliar place.  She stated some of these factors out loud while implying others.

Today we joined my grandmother for lunch in one facility, run by and for Jewish people, and located about 20 minutes from my parents' house.  The grounds were well groomed, the living units hospitable but small.  The day's activities were posted on all the bulletin boards.  (This got me hoping these types of place adapt with the times.  If not, I'd better learn to play mahjong and Bridge).  They have a computer room and offer lessons in e-mail and Websurfing.  Residents are served three meals a day in the dining room, but may order room service, or cook for themselves in their apartments.  As we approached the dining hall, I noticed tens of walkers parked hodge-podge outside.  Inside, the hall was calm as a hundred older people chatted quietly while eating a four-course lunch.

Toward the end of lunch I asked my grandmother what she thought.  She said she hasn't decided anything, she'll have to think about it.

In a few minutes, my grandmother will board a plan taking her back to her town, where a social worker will pick her up and drive her home to continue the independent life of a ninety-four-year-old woman.  My parents have given her a kind of ultimatum:  If you choose not to move to one of the retirement residences we visited this week, that's you're choice, but then you must hire someone to help you around the house.   

For my grandmother, the latter option is actually worse of the two.  Having help in the house would mean she's old, when in fact, she's only ninety-four.

Keep the balance,

ALN

______

* All of us were exceedingly relieved when my grandmother finally gave up her car, at the age of 85.  I tried to identify with the symbolic and physical loss of independence this step would bring her, but having ridden with her over the last decade prior, I was scared to death for her and every driver and pedestrian around her.

(And thanks to Me-ander for a beautiful visual reminder of the limitations of old age).

Whose Village Is It?

Today I saw an ad for an exclusive property somewhere in California -- the kind with "architecturally masterful residences on spectacular view lots,"  and a private country club on the grounds.  The three photos in the ad show, respectively:  a stone mansion, a family standing around a poolside dinner table, and a man looking proudly at his son as the two of them meander across a golf course.  

The ad text contains all the code words for "exclusive community."  The small print at the bottom lists all the legal mumbo-jumbo, including the following (taken here from their website, which shall not be linked, to protect the innocent):  

And what skin color do all the models have?  I'll give you one guess.  

Now jump to an article in last Sunday's Los Angeles Times (worth reading, to gain an understanding of the context).

After he bought his first home, state Assemblyman Hector De La Torre uncovered a dark chapter in its history: A covenant attached to the original deed declared that the house, like all the others in his South Gate neighborhood, could be occupied by white people only. Minorities could stay there -- but only as servants.

It is a discovery that has startled any number of California homeowners. Many of the state's vast subdivisions, particularly in Los Angeles County, were once governed by restrictive racial covenants designed to enforce segregation. Those covenants have been illegal for more than half a century, but their offensive rules remain part of some deeds. Most home buyers encounter the issue when they are asked to sign a disclosure as part of the escrow process, pledging to ignore any racist language.

Turns out that a 1948 law declared these covenants legally unenforceable;  however, Mr. De La Torre wishes to improve on the situation:

This year, he proposed a law that would require racially restrictive covenants -- it is estimated that there are hundreds of thousands statewide -- to be stricken from the public record at the time of the next sale.

The covenants were created in the 1920's, 30's and 40's, primarily to keep Blacks (as well as "Jews, Italians, Russians, Muslims, Latinos and Asians") out of housing developments.  According to one L.A. city councilman, the unequal distribution of resources from back then, is still felt today.  (And yes, there are people protesting the law, on historical and bureaucratic grounds).

Dismaying, and yet I cannot take the moral high ground.  Why not?  Because for one, I live in a place that has a covenant of its own.  In order to purchase our house, we had to be approved by a committee of moshav members and residents. We had to show that we were Shomrei Shabbat, and that we were "stable" people (hmmm....).

Now, I'm all for stability, mental and otherwise, and after having had it each way, I would definitely choose to live in a community that observes Shabbat, since Shabbat really does require a minimum level of community observance and togetherness to be fully felt.

As for the ethnicity issue, that one's a doozy.  The founders of our moshav are of North African descent, and we in the neighborhood will forever be the "Ashkenazim," with all its colorful implications.  (Now there's multiculturalism). It's not at all clear how many people on our moshav, from either cultural background, would be willing to relinquish racially-based housing covenants, were we to have them. 

