New Regs Dictate Fashion Choices

8 Nisan 5780.

I don’t usually ask for fashion guidance… but with the new regulations – “You must wear a mask when leaving home. If you do not own an actual mask, a scarf will do.”– I really need advice. (My friend Shannon has Trump masks, Hillary, Iron Man masks, the Hulk… Still thinking about those possibilities…)

I have some options and want your fashion sense. After all, over the years, your comments have caused me to actually match colors and patterns in a way that finally gets compliments, and no doubt gives my dear mother nachas in Heaven. So, tell me your thoughts. The options (unless Shannon persuades me to mask up like the US president or a former presidential candidate, or a superhero) are:

Dig out a pretty scarf combo, that works with the dress...

or that (thank God) never used and probably expired gas mask from years ago.

What’s your advice? Corona fashion is beyond my understanding…

 Okay. Your votes will determine how I go and get some business done before the next set of regulations takes effect. Looking forward to your fashion-conscious wisdom. Mama will be proud.

Photos taken and used with permission by the Dearly Beloved, pretty much the only human I've seen in a couple of weeks.

During the Worst of Times, the Best of Times: Live Like You Were Dying

On the non-Jewish calendar, today is my 61st birthday.

Last week was the saddest of times. The 45-year-old father of four, Ari Fuld, Hy"d, was murdered. While grocery shopping. For being a Jew in the Holy Land. I cried a lot during Yom Kippur, for a young widow and four orphans. I cried for a Jewish people who had lost a hero, a man whose passion for Israel, for the Jewish people, for Zionism, for teaching Torah, was unquenchable and inspirational to countless people around the world. He was also a teacher of self-defense to men, women, and children. And my heart broke for them: if the Lion of Zion could be taken down, who couldn't be? Who could feel safe at a shopping center ostensibly designed to show the world that coexistence is possible, when some shoppers believe that it's okay to stab a man in the back?

But from the little that I personally knew of Ari, I believe the best tribute I can give him is to continue living. In Israel. Proudly Jewish. Proudly Zionist.

My sons arranged for the best birthday present I have ever received, and a wonderful tribute to LIFE. They took me skydiving.

This was actually the bachelor party for my son that was postponed due to weather. (He's been married for just over two years. Spoiler alert: marrying her was a great idea.) Dani told his buddies that this was the day to give it another go, and that they'd have one more attendee. While none of my other sons could participate due to the demands of work, they paid for my ticket, sent supportive comments throughout the day, and cheered at the end as if Moms had climbed Everest.

I had a great crew, including my youngest son and my Dearly Beloved (who chose to play the role of ground crew, since he doesn't believe in jumping out of moving vehicles at 11,000 feet in the air). One a kid I've known since he was born. Another, my son's brother-in-law. The last member of the crew is one of our star football players, whom I will miss very much. Until he can't handle the sidelines any more...)

L-R: Gideon Reis, Dani Eastman, Ruti Eastman, Avi Eastman, Avi Schamroth, Avrami Farkas

The flight crew, geared up.

Paradive in Haifa is staffed with people who clearly love their work. First, young ladies with great senses of humor had us fill out the usual "if you die or are badly injured, don't blame us" legal paperwork. (All jesting aside, they really are careful to make sure you are not jumping into the deep end, so to speak, without knowing the dangers.) Then they showed us a promotional/instructional video. There was constant briefing to be sure we knew what to do and when to do it, and what not to do. The instructors/guides were calm and patient, and fun.

My guide was a very respectful fellow named Arnon. He was a great teacher, giving information and encouragement as needed. He taught me how to twirl the parachute so that it was like a wonderful aeronautical waltz. We had a very pleasant flight over the teal-blue of the Mediterranean Sea. Arnon didn't seem to mind when I chattered joyfully about the amazing world of beauty God has created for us to enjoy.

Paradive does a very cool thing for the spectators (in this case, Team Avi): they post the parachute colors of each participant, thus allowing the spotters on the ground to get some good aerial shots.

Hey, Avrami! Lookin' good!

