Closer to perfect

For me, the most difficult thing about making this move to Israel is leaving the people I love behind. At first it was a huge void for me, a mourning of sorts. Slowly, the void turned into a little ache that I could wrap up neatly and tuck away. Every now and then (as in true mourning I now know) the ache rises to the surface.

It could be when I see someone on the street that bears a striking resemblance to someone I miss.

It could be a wedding I missed.

It could be followed by a visit which invariably comes to an end.

Sometimes when someone from America asks me how my Aliya is going, I answer, "if you were here, it would be perfect."

You know the challenges we've had here: the cultural and linguistic difficulties, the lice, watching my kids struggle, financial issues, the heat (Oh G-d, the heat). And yet, the feeling of accomplishing something I dreamed of for so long makes me unbelievably proud. If I accomplish nothing else in my life, I will always have this.

Still, I miss my people. If they would all come here, life for me, would be as perfect as it could possibly be. Sure I joke about missing Target and good pedicures. And I would miss the places, but if the people were here, I think I'd miss them alot less.

Tomorrow, I get just a bit closer to perfect. I've known Carol and Stuart for over 25 years. You know the kind of friends they are, because I know you all have friends like this--the ones that drop everything for you before you even know you needed them to do it.

A story about Carol and me: We were both thrilled when we learned we were due with what turned out to be our youngest kids at the same time. Throughout the pregnancy we made plans as to what we were going to do when we started out maternity leave, before the babies actually arrived. We decided we would go see the first showing of Harrison Ford's new flick Air Force One. We must have also planned lunch, although I don't specifically remember that. Of course, on the first day of our leave I went into labor. I called Carol from the labor room to let her know. As soon as she picked up the phone, she suspiciously asked, "Are those beeping sounds [from one monitor or another] what I think they are? I will be very annoyed if you're canceling our date!"

Tomorrow, Stuart and Carol and their kids, Adina, Ilan, Gilad and Dafna (born three days after Orli) will step off that plane into the blazing Israeli sun. Like us, they've dreamed and talked about this day for years. Like us, they face many challenges as they settle into their lives. They will probably be dazed and exhausted. They will have days when they will have serious doubts about their decision. But like us, they have a clear vision of what they are doing and why. Tomorrow, the Katzes will have made it to the Holy Land.

And my life will be one step closer to perfect.

Today was a great day

Why?

Just 'cuz. (I'm about to make a short story long, so if you're really, really busy you may want to click away. Better yet turn off your computer or you'll never get anything done. Trust me, I know. But I digress.)

Anyhoo, I made my way to Mega today, to do my Big Weekly Supermarket Shopping. This was unusual for two reasons:

1. I normally do my Big Weekly Supermarket Shopping on Wednesdays, but this week did it on Tuesday because I want to take the kids to the beach tomorrow.

2. I normally do my Big Weekly Supermarket Shopping at Supersol, not Mega. But Mega is having their "bulim" (stamps) thingie. Where, if you collect enough stamps you get to buy something for a really good price. Tali asked me to shop there until I collect 60 bulim so she could buy a fairly decent digital camera for 249 shekel. That means I have to spend 6,000 shekel on groceries in about a month. Not likely, but a girl can hope. (If anyone out there has spare bulim, I'll take 'em).

But now I'm really digressing.

At the supermarket, I see a young guy (under 30?) talking to his wife on his cell phone (how did men ever manage the supermarket before cell phones?). "....Listen, honey", he was saying "I got regular carrots, they don't have baby carrots here..." He's new, I thought to myself.

As luck and an empty supermarket would have it, I was behind him in line. He seemed a little--inexperienced, shall we say?--at the cashier.

"Are you new here?", I asked him.

"Yes." He answered.

"Welcome!", I beamed at him. "When did you get here?"

"Today", he said. "We just arrived on the Nefesh B'Nefesh flight this morning."

I swear to G-d, tears welled up in my eyes. They are welling up now, as I type.

I told him that we came almost two years ago.

"Why did you choose Modiin?", he asked.

"Because of its central location and we had a couple of friends here and we wanted to move to a place where the prices of homes would skyrocket as soon as we got here and we would totally miss the boat on buying something. But we're very happy here."

"It's an adjustment, isn't it?"

I thought about my own Nefesh B'Nefesh flight, about the highs, the tears, the kids.

"It is an adjustment. But it's good."

"No baby carrots here in Israel."

I smiled, and agreed. "True. No baby carrots." (Hah! Wait 'til you try to push the shopping cart.)

Welcome to Israel, my friend. May the lack of baby carrots be the most difficult adjustment of your Aliyah.

And welcome to the other 229 olim (new immigrants) who joined him on this summer's first charter flight from the United States. I wish for you all an easy and successful Aliyah.

I better go now; I'm getting all choked up again.

(Now do you see why today was a great day?)

on the art of packing

So we are in the throes of packing up our house, as we are moving to Israel in less than six weeks. It is all quite an experience, but the packing itself has brought much to mind. First of all, if I had the energy, I think I would "pack" up the house once a year (I know some of you might call that cleaning for Pesach, but the goal of my Pesach cleaning was always to make sure there is no chametz, not to PURGE the house, which is what packing is--but I digress). It is very cathartic to get rid of all this STUFF, much of it really and truly junk. I'm talking 15 industrial-sized garbage bags of junk, and we're not even halfway through. And then there is the stuff that goes into the sell pile, because it's still somewhat good, usable, and well, one person's trash is another persons treasure, no? But all that STUFF! I stopped counting bentchers at 150--there were probably 300 altogether. Perfectly good bentchers from 25 years worth of weddings, bar/bat mitzvahs, sheva brachot, shul dinners. I hate to be a party pooper, but maybe its time we all just stopped printing them. Why not have generic ones that are used in every catering hall? I mean, really I order my kids not to bring them home from the bat mitzvahs they attend! Nobody wants our bentchers--the rabbi told us to put it with the "shemot"! So I packed about 50 (25 extra from L's bat mitvah) and the rest are gone. I felt bad. Some of my friends have been married 25 years, and I gave away their bentchers....



The other thing is the pictures. Until I recently got my digital camera, Sarge on central avenue would always convince me that I need to get an extra set developed, because it was free. Thank G-d I always put the original photos in albums, but yesterday I was left with about 5000 pictures of doubles. I've always been a bit queasy about throwing out pictures. I mean these are people and memories that I cherish.....but still there were boxes and boxes of the stuff--I just couldn't see dragging them to Israel--to put where? and for what purpose? Isaac decided that he felt better shredding the pictures, rather than just dumping them in the trash. (He just loves that shredder.) He sat at the shredder for hours and ended up with a huge post Tisha B'av migraine. Once I decided the pictures were going, I didn't feel that we needed to actually destroy them--I was fine leaving that to the garbage disposal people. But you pick your battles, and if shredding makes him happy so be it.


But back to the packing. The other day, my friend R came with her husband to pick up a buffet she wanted. She was happy to get the buffet and I was happy to give it to her. Really, truly. But I feel so.....sad watching them shlep that piece of furniture out of my house--like my house is coming apart. We've lived here for 12 years. So much has been experienced here. Mostly joy, but certainly we've had challenges. So many friendships have developed over my dining room table, while on the phone doing housework, sitting out front on the stoop. I remember when we moved from Brooklyn I was so excited about buying the house, but on the day of the move I cried and cried. And I was lonely when I first got here. I missed Brooklyn. And I will miss Cedarhurst. But I never wanted to go back to Brooklyn....When I pack I can't avoid thinking, "I'm leaving". I don't intend to come back. And it's just so....bittersweet.