brr...!

Holy frigid winds in the Middle East! What is this craziness that is snow in Israel, Egypt, Jordan, Lebanon--even northern parts of Saudi Arabia? Apparently, what the Israeli prime minister calls "the storm of the century" responsible for this chaos is named Alexa. I wonder if anybody will take that for their new baby's namesake. Once again, my family has the dubious honor of experiencing a record-breaking winter in the ME, complete with the second consecutive year of our heating system not working. Petra is now sneezing and coughing and fighting with me about wiping her snot. When I went to comfort Declan as he cried in his bed last night, I touched his hands and it felt like ice. Today I dredged up the thickest child-sized comforter I could find in our furnished apartment and readied it for Declan's bedtime.

Concerns, prayers, and research into clothes donations for the Syrian refugees living out of tents all along the Syrian border. Twenty thousand homes in Israel have been without power, many for three days and still counting. Magen David Adom medics and volunteers have been working for literally days without relief replacements because no one else could get through. People are sharing food, baking and cooking for others in greater need. The Israeli Army has sent in armored tanks into Jerusalem; the last time that's happened was in 1967 during a war. Neighborhoods are conserving power through a concerted door-to-door effort through the sacrifice of people without babies to go without power so that families with infants could warm one room in their house and prevent more children from collapsing from hypothermia.

When I was in Germany, fighting with the kids to put on the layered clothing system with our puny Israeli-weather gears every single time we need to venture outdoors, I'd thought, "Can't wait to return to Israel and warmer weather!" The rain, wind, ice, COLD that hit us in the face when we staggered out of Ben Gurion Airport at 2:30am was a real shocker.

May God protect all those who are still in the thick of it. Even in the midst of all this, the war in Syria continues, Hamas just fired a couple of rockets from Gaza into Israel, shots resulting in one death were exchanged along the Lebanon-Israel border... In the midst of all the Christmas messages from my Christian friends, I really wonder: When will there truly be peace and goodwill towards men?

In Bielefeld, Germany, a few days before the University closed campus down due to a storm with winds up to 100km/hr. Still felt warmer than currently in Israel though, given the near-perfect insulation of German buildings and the complete lack of in buildings here.

crib notes #1

I have decided that, yes, I will start learning Italian in earnest. Italy is a worthy country in which to vacation, and would hopefully be the country of choice specifically for our family's vacationing purposes. I would still not want to live there as an ordinary resident. People there are too relaxed for me.

First time in Germany. It's like a future utopia/dreamland. I met some students studying from China at the Universtat Bielefeld, where I am right now. It must be like dying and going to heaven, living standard-wise. It's so difficult for me to wrap my mind around the fact that this beautiful country with such an impressive culture of environmental-loving, strong work ethics, excellence and efficiency in seemingly everything they do and have could have such a dark history in the not-so-distant past.

Also, Chomsky is wrong to say that anti-Semitism as we understood it no longer exists. Maybe not in the US, but several incidents during my current travels in Europe due simply to my connection to Israel have made me painfully aware of this.

Too busy taking care of the children every day to write more for now. Hopefully I'll be able to reflect more in writing later.

third b-day

I feel like I kind of failed today at celebrating Declan's third birthday. It's certainly a lot more low-key than his first birthday, which was a huge party in China with trivia games and the Chinese traditional task to determine Declan's aptitude. I made a slideshow with music and everything. Then, on his second birthday, I cooked for three hours to host a dinner party in the midst of rockets firing back and forth between Gaza and Israel. Our friends checked on the latest siren status in Tel Aviv while waiting for another friend who's scheduled to arrive by train from there, and the neighbors dropped by mid-dinner to give us our key to the bomb shelter.

Declan's third birthday consisted of his usual going into the Technion with Daniel. Being expats, we're a little out of the loop on the usual gan birthday traditions that I kind of enacted with Declan's Hebrew mommy-and-me group last year. Father and son came home an hour earlier than usual in order to catch an hour or so of playing with our friend Helen's four kids at their apartment. Then Declan chose a really crappy-tasting cake from a convenience store on the way home, and we shared it with our neighbors who also have a boy around Declan's age. I don't think anyone took pictures.

I did, earlier in the day, go to Merkaz Horev and bought a bunch of things that Declan might be interested in. I was on the fence about them being birthday presents or part of a travel kit for our flight to Europe, then purely out of feeling tired and angry about something and not through a logical process, decided that it's a travel kit. I've never been a very craft-y person, and so rarely got Declan anything much to play and make believe with outside of open-ended containers. Now that he's officially three years old, maybe I'll try harder to provide opportunities for making art. The travel kit could be a good start.

And Declan wasn't completely sans birthday present. Instead of an English-tiled Bananagrams I finally found, which would have cost 109 shekels i.e. three times the price Amazon charges, I got Declan and Joshua (Helen's youngest son, who'll be turning three also but next week) each a riding stick with horse head. They had fun galloping around indoors and then fighting over the dark-colored horse versus the caramel-colored one at parting time.

So, pretty uneventful third birthday for Declan. Lazy ima.

Right after I took this picture, Declan yelled, "No!" and ran away

this weekend was a good one

Hanging out with Mark, who caught the train up from Tel Aviv, and Daniel bringing home some shepherd's pie he'd ordered from The Duke as part of dinner with Mark while I stayed home to watch over the sleeping baby...

Debating past midnight regarding social issues, like in university and grad school...

Efficiently completing the usual Friday run to the organic shuk, supermarket, and pharmacy (plus the post office this time), even though it did make us 50 minutes late for the free live concert by the Oy Division down at the Turkish Market. By the time we got there, the band was just wrapping up their last song. But I ended up supporting a local artisan and got two headbands for myself and a birthday gift for Sarah...

Discovering that coffee tastes fantastic with the addition of sweetened condensed milk...

Agreeing to Daniel's suggestion of driving the car to Kehilat HaCarmel and actually having a really satisfying visit to the Messianic congregation. I think it's because I went in the spirit of just wondering if God will be there and not expecting much of anybody including myself. The baby fell asleep towards the tail end of the song worship portion, so I got to listen to the interesting sermon without any distractions. Declan had fun playing with Anna's kids and I got to catch up a little bit with her as well. Daniel and I also discovered the craftsmanship of Kerem Creations, which is a really neat endeavor...

Making a quick lunch out of pasta dressed with an improvised sauce composed of avocado, garlic, dill, cilantro, green onion, tuna, and olive oil in the food processor, with lemon, sesame oil, salt, and pepper to taste...

Taking a nice late afternoon walk down Moriyah Street with Declan in the Ergo and Petra in the Beco...

Seeing a (live!) sheep overlooking traffic from a third floor mirpeset / a W.C. sign with the stick figure person barfing into an abstract toilet / a Chinaman statue made of china and a 1700s-style clock in the window display of an antique shop / a real ticket to a June 1942 concert of the Palestine Orchestra in Haifa as part of the table decor at Cafe Brussels / Recognizing the Hebrew for Cafe Brussels, which was hosting a secondhand clothing sale...

Paying five shekels for a perfect summer skirt and twelve shekels for a one-shoulder clingy black dressy shirt, plus being gifted with a free random sheet of Chinese character tattoos...

Playing in the dusk and eventual darkness at the small play area on the route halfway home, with Petra cackling every time she saw her brother and Declan yelling happily, "Again!" after he held Petra in his lap and Daniel helped them both slide safely down from the one play set...

Reading several stories with Declan after making a vegetable curry eaten over coconut rice for dinner...

And now I'm staying up way too late and it looks to be a busy week starting tomorrow until we leave for Italy next weekend, so I best be heading to bed. Daniel thinks my major illness this past week might be polio (since Israel stepped up an OPV campaign after detecting the virus in the water supply this past summer). If so, I better get more sleep.

and now...

Back in Israel.

A part of me is already missing Taiwan, another part of me is very happy to be back. Life in Israel now is my family's "real life" -- although one never really gets a break as a parent of very young children, Taiwan still had a vacation-esque feel to it the whole time I was there because of the convenience and family support. I never cooked a single meal in the entire two months we were there. I washed utensils, like, four times.

We are in our new apartment, which is now the archetype of my Perfect Family Apartment. It's the perfect size, the perfect layout, the perfect view... I need to organize and unpack everything still, but once I can, I'll include some pictures here for posterity.

Now, to unpack. Petra's been sick for quite a while now, and so as long as she's awake, I get very little done aside from holding her so she wouldn't wail and/or scream angrily at my neglectful agenda of, say, feeding myself, among other things. She just took two fussy hours to go down for a nap that she sorely needs, and I must seize this momentary freedom.

state of my soul (if i have one)

So these couple of days have been pretty tumultuous for me, psychological/mentally. I guess that's what happens when one struggles with the metaphysics of reality. At a bit of a logical impasse, thinking so much and hard that my reasoning was undergoing that phenomenon of when one stares at a word for too long that the word disintegrates into weird squiggles, I posed a query on FB. It does more good for me to sift through the reasoning of others when I know how consistently it fits with how they really live their lives.