Howdy, Avi S. Smile for your mom and dad.

Roger, Haifa. The Ema has landed.

These guys look all Top Gun now, don't they?

There is simply nothing as sweet as benship*.

We all discussed post-experience how we felt. What were you feeling when you jumped out of the plane? Which did you like better: the free-fall or floating under the open parachute? (I couldn't decide. Like steak and red wine, each has its contribution to the total adventure.) Were you scared? How did you handle the moment the chute opened? Would you do it again? (If money were no object, a few of us at least would have gotten back in line.) "I think I'm seeing the fifteen-year-old mom," said Dani, with a grin.

None of us could stop smiling (except for the few moments during which we composed the #toocoolforwords gangsta post-flight photo). I'm still grinning.

#thugflight

You can do a lot of things on your 61st birthday.

You can hang out with your best friend.

You can paint your nails red. (I recommend it.)









You can also go skydiving. Now I need to go 2.7 seconds on a bull named Fu Manchu...

With the best friend, best ground crew, best cheerleader God ever created, puh-puh-puh. (Caryn and Inbar, take note: your earrings, your necklace. Ruti's tee shirt courtesy of the Paratroopers branch of the IDF.)

*Benship - a Ruti-generated word for that unique and special relationship you can only have with your adult children

Moms - not a typo. One of my frighteningly large array of nicknames.

The title (to those for whom it isn't apparent) is a mashup of  Charles Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities (from 1859) and Tim McGraw's song released in 2004, just to display the broad palette of inspiration out there in history.

So I Guess this is the Bris?

26 Cheshvan 5778.

It's a bit late, but the "baby" had to spend a little more time in the ICU than expected.

With gratitude to God and lots of really wonderful humans, I am happy to announce the birth of the book, and its subsequent transfer from the safety of the incubator to global distribution. L'chayim!

You still get the best deal by ordering from Lulu Publishing.* This is helpful if you live in the States, or have friends traveling to you in the near future.

Happily, little "Big Whine"** is now available from other vendors.

If you live in Israel, New Zealand (Hi, Kiwi!), Northern Ireland (Hi, Valerie!) or the rest of the UK, my personal favorite book seller is Book Depository. They deliver directly to Israel, and their service is timely and professional. (We once received a book that was mangled. I sent photos. They sent a new book in record time. Can you say "customer service"?)

And, of course, there is trusty ol' Amazon, and Amazon UK, and Amazon Spain (I know, right?), and Amazon Saturn...

(If you see the book available elsewhere, please feel free to share in the comments section below.)

Next item on my personal bucket list: to see From Big Whine to Big Grapes (perhaps in time for Chanukah?) in the window of my favorite book store on the planet. (Feel free to click on the link to let Michael and Shira Pomeranz know you're interested.)

When we popped the cork on the champagne in my writing class, a brief conversation ensued.

Sarina (teacher, friend, mentor extraordinaire): I love that sound. It's the sound of celebration.
Ruti (a somewhat mouthy and by sport a contradictory student): Yeah, that's the traditional approach. I think of it as the sound of the next project.
Sarina (ever encouraging): I like that. Write it down.
Ruti (occasionally compliant): Yes, Ma'am.

If you like the book and feel inclined, please write a review at Amazon and/or at Lulu. Nothing sells a book like the kindness of strangers, and friends!

*If you have a book inside you and would love advice about self-publishing through Lulu Publishers, I would be very happy to talk with you. #sharingiscaring

**Nearly every kid has a nickname, right? We love you, BW!!! Make us proud, kid.

In spite of it all, life is good.

Yom chamishi, 23 Cheshvan 5776.

Thanks, Geula. My first painting in years. "Mosaic Shabbat"

So, life is good. It's a bit weird -- but it's good.

I balance my days between family, art and writing classes, Hebrew language study (yes, still, and probably forever), Torah classes, and work.

Work used to just be my 20-hour-a-week online job, and taking care of The Dearly Beloved and myself, now that the lads are all grown and able to take care of themselves. (When they can't, their wives and one fiancée pick up the slack.) Being privileged to babysit the Littlest Family Member every once in a while.

