I am exhausted. Can I just say that again? I am exhausted. And of course when I complain I’m exhausted I get the response “well you shouldn’t be staying up so late“. Like, how else am I supposed to get everything done?
Being a mom is hard, especially being a mom living in a country with no other close relatives or in-laws, and friends who either live very far away or are super crazy busy just like me.
I have to admit, I could be living the life, spending quality fun time with the kids, reading books and relaxing and sleeping mid-morning and just chillin’. But of course, I split my time between dropping off and picking up the kids, shopping, cleaning and errands, which can’t really be gotten around. I also took on a volunteer project, a few yearly swaps and other charity projects, offer a free group art lesson once a week from my home, run a website, and several other things to keep me busy. On top of that I have hobbies and interests and I like to help others and my kids are very very VERY active, and, well… I am a busy lady.
So tonight is Shabbat when I’m meant to light some candles and shut the doors to the cabinets and computers and balagan and relax with my clean white-clad daughters and husband at a beautifully set table with an aray of culinary delicacies to talk, sing, laugh and enjoy the quiet and peace of Shabbat. Then tomorrow we will stroll over to CC for lunch, where others will be gathered for a pot luck, displaying an amazing green crunchy salad with fresh-picked herbs and saffron rice.
What will happen is that the house will turn into a whirlwind of OMG what time is it, where did you put the everything, why is this not done, didn’t I already ask you to do xyz, I just cleaned that, grab the thingamajiger before M1/2 gets it, OMG what the heck did they just do, OMG what are they doing, I thought I asked you to watch them, it’s too late, there’s not enough time, whatever… and then once all the electronics are neatly tucked away, the lights are set, and the candles are lit, I’ll want to sit down and breath but there’s still dinner and cleaning up and bedtime. And at the end of it all, instead of happily grabbing a book off the shelf and quietly settling into it (remember those days?), I’ll either want to pass out or my mind will start rolling with all the things I need to do, those that I didn’t get to yet, and the worries associated with them. Tomorrow will be about watching the kids, chasing the kids, making sure the kids are eating enough, and then dragging them home when they’re tired and don’t want to leave.
Somewhere on Earth there needs to be a Shabbat Support Group for Mommies Like Me (SSMLM for short), where we can actually enjoy Shabbat and utilize it for what it was meant to be – a day to recharge, relax, and reconnect. If anyone has any ideas like that, oh please I will love you forever. And of course become a Lifetime Member.
Lemon Thyme picked up with the girls yesterday at a local greenery. The citrusy sweet smell is such a great pick-me-up after a long hard day!
A good friend of mine called me yesterday for some assistance. After having tried and falling in love with my Ergo360, she purchased her own from Ebay. Price? $120.
Not bad, since mine was 860 shekels (translating to $216; yes, it’s expensive here!) last year when it was first released. Ergo’s website lists it in the US at about $160. So she thought she was getting a pretty good deal, since it was about the same with a slight difference but had some suspicions. She picked it up this morning and we met up to compare.
The original photo we took was with flash and didn’t come out great. With the loss of detail, I’d say it’s pretty darn hard to tell the difference. Fake (right) vs real (left).Can you spot the fake Ergobaby 360? Here’s the inside of the fake (left) vs real (right) Ergobaby 360. The main difference from afar is the color.
Her Ergo 360 came in the same nice box as mine, with a little wear and tear (even though the woman selling it said she never opened the boxes), and inside a plastic bag. There was a note about a product guaranty, but no user guide.
The box, worn slightly but looks like an original from Ergobaby.
I’ve seen posts on some really well made Original Ergo counterfeits, but this one wasn’t up to par. It was obvious on pulling it out that the fabric was cheaper and the stitching was not as nice. The size was slightly smaller (either to cut costs in the factory or because of inconsistency in the pattern used versus the original Ergo 360), and the color didn’t match. In addition, the box claimed it was a Grey/Taupe Ergo, while the tag said Dusty Blue(nothing about the fake looks like the Dusty Blue style).
Ergobaby real and fake placed one on top of the other. Original Ergobaby 360 on bottom, fake on top. The fake is notably smaller and a bit “wonky”.Box the counterfeit came in listing Grey/Taupe and the label listing Dusty Blue.