Here are a few new thoughts that've surfaced which I don't want to forget:

1. I used to nod in agreement at the account of Peter replying Jesus after the latter asked if Peter was going to turn away from him too, as the first large batch of hangers-on took off upon Jesus' first difficult-to-swallow preaching (according to the New Testament). Peter replied, "Where else are we to go?" Basically saying there is nothing else worth living for or gives hope in life other than Jesus (or religion, for people who I feel are more ensconced in church culture than actual worship of Jesus as their messiah). Actually, once I'm willing to risk being egregiously and nauseatingly rude to a Creator that I doubt exists, I can think of a lot of things outside of religion that make life worth living. Things like the joy of self-awareness, of knowing one is alive which no other animal seems to be able to appreciate. Things like art, music, and the ability to be amazed by different cultures and caring for other people. If the truth is that we are all just super-evolved animals who have achieved abstract thought as the advantage we have over all other species right now, and after we die, there truly is nothing but decay and from dust to dust -- I am really quite all right with that. Better a short life lived in clarity and truth and acceptance--perhaps deeper cherished appreciation due to its fleeting nature--of such mortality than a...still short life lived with the illusion/false promise of something more--at best, and worse, choices made based on that imagination which called for unnecessary sacrifices.

The question, of course, remains: which is real?

2. I used to discount emotions and personal experiences as potential evidence for the existence (or lack thereof) of a good God. I want to follow God because he actually exists, not because it "makes me feel better"... and yet, I'm starting to see how any claims to historical record seem complete contestable. If the Israeli-Palestinian conflict has taught me nothing else, it has shown me how vehemently people argue over history that happened a mere 60 or 70 years ago (if not closer to present-day) with wildly different accounts. How could anyone then say that things that had happened 2000 years ago were somehow more accurately relayed? This is not to say that history is unimportant--it absolutely is our best hope at arriving at objective truth. But even the accounting and remembrance/retelling of history is easily distorted, so after all is said and done, emotions and personal experiences could be just as important, as clues to the truth.

3. There's very little point in bashing/looking down on anybody's basis for faith or interpretations of emotions and personal experiences for why they do or don't believe. A lot of my friends who bothered to reply my FB query mostly provided evidence in the categories of (a) personal life history, (b) fulfillment of prophecies, (c) how nature works, (d) the accuracy of the Bible. The implication of thought #2 is that, for whatever reasons, some of us are more "blessed" with the right data/life circumstance or line of thinking towards the objective truth. In that case, it's more luck than a will of critical thinking or intellectual prowess. Therefore, there might be worth in sharing your personal data/logic but there's very little point in banging people over the head with it since that betrays a belief that somehow the other person just doesn't get the right answer like you have. Because you're so much smarter/purer at heart/more homey with God, right?

4. At the same time, it *is* important to settle this question of whether God exists or not in order to live accordingly because (a) if God doesn't exist, but I keep talking with him, waiting for him to respond, and make life decisions based on what I think he thinks--what a waste of my time and life! and (b) if God does exist, but I go on my merry way day-to-day with no acknowledgment or appreciation of him, it doesn't matter how good I try to live my life, in the end I remain an ungrateful beast who thinks less of my maker than dirt. So there's that...

5. At this point in my wrestling, I am of the mind that God might/most likely exist (because of the wonderful, amazing, beautiful way nature works). In which case, I need to figure out my relationship to him. But something I've noticed in these few days of my not praying during a momentary crisis but bucking down and relying on the resources already at my disposal is a sense of freedom. I was less frustrated because I wasn't praying and waiting for rescue or an answer that's less obvious than to my liking. It was a bit scary to feel like everything's on me and whatever happens depends on what I make of it, but it's empowering too and made me do things (like taking the kids on a long, convoluted trip to the harbor, or sucking out thick mucous from a very unhappy/fighting mad Petra's sinus without flinching) that I normally just prayed hard about and then delegated for Daniel to handle. Daniel pointed out that maybe this shows that, despite my heretical mindset, my current modus operandi is actually a lot closer to the truth of how God (if he exists) wants me to live my life. And I wonder if more Christians would be less apathetic/complacent about the injustices and suffering in the world if they "trust" God a little less. I've also stopped fantasizing about killing myself, because it's very possible that this life is the only existence I've got. Chances are God (if he exists) would not be displeased by this, my new desire to keep living.

Clearly thought #5 needs a lot more reflection and further development. This is just where I am now, right now.

breaking up with the flying spaghetti monster

As of today, if anyone asks me: "Are you a Christian?" My answer would be: "No."

Three people asked me today if I were going to church in the morning. I said no.

I wouldn't consider myself an atheist, nor an agnostic. If we must label things, I guess you could call me a skeptic. I find atheism to be just a flip side of organized religiosity, full of smug certainty over things that are only attainable through totally subjectively determined faith. I find agnosticism too intellectually and morally lazy, like choosing non-movement as a motion.

But to then say, based on my choices, that I'll go with the most optimistic, fun-loving, Pollyanna option just because I'm culturally inclined to do so seems a bit disingenuous too.

If I believe God exists, I would be a Christian out of all the religions. The problem now is: I no longer believe.

I might suspect, from time to time, out of habit. When the baby started wracking up thick phlegmy coughs and cried out in pain in between these fits today, I caught myself starting to pray. Habits, empty habits.

And I'm starting to understand other people's annoyance with religious people's attempts to convert/interest them. In parts manipulative, in parts poorly reasoned. Lots of false dichotomies.

boooooks (for children)

Following some extended research on the Internet, I jotted down a few places around the city that I can take Declan (and Petra) to on the weekdays that will hopefully put more distance between him and the ever-entertaining TV. Today, it was to a small independent bookstore that's really a residential two-storied apartment converted into the first floor being the shop part that supports local artists/illustrators/children's book authors and the second floor being an open space to read and hold storytelling hours.

One of the best parts of having very young children is the renewed (and very relevant) interest I get to foster in children's books, especially the ones with fantastic illustrations. This little store that we went to today had so many great children's books. This is not always the case, as some people seem to think--judging from books I've stumbled across--that any bounded papers with scribbles or simply dumbed-down letters put together equals children's lit. Declan's childhood is too short and I am too elitist to linger over these, even though the international moves up to now have made quality English (and Chinese) books difficult to acquire without spending a fortune.

So today was a real treat, when after the crowded (the storekeeper said today was the most well-attended reading she's ever witnessed in her three years of working there) storytelling hour, the reader left her box of books there for parents and their respective kids to partake. Declan sat on my lap and listened attentively as I read out loud by his ear (it was really loud with all the kids). He only suspended his focus at the end of each storybook to run to the book box, returning the already-read book, and flipping through several more before picking out another book and running back to sit on my lap. Every single book he picked out was a winner--enjoyed by him, fun for me. I was so thankful that Petra could be held by my mom for a time to make that possible. With enough good books (and someone else to hold Petra), I could be content with reading books to Declan all day long.

There was one child who kept coming over to try to sit down by us and listen in on the story. I would have been fine with that; sadly, Declan wasn't. He grabbed the book away from the child and yelled, "No, mine! My book!" the two or three times the boy attempted to join us, shortly before the poor boy's mother yanked him away and hissed for him to stop misbehaving. (I felt so bad about that. I wanted to say something to the mom, but she seemed angry enough as it was. A part of me hoped she wasn't so harsh with her son due to embarrassment at having "troubled" us. Another part of me hoped that's the case so that it wasn't the usual way she treats her son. But then that would mean Declan and I were responsible for the boy being manhandled. Oy.)

I think I'm finally getting the hang of how to expose Declan to more Chinese while keeping his interest with his inherent love of reading. The key is to choose not-so-wordy Chinese children's books--read the words and quickly repeat the story behind the words in English, switching back and forth between the two languages depending on Declan's receptiveness. When he's more rested and willing to stay still, I would push my luck with going all Chinese. As his fidgeting increases, I increase my on-the-spot English translations so that sometimes we end up reading together for 20 minutes with pure English. Oh well, any kind of reading is good anyways. Detailed and beautiful illustrations help to prolong his patience, as I suspect he keeps himself occupied in examining the drawings while humoring his mother's at-times incoherent recitations.

There was this one book called "I really want to eat durian" (my translation) by a local author. I was doing a lot of on-the-spot Chinese-to-English translation while reading through it, and then at the end of the story, I discovered an English version in more compact layout at the back of the book. This version was almost word-for-word how I translated the story as Declan and I read along! It made me feel an affinity with the book...and I'm probably going to buy it the next time we visit the bookstore.

and what about now?

When the weather is this hot and muggy all day and night long, it really slows everything down. The few times when I decided to mind-over-matter, one or the other of the children would spike a temperature and vomit from the heat. Their less mature internal temperature monitors are just no match for this climate. I looked up the forecast for Haifa this past week; The highs are actually about five degrees lower than in Kaohsiung right now. Joke's on us for thinking we'd be escaping the Israeli summer by visiting Taiwan right about now. I went running in the best conditions the other day: It was low 90s, about 80% humidity, at 5:30pm. Best conditions for real compared with every other day so far.

Is it good to be back for a visit? I love the food. It's just ridiculously perfect to my taste. Little soy sauce-marinated raw clams, meat sauce over the chewiest white rice, perfectly firm noodles in rich beef stock, real spinach. Etc, etc, etc....

But it's not real life, where I have friends to call up and hang out with (hence why living in Israel doesn't really feel like real life either), where I know the public amenities of the city and the bus routes to get there... This is my home but it's still pretty lonely, which makes it more lonely in a way.

