Proof that Washers DO Eat Socks

Yom rishon, 19 Tevet 5774.

The Hebrew expression of the day is "שקית רשת." A sakit reshet is a net bag. It has a zipper closure, costs less than five shekels, and could have saved me several hundred shekels.

During "Snowfesh Hagadol," the great snowstorm of 2013, not only did the power go out at interesting times, but our washing machine also died, creating a flood that kept me from being bored for several hours during the middle of being snowed in.

Being happily responsible for the laundry of several humans, it was imperative that we get the thing fixed as soon as possible. It was a question of whether it had been used to death, and would need to be replaced, or could be reasonably repaired to limp along for a few years.

We checked the GushPhon Classified Business listing -- a marvelous tool I highly recommend for both residents of Gush Etzion and people anxious to share their skills. There were several entries; and I chose to give a call to Zvika Hershkowitz. (Or Tzvika -- yes, the listing is in both transliterations, like so many other things in Israel).

I no longer worry about silly little things like creating the perfectly fluent Hebrew request for service, as I have found that between my pidgin Hebrew and Yiddish, and their pidgin English, we can usually work out what is the problem. Zvika said he was up to his eyeballs (my phrase, rather than his, as I don't think that expression even exists in Hebrew) with fixing the electricity in synagogues and other crises far more important than my little washing machine troubles. We agreed I would call him later in the week. I called this morning, and he made time to come by.

I asked him what he thought it would cost to fix the washing machine, and incidentally to make the dryer function without roaring us to the brink of auditory insanity. He gave me a reasonable quote up front. This was good. If he'd quoted me an hourly rate, I would have been simmering quietly, as he got perhaps ten calls during his visit. Popular guy. I could see why: As things fell off the walls and into his path, he kept saying "Ain baya, ain baya (no problem, no problem)," very cheerfully. (It's a very tiny room, and storage in Israeli apartments is at a premium.)

Zvika finished the work in under an hour, explaining the problem in detail (various socks, and something reminiscent of Sixties paraphernalia (I'll speak to my sons about that one...), and how to avoid such problems in the future.


As he cheerfully took my money -- thank God, we had stashed some for just such an occurrence -- he gave me the Jewish mother lecture I have come to expect from every worker in Israel.  Translated: "If you will use a zippered net bag for socks and small items, you can spend the money on that, instead of giving it to me." And, of course, clean out the pockets.

When I asked him how long he thought my washer and dryer might last, he pointed heavenward. "Machar, machartayim, eser shanim... rak Hashem yodea." (Tomorrow, day after tomorrow, ten years... only God knows.) I love frum (religious) workmen for their honest reliance on the One Above.

Inaugural Post: For My Mama, a"h

Yom chamishi, 16 Tevet 5774.

Mama, in Washington DC, 1993

December is my mother's month.

She was born today, 76 years ago. Christmas was her favorite holiday, with Halloween a close second. (If you do not know me, and you are not a regular reader of my blogs, you will not have known that I was not born Jewish. Story later.) She was not religious, probably not even a Christian -- though she believed in God -- but she loved color and light and the kindness people dust off and bring out during this holiday season. She was a snowdrift and snowflake lover, with the good sense to know the value of a warm fire and a cup of mulled cider. She loved good food and good company. She knew a little bit about a lot of things, had a remarkable native wisdom, and a beautiful singing voice, which her grandchildren have inherited.

I have been writing since I was a child. I started blogging several years ago, mostly at Ki Yachol Nuchal!," all about making aliyah to Israel. It has been such a pleasure to write that blog, to explore, with you, my new life in this land. I have also written several posts for the Times of Israel, using the device "To my dear sons" -- advice about marriage and child-rearing, thinly disguised as advice for my children (so people would perhaps be less likely to think me pompous).

I have pretty much said what I needed to say in the first forum, and have felt a bit constrained by the latter. Lately I've been wanting to create a new blog, without boundaries, so I could say whatever is on my mind, without a specific format. If it gets too far afield, I suspect you will let me know.

This must have been around 1970, in California.

It mattered to me to have a starting date for this new project. I thought that honoring Mama would be a good beginning, as she was my beginning, and a good story in her own right. By honoring her, I also hope to honor my sisters and brother, who fulfilled her desire of absolutely being their own selves -- diametrically different, completely unique -- but tied together by a deep desire to continue as family, no matter what. She would have been proud, I think, of the way they and their children and their children are turning out. I know that I am.

She loved costumes and makeup. She also loved Purim!

Like the previous blogs, this blog will have stories unique to Israel, and advice about raising kids and staying happily married. I've lived more than a half a century, and I have learned some things; so it seems worthwhile to share. I have a ton to learn; and if you're with me on the journey, we can make discoveries together. Because there is no specific format, the stories and advice will have history and recipes and rages (no doubt) and maybe even a few things I've never been brave enough before to explore in written form: questions about God, about Judaism, about the philosophy of being human.

Please give me your bracha, your blessing, for success.

Mama's cane, and a photo of my son and his son, next to a photo of Mama and me.

Mama, my prayer is that we make you proud. You so deserve to be proud of your work in this world!