So as a guide to unknowing buyers, and those who haven’t seen a real Ergo360, we made a side-by-side photo comparison. All the photos have the fake either at the top of the photo or to the right of the real Ergobaby 360.
Ergobaby Logo 101. Can you spot the fakes? The baby stains probably give it away, but the subtle differences are there.
She returned the Ergo 360 for a refund, and the women selling it claimed she had no idea; the factory just shipped it to her “like that” and she’d return it to complain. I’m not sure what factory makes real and fake Ergos at the same time and how they could have mysteriously gotten mixed up (or how someone couldn’t know it was a fake), but she seemed very nice about the return and then got more and more stressed and defensive (especially when the possibility of Ebay shutting down her store entered the conversation).
In an effort to look “real”, Ergobaby counterfeiters put in safety warnings and labels. Some are decorative (like above) but some are for authenticity. They might miss some of the details, like incorrect spelling or bad placement. These were pretty well done, however there are a few discrepancies. A real Ergobaby 360 will have a tag with number (including a year and month) on the waist belt. The fake didn’t have this tag.
Label on waist belt of the original Ergobaby 360.Waist bands of the fake (top) and original (bottom). The counterfeit put their label in a pretty bad place, interfering with the belt’s velcro and therefore ability to close properly.
Please beware, when knowingly buying a counterfeit (like a “Fergo” instead of an Ergo), the amount you spend is going to reflect the genuineness. Cheating someone by claiming the product is the original is obviously wrong and you should be very cautious if the price seems “too good to be true”. So here’s the thing, even if you do get a great deal, you’re compromising safety.
Close-up of the fake vs original Ergobaby 360 warning labels. Note everything matches except the color and style name and code. Also, the safety certification code is missing from the counterfeit.
It may not be a big deal, but check out the photos and you’ll see what I mean. My Ergo360 has been lovingly “lived in” for over a year and the resulting wear and tear has been pretty minimal due to careful stitching and sturdy fabrics. With fakes, there’s no safety promises, and that can result in minor to serious injuries, especially to small children. While I was taking the photos I even noticed an area that had some serious stitching going on, and you can see some of it already starting to give. It’s a spot which carries most of the baby’s weight, and if that goes so does baby.
While the Ergo is a tough carrying machine, things get worn. Thread is not solid steel and will pull and stretch. You can see here how the bottom (real) has a few “layers” of close stitching to strengthen an area that will obviously be a focus of usage stress. The top (fake) has one line of stitching and, well… when it goes it’s gone, and so might be your kid.
Another safety issue you might not consider are buckles. My friend was really concerned about the shape of the buckles. Had she not had mine to compare to, she wouldn’t have noticed it. The shape is different, but also the material quality is pretty obvious. Buckles are plastic and after lots of usage can risk breakage, that’s why they’re under warranty. If your plastic buckles are cheap and shoddy, they will snap (which could result in baby falling).
Which one is stronger? There’s no mistaking the difference here. Not only does the fake’s plastic look cheap, it’s missing a pretty important looking part.The female ends of the buckle. Those ridges inside are meant to hold the buckle in place and prevent it from slipping. The fake (top) is noticeably smaller and thinner.
Not only do counterfeiters not comply to safety standards, many of them cut costs by employing cheap labor. Yep, think child-labor, sweatshops, and all those unpleasant things we like to think don’t happen anymore or only in really backwards uncivilized and non-policed places.
It was rainy so the photos were taken inside, but the lighting shows most of the small details and the color differences. Things you can’t really see are the texture and weight. The fake was lighter and just felt flimsy. Something that’s easy enough to check. The real Ergobaby 360 isn’t heavy, but it’s not super light because of all the padding. Here’s a few photos that sort of show the thickness.
Top photo is the area of the Ergobaby 360 where the “tushie” sits, cushioning your baby. The bottom shows the padded shoulder straps.
The top of the Ergobaby 360 has a pocket that holds the suncover. Left photo shows the pocket with the suncover out so the difference between fake (top) and real (bottom) fabric thickness is more obvious.
Ergobaby puts in some nice details that aren’t always replicate-able on a tight budget (think counterfeit factory mentality). Zippers, buttons, and other little things that make it look “cheap” and will most likely end up becoming problematic in the future when they tear, open up, or break.