I don't mean to be complaining again. I do love that there are these new bike paths and parks along the paths that are perfect for running as well, that go all the way to the harbor or Lotus Lake or Cheng Ching Lake or the Love River Promenade... If I didn't have children who need me to hold them (literally) within 30 minutes to an hour's break, I think I would just run all night, every night, enjoying seeing the many little shops, neighborhoods, and street names that make me feel a part of this land. I love that there're large shopping centers like Costco, Carrefour, Dollars, Geant, which have everything one could desire. Such a nice change from the many places I must trek to for each individual item in Israel.

After much searching, I discovered a children's library in a park yesterday. My heart almost melted into a happy goo in my thoracic cavity when I spotted Declan--shortly after I'd made the executive decision for us to leave due to his rowdiness in the reading room--sitting on a library bench with some books he'd selected from a nearby bookshelf, quietly flipping through the pages. When I told him we'll take some of the books to read at home, he got up and methodically put the rest of the books back onto the bookshelf without my prompting. All this was after our lunch a few blocks away at 牛乳大王, a restaurant I'd eaten at a few times myself as a child (read: very old establishment). There're cow statues in the restaurant. During the wait for our food, Declan ran to each of the statues and loudly counted the number of nipples after pointing at their giant sculpted udders and saying "Num num!" (Our term for breastfeeding.)

I love being able to read and understand everything everywhere I go, and comprehend everyone (as I eavesdrop blissfully and without any shame on random conversations). I love being able to strike up a conversation with strangers and discuss the many options with cashiers without feeling like a nonlocal-language-speaking jerk.  I love that Declan's starting to say Chinese phrases every now and then, and is finally becoming open/patient enough to continue sitting with me as I read books with him in Chinese.

And there's still a few places I want to show Declan, like the Science Museum, the Eslite headquarter in Kaohsiung, and the indoor gym at Central Park. There's always a bit of a lethargic "Now what?" when we arrive at a new place, even if the place is technically home. It is a sad potential fact that the same wish I've felt several times when we'd just came back--that I wish we could have stayed in Israel to continue the routine we'd set there--would resurface about Taiwan when we're due to leave again.

these are some of the usual things

This past Monday, Daniel and I spent the whole day tying up loose ends, packing up the apartment we are vacating forever, and sweeping/cleaning before the original tenants return. I was looking at pictures just two days later (yesterday) of our time this past year in Israel, and already feeling nostalgia for that ugly orangish-yellow couch that was the dominant furniture in our living room. I slept on that couch with Petra on my chest for the night through the newborn days. That kind of time logged with postnatal hormone inevitably creates a nostalgic bond.

Now we're back in the land of warm sauna-like humidity and delicious dumplings. Jet lag means that the kids and the parents all go to bed around 1am and wake around noon. Except I went to bed "last night" around 3am because of a running book by Scott Jurek. Petra's fever, which developed on the flight between Israel and Hong Kong, finally seems to have broken last night... She was required by quarantine guidelines to visit a doctor before 24 hours upon arrival to make sure that we didn't carry the Middle East Respiratory Syndrome into the country. They gave her a suppository to bring down her fever. Now she's at the apartment complex swimming pool.

It's been kind of a crazy two or three days. I should go join them at the pool now. I hear Petra crying.

language obstacle

There is something a bit demoralizing about really wanting to read an interesting-looking book but being totally unable to comprehend anything about it even as I flip the pages and admire the typography and book binding, the illustrations and the random letters I can pronounce individually. Such is my experience every single time I walk past a bookstore here. What was once a momentary burst of joy when I go walking through shopping malls had become a sad, sad reminder that I am in a foreign land and am just as good as, intellectually-speaking, an illiterate toddler or very drunk man.

My birthdays always end with me in a deep funk. I'm not upset at becoming one year older. I'm upset at how childish I still remain apart from my physical state. I am going to try cleaning up the living room to try to snap out of this negative paralysis before Petra wakes up from her nap, during which she is emitting the saddest cries and whimpers every now and then while still remaining asleep. What cruel incubus is bothering her? Maybe flipping through cloth books of animal pictures and frustratingly pondering what it all means?

(half) birthdays

My birthday this year coincides with Tisha B'Av, which is a day of fasting for Jews commemorating the destruction of the First and Second Temple as well as other Jewish tragedies, such as the expulsion of all Jews from Spain in the 1400s. It is considered "the saddest day in Jewish history." The Books of Lamentation and Job are read on this day. Go me!

I guess inviting Jewish friends to feast with me tomorrow is out of the question... I'm actually wondering if I could ask Daniel to babysit the kids so I could have extra time to clean the bathrooms and sweep/mop the floors. That would be nice, like when I mopped the floor for the first time since we arrived in Israel with a new mop on Christmas Day. The floor's really been bugging me but I haven't had a chance to deal with it.

Not to be outdone, Petra turned half a year old today. *Applause* For her birthday trick, she has added rolling onto her back from a planking position by flinging her big head backwards in conjunction with a jaunty swing of her chubby thighs. We are entering a new phase in our relationship--one is which Mommy can no longer do chores or be in any other room while Petra's napping/sleeping besides right next to the bed for fear of Daughter crawling to the edge of the bed and plummeting to the cold, hard floor.

Ah, so fun.

I'm learning all sorts of skills. Try to keep up, Mom!

small victories in the food category

Huzzah! On this lazy Saturday (late) afternoon, upon waking up from a twilight zone-ish Carlsberg-induced nap (let this be a lesson never to drink alcohol in the afternoon ever again unless childcare for the rest of the day is provided for), I whipped up a really fast dinner for the family. No longer owning a bread machine since Pittsburgh or knowing where to buy yeast since...a long time ago, I have become a stalker for easy-peasy pizza dough recipes.

This one may be the definitive recipe for my family's homemade pizzas from now on a la tonight's experience. All I did was mix one cup of self-raising flour (even skipping the baking powder and cornmeal part of the recipe) with 3/4 cup of Greek yogurt, and voila--not even needing to refrigerate the dough for 30 minutes according to a previously easy yeast-free recipe that I have now misplaced anyway. While the dough was spread out and being pre-baked on top of a coconut oiled cookie sheet, I chopped up tomatoes and garlic, salted and sugared the mixture, and made tomato sauce. After 10 minutes in the oven, I spread the dough surface with a layer of cheese, then the sauce, then another layer of cheese, then chopped up ham slices, pineapple chunks, and orange pepper bits. Bake for another 10 minutes and so, and even the pickiest eater in the center of the world (Declan) ate a whole slice while saying every now and then between bites, "Mmm, good. Mama made it." Hawaiian pizza is surprisingly hard to find everywhere I've been, even in the States, so it's great to be able to make it at home and with all fresh ingredients to boot.

If it seems that I am over-the-top proud of this pizza, a simple Italian peasant food, it's because it's really a culmination--a symbol!--of how far I've come in finally furrowing a cost-efficient, organic, good-quality, non-kosher containing path into the puzzling realm that had been grocery shopping in Israel.  For a time, I was a weekly customer of an organic CSA farm that delivers a week's worth of produce right up to my door. This had been an invaluable help when I was living on the third apartment level sans elevator in the middle of the cruel Middle Eastern summer, heavily pregnant with Petra. Vegetables in the supermarkets are notoriously high in pesticide level due to some ridiculous kashrut logic, are for the most part under- or over-ripe, and are extremely overpriced compared with their counterparts at the shuk. However, the shuk is two bus rides away, and given our circumstances, not a sustainable source for my mental welfare.

The benefit of the CSA, then, was that good-quality organic ingredients basically comes to my doorstep for the fairly low cost of 130 shekels per week. The downside is that the delivery is often filled with produce that I don't really know how to cook with or even like to eat. It's great that the box got me into the habit of Israeli salad-eating, but that's mainly due to my cluelessness on how else to get rid of such an influx of tomatoes, cucumbers, and parsley every damn week. These three things, you would find, are Israeli staples the way ginger/garlic, soy sauce, and green onions are expected in Chinese cooking. And rendering my American-raised husband and toddler son de facto vegetarians seem a bit mean. I personally started craving bacon and pork just because being told I can't have something makes it oh so desirable.

After about 11 months of making do, I finally took advantage of the facts that (1) Declan being in gan means I don't need to herd an at-times uncooperative and motion-sickness prone toddler with me on bus rides and (2) Petra is still fairly content to be just looking around as I wear her about town to explore the rumors of cheaper organic produce and markets that sell pork and seafood that goes beyond just salmon and tuna. I got lost several times, made more money errors, was cowed by less-than-friendly vendors who clearly scorn non-Hebrew/Russian/Arabic speakers... and survived!

You have no idea how happy I am to be roasting some bacon in Israel

Now I get my organic produce from a woman-farmer named Ilana who has a Friday produce stand in the mall by Merkaz HaCarmel's Cinemathique. For the same load and with better quality, I pay 1/3 the price of those at an organic store that I used to frequent. The Grand Canyon (a little Hebrew pun; "Kenyon" in Hebrew means "mall") stocks other staples such as coconut oil for more decent prices than I'd been paying as well. My kosher lamb and beef source is an Arab butcher whose store is located in Hadar, right by the staircase that leads down to Wadi Nisnas and close to the children's library where I can check out five books per visit for Declan. My source for bacon, ham, mussels, shrimp, and other nonkosher meat items which I haven't eaten or even seen for the last 11 months while in Israel is a Russian supermarket also in Hadar. No longer will Daniel and I need to gorge ourselves on pork during his conference travels to Italy--hooray!

