Where are the Socks?

As you can see here, there are socks missing from the display here. We, meaning Yafiz, Sha'ar Binyamin, have been selling out of our supply of army socks. Not only do miluimnikim, IDF reserve soldiers rush in to shop for supplies like socks, towels and even pillows, but last night while I was manning the shoe store, a couple of teenage girls came in to buy a big charity care package for the soldiers. I gave them all the army socks we had, even though they weren't sure they had the budget. Then they went into the clothing department where my boss handled the rest of the order.

No doubt that our supply went to the front-lines.

May G-d conduct this war. In all honesty, I don't trust the politicians. The ordinary Israeli doesn't either. We really would like to wipe-out Arab terrorism once and for all, G-d willing.

Aliyah Anniversary Season, Making More History

We davka celebrated our forty-third 43rd aliyah anniversary on the fifth 5th of Ellul the day we made a big sheva brachot (post-wedding) bash for our son and daughter-in-law.  This seems to be the season of aliyah milestones, especially since most Jews come from the northern hemisphere and summer moves are very common.

Nefesh B'Nefesh started its big aliyah enterprise with summer flights ten years ago, and I was privileged to be accepted as a bona fide journalist on a couple of flights to Israel, seven and eight years ago.

I wonder what these kids are doing now.

A also had the thrill of going to greet a plane of new immigrants a few years ago.

I really should do it again.

Too bad I missed Hadassa's son's flight.

Before I relinquished him to his friends and the flight into his future I blessed him as I do most Friday nights. I said out loud the bracha of Shehechyanu – thank you God for bringing us to this moment. There, in the swirling maelstrom of hundreds of people saying goodbye, I reminded my son how very much he is loved, and how very proud we are of him.
The pride in my heart waged war with the sadness of goodbyes. My first son to leave home. My eldest. Surrounded by loved ones who came to wish him well he took this big step. He hugged us all and waved goodbye. One of the next pictures I had of him was him landing in Israel with the biggest smile on his face that I have ever seen. His joy is my joy.
My other boys held my hand, and put their arms around me and were so solicitous as we walked to the car, the KoD providing a strong shoulder for me all morning. I didn’t expect the thump of sadness that was delivered to my heart. It hurt to leave, it hurt to say goodbye. But that smile on his face? I knew he’d be ok.

Photo credit: Shahar Azran

A charter plane dubbed the "soldiers' flight" touched down in Israel on Tuesday morning, bringing 125 young American Jews ready to don uniforms and join the ranks of the Israel Defense Forces.

The flight, carrying a total of 330 new immigrants from North America, included 63 men and 62 women aged 18 to 22 who will soon be inducted into the armed forces, most of them slated for combat. Israel Hayom

Way back when in 1970 I don't think my parents and in-laws felt the way Hadassa feels.  That's because mine and my husband's parents and their peers didn't dream of aliyah for themselves.  They, like their parents, considered living in America as being in the "promised land."  We betrayed all of that.  Our aliyah mocked their beliefs.

So many of my friends had voiced plans like mine and my husband's to make aliyah but they ended up staying in galut, gallus, the diaspora.  And then, they, too played the same script to their children to keep them from moving to Israel.

"First get an education and get yourself established."

Well, in all honesty and after almost a half a century of experience, I must say that is the perfect recipe to make aliyah difficult if not impossible.

All of my hugs and praise to Hadassa and the other parents who are supporting their children's decision to make aliyah now when they're young, before getting university educations etc.  Blessings to all!

Real Life, Nothing Lives Forever

Ode to a washing machine....

Yesterday I posted this announcement aka status update on facebook:

Our washing machine is "gossessing," as I use a the Hebrew verb for on its last breath or brain-dead.
Yes, you can say it has Alzheimer's. It's like some senile old guy peeing in the fridge, so I finally called the repairman.

When he heard my description-not the peeing just the sounds and dirt coming out during spin-, and considering that although it was a cheap machine bought 11 years ago. Nothing broke that wasn't the fault of a human, and I hadn't called him in for over 10 years... he recommended a new machine. It would cost me over ns300 just for him to come and no promise he can rejuvenate it.

He said that he sells new machines, that are considered scratched or whatever and they come with 3 year service. And he delivers, so I decided to go for it.

Not everyone delivers or services to Shiloh.

Am I crazy?

I was very fond of that machine.  I had bought it in time for my younger son's being drafted into the army.  I wanted a machine that would allow me to launder the army uniforms for two in prewash with cold water.  I knew there would be at least two years with two of them in the army, different sorts of units and different types of grime.  The paratrooper brought in muddy uniforms and the tankist had machine oil.

After much searching I found a simple inexpensive machine. Of course the salesperson claimed that they delivered to Shiloh and would provide service, which wasn't entirely true. 

The previous washing machine had been bought before that son was born. I needed a machine that could handle diapers for two.   It was known as a sturdy machine, the legendary Crystal Super Lord, and facebook friends commented that they are still using theirs. 

This repairman, sales agent, was discovered when Crystal told me to call him since they wouldn't install or repair my new machine eleven years ago.  I was pleased with his service then but hadn't been in touch for over ten years.  The last time was when "someone" broke the security lock on the handle and he fixed it. 

Just recently a neighbor mentioned that he had had his machine repaired by a funny guy, and I just knew he was the same one.  So when the phone number on the sticker he left wasn't good, I called my neighbor who gave me the newer one.  And now I'm waiting to hear about the options.  I figure that he wouldn't recommend my buying a machine that needs much service or he'd have to drive out here a lot.

People tell me that eleven years is now considered a good life span for a washing machine, especially a cheap one.  And considering that I never paid for a service contract or repair for over ten years...  Let's say goodbye to:

And we'll hope that its replacement lasts at least as long.

Finally

I finally got around to adding a blog to my blogroll I had wanted to add from the first I had heard of it. Luckily she visited mine and left a comment, and I did it.

It's A Soldier's Mother. She has another good blog, This is Israel.

I wonder why it has taken so long for me to do it.

I had four years of full time soldier-mothering. Of that time, the middle two years both my sons were in the IDF. I had them set up their room with storage boxes filled with enough uniforms, socks, gotkes etc so that I didn't have to run the washing machine the minute they came home and pray that the sun would stand still long enough for things to be washed and dried before Shabbat. It took that stress out of the period.

They were in during Ehud Barak's reign of terror, when going to Jerusalem was more frightening than Shechem and Jenin.

My elder son was in Lebanon during the war Ehud Olmert would rather delete from history. If you go to that Havel Havelim I hosted not long ago, you'll see a picture of him.

And now, my baby has milu'im, reserve duty, in a couple of weeks.