Shoddy stitching that will lead to fraying, almost identical but not quite zippers…Fake versus real Ergobaby 360 sun cover and pocket. Notice the fake’s attempt to copy the sun cover design by stitching two pieces of fabric together (top right).Buttons on the headrest. Top photo shows the entire area (fake at very top; darker colored fabric strings). Bottom photos show closeups of buttons and cloth attaching them. Almost similar but not quite.
More for your money? Might not be, as the counterfeit cut short some of the straps, used less thread and filling, and in general just didn’t “sit” right.
Ergobaby’s color system for young versus older babies in the crotch seating region was absent from the fake.
Some of the comfort of the Ergobaby 360 original is going to be lost with all that flimsy fabric and irregular stitching. Counterfeits are not designed with your comfort and happiness in mind, so who knows how your baby will sit in the seat (which is not the same in dimension.
Ergo’s seating (crotch) region is padded differently, attached differently, and not the same dimensions. Also, the waist belt is secured at a wider spacing, giving more support, strength, and comfort when closed.
The waistband, the most important (in my opinion) part of the sling for baby-carrying mom/dad/grandparent/caregiver, is a different size and construction. It might not hold as well if the velcro isn’t strong. Also, without good support and fitting, you can have severe back and leg pains. This is definitely not one of those areas you want to scrimp on.
Fake Ergo is shorter on the long velcro side, and longer on the other side, which means it closes and sits differently. With the real Ergobaby, you can easily close it without having to struggle and reach around your back for odd positioning. Probably a good idea to keep the velcro closed as often as possible, since it’s strong and it collects EVERYthing (yeah, that dirty thing is mine).
Here’s those buckles again, at the waist, behind the shoulders and on the shoulder straps. The stitching to secure them in place isn’t similar, and neither is the plastic material. Those are key places if not “locked in” tightly, you’re going to have a broken unusable Ergo (and no warranty to replace those pieces) or risk your child slipping while in use.
Belt buckles on real versus fake. Can you tell which is which?
Who’s carrying your baby?
Shoulder straps (fake Ergobaby 360 on top) and sun cover snaps (fake on right). If you look close you can see the fabric quality. Mine’s been washed and worn, but it still has a much tighter weave.Back straps. Mine’s a bit ratty for wear and tear, but it’s been a year. The fake has less stitching… imagine what it will look like in a year (if the stitches are still there).
*A few more photos will be added soon as I get some time!
So you got duped into buying a fake (or you have suspicions it’s fake), and want to know what you can do? First, if you just made the purchase and you can call your bank (or Paypal) for a charge back, or dispute the sale if that doesn’t help (Ebay,Amazon, or the like), do so now. Send as much info as possible. Chances are the person selling the counterfeit has had previous disputes and won’t want to risk getting their store shut down.
Contact Ergobaby. Their website gives clear instructions on who is an authorized retailer (if they’re not on the list, be suspicious) and how to handle the situation if you’ve already bought. They stand to lose customers and their reputation, so they’re very receptive of input and feedback on where counterfeits are coming from and who is making/selling them.
That said, the Ergobaby 360* saved my life and I can’t say enough about it. I do wish the front pocket found on the Performance was still there (*hint hint future models*) but it’s really a very reliable hands-free and fun way to wear your baby.
Good luck and happy baby-wearing!
*This post was in no way endorsed by, paid for, or sponsored by the Ergobaby company and is completely the opinion of the web-blog owner. Although we wouldn’t turn down a pat on the back for it. =)
Years ago I sat with an elderly neighbor and wrote down her story. At the time I wanted to find more of these stories, the same way I wanted to find stories of my own past and write them before the stories were gone. I told her I would write it for her, and just today I found Her Story and decided it was time to write it down for the world.
This… is Esther’s story.
Esther sat with me, or I sat with her, and she described in such detail, arms moving, face contorting to express the emotion or picture, almost tears forming at moments of tragedy… she descried her life in her words and expressed how she wished someone would write it down for her, since she can barely read or write in Hebrew. But she wants her words. Her story. Not the story of a younger person who changed the words to make the story come alive. So here is her story, in my English words, which I simply want to write down in order to not forget, and as a note to the story I will write later. This is a project I love doing with other people and it’ll be good for me, and for her.