It's really nice that, in Israel, organic produce cost about the same as conventionally farmed produce. So why not eat organic?  Especially when one has young children whose bodies are even more sensitive to chemicals, not to mention the effects on soil and water quality, etc. The problem has been that conventional farmed produce is still more commonly sold here, but now that I know where I can go, it's worth the needing to ride on various buses and scheduling shopping on separate days of the week. In the end, I also save a lot more money. Cost of living here is, whew, so high.

No wonder when, as a tourist four years ago, I asked Daniel's childhood friend, Mark, what he misses most about the US since he made aliyah three (at that time) years ago, he said, "Places like Target and Costco...being able to get what I need just by going to ONE place." At the time, I thought that sentiment was "so American", since Taiwan has a similar culture as what tourist-me had observed in Israel--lots of little shops and open-air/narrow-alleyed marketplaces. Then again, even in Taiwan, I wasn't the one providing for the day-to-day needs of the family while trying to make our income stretch for as far as it can go. One of those things one must live to understand.

enough with the labels

Just before Daniel and I went to bed for the night at the end of his 29th birthday, we read about the Boeing 777 that crashed at SFO. I admit that the most vital information that I instinctually sought first were: Where was the plane from? Oh, from Seoul? Any Taiwan citizens on board that were taking the flight as a transfer?

Basically, I cared first and foremost whether any Taiwanese people/family were affected. Once my fears were assuaged, my net of concern widened to general casualty, cause of crash, history of mechanical defect, etc.

I do not admit the above without some shame. This is worth remembering by actually writing down because it touches upon something that's been bothering my mind at its periphery even more acutely since I started studying the Israeli-Palestinian conflict from ground zero (so to speak). Namely, the question of whether or not group identification, of which nationalism is one, is a good or bad thing. The report filed by a Taiwanese news source that I subscribe to via FB was followed by numerous comments roughly translated (sanitized) to: "Why should we care?"..."Those dead Chinese had it coming."... "Guess you can't rely on Korean products!"

What in the world? I'm so glad for the comments that rebuked such sentiments, that reminded all of us that we should care because they're PEOPLE. That we need to have more empathy because their families are grieving as we are taking it all in. At the same time, I can't believe we have to be reminded. Yes, I understand the prejudice and animosity Taiwanese people have towards mainland Chinese people. I am aware of the racial tension towards Koreans. But we are all just people in the end, and why can't we get past the cultural vendettas to this basic truth?

It would be foolish to dismiss nationalism as a necessary force for good just yet. It is the only thing holding some groups of people together and preventing civil wars. It is still in some ways a compelling force for community excellence that aims to bring honest-to-goodness and well-deserved acclaim for one's heritage. Perhaps it's one of those seemingly paradoxical forces of life, like predestination vs. free will,  state vs. federal power, true freedom through abstention of hedonism, etc. I've come upon the preachings of self-proclaimed Christs and Buddhas who say that any identification or loyalty for one's particular country, ethnicity, gender, spouse... is limiting to one's true capacity to love everyone and everything. I think that's stupid. But I find myself examining the details of their logic in between the smugness.

This is a ginormous topic for one blog entry, and there're so many things I'm still reflecting on regarding this matter. Just want to jot this down to remind myself to curb my inner racist, and study why I am this way. May God heal the seriously injured passengers as they recover in the hospital, and bring comfort to the loved ones of the two people who died. I read that there's also an infant on board. I hope she or he is spared any permanent harm.

the case of the disappeared ice cream (brand)

Pretty soon after our little family returned to Israel towards the end of last month, Daniel attempted to re-start the Talk.

I'm so sick of the Talk. The Talk of Where to Go after Next Year. My life plans have been in flux ever since college graduation. According to my five-year life plan at that point (in that distant year of antiquity: 2004), I would be currently married to a traditional Cantonese boy I'd been dating for three years by that point, living somewhere in the U.S., and teaching English/literature at an inner city public school. I did not foresee meeting a half-Jewish/half-Irish red-headed boy, getting married to him, moving as if on the run from Pittsburgh to China to Seattle to Taiwan to Israel in less than two years' timespan, and not working professionally but rather squeezing out human beings from my body twice and guarding the home and hearth while trying to keep said human beings alive and--on my more ambitious days--shaping them to be future productive members of society.

The biggest lesson I took from this near-decade of living is to not bother making plans. Is that a healthy attitude? I don't know, and by this point, I don't really care. Still, I guess it's necessary to make some kind of vague gesture towards some sense of direction. And that direction seems to be out of Israel after the next year or so.

Which got me thinking about the things that I would miss here, and one of the biggest things would be this particular ice cream brand that Declan helped me discovered. I used to go nuts for Magnums, at 12 shekels a bar, after my first encounter with this ultra-rich ice cream brand in Paris during the summer of 2005. On one afternoon, however, Declan caught sight of a purple-wrapped ice cream bar and was quite insistent about getting that over a Magnum. It turned out to be two shekels less, and what's more, was freaking delicious. It has a hard chocolate shell, vanilla ice cream of a more watery kind (which I prefer...more thirst-quenching), and a hard milk chocolate core. My instantaneous switching of brand loyalty from that moment on is proof that product quality is more compelling than any marketing tactic.

However. When I returned from Europe this time, and caved to a craving for this specific ice cream, I went to my source as usual--the park across the street from our apartment. And could not find it anywhere. Not at that park. Not at the convenience store one block away from that park. Not at four other ice cream stands in Merkaz HaCarmel, one of the most happening shopping areas in Haifa.

What. Is. Going. On. The sad thing is I don't even know what this ice cream is called. So I can't even request it by name. I could only describe it by how it looks and tastes like the illiterate I am, and met every time with "No, we don't carry that anymore." Anymore! Which means it did exist!

I tried googling it to find an image of this longed-for ice cream, with admittedly vague terms such as "Israeli ice cream" and "purple wrapper" and got a bunch of pictures of gelato and goat-milk yogurt. I tried "Unilever" and "Strauss", which are popular ice cream brands here. And got nothing. Nothing!!

Well, I did find a box of the same brand and similar-style-bars at the supermarket the other day. But it doesn't have a milk chocolate core. It has a bunch of food-coloring-rich funfetti sprinkles. Disgusting.

One thing for me to start missing about Israel already, I guess. Why did the entire country suddenly stop carrying my favorite ice cream bar in all the world during my two-week absence? Israel, why do you like to tease me so?

and i'm back (for now)

Last day of June. Wow. This month flew by. Well, kind of. I got really sick during this month several times, including a bout of most likely food poisoning just a few days after our recent return from the whirlwind conferences in Europe. When I was writhing in a horizontal position wherever that might be in our apartment, with a toddler by my side yanking on my arm and yelling, "Get up, Mommy, pleeeeeease!" and a baby that suddenly wanted to nurse all. the. time. Even when asleep. ...the days seemed a lot longer then.

Still, here we are, and I have some major backlog of events to chronicle. Firstly, a shout-out to Emily for meeting up in Paris on such short notice, and for bringing along her lovely husband as well as the potent cheeses and delicious wine, as well as escorting us around the Luxembourg Park. As well as sharing interesting stories about herself and her husband. It was stupendously nice to better know someone I'd previously only corresponded with via the Internet. And she even gave me a book as a totally unexpected present. How did she know I love books?

So hopefully I'll be able to catch up on things this week, and enliven this blog with more real-time action. After I catch up on all the chores that languished as my body warred with whatever bacterium or virus that was trying to colonize it. We are also moving out of our current apartment for good at the end of July, right before we fly to Taiwan for a mix of business and family visits. The apartment we thought we'll move into after we return to Israel for the next school year just fell through as an option, as its landlord has decided to convert it into two studios in hopes of reeling in more rent money from university students who mostly just need to a place to sleep.

Ah well. Will write more later.

 Back from the intermittent train rides through Europe. 

I love trains rides through Europe. Or train rides, period. 

Looking forward to doing it again someday 

(not too soon, but not too much later) with the family.

virus

Apparently there's something going around in the Middle East, according to Daniel's mom. Whatever it is felt a whole lot like malaria to me. Which is not impossible, since malaria can be caused by eggs of infected mosquitos in Southern China--eggs that can live inside a person for up to 20 years before they hatch and cause havoc. I alternated between uncontrollable shivering and feeling like I would never be warm again ever to wanting to throw myself into the icy waters of Siberia. Declan came back from gan yesterday afternoon, gave me a hug, and pulled away, exclaiming, "Oh! You're hot!"

The next time I get mad at Daniel, I must remember how he took care of me and bore the brunt of Declan's demanding-ness all yesterday. I also appreciated what a mild-mannered baby Petra is, who mostly kicked and coo-ed in bed as I lied dying next to her.

And of course now's the time when I suddenly get three editing gigs, and have two tutoring sessions today (postponed to tomorrow). I managed to complete one of the editing assignment just now. Whew. Load off my mind. Awaiting the two others, which will probably overlap with our trip to Lausanne-Paris-Milan.

