Super Size it for a Shekel Ninety?

 Right now I'm sitting in the restaurant that I work in and my stomach has started grumbling.  This morning when I got up' I had a typical Israeli breakfast: some cheese and a nice salad.  That's what you see under "Israeli Breakfast" on a menu in a coffee shop.

Maybe that's why fast food places don't long here.  KFC never made it very long, along with Dunkin' Donuts.  There is not a McDonald's or Burger King around every corner.  Even the Israeli fast food hamburger joint is going bankrupt!

This country was built on good old, mother in the kitchen, home made food.  Almost every child here was raised on home cooked meals, if not everyday, then at least every Friday (Shabbat). 

It has to be something in the air.  I have known my Mother for at least 26 years, and for the first 12 of those years, I was sure she couldn't cook.  My Dad was the one that made dinner every night- Ala' Warady.  Once we moved here though, we found out that my Mom can cook- she's even really good at it!  Everything that I make for my friends, I learned from her.  Not only can she cook, but apparently she can also bake!

It's not that we don't have fatty, fried, not very healthy fast food.  We do, it just comes in a pita.  Falafel (a round vegetable mix ball) is deep fried and then served with French fries, hummus and salad all stuffed in a pita.  We also have wonderful fatty lamb meat, served like the Falafel.

Maybe it's just that Israelis like their meat looking like it came from a cow (instead of a round shaped machine.).

Did I mention that I was hungry?? 

Happy Birthday MOM!!

As a tradition that I started July 28^th (my dad's birthday), this blog is all about the girl who brought me into this world!  It was her birthday yesterday, and no one deserves a blog dedicated to them on their birthdays' more than my parents (because without them…..there would be no me!).

As I mentioned on my Dad's birthday, I have a wonderful relationship with my parents.  Since growing out of the terrible teens, they have become my best friends.  I am my mother's daughter.  Physically, I look exactly like her.  When I was little, my dad showed me a picture in black and white and I thought for sure that the picture was of me when actually it was of my mom when she was little. 

I am my Mother's daughter in every other way.

We cry at everything.  We are the kind of girls that can cry at tv commercial.  We cry when we are happy, we cry when we are sad, we cry when we are angry or tired.  We cry a lot.  We cry when somebody dies in a movie, when somebody gets married, we cry when somebody makes an emotional acceptance speech. We cry when there is an emotional story on American Idol.  It is always comforting to hand my Mom the box of tissues without even looking over to see if she needs them.

I can thank my Mother also for my memory, or lack there of.  I realized I was my mother's daughter when I had to leave for work and could not find my keys.  I looked everywhere-twice.  I decided that I had to leave the house unlocked.  I opened my door and found my keys, in the lock on the outside of the door.  This has happened more than once.  I've also found things in the fridge or freezer that did not need to be there.

I can also thank my Mom for my sense of responsibility, my discipline, my loyalty to my friends and family, my culinary skills (every dish I know how to make well, I know because I learned from her), my confidence and my self esteem.

I am my Mother's daughter…thank god.

Love you MOM!

Month of Many Holidays

The Hebrew month of Tishrei is almost over (thank god).  I think the translation of "Tishrei" is "A month that everyday is a holiday".  Children here don't stress out about the first day of school because they know that they will only have to suffer about 2 hours before they are on vacation again!

The month of many holidays starts off with a good one, Rosh Hashanna.  Rosh Hashanna is the Jewish New Year.  Instead of staying up late with lights and music, we go to bed early after eating a feast.

The next one is a little less fun, Yom Kippur, ten days later.  The Day of Atonement.  That's the one where we fast and think about what we did.  This one is the toughest of all.  It's not so much the fasting, I can do that, but why do you have to bring little children with baggies of food to temple to taunt me?  That doesn't seem very fair.  Luckily for all when the sun goes down, we get to eat- a lot.

And then comes the holiday that I didn't know existed when I lived in the States.  If I knew, I would've insisted on a week off.  Sukkot- which apparently is the time where the Jews made a pilgrimage to the Temple of Jerusalem.   This is the time of year when Israelis get out there tools and start building a Sukka (as in the fragile homes of our founding fathers.  Not "sukka" as in slang for "sucker").  A sukka is decorated with children's drawings and Christmas lights (yep, that's right, Christmas lights) and most people eat their meals there.  This goes on for about a week until Simchat Torah (that's when we finish reading the Torah and start all over again).  Israelis are normally pretty good about taking down their Sukkas right after the holiday is over. 

So let's count them up: we have 2 days for Rosh Hashana, 2 days for Yom Kippur, and 8 days for Sukkot and Simchat Torah = about 2 weeks off of school in the month of September (not including weekends of course).

Not only am I glad that this month is almost over and the kids (and their parents) will be going back to where they came from, but I can also get back to the gym and start eating right again (did I mention that Jewish holidays involve feasting?).

Happy Holidays!

English Muffins and Ginger Ale

I was planning that this blog would be about Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement.  I was going to talk about the tradition, how I've evolved from a kid running around the halls of the temple to a fasting adult.  I'd talk about the spirituality of the day and maybe even rant a little about bringing little kids with baggies of food to the temple.  But then, something terrible happened..

I got sick.

My boyfriend came back home a little sick.  He had a stuffed up nose and a soar throat.  Not a big deal for someone who isn't me. I don't get just a little sick- I get fever sick almost every time.  

It started Wednesday, a little soar throat, nothing to worry about.  Then Thursday came around, I wasn't feeling that great, but I could still function.  I went to work and realized that I wasn't talking that much.  I just kind of wanted to cuddle up in a ball and be left alone.  One of the managers at work helped me out (though apparently made it seem like I was dying), and I was able to go home.  Then it hit me.  I had fever pains all over, and decided to curl up into a ball on the couch and wait for someone to rescue me.