This is Esther’s story.
Born in Tunis, all the Jews, when the French came, were given French citizenship. The French were good to them. They had everything they needed and wanted. Not like today when people have what they need but aren’t satisfied because they want more. Then, having bread and butter and coffee in the morning was good enough.
They owned a tailoring shop where they made clothes. Grandfather was an important Rabbi (religion was always important in the family, always known they were Jews).
Then the Germans came to Tunis and they were horrible to the people. They entered their homes, took all the food from the pantries, money, anything of value. They were bad for the people and bad for the Jews.
The German soldiers began taking the women, mothers and daughters. They would take them from their homes and rape them until they died, then throw out the body.
Esther was married to Chaim at the time. He had been married before to a woman who gave birth to a daughter but the daughter died from neglect. At that time families would force marriages. He hadn’t wanted to marry her, but she was a close relative so his parents made him marry her. He wanted to leave her because he didn’t love her but he didn’t know how. So he went to a Rabbi and they filed for a get since she had no children, and Chaim married Esther.
When the Germans came to her home to take her, she told Chaim she wouldn’t go. They had three daughters: Orna, ??, and Tzvia, the baby. She told Chaim she would kill herself before she let them use her and kill her afterwards. He told her to get her papers and ID documents for all the family and they would leave. She gave her key to her neighbor, an Arab woman who was a very dear friend; they would sit every morning and drink coffee together. They didn’t have time or room to take anything, so she gave her key to her neighbor and told her “If I return, you will give me back my house and my things. If not, they are yours.” The woman took the key and wept. “May she be well,” Esther smiles.
They left for Marseilles in France. It was the Winter of 47? and Tzvia was just a baby. The weather was dreadfully cold compared to Tunis. Sixty families arrived with nowhere to go. They were sleeping on the street. They asked someone what they should do and were told to go to the beit knesset (synagogue) for help. There they were taken to a giant home on the coast which had belonged to the French King who had just died. They were given mattresses and blankets. Each day/week a man with a horse and cart of ice would come and bring milk and bread.
They stayed there for 9 months. After, the Italians came and brought with them candy, sweets, and toys for the children. They gave everyone a sack and told them to put their possessions in the bag, write their name on it and write their names on a piece of paper so they could receive some food and other aid.
It was just before Shabbat and Esther had already it candles; she couldn’t write anything so they left on the boat without any help. They took their three children and boarded the boat. As they left the harbor, the boat in front of them sank and everyone drowned. It was a horrible sight. A man went out to gather the bodies and scavenge for what was left.
They sailed in between two large rock cliffs but there was no space so the boat got stuck and they all had to get off. They were taken to Kafrize (Cypress) and put in a jail. It was 42 degrees and every day a child died from the heat.
During the entire trip, Esther had been helping other mothers who couldn’t nurse by nursing their babies alongside Tzvia. “Mah ani parah?” (What am I, a cow?)… A very kind Rabbi taught them to read and write the Aleph Bet, which they hadn’t done in Tunis.
At some point an English officer came and entered their cell. He saw three children lying on the ground and asked “What is this?”… “Those are children who died from the heat”.
He told everyone who had children to come with him. They were taken finally to Israel, to Hadera where they stayed a short time before moving to Haifa next to Tel Dor… a theater.. all the families were cramped together. Someone from the Jewish Agency came and took all the families with children and gave them each a home. They told them to live there while they were getting settled and then to pay them back later.
The government took all the young men, gave them a gun and trained them to fight. They also taught them all trades. Chaim was sent to fight and Esther left with their four children in their home at 49 Yaffo Street.
Esther had no work and her husband was fighting. One day the owner of the shop downstairs offered to give her milk, bread, anything she needed for her and her four daughters. She refused, “My parents always told me ‘Never take anything from anyone’.”
No, he didn’t want to give her but to let her take what she needed and when her husband came back he could pay with the money he received from his salary. he agreed and upon his return, Chaim was so happy she had done well, writing down what she had bought each day at home while the shop owner had also written everything.