During the throes of my agony, I wondered why I even bother to keep one toe dipped in the professional world with petty endeavors like the above. Wouldn't it be enough for me to keep the home clean, the kids taken care of, the meals made, as long as everyone is healthy?

I still wonder, even as I feel a bit better today.

at a loss of resolve

Is it more important to be as highly "qualified" as one could be in order to have the option of accessing as many venues as possible?

Or is it more important to be "on the ground" and gauge the pulse of society and culture in that way?

The first option would mean more time in exile, so to speak. But perhaps with a greater impact later. The "perhaps" is a big concern, because I've seen, time and time again, how friends who went into law or medicine with an intent to advocate for the disenfranchised later turn into corporate representatives and reach for the medical system's acclaims instead. I used to be a lot more judgmental of their evolution, but I see now how easily one's M.O. can change with time, family persuasions, financial concerns, and priorities regarding the future. And who's to say they are not still biding their time until they do what they originally planned to do?

Still, I don't want to end up dying at, say, age 40 and realize that I should have gotten started on my heart's desires a lot sooner.

On the other hand, maybe there are merits to the second option that I am overlooking which would tip the scale irrevocably in its favor.

I feel ambivalent about the choices facing me. It reminds me of when I would patrol the night markets in Taiwan and be so overwhelmed with the possibilities that I end up going home, empty-bellied.

Father God, please give me and my family clarity, wisdom, insight, and guidance.

possibilities, or maybe not

I was a radical Islamist who hated all of you.

The above link is an interview with a former radical Muslim, reflecting upon the role of ideological narratives for the process of radicalization. Really insightful. It also makes me wonder anew, despite my misgivings about the time and viability involved, the worth of studying for a PhD. If worthwhile, I would deepen my undergraduate and graduate focus of post-colonialist perspectives, by narrowing my examination onto the literature produced from post-colonial regions such as the Middle East and Southeastern Asia (Taiwan included). I want to examine how cultural and literary movements shaped and are shaping the concept of national/ethnic identity, and how they could be used for nonviolent yet still effective movements for the present and future for righteous/just civil rights and minority empowerment. Maybe Ireland/Scotland and Poland could be templates for how that has worked out.

Otherwise, I'm interested in becoming an author that deals with these themes. I got this idea from reflecting upon my own grandparents' lives and how they were so personally affected by the practical application of ideologies that even their great-grandkids are still caught up in the aftermath. Their lives are certainly worthy of novels, and it would be inevitable for any research or narration of their stories to examine such topics. And this route might reach a wider receptive audience, since more people spend time reading novels and good fictions than academic papers...

Or maybe I'll remain a stay-at-home mom, and teach my children about such things. No point thinking so far ahead since I'm still having trouble even putting one foot in front of the other on some days. Just things to talk with God about, I guess.

i think i need a mental break before a mental breakdown

I should be....washing the dishes, sweeping and mopping the floor, cleaning the bathrooms again, taking out the trash, attempt at lectio divinia, even nap.... but I feel like, what's the point?

There is a point, I'm sure, especially when my older child leaves crying to the gan in the morning just so I could be more productive elsewhere. And chores must be done, regardless of circumstances.

It's just that I feel devoid of any energy, and yet cannot sleep restfully. Even in my dreams, I am thinking of different ways I can cease to exist.

I think, when I visit Taiwan in late summertime, I will seriously look into whether my national health insurance covers anti-depressants. After wanting to go drug-free for so long, I'm tired of trying to make it without. I'm clearly not. I guess it's time to think about surrendering and joining the legions of mainly women, and mainly American women, who medicate themselves regularly.

I'm ashamed to discover that I secretly ascribe to the stigma attached to that. Maybe this is God's way of telling me to get off my high horse.

Lots of "I"s in this post. I guess I'm pretty self-centered, which makes depression worse.

In other news, I think I'm going to stay away from local/regional news for a while. Reading about all the badly reported rhetorics against Israel gets me down. It's one thing to read about legitimate criticisms, and they need to be publicized for sure (like what the world is the deal with the Prawer Plan?), but I'm tired to needing to sift between agenda and bias. I'm not a rabid Zionist right-wing nut, and I'm tired of being pushed towards that direction just because I desire a more honest level of discourse. Oh yes, clearly I must be delusional and have a high and mighty sense of myself to perceive the situation being as the above.

In the meantime, there will be two nation-wide bomb raid drills tomorrow to ready the citizenry for escalating violence by the Syrian government because Israel had destroyed long-range missiles that Iran was "smuggling" through Syria to terrorists in Lebanon, even as the Assad regime and the rebel forces continue to slaughter and displace their own people by the thousands for two-plus years. But these are details that anti-Israel "human rights activists" can't be bothered to know. Or care about. Onwards with Israeli aggression!

Just sick of it all.

like a bell jar

I feel, a lot of times, as if I am made of glass. And hollow on the inside. I am simultaneously dumb and reverberating violently. 

Days would glide by in which I think, I am finally okay. And then, without warning, they clump together again. Like today, and yesterday, and the day before that. 

By the grace of God, one day, perhaps one day, I can finally look back and be thankful that I did not give up. For now, I am so frustrated at myself for being so irrationally weak. 

unrelated notes

In your face, Misrad Hapnim! You refused to acknowledge our parental rights to name our daughter the exact name we deemed for her. You refused by not providing us with one iota of official document that contains her rightful name and assigned her name as "Petra King" instead, no middle name. You and the US Consulate both scorned my statement on the affidavit about her middle and last name ("Her name is not Petra Lilia Spector...You would like her name to be Petra Lilia Spector, but it is not.")

But today Petra's US social security card arrived in the mail. And it says "Petra Lilia Spector".  Mwahahahaha. You'd said that as long as we have one official state document that has her name on it, then we can file for that to be her official name on all other documents.

Thank you, US bureaucracy. Your lack of inter-departmental coordination helped us jump through an Israeli government loophole.

On an unrelated note, I'm pretty sick right now, sinus and energy-wise, because I went for a run under the sun for 1.5 hours on Friday without sunblock or water. And the trail was completely uphill from the lowest point of Haifa (downtown) to one of its highest points (Louis Promenade). If you were to drive a car from one of these points to the other, your ears would pop.

It was a run/practice organized by a fitness club in conjunction with the city of Haifa in preparation for the real event on 17 May. It's kind of like Pittsburgh's StepTrek in the South Side, except you run it, and it's even steeper. There were three trainers that moved everyone along, motivating us by taking pictures and videos of us and so tapping into our vanity of wanting to look fit and happy and not at all done in by the heat and altitude change. I really envied how in shape they were. Their ridiculously lean legs and boundless energy. I was finally so dehydrated (hence, why I'm now sick with a wrecked sinus) that I asked for water from one of them who's carrying a backpack. To hell with my concern about hepatitis or other water-transmittable diseases.

As I thanked the trainer and sipped just a little bit of water from his water bottle (there weren't much water left and I didn't want to leave anybody else high and dry), he said, "You're welcome"--in Chinese! I was so surprised I spat out a little bit of the water in my mouth. (Gah.) It turns out he also speaks fluent Spanish, Portuguese, English and Arabic...along with the usual Hebrew. So the fact that he only knows a few Chinese phrases is still really impressive.

On another unrelated note, Declan starts gan at the Technion tomorrow. To say I am apprehensive about a few concerns is an understatement.

A third unrelated note: I saw a picture of my friend Candi in full Ph.D. graduate attire at the Pitt commencement ceremony, and was struck with admiration for such an amazing woman. It made me nostalgic for our less formed destinies during our M.A. days... and also some disappointment, wistfulness, and uncertainty in myself about the great unlikelihood that such a picture (of me graduating with a full-fledged PhD in English/comparative literature) would ever be realized. I'm not going to dwell on the latter though. I'm just really happy and proud of Candi, and I hope our family will always stay in touch.

Later tonight, Kirsten and Or are coming by with some sloppy Joe and cold potato salad (among my favorite American comfort foods) so I made some Israeli-style salad: chopped tomatoes, cucumbers, cilantro, carrots, kohlrabi, tahini, lemon, sauteed garlic, mustard, salt, pepper, zhatar...  I've never really have a habit of eating salads, but it's with every meal here in Israel whenever one eats out. If everyone eats the salad and enjoys it tonight, I might try making salads part of my culinary habits from now on. It would sure be an easy way to use up all the (excessive) tomatoes and cucumbers our CSA always distribute every week (probably because a typical Israeli customer would consider the amount just enough for a week-long supply of salad).

It's been so hot this week due to the heat wave aka chamsin from the Egyptian and/or African desert. Several forest fires had to be put down. Extra caution must be made for the bonfires of Lag B'Omer. I am afraid of the sun.

Petra also fell off the couch today and I found her face down flat on the (hard, uncarpeted) ground. I had literally just turned around to go get something for Declan from the kitchen, and heard a thud. She cried for a long time, then snoozed for a while after I nursed her. Daniel inspected her after coming home from work and said she looked fine. But I still feel a bit shaky, and guilty, and so sorry that I accidentally hurt her so much today.

a funny thing happened on the way home from gan

It was almost intolerably hot, especially for April and with rainstorms just two days ago. I was worried about Petra's delicate skin, already flushed since yesterday's walk home from Vardiya under the bright sun. I wished I could have held an umbrella over her, but my hands were already occupied with pushing Declan's stroller up the big hill towards Carmeliya.