Israel is made up of many types of communities.  There are cities, such as Yaffo (Jaffa) and Haifa, as well as smaller communities in the Galil, where people different cultures live together with a certain level of ease not found in, say, Jerusalem and its surroundings.  There are stories of Muslim families who have fought legal battles to live in Jewish-owned neighborhoods and apartment buildings in Tel Aviv and its environs, and stories of Jewish families staking out claims in Muslim neighborhoods.

If these examples are too intense for you, let's get back to something most of us can agree on, like all the Ethiopians we air-lifted on rescue missions, only to confine them to dead-end "development" towns like Dimona and Ofakim.  And what about "guest" workers?  They're not even on the map.  We invite them in to do our dirty work, only to chase them down and throw them out.

Bottom line:  these covenants --  both written and unwritten -- certainly exist today, within Israel and without, at all levels of society.  I think all of us can do better.

Keep the balance,

ALN

Culture Shock

The kids and I are barely over jet-lag (Israel to California = 10 time zones), but now I think we're still in culture-lag.  

It doesn't necessarily help having grown up in a place.  Places change, and so do people.  My high school campus (complete with full-size theater football field, Olympic-size pool, science complex) is on par with some Israel college campuses.  Everything is big.  Huge.  I was in an "upscale" supermarket on Thursday (they have a kosher fish section of their regular butcher department).  I don't remember the aisles being so wide, and so long.  One aisle was entirely shelved with crackers on one side, cookies on the other.  This was certainly an anomaly to me, with all the hysteria over carb consumption.  Everything is low-fat, except the people.  

What surprised me the most?  All the plastic bags.  In Israel people have really started acclimatizing (pun intended -- forgive me) to bringing those semi-permanent, reusable shopping bags when they visit the supermarket.  Here in California they just haven't gotten there, though the bags are readily available.  

Stepping outside the house around five in the afternoon, onto the perfectly manicured public grounds surrounding the neighborhood, we find a gathering of dogs and their owners, representatives of both species perfectly groomed (the canines, perhaps, more so than their owners).  One owner informs me that his dog is receiving chemo and radiation for osteosarcoma.  Really.  I've heard so much about Americans without medical insurance, I cannot figure out how to classify the concept of a dog on chemo.  And I'm an animal lover, really.

(Speaking of worries over other questionable division of resources in America, apparently I'm not alone.  See Ima Shalom's recent post for this note:

I got upset on the 4th of July when I thought about how much money was being spent on this ostentatious display of fireworks when it could go to feed starving children in Africa.

Ima Shalom, I don't know about the Africa part, but starving American children, definitely).

Even the toilet seat is lower... I keep falling down onto it.  And I keep banging my head into the glass shower door because I don't see a shower curtain and assume it's open.

This past Shabbat fell into a category of its own.  My brother and his wife were also in from out of state, and a flurry of friends and relatives (some Jewish, some not, none Shomrei Shabbat) were streaming through the house throughout the day.

As the last of them drove away Shabbat afternoon, my eldest (nine-years old) turned to me and said, Mommy, it doesn't feel like Shabbat.  Everyone is driving and taking pictures and doing everything else!  It's hard.

I felt the same way.  I told her that this was how I grew up, surrounded by people who do not keep Shabbat, cars going by, everyone going about their weekend.  I told her I had to walk a long way to my synagogue to be with other Jews who were keeping Shabbat together, since it really does take a community.  (That idea in itself got me thinking a lot about Shabbat and community... more later).

Her response floored me:  But Mommy, what made you choose to be like that?  Why did you choose to be different?

Whoa, what a question.

I told her I couldn't answer that one on such short notice, though I did have lots of good reasons, and I know what they are.  Since those days, some of them have probably changed.  As That Guy I Married pointed out (not completely accurately, but I know what he means), we don't always get back to the kids with thorough answers to such monumental questions.   Meanwhile, almost a week has gone by and my daughter's still waiting to hear from me.  I'd better get working on my answer.

Keep the balance,

ALN

_____

Addendum:  I have gotten some family feedback that I am generalizing in this post, that not all of America is like this.  I am just reporting on what I see... there is much that I don't see, and I leave that to others, for the time being.

Life in the Village II: The Rocky Rose Garden

Life around here often takes place in the garden... but it's not always a rose garden.  

It certainly can be.  Last week our neighbor N., who runs after-school art classes for the neighborhood kids, hosted a lovely open studio evening, featuring artwork from all her young pupils from the past year.  (She built her studio is built out of a renovated tin shed - complete with A/C - off the side of her garden, which is open to a lovely view of the surrounding hills).