“He was Christian! I found out later… but he was such a good person, and so was his family. Our children played with his, we were good friends”.
Everything was good at the time, the Jews and Arabs were all like one family. Then the Germans came again. Esther had nine children and three miscarriages, the last girl she named Batsheva. David Ben Gurion sat with her, face to face, one day and told her what a good person she was. “What I have is half yours.” He handed her a check. She refused, saying “Give this to the soldiers”. Be Gurion gave her a kiss on the head and both cheeks, saying there should be more people like her in the world. Until this day everyone says she was crazy for not taking the money.
After Batsheva, she had surgery because she had already had nine children, more than enough. The doctors at the time were not very good; they were inexperienced and made the cut too large, and to this day “it still pains me”.
It’s almost Shabbat and one kid is being fed, the other is sitting in front of the TV waiting for Abba to finish cleaning the floors before everything goes off for 25 hours. I don’t know how I feel, as there’s a little lump in my stomach and I can’t get to the bottom of it.
Yesterday, after wandering around town for a bit and photographing random items and people near the shuk…
Bikes and bikes waiting at an intersection
As well as some interesting graffiti…
“Welcome to you eat what you cook” graffiti with Bibi
Turtle on a wall
Eli Lapid
…I took M2 to the beach for a few minutes to enjoy the surf and let her see what she’s been missing. It was a nice break from the long crazy week, and the horrible heat of last week.
On the way down
Looking out over the sea
Go In Peace
She, of course, was more interested in the sand and stones than the water until it attacked her, and she was not too pleased.
Checking out the water
Bird and dog prints in cement
So in the afternoon when AN usually does his pre-Shabbat cleaning, I decided to take the girls out to give him some space and quiet while he spic-and-spanned the house. I gathered up all the glass, metal and ceramic kitchen items, including bottles I’ve been collecting for spices and mixes, and all the silverware I cleaned and then got accidentally mixed with non-kashered/non-toiveled silverware, turning a simple job into a massive one. We packed everything into plastic and bags, into the car, and drove to the closest mikveh to “dunk” everything.
M1 has been here before although she was too small to remember, and this time I let her “help” me, and attempted to explain in very simple ways how we put our kitchen utensils and cooking and serving items into water that comes from the sky in order to make it better. I’m not sure how you explain the idea of toiveling to a 3-yr-old. I told her to be careful because falling into the mikveh’s deep waters would be dangerous, even though there’s a steel grate basket inside. Just in case. She asked to help, dunking some items after I did, and splashing her hands in when I wasn’t looking.
Toiveling in the mikveh
Afterwards, I decided to drive a bit so both Ms could get some sleep, and hoped it would last until AN finished his Big Clean. I drove around Vatikim, which is the older neighborhood near us, and discovered some interesting areas I’d never seen before. There’s a huge open area behind us, and part of this area is home to Netanya’s Municipal cemetery.
I knew the cemetery existed and I’ve seen signs and even knew people who were buried there (one was a girl from my previous work). So I wasn’t surprised but I was very moved by actually seeing it. It’s not a typical cemetery, with most of the area open, no trees, most of the stones newer and squatter than many places I’ve been. Having lived near a cemetery in Haifa, I was also taken aback by, well, the feeling. The air. The colors. The stillness. The closeness, not in distance but in time. Hard to explain, and maybe because I’m not a mother, but it was odd and touching.
Entrance to the cemetery and directions to the library and other sections
Entrance to the library and offices
Wall with stars around the older area
As I stood in the parking lot looking over the short wall around the cemetery, gazing over the stones and the quiet and wondering where the people who had parked there were, and who they were visiting, and how many years they had been coming, two things struck me. One was a sign pointing out stating Yitzeeah or “Exit”. Ironic, no? How strange and sad a thing like that to see next to a place like this. How comforting it must be to many who come to visit and are granted the privilege of leaving once again.
Exit
Next to the entrance sign for the Children’s Area were three joined stones with the words “Together in Life and Death”. I’ve seen stones like these in old cemeteries where childhood illness was common, but not graves from recent times. Curious, I took a closer look, discovering three children ages 9, 8, and 5 all with the same date. I drove home more cautiously than before, considering how many traffic accidents happen on Israeli roads, imagining this grieving family and internally relieved it wasn’t mine. How sudden these things occur, tragedies you can’t see coming. Not knowing when death might come knocking is probably one of the worst thoughts a parent can have, yet we don’t consider it until it is sometimes too late.