"Shalom."

I stopped my pushing and turned back to see a middle-aged man wearing a kippa walking up to me while taking out his wallet.

"Shalom...." I wondered if he was going to sell me something.
"May I see your ID please?"
"Sorry, I don't have any ID on me."

The man looked surprised, while my heart was sinking. If this was a con artist, I didn't know how to extricate myself from the situation. If this was a legitimate ID check by a police/immigration officer, I was still in trouble for not having anything on me that proved my identity.

"How come you don't have any ID on you? No passport, nothing?"
"I didn't think to carry any. I was just on my way to Mommy & Me and a brief grocery shopping trip."
"Mommy & Me?"
"Yes, over there." (gesturing towards Hila's house) "Where a group of moms and their children get together to sing some songs."
"Oh...You should always carry some form of ID on you. What's your passport number?"

I thought to myself that, one of these days, I really should memorize my passport number. Meanwhile, the man was joined by another person.

Man #2: "What are you? Filipino?"
"No." (annoyed because why does everyone think I'm a Filipino nanny? Didn't my children look even vaguely similar to me?) "I'm Taiwanese."
"Ah, Taiwan. What is your passport number?"

We basically had the same exchange, with me increasingly defensive at the ludicrous nature of the situation. I was wearing Petra in a sling and fearing that she'd wake up and start fussing while we're still quite far from home, and Declan was arguing with me about how I'd just removed all the skin from his banana and he was greatly displeased. I finally called Daniel on the phone and passed him over to the more outspoken officer.

Declan: "Mama's phone? Man using Mama's phone?"
Me: "That's right, Declan, he's talking with Daddy on Mama's phone."
Man #1: "This is my ID card. You see? I'm an immigration officer. Tell your husband that we're real."
Me: "I know, I'm sorry, it's just that, in the US, people can make cards that are fake."

We waited as Man #2 got increasingly agitated while talking with Daniel on the phone. At one point, he started shouting his own name and ID # and shoved his ID card at my face, insisting that it's real. I just shrugged and smiled apologetically at Man #1. I had already apologized verbally for my husband's suspiciousness.

Eventually, Man #2 got so mad that he handed the phone back to me, told the people on his other phone (he was searching for my information on the immigration mainframe while talking with Daniel) to stop searching, told me that they couldn't find me and just effing bring my ID with me the next time I go out, snapped at his partner to get going, and both of them jaywalked across the street.

When asked for my identification info, Daniel had asked him for his identification info. Later, Daniel took the man's name and ID number and had a Technion administrative search for him in the immigration office. The man really did work for Israel's immigration.

I feel sorry for anybody who inadvertently gets caught up in legal matters with my husband.  Even when they win, they never really win.

please

tell me that this parenting things gets easier. Not 20 years later easier, but maybe in a couple of months?

rules of an israeli playground

Rule #1 - All toys are communal.

Once you bring a toy or bimba (any type of child scooter/car) into the playground and set it out so that it's visible to children, you automatically suspend your ownership of it for the duration of your playground visit. Sure, if your child really wants to play with it, then whichever other child that has taken it up must return it for the time being. Otherwise, do not be surprised to see people freely handling each other's belongings like good little Communists. To me, it is really charming how nobody seems to be afraid of theft. The unspoken rule is that one simply returns the toy to wherever it was last spotted, and the owner usually finds it back there again when it's time to go home.

Rule #2 - "Your child is not your own; s/he is the nation's."

I think this comes from Israel's culture of mandatory military conscription, and not just for the boys, as it is in Taiwan, but both genders must serve in the IDF for a minimum of two years upon 18 years of age. It builds some sort of kinship between unrelated families. As long as there is children, the adults would band together to watch over them. It's too bad I don't speak Hebrew, because usually any mom would get to know the other moms on the playground really well as their children play with each other. Nobody really keeps to themselves...unless you're that one Anglo mom that other Hebrew-speaking moms just smile at and then ignore.

A breakthrough in communication did happen this Thursday though, when I started changing Petra's diaper at the park because, well, she pooped. One of the Jewish grandmothers saw that Petra has a diaper rash, and started yelling, ahem, I mean talking, to me in Hebrew. I asked her to speak English, and she stopped. Then spoke more Hebrew, more slowly and loudly. Surprisingly, it did help (with her gestures) for me to surmise that she's instructing me on how to diaper change more effectively. She ended up forming a group of six or so other grandmothers and nannies, two of which speak decent English, to recommend me various diaper rash cream brands. Each competed to endorse their brand of choice as Petra waited, lying bare-bummed on the park ground. Finally, one of them squeezed out a huge glob of Desitin and smeared it on my hand.

This is why whenever I feel too lonely with the children, I drop by the park across the street.

Rule #3 - There is no such thing as food allergies.

The first few times I found Declan sitting in some corner of the park, munching on things unknown, I almost had a heart attack. Then it progressed to amusement as I see other moms and nannies share their children's snacks without ever asking for permission--something that would make American mothers react the way I did the first time. Now I just make sure to watch Declan as he eats the peanut bamba, cottage cheese, popsicle, ice cream, cookies, apples, etc... that he manages to get a piece of from other caretakers. Once, I didn't get there in time to stop a nanny from spoon-feeding Declan yogurt with the same spoon that she's simultaneously feeding her charge with. It was kind of gross, and I think Declan got kind of sick from it days later. Oh well... live and learn.

I would go on with more rules, such as, say, a rule #4 - Watch out for random piles of dog poop, but Declan is yelling loudly for me to start bedtime rituals and I don't want him to wake up Petra, who is the perfect child about early bedtimes. (Knock on wood.) So, good night.

regarding two major israeli national holidays

So I tried to put Declan in gan (Israeli daycare/preschool) after the Pesach holidays. That lasted for...one day. In the end, besides the factors of the new baby, the large number of children, him being the youngest child, the gannenet's reluctance...the biggest reason why I decided to hold off on gan for a few more months at least is because it looks like it'll take Declan awhile to get used to the new day-to-day schedule, and if we decide to go with this particular gan even after our current apartment lease is up, it would drastically limit our future sublet options. I would far rather find a more permanent gan later on in the fall that I can rest assured would be the place for Declan to form friendships and pick up Hebrew for the rest of our time in Israel. And who knows...maybe, by then, I'll be so used to taking care of the kids all day every day by myself that I would rather both of them continue to stay home with me the whole time. Maybe. A big maybe. Although I do see, currently, the greater value, of Declan's varied routines with me rather than the (already really nice) gan environment in which he would otherwise be immersed right now.

These two weeks are the highlights in Israel's national holidays. National as in non-religious, but having to do with the whole country. The first of the three happened this past Monday, called Yom HaShoah i.e. Holocaust Remembrance Day. An air siren went off at 10am through the entire country, while I had just strapped Declan into his stroller en route to Mommy & Me. Everything and everyone stood still. At the park across the street, all the adults stood up from their beverages and child-minding. The children slowed down and stopped their play to imitate their adults. Old men on the sidewalk stood, looking down at the pavement. Cars halted, and drivers and passengers alike got out to stand by their car doors. In the two minutes that life paused throughout this entire country, and all one hears is the warning blare that would otherwise only be heard during an air attack, I was really struck by the magnitude of the genocide the Jews faced during WWII. Struck in a deep, profound way for the very first time. There is a side to some of the Jewish culture here that I am growing in dislike. For instance, some people really are quite racist here. I don't know if they're more racist than the general American (and Chinese) cultures, but they're certainly more--like everything else--upfront and blatant about it. But, on Yom HaShoah, I see the lasting trauma that the Holocaust impressed upon a people's psyche and I think I can forgive and understand some of the people's reserve towards the Other... from the perspective of one who has been othered for so long and with such consequences.

To be honest, I have mixed feelings about Yom Ha'atzmaut (Independence Day). There are flags everywhere in preparation for the concerts and parades, and on one hand, I am very happy that Israel exists. I believe very strongly in the right to self-determination for persecuted minorities, and even without the Holocaust, the Jewish people truly need a nation of their own. If I were Jewish, I would want that. I would be so tired of the ebb of flow of anti-Semitism that never goes away, and the doubt of ever really being able to set roots in other countries that have historically (so who's to say it wouldn't happen again?) expelled/evicted Jews who had lived there for generations. On the other hand, I'm starting to learn about the Nakba, and about the very real tension between Arab villages and encroaching Jewish settlements that are often illegal. The fact of the matter is, as much as a lot of the media campaign against Israel is unfair and shoddy journalism, Israel is not innocent in this long-standing Middle Eastern conflict. It is placed in a difficult situation, and as a worldly power, has chosen and is choosing in several areas to use unjust means itself for a gambit at survival.