The gathering was informal, with drinks, pretzels and fruit laid out under the olive tree, crafts and sculptures arranged on the ping-pong table, and drawings hung all around.  Parents strolled around admiring the work, and kids drew and colored in the studio.  N.'s calm presence filled the garden, as she repositioned the artwork and offered compliments to the artists' parents.  Neighbors who hadn't seen each other in a few days (amazing how often that happens) sat chatting in the grass.

What has always given me pause for thought is that beyond a few specific cases, most people here agrees to disagree, and leave it at that.  It's a "I won't trample your boundaries if you don't trample mine" sort of set-up.  

Of course, not all is rosy in our village.   Over-all, there are feelings of closeness and community.  Yet there are always those stuck in some form of social exile, whether external or self-imposed.  Over time, disagreements crop up.  People can feel mistreated, resentful, and angry, and get stuck with a grudge for eons.  Others find themselves in the position of go-between. Still others stay completely out of the loop.

The most common form of dilemma usually involves kids.  What do you do when your neighbors' kids are bullying on one of yours?   How do you feel when your son's best friend likes to watch violent movies you'd rather not expose him to?  What's your reaction when your friends' daughter when she purposely pours water all over your newly cleaned rabbit cage, just to see your reaction?  (Yes, that one actually happened).

Beyond that, the most common areas of agree-to-disagreement:  junk piling up in the driveway, neighborhood dues collections, and whether certain kinds of [women's] outfits are suitable for beit knesset.    Other issues involve the personal, or maybe, personality.   Still others are, well... I don't want to know.  In a small community, you learn that when in doubt, keeping your mouth shut might be the best option.

Like all others, our community has had its share of sorrows.  Also of celebrations.  And all of them have felt like community sorrows, and community celebrations.   Since regardless of everything, if you really need something, you know that these people will always be there for you, as you've been - and will be - for them.  

Maybe some of the strongest ties are not necessarily based on agreeing, but rather, on agreeing to disagree.  I imagine we're not the only ones...

Keep the balance,

ALN

Life in the Village

I live in a small community.  Thirty families small.  

It took me awhile - several years, actually - to understand the ramifications of this.  I knew I was getting somewhere when my good friend from work, Y., started describing life in her small town, (where her family has lived for something like five generations), and I could understand what she was talking about.  

However, I wasn't able to really get a perspective until a friend of mine passed me an old (Winter 2004) copy of Brain, Child, the self-designated "magazine for thinking mothers."   (The website has announced that they are in the process of archiving all back issues, so keep a look out).  

In that issue's feature article, entitled "Village People," Emily Wortman-Wunder describes a co-housing community in Colorado, where children grow up running in and out of each others' homes, and neighbors work together to maintain the common areas.

Emily differentiates between a commune, which emphasizes joint ownership of property (and sometimes partners), and co-housing, which is a kind of planned community whose goals include sharing resources such as transportation, recycling, and childcare.  She suggests the in today's hectic times, more families - even those not embracing a co-housing model per se - are looking toward community and togetherness as a counterbalance to the general trends of "families spending less and less time together, and civic and community life deteriorating rapidly."

When Emily visits the River Rock Co-housing community in Colorado, she joins a five-year-old's birthday party and is especially impressed by the mature, generous and relaxed attitudes of the community's children.  She also describes some downfalls of the system, such as the failure of a community babysitting arrangement due to a "clash in parenting styles," or the disapproval of one father toward a set of absent parents who have left their child at the party, screaming and without supervision.

After reading this article, I was finally able to put a label to our style of living here.  Kids run freely in and out of one another's homes (most afternoons, I don't even bother closing the door, I get so sick of it slamming every five minutes as each of my own kids, and each of their three friends, march from house to garden and back).  Nightly sleepovers are a regular event during the summer months.  "Play dates?!?!"  Unheard of.  More likely, a kid will just show up at your house around dinner time, and you'll feed him along with the rest.

As for jointly-owned property, my neighbor L-C and I share a running joke, that each of us has a two-car family... it's just that one of the two cars is theirs.   The transportation arrangements come just short of joint ownership:  I pick up her son at daycare, she gets my girls from the after-school program.  Her husband takes the train back from work and then he and That Guy I Married share a taxi home.   When they are late coming back, she and I discuss various dinner options while our kids play in one house's garden or another.

It's not exactly co-housing, but I certainly understand what Hillary Clinton meant when she said, "It takes a village."  (Missed the reference?  Check out Wikipedia for a quick reminder).

Long live the village.

Keep the balance,

ALN