Children’s Area
Children of Lilach
Once home I took a closer look at the photo and found the name of the mother. And then I realized I knew their story, and cringed at the memory. Lilach Shem Tov, mother to three, divorced, in a custody struggle with her husband, on her birthday… opening the door to not flowers and balloons but the news that her ex-husband had killed her three children while they slept.
So I start Shabbat was sadness and chills, holding my children close and grateful for them and their laughter and sometimes their defiance, their giggles and shrieks of happiness, and tears when they fall and kisses when they need attention. And for my own husband who loves them more than himself, and the comfort that we are happy. Together and Happy. And I pray as I light the Shabbat candles that peace and security will stay forever a part of our home, for all eternity, and that we should, as they say in Hebrew she lo’nidah… never know sorrow.
Today is Isru Chag, which means the holiday “exits”, or is finally over. Many schools and gans weren’t open today, so mamas like myself had to find something to do with their little ones. Over the weekend, besides hosting a 17-person (plus 6 kids and 4 babies, 3 of whom are the same exact age give or take a few hours) pot luck lunch, which was really fun, we took the girls to one of our friends whose son is a day older than M2, and her friend, whose son is a few hours older than him. We hung out on the roof of their penthouse, watching the park below and the ongoing Brits-led Shavuot Cricket Game, and talked babies and kids. Candy (her nickname) wasn’t sure if her kids were at gan or not today and suggested we go berry picking, so we did that. Although she didn’t make it, we had a nice time despite the heat.
I packed the girls, packed the car, and packed myself in a very orderly and timely fashion (so not like me) and headed up north about 20-30 minutes depending on traffic to a place called Ruah Sh’tut, meaning The Spirit that is Strawberry, but can also mean Spirit of Silliness. After paying for M1 and I to enter, watching a movie about the all natural approach to growing and picking, we checked out the honey bees, which M1 absolutely loved despite the fact she’s afraid of bees and flies, grouping them all into the “they’re chasing me” category.
M1 and her Beez
Berry Smoothie
We were invited to try a berry shake, and as I attempted to pull M1 away from the beez, a guy approached us and said “I spoke to you on the phone”, pointing to M1 and M2, “three year old and less than one year old”. He took us through to the end to show us the “secret patch” of blackberries and raspberries that hadn’t been pillaged by mobs of visitors the day before, and explained to M1 and I how they grow them, what the differences are, the weather and water issues… and let us go. We wandered the cool shaded rows of prickery vines and berries, plucking, eating, filling our containers, eating, and having a very pleasant time.
Blackberry vines
Blackberries not ready for the pickin’
Warm juicy smooshy blackberries. Yum!
M1 made her way through, commenting on the “stickers” and the bugs, eating most of what she found.
Bucket o’ berries
Where did all yours go?
I picked blackberries while putting them in M2’s mouth every few minutes to keep her content.
Just helping myself here…
At some point M1 got a bit bored and decided to eat her berries, remove her shoes to get rid of the “yucky” inside, and relax. I finally pried her away from her cozy spot with the incentive of strawberries, which is what we came for.
Arts and crafts area where M1 finished off her berries.
We didn’t do much strawberry picking as the heat was pretty bad, M2 was sweaty and exhausted, and frankly there were hardly any really nice plump ones visibly left. So we sat on some picnic benches near the entrance and poured water over our heads to cool off. The guy running the place (I can only assume he’s the owner) brought out a big plastic crate which he stuck inside a garbage bag and filled with water, a makeshift pool for the girls. M1 loved it! She even had her own personal hose to splash around with.
Cool refreshing baby-sized pool
M2 did “warm up” to the pool, although it took some time, and after a bit she decided to get out, leaving M1 to sit and splash as I fed M2, talked to the GuyInCharge about berries, natural springs and secret water sources, vegetarians, and babies. Had a nice coffee, some homemade fruit bar, chased M1 (no day is complete without chasing her), relaxed in the heat, ate honey from the comb, and drove home to try and amuse two tired babies until Abba came home. All in all, a great day home with almost nothing to do.