It is very similar, I find, to why Taiwan was under martial law for as long as it did and went through a period called the White Terror. Why, even now, the United States has not paid reparation to African-Americans for slavery, and have military bases everywhere in the world, and undisclosed locations holding terrorist suspects without trial. Why basically every single country that has ever existed has performed unjust acts in favor for itself and against its perceived adversaries in order to stay in power. To hold Israel to a higher standard than the rest of the world's nations seems...really hypocritical. So I plan to celebrate with the best of them here, without justifying away the darker sides of the wonderful reality of this country and how far it has come...and how far it could still go as a truly great nation.

if we had stayed in china

This morning, as I was reading books with Declan, it was obvious that he showed a preference for English books over Chinese ones. It pained me to hear him say: "No Chinese!" or start to dawdle and lose interest when I plowed on with reading in Chinese without doing on-the-spot English translations.

He's really starting to talk, and make conversations...all in English, with an occasional Hebrew word. But very little, if at all, Chinese. It makes me wonder, if we had stayed in China, if now he would be speaking mostly Chinese.

My children being able (and comfortable and willing) to interact fluently in Chinese is important to me. I am afraid this might become an impossible dream.

On the other hand, if we had stayed in China, I definitely would not have been willing to have another child. Even though life would have been a lot easier for me right now without the intense day-to-day struggles of minding a toddler and a newborn, it's hard to imagine never knowing Petra, this particular person that would not have otherwise existed in any other point in time, starting at her conception.

                       "Well, something's lost but something's gained

                       in living every day." - "Both Sides Now," Joni Mitchell

success!

Today, I finally washed the mountain of dishes in the sink that accumulated during the week-long Passover holiday. For most of the week, we had been eating leftovers brought back home from the Seder prepared by Or's grandmother. I tasted gefilte fish for the first time ever, and it reminded me of fish balls I've eaten in Taiwan, with a different consistency. The star of the leftovers was the goulash Or's grandmother made. Beef stew is one of my all-time favorite dishes, and this particular goulash was the best beef stew I have ever tasted. Ever.

I also washed out the secondhand, new-to-me slow cooker and made tonight's dinner with it. Daniel was skeptical due to its extremely low price that it would actually work. As this post's title indicates--it worked! And I'm also immensely pleased by how we obtained it. You see, after Thanksgiving last year at Kirsten and Or's, they lent us their large slow cooker to make turkey stock with the turkey carcass. I discovered how much more convenient it was to use the slow cooker for that kind of thing. Given the kids' demands and my always being tired, there were a couple of times later when I tried to duplicate stock-making with a stove pot--and failed miserably because I forgot about the simmering concoction only to be reminded by the dry acrid smell. Also, there were a few times when I prepped the night's dinner in the morning when I just woke up. And I was so glad to have a ready meal around dinnertime when I was getting too tired to want to cook much. So after I returned their slow cooker to Kirsten and Or, I started thinking that perhaps I should get a slow cooker of my own. If we were staying in Israel for longer than a year.

The thing was that I had had at least three slow cookers in the last two years, but every time I acquired a slow cooker, I have had to move--and to another country with completely different voltage. So I was a bit tired of getting all happy over my newly acquired cooking tool, only to have to give it up again in six months or so. When we learned that we'll be staying in Israel for another year, the slow cooker desire returned. During the beginning of this Passover break, Daniel and I went to the mall and found only one model, selling for 399 shekels. It seemed a fair deal, considering that everything in Israel tends to be a lot more expensive. But it wasn't exactly the model I wanted, so I decided to sleep on it.

When I got home, I remembered yad2.co.il -- one of Israel's online secondhand products website. Kind of like Craigslist and eBay, only completely in Hebrew. I had purchased a night lamp for Petra's nursery via this website, so I decided to hunt for a slow cooker with the help of Google Translate (and a lot of time spent contextualizing the Hebrew term for "slow cooker" via Google searches). There were surprisingly a lot for sale, with two dominant brands. In the end, I narrowed the possibilities to a brand new one being sold in Netanya for 100 shekels, a like-new one in Nesher for 100 shekels, and a like-new one in Ramat Gan for 50 shekels.

Long story short, the sellers in Netanya and Nesher never replied my email requests. The one in Ramat Gan had been my first choice, and a friend in Haifa had suggested that her husband could pick it up during their day-long foray to Tel Aviv, which is about 20 minutes west from Ramat Gan. Her husband ended up not being able to do so, and I basically gave up on all the possibilities since there's a chance I might not return to Israel from visiting my parents in Taiwan this summer anyway.

Still, 50 shekels was a really good deal... And suddenly it was a possibility again when Daniel and I decided, rather last-minutedly, to use the car we'd rented during Passover break to pick up Mark from Tel Aviv. We were heading south to Netanya anyway on Saturday, so what's a few more kilometers south? Mark turned out to be available, and he had an app on his smartphone that served as a GPS--and it showed the guy who's selling the slow cooker (still!) to live just 10 minutes away from where Mark waited for our car.

Done and done, and we exchanged the product and the money. The seller looked like a single guy in his late 20s or early 30s. I assume he tried out the slow cooker once or twice, then decided it was too much bother (maybe?). It looked great, albeit a little smaller than Kirsten and Or's, but big enough to have plenty of leftovers after Daniel, Declan, and I had eaten our fill of the dish I made tonight (carrots, fennel, potatoes, tomatoes - cubed and seasoned with salt, pepper, caraway seed, a dash of soy sauce and sesame oil, and cumin - in chicken broth and with a leftover turkey neck from the Seder placed on top of the whole thing).

Yay for yad2! (Which is pronounced yad-shtein...Yad means "hand" and shtein is Hebrew for "2" or second, in this case.) This is the second time I had used the website, with great satisfaction.

Hopefully this particular slow cooker* beats my track record and doesn't mean I'll have to move again for some reason in the next six months or so.

*I can't believe I wrote such a long post about a 50-shekel slow cooker. Can you tell I'm super excited and proud of how I acquired such a good deal? I like the serendipity of having something that was sitting unappreciated in an apartment near Tel Aviv to now be cooking food on a kitchen counter in Haifa. Because of that, I value it a lot more than a 399-shekel brand new multi-function slow cooker that would otherwise have been purchased from the mall.

Classic Israeli Moment (CIM) #2

While walking home from a morning session of Mommy & Me and impromptu play at the park in Vardiya (A dad was overlooking three of his kids and encouraged his son to play soccer with Declan), an elderly gentleman on a motorized wheelchair approaches us on the sidewalk. Daniel and I told Declan to make way for him to pass, but he stopped to make conversation.

Gentleman: How many children do you have?
Daniel: One [points to Declan]. Two [points to Petra].
Gentleman: Just two children?
Daniel: For now.
[I break into a cold sweat.]

Other moms I was hanging out with at the park between Shimshon and Yocheved Street assured me that I will once again get "baby fever" when Petra turns two. I decided not to share the fact that I have never ever felt baby fever.

The average number of children per family in a typical Israeli family used to be three. Now it is four.

Declan said "good bye" and "see you later" to the elderly gentleman in Hebrew, which made the man chuckle. I especially enjoy making old people happy, especially the ones in Taiwan and Israel. Their generation has ben through so much, it's pretty ridiculous. Whenever I see an elderly person in Taiwan or here clearly enjoying life, it always makes me pause to reflect on the resilience of the human spirit. Maybe I'm being too romantic to apply that in general to old people from countries with backgrounds of widespread war, but it's certainly true for both sets of my grandparents.

Following that, we continued walking down the sidewalk, stopping every now and then to share between the three of us one large watermelon popsicle. And we saw the same man again, this time cruising slowly down the middle of the road. Cars started building up behind him. He continued to "speed" along at a leisurely pace with the road open before him as more and more cars lagged in retinue. Israeli drivers are aggressive as a norm, but nobody honked.

Then, the elderly gentleman stopped in the middle of the road to make conversation with someone else by the sidewalk.

But, as we walked past and away from that particular street in that neighborhood, I still didn't hear anyone honk. Israelis can be pushy and aggressive, but they sure enjoy their children and respect their elders.

tel aviv marathon 2013

It was super hot due to the sharav (or maybe chamsin, as it was also very dusty) aka heat current blown north from Africa, and a good number of people running the half-marathon got heatstroke/dehydration. One person died, inexplicably, despite having thoroughly trained for the race as well as being in general a very fit IDF officer. Several people are still in the hospital under medically-induced comas.

I ran the 4.2K course, which was just 10% of an actual marathon. A lot of people kept saying how amazing I was to be running after giving birth exactly two months ago. I'm glad I was able to do it, but I still don't see what's so amazing about that. It's only 2.6 miles and I basically jogged the whole way on a very flat course.

Many thanks to my sister-in-law for motivating me to run a few times up and down the hills of Haifa beforehand.

I ran it for the race atmosphere, in one of Israel's biggest running events.

feeding my bibliophilia

I must say, the U.S. public library system as I have experienced it from coast-to-coast is a wonderful establishment for which I cannot show enough appreciation. Growing up in Salem, Oregon -- a state capital that is surprisingly rural in nature in the eyes of a city kid from Taiwan -- the Salem Public Library was my home away from my two other homes (school and that other place my parents bought). My English improved as a result of the literally 50 or so books I would check out every week from the library during my first year as an immigrant; I would take them home, read them out loud to improve my pronunciation, and look up then memorize new English words. No way could I have been able to afford buying so many books in order to accrue the same amount of knowledge and other benefits as I did from the library. I also read all seven biographies on Joan of Arc that the library carried during my obsession with her, then with Robert Kennedy, and so on.