When I woke up Friday morning (Eve of Yom Kippur) and decided (I think pretty rationally) that it was better to just die, I realized that I probably wasn't going to be able to fast. I know to most of you that may sound like a blessing, but did I mention I'd rather die?  And I really do like the spirituality of fasting (maybe I will still write about it..).  I had planned a big meal with friends who stayed up north for Yom Kippur (though, most of them didn't fast).  I gathered all the strength that I had left and I cooked chicken for the feast.  I was able to be there for half an hour before I needed to curl up into a ball again. 

I went home and my boyfriend took care of me.  He made me tea, checked my temperature, made me drink water and cooked me some soup (he even made me eat a couple pieces of bread, even though I didn't want to).  We watched movies and he even let me put my legs on him, even though he was hot.  I went to bed and he checked in on me and gave me water and aspirin.  He was pretty good at taking care of me.

And still, I found myself just wanting to go home.  To my parents house, where they were and they could take care of me.  I found myself fantasizing about English Muffins with some butter and Ginger Ale (the secret to getting better).

 Some things never change, I'm 26 years old and all I wanted yesterday (besides being put out of my misery and just dying already) is to go home to my Mommy and Daddy. 

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!

So another year has passed.  And once again the holidays are here.  Once again you can hear the statement "I'll take care of it after the holidays." Or "talk to me again, after the holidays."

I don't know if you know this but Rosh Hashana is actually like 4 days long.  It was never this long in the States.  At least, I don't remember it being that long.  I remember getting up early on Rosh Hashana day, and going to services.  We'd have to get dressed up, in a dress!  I hated dresses, so wearing one was not fun.  Then my sister and I would be shipped off to kiddy services.  I know these things are meant to keep kids out of the way, but kids hate kiddy services.  Kids hate kiddy tables. Kids hate being called kids.  But I dealt with it, probably not gracefully, but still..

The best part of the holiday is after services.  We all get together and have a really big lunch.  The food is great, but the family is amazing.

It’s noisy all the time.  Everybody is talking at once and kids are running around trying to find entertainment.  There is always at least one person laughing.  It's wonderful.  I loved it and I love my family.

Then we moved to Israel.  We kept the tradition of Morning Services and a big lunch afterwards.  I got used to wearing dresses, and even like it sometimes.  I get up early with my own alarm clock and don't put up much of a fight.  I get to sit next to my Dad in grownup services.  We laugh and pray and it's a pretty good time.  Then we walk home and eat till we can't breathe. 

I love living in Israel.  Holidays are a great time for family and tradition.  But every holiday, even Yom Kippur, I miss the noise, talking and laughing.

"Our troubles are all the same"

I love routine.  Change makes me nervous.  I never understood the people who love new things.  I don't get people who complain that they are in a rut.   I LOVE being in a rut.  Ruts are safe.  I'm a friendly person, but I can't grasp the need to meet new people. 

If I was on a TV show, I'd be on Cheers.  I'd be at a bar where everybody knows my name every night.  I'd sit at the bar with the same people and have the same drink.  And I'd have fun.

My Dad and I have the same running jokes for years now.  Tell him your back hurts and he will always answer the same way- "When did you get it?".  The correct response is "Oh..about a week back"(this is when you laugh out loud).  

I have watched repeats of Seinfeld and Friends a lot!

Like I said, rut is great!

So when my parents' said, "We're moving to Israel", it wasn't the happiest day of my life.  I didn't know the people, I didn't know the country, and I didn't know the language.  How was I supposed to survive in this strange place?

Luckily my parents' picked the one country where everybody knows your name.  If they don't know your name, then they know somebody who knows your name.  I found a bar where I walk in and people yell out "SAM"(well, pretty close).  There's a channel that runs reruns of Seinfeld and Friends.  And when all the seasons end, the next episode will be the first episode ever. 

I can live here no problem.  These people love rut too.  If we're not in a rut that means there is a war, and who wants that?  

Christmas in July

Let me first describe what July means in Israel.  I live in the Jordan Valley up north near Tiberias.  It's so hot that if Satan was walking around here, he'd complain he was shvitzing too much.  It's that hot.  If I dare to open the window while the sun is still up, I'd be greeted by a nice hot wind, the kind that makes you think "huh, so this is what a turkey feels like in the oven".  It's that hot.  And when the sun finally goes down, Satan is thankful, finally a temperature he's used to.  It's that hot.

I live in a desert.  I get that.  It gets hot in a desert.  I get that.  July and August are like the high noons of summer.  I get that.   But each year I'm surprised at how hot is.  And every year I'm confused as to why there are so many Christmas movies and shows on TV during July and August.

Any given hour, and any given day there will be at least one Christmas movie or show on TV.  I never knew there were so many people who were Santa's children and had to take over for him and save Christmas.  Who knew that turning into Santa or any other Christmas character was such a popular occurrence.  I think it might be different if they were to show "It's a Wonderful Life" or "Miracle on 34^th Street".  But, the movies that they show here in Israel just aren't good.

It's not that Israel doesn't get seasonal movies.  "The Ten Commandments" is shown every year on Passover.

 I don't think Israel gets Christmas.  Snow confuses Israel.  The one day a year it does snow in Jerusalem, the whole city is closed down.  I'm not talking about 10 feet of snow, no; I'm talking about maybe an inch.  Israel sees those white cold flakes and freaks.  

Or maybe they know something that the Christian world doesn’t.  Maybe Christmas is actually in July.  Maybe it's the world that is confused.

Or, maybe Israel just likes to torture us simple citizens with snow and below zero weather, while we are sweating in front of the tv.

I guess I'll never know and just have to chalk it up to one of the many mysteries that is the Holy Land!