Oh yeah, did I mention I finished the hopefully almost final edit on my thesis? Yay!
Been more “mobile” recently than ever before, traveling, working, writing, chatting… just getting out there. Properly updated and started using a LinkedIn profile (yes, welcome to the 21st century) although not quite sure what to do now with it after adding all the people I know and joining a few groups. I suppose if I wasn’t chasing two little monkeys I’d be able to properly make use of it.
Yuli and I had a Mommy Work Day last week; I packed up early and drove an hour to see her and the newish baby, and we sat in her salon chatting, working, eating, and enjoying the fresh breeze from outside. It was a great change and glad I did it; we got to discuss job opportunities, the digitalization of society and networking, health and happiness, and being a mama.
Fun in the yard…
Plastic and plants…
Yael lives in a place called Shaarey Tikvah, which is southeast of here by about 40 to 60 minutes depending on traffic and time of day, and of course the all-defining “route”. On leaving, I did what any Israeli would do, even those who know the drive well – turned on Waze and was told it was about 50 minutes drive, going the back route. Now, Waze is an Israeli invention, and therefore some options are catered specifically for Israelis, such as the “avoid toll roads” and “only take me through areas within the green line”. Since we do some driving outside the Green Line, especially when going to or through Jerusalem or weekend trips (and Yael lives outside the Green Line), I don’t use that option. Recalling an incident last year when I was about 37 or so weeks pregnant and we stayed in Jerusalem for the weekend, when heavy rioting started in the neighborhood near us, Waze was not the best option. There are lots of areas in Jerusalem that are within the Green Line, but heavily populated by Arabs, and definitely not a good idea to enter during clashes and rioting, especially as a Jewish (or non-Arab) driver, no matter how much you believe in coexistence and loving everyone equally. It’s just not a safe thing to do. We ended up being guided through the emptiest streets, which of course were empty because most of the population was guided around them or blocked from entering by police and security forces. I calmly instructed AN to turn ourselves around, ignore Waze, and head towards traffic.
On the way
So here I am, with a sleeping baby in the back seat, two waving flags proudly attached to the windows of the car, a lone female (no matter how tough you think you are, also not always the safest option), driving through areas with Arabic and Hebrew and sometimes only Arabic signs, black water heaters (Israel areas have white ones, for some reason) on top of houses, the only women on the street or in cars fully clothed in burkas and hijabs. I carefully pull the ends of my scarf around my neck, thinking *ha! i’ve fooled them!* and then remember the flags.
As I drive through each area, and nervously check Waze, with names like Al El Hasomething, and Abu Someone, my chest tightens, my hands sweat just a bit, and my head starts buzzing. I sit up straight, each traffic jam annoys me, I drive a bit faster attempting to obey the Rules of the Road with significantly decreasing success (Sorry officer, I was speeding and driving like a maniac because I didn’t want my baby and myself to be lynched in a strange town…) and imagining what I’d do if I was stopped. These areas could be perfectly safe, like the ones around Haifa where everyone is pretty much welcome, or they could be the center of gang mobs and stone-throwing crazies. Unless you live hear, you don’t know.
The thing is, I have Arab friends. I have worked with and for Arabs, and the Arab community. I strongly believe in co-existence and that there are good people in the world as long as you give them a chance and don’t judge first. I’m a tough girl who can defend herself and don’t like anyone thinking otherwise. But there’s also reality and gang-mentality and good old common sense. I’ve driven through some scary places overseas, and when I worked the Census and had to go door-to-door, accosting people who had no intention of providing the government with their personal details (I was warned about one residence who said they’d shoot anyone who stepped on the property) or aggressive animals (re the story of the women who was attacked by a pack of dogs and found dead on the front lawn hours later). I’ve broken down at midnight in downtown Washington DC, where the repairman, who was black himself, swore he’d never stop in that neighborhood by himself. I’ve slept overnight in my truck, waiting for a dig to begin, in the middle of nowhere Tennessee, scared for my life that some gun-happy local with no teeth would break in and end my life. But this fear I never imagined, the fear that you could and most likely will, if stranded in “one of those areas” not make it out alive.