The Ann Arbor, Pittsburgh, and Seattle public libraries all rocked as well.

Israel's, not so much.

Okay, to be fair, I'm sure Haifa has great public libraries for Hebrew readers. But I have yet to find a sustainable and truly satisfying source to feed my reading habit. There's a library on Pevsner Street that I've heard about, but how to get there remains elusive (which bus stop? What number?) and I'm still cherishing its potential and not wanting to have my hopes dashed.

Meanwhile, book shopping at Steinmatsky (Israel's largest bookstore chain) is pricey, with most English books marked up to twice their US retail price. But I think I'm starting to hit a suitable arrangement, thanks to the advice of other English readers here to get books from the Book Depository and my husband's/his parents' very kind gift of a Kindle*.

So, today, I finally registered and synced up the Kindle and I see that Kindle offers a lot of free books daily. While these aren't books I normally go for, I am not as big a book snob as I once were. Living away from public libraries have humbled me in this respect. And these free books look interesting...of better quality than the free books that Nook routinely offers.

And I also ordered a book to be shipped from the Book Depository that couldn't be found on Kindle or Nook but I must have for this English book club I'm in. This UK company has free shipping *and* sells books at a discount pretty regularly. It was much cheaper than buying from Steinmatsky, so there's my new source for book purchases, should I desire something beyond what I can get free via the Kindle or Nook or able to check out via OverDrive at the Pittsburgh Public Library.

That's a lot of resources... (as I count them out now, four!) I think I am set for another year (or two) of living without a good public library nearby.

* It amuses me to recall that my brother had given me my first eReader, the Nook, shortly after Declan was born. And now that my second eReader, the Kindle, was gifted to me shortly after Petra's birth, I see the secret to obtaining another eReader someday**.

**So kidding. Having a third child just so I could get a new eReader is all kinds of lunacy.

CIM #1

A Classic Israeli Moment:

When a mother brings her piano-recorder to the park, and plays a simple tune for her crawling child. Like a pied piper, her music attracts the attention of other children in the park, and everyone--child and parent alike--wanders over to stand and gawk at her. Soon, a circle of moms/nannies and children rings the woman, and song requests are shouted at the woman. She complies, as the older caretakers start clapping their hands in rhythm and interrupt occasionally to argue over the lyrics. Since Pesach is coming soon, everyone sings traditional/common songs about Pesach.

Declan takes me by the hand, tells me to sit so he can crawl into my lap (alas, I can only squat as I was cradling his little sister) and joins everyone else around the circle of music appreciators.

sigh

I don't know what I'm doing with my life.

On one hand, I do know. It's simple. Take care of the kids. Take care of the home.

And yet.

I really don't know.

The times I'm happy are the brief flashes when I get to talk about silly, non-kid-related, shallow, flighty topics like the Oscars or unrealistically handsome Korean actors with Jess and Andrea. I think I really miss my close friends. That's one thing.

The other thing is that I...[baby crying. finish this thought later]

this lenten season

The pastor of my local church in Pittsburgh posted this on Facebook yesterday: "A 'positive added spin' on lent? Many Christians practice lent (started yesterday) as a way to identify with and focus on the suffering of Jesus for us. Many of us decide to give up something for lent. This is good but perhaps we can take a page from the reason why Christian fast and apply it here? We don't fast for the sake of fasting, and we don't fast to show how devoted we are to God. We fast so we can use that time to focus on God and drawing close to Him. In fasting, there is giving up of something (eating), and also taking up of something (seeking God). For lent this year, maybe we can give up something, but also take up something like spending more time with God weekly, or showing concrete actions of love to someone once a day..."

It really got me thinking. I've never really done the resolution-y giving up something for the Lenten season in the past before. Some of the things people give up just sound like self-help opportunities, and the whole culture of it can get pretty ridiculous. So I'd reactionarily abstained from participating. 

But perhaps there is something to be said about marking a season, observing a period of time, preparing my own heart for the advent of Easter, to fully appreciate what that means. Historically, giving up something for Lent is for the sake of anticipating fulfillment with the Resurrection of the Messiah. Physically, that's not fully possible if one has not acutely felt deprivation in some way.

Given my former pastor's insight on the matter, I think I will give up something and take up something else this Lenten season. I will (attempt to) give up my attitude of/tendency towards entitlement. Towards complaining and focusing on what's lacking in my life, towards feeling wronged when I have to work a little harder than what I perceive my husband's doing, towards feeling jealous and discontented when I see other friends thriving in their PhD programs/careers or other moms getting a break by having family help or traveling home. I will take up praying more in trusting God that He will provide, in picking up and reading the Bible on a more frequent basis. This, all, in preparation for more fully appreciating Easter, on that day.

jumbled thoughts

My cousin May took her two young children back to Taiwan for Chinese new year celebrations this year. Looking at her pictures of the Taiwanese background made me miss home so much. Even more than Thanksgiving in the US...that's saying something. I guess, in the end, for all the uncomfortable awkwardness of my more Anglo-inclinations, Taiwan is still the closest thing to my idea of home. Having married an American whose job prospects seem to enjoy the best options in the US, I'm not sure if I'll be able to return. Our children are being raised to speak mostly English right now, and some smattering of Hebrew at the parks. (Declan, of his own volition, said, "Toda" to another boy who returned his toy dump truck at the park this morning.) The desire for my children, if I ever have any, speaking Chinese fluently, had been a main reason why for the longest time I wouldn't date anyone whose mother tongue isn't Chinese. I guess life always turns out completely differently from one's plans.

I'm a bit torn right now about whether Declan should go to gan or not. On one hand, it'd allow me to focus fully on Petra during the day so that she could enjoy some semblance of Declan's babyhood. Not to mention sanity, perhaps, for me in not dealing with two young children at once. On the other hand, am I really ready for us to be apart for that much time during the week? I took Declan and Petra to the park across the street from our apartment this morning. It was around 9am when we got there, and I had a chance to mingle with the few moms that were already there. They were super friendly and Declan played quite nicely with their boys (around the same age as him). I would miss this if he's not around; just as I'm starting to build a rapport with the moms at Hila's as well.

Well, maybe gan won't even be an option, and then that's not an issue I even need to dwell on.

blue

It's another Friday-Saturday weekend again, something uniquely Israel which I'm still having difficulty getting used to even after more than five months of living here.

Maybe the weekends would feel less blah if I had friends, real friends, to hang out with here. I know nice people here, but they're either of the cocktail-party variety or we just don't know each other long enough yet to really be friends the way I have/had friends in the places before here. And now with two young kids in tow, it's that much harder to get connected and develop/deepen these friendships. Someone called earlier to ask if I want to have Shabbot dinner with them i.e. order in sushi and pizza and eat at their place. Which sounds truly lovely, except her place is hard to get to with kids, leaving them home is not a good option, and I have a fatigue headache anyway.

So the weekdays are stressful, and the weekends are still unpleasant. And this will continue for at least another year. I keep reminding myself that happiness is pointless/elusive as a goal. It is merely a lucky by-product, if it appears, of going through life fulfilling my responsibilities. Except...

I feel like I'm failing at life every day. The hours are in monochrome.

recent...achievements (?)

I hesitate to call them achievements because they would seem like such big no-big-deals to my single alter ego, if I were the same age but not married and/or have kids.  For some reason, though, having kid(s) often render me a puddle of water prone to feeling the full extent of my failure, burdened by the immense responsibility of raising up humans that don't end up becoming serial killers.

Sometimes just getting out of the house, or even staying home all day but not losing my temper at the children/husband is major, major victory. Yes, I think becoming a parent really opened my eyes to how frail I am. Physically, emotionally, spiritually.

And so I give thanks for even the most simple things, like:

- Wednesday morning: Walking to and back from Mommy & Me in Vardiya with Petra in a sling; the first time since three weeks ago when I gave birth to her. Remembering to bring an umbrella so Petra didn't get soaked by the sudden downpour when we were five minutes away from Hila's.

- Wednesday night: My mom left Israel after helping with the newborn for the last three weeks, and panic had set in as the evening deepened... As the sun rose today, I am so grateful that I actually feel not in pain but semi-rested despite not having my mom to help hold the baby so I can catch up on sleep in between night feedings. Admittedly, Elizabeth held Petra so I could go to bed early while she stayed up to watch some shows on the DVD machine. So I guess the real test of independence in raising a baby and toddler simultaneously will come when I'm truly alone. (Gulp.)

- Thursday morning (today): Allyson told me about a La Leche meeting and it so happened to take place at 10am just five minutes walk from my place, at Merkaz Maof. I had to ask a store owner (in Hebrew!) where it is. The group accommodated me by speaking mostly in English, switching to Hebrew when in heated discussion (I love how openly opinionated Israelis are!). I'm so thankful that Elizabeth woke up in time to babysit Declan, as I was planning to bring both kids. That would have been a terrible, terrible idea.

- Thursday afternoon: I used yad2 to find a night light/small lamp for the baby's night changing table. I'm proud of this "feat" because the website was in Hebrew, but I figured it out with Google Translate and contacted the seller. Thank goodness he speaks English, and we finalized the transaction after I came home from the La Leche meeting. I'm actually looking forward to changing Petra's diaper in the wee hours tonight.