Waze needs to institute an option of “I’m a Jew, please don’t take me through questionable Arab areas”. It’s not politically correct, and I wish it wasn’t true, because in the end of the day I truly believe everyone should be given a chance and there are lots of people who only want to live their life in peace and quiet… but it’s the harsh reality. So I drove through these areas, heart pounding, eyes ever watchful, cursing at the traffic and random people walking in front of cars, the tiny side streets, and breathing a sigh of relief when I saw an Israeli flag flying on the road at the end.
Yael’s house sits opposite a small Arab village which I don’t know the name of, but you can see cars and taxis driving through, hear people chatting and dogs barking, and occasionally the recorded voice of someone singing (slightly tone-deaf) the five daily prayers.
Looking over Y’s back fence
Gorgeous views, breezy weather, and lots of green. Quiet, comforting and weirdly, insanely, a nice way to start the day.
Pesach is the one time a year when we get out during warm (sometimes even hot) weather with the family, escaping the confines of the house, relaxing and stretching our arms towards the sun and thanking G-d the winter is finally over. Of course, with kids whose runny noses have been strategically timed with vacation, it’s not always that easy. M2 had the flu over the weekend, and M1 had a case of the crazies, getting up late, not sleeping, going to bed late, and refusing to behave like the normal almost 3-year-old human being she obviously is not meant to be. She is, after all, almost 3.
So today Yuli pried me from the comfort of my still chilly home and dragged all four kids to a farm 20 minutes from here where we examined plants, picked them, and got chased by a horse. After which the kids proceeded to destroy the house and porch, and leave me a tired wreck. Just another typical Mommy Day.
Mama Adamah
We drove to Olesh, which is a moshav east of Netanya, to a khavah, or farm. Not really a farm in the usual sense, but there were some animals and a large garden in back where several varieties of plants were being grown.
Running to meet our friends
M1 ran some of the way, excited to be joining MJ and her tinook katan (little baby) and Mommy Y. We were a bit late, as she’d woken late and ran around the house refusing to get dressed, but the group was small and had waited for us. The guide started to explain about each plant and what it was used for, how it was grown and tended, and how to pick it. He offered samples of each vegetable or herb that was ready for the group to try. M1, not a huge fan of green leafy or crispy things, tried a few when her patience allowed her, and ran around the rest of the time inspecting weeds and yelling at bugs.
Looking through the fence
Checking out fool, or horsebean
The plants ranged from typical garden variety potatoes, onions, celery, and more…
Cabbage
Giant Carrot
to unusual varieties like Mangold, Louisa, and French Kuri.
Mangold
Broccoli
Lots of spices and herbs
After a sivoov (round) of the garden, we were handed a few boxes and got to “pick” some of the vegetables. The kids walked around, finding little green and other colored treasures throughout the area, guided by adults who patiently waited while their miniature attention spans fluttered from one plant to the next to passing butterflies and insects and back to herbs and fruits.
Our “treasure trove”
Once we were done, M1 detoured into a covered area where geshem (rain, in actuality a sprinkler system) fell on shaded miniature plants. She found a snail, picked at dirt, and had a generally good time. I prodded her to drink water, she argued about whose bottle she wanted to hold, we attempted to keep the girls busy and happy and hydrated while nursing the babies and keeping them in the shade, and finally called it a day.
On the way out we stopped to look at the animals. A group of goats stood in pens to the left, one of which had just given birth the day before. A woman invited M1 and MJ to help feed them hay, which they obligingly took up, petting the goats and giggling when they got too close.
Aww baby!
Cookooreekoo
We stopped to look at the hen coop, mostly roosters, and then the horses appeared, three large ones, one with an odd curly mopped look, and another who brazenly nudged us and our belongings. I literally had to steal my stroller from his curious grasp as he stuck his head inside, sniffing the stroller, clothes strewn on top, and attempted to (at least I imagine) taste whatever it was he found so interesting.
Right before the horse tipped the stroller over…
He followed me as I pulled and pushed, attempting to get by him and the other horses, and we finally were free to run out and get back into sweltering hot cars, make our way home, and relax in the cool house while the girls tore the house apart, leaving a tornado of toys and half-eaten food in their wake.