But things have changed.

Now, work also might mean stopping in the middle of one thing or another to help a potty-training four-year-old, or to give a six-year-old scratch paper for yet another art project. Work means getting two little people fed and off to school in the morning with lunch bags. Work means picking up a little one at his gan at two o'clock, and walking slowly, slowly home, stopping for a command of "Wait! Wait!" or an exclamation of "Oh, my!" The four-year-old (aka YMan) is fascinated by everything, and the running commentary is a walking-very-slowly commentary. On everything. Trees and rocks and sky and lizards and mosaics in the playground and so on. Even trash. Thank God.

Work means teaching morality and fair play in short, easily digested sentences to a very clever six-year-old (aka Little Elsa) who wants the world to be just a little more giving. And listening to "Let It Go" sung with so much fervor, and being The Perfect Audience, no matter how many times we are treated to "Cold never bothered me anyway," with a toss of the head strangely reminiscent of a 16-year-old... But she grasps everything, and she really, really wants to do what's right. Thank God.

Shades of déjà vu... This is only somewhat different -- the girl stuff, mostly -- than what it was like, yonks ago, to rear their father and uncles.

What's different is also very sweet. We are no longer Ema and Abba. We are Savta and Saba. Because we're old, semi-retired people, I don't do all of the child care. Saba has cleaned up his share of potty chair disasters, praised the pooper, prepared interesting snacks and sometimes dinner, oohed and aahed incredible works of art, answered all of the "why" questions... In short, as he reports to me, he "gets" what I was doing all those years.

What I have less time and inclination for: Blogging. Visiting Jerusalem. Taking photos of the wonderful world around me. You know -- stuff I loved.

The lack of time is temporary. Soon, their parents will kick-start their lives in Israel, finding jobs that net them enough money to pay rent on an apartment of their own. Hopefully not too far away, so we can still help out a bit, can still participate in gently moving these little people into their Israeli selves.

And now for something completely different. I have to relax my jaw. I've never been a jaw-clencher. I have never been a fearful person, having the gift never to be afraid until there is something immediate to fear. But these days, in Israel, I am an angry jaw-clencher. For hours at a time, before I'm aware of it.

I want my government to stick up for itself, to face facts, to realize that there is only Peace Through Strength. Sometimes, my government says exactly the right thing. You terrorize us, we will kill you, and we won't return the bodies of those who try to kill us for a hero's burial. Way to go, Israel! And then, bowing to some pressure or other (or even to some strategic wisdom), my government relents. Just like a weak parent. "No. Absolutely NOT. You may not wear lipstick at six, nor stay up till midnight watching trashy movies." Good parenting... and then -- not in my house, thank God, but I've heard of it! -- suddenly you see Miss Junior sporting Cherry Red on her prepubescent lips and watching Double Divas... Either you don't ever make the rule, based on whatever wisdom you possess, or you stick to it. Or you apologize, and say that even mommies and daddies (and governments) make bad judgment calls sometimes. Or -- you lose your credibility. With everyone.

Relax. Breathe. Linshommmmmme. (That's "to breathe," and in Hebrew, it sounds so much more Zen.)

As I tell everyone else who is stressed by this impossible situation: Hashem runs the world. And He made certain promises -- and He never lies. Linshome. Somehow, as the Israelis say with emunah of which even they are unaware, "Yi'hi'yeh beseder." It will be okay.

Enjoy the precious time with kids, with each other, with opportunities to learn and grow and create, and to get closer to The Creator.

And try to unclench the jaw.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmm! Cold never bothered me anyway...

A Day of Little and Larger Miracles

Yom shlishi, 1 Nisan 5774, Rosh Chodesh.

You know those days when you feel as if no matter how hard you try to accomplish the smallest thing, you find yourself smashing into wall after wall after wall, no matter how many twists and turns you make to try to make it all work?

And then there are days that are the opposite, where it seems that God has cleared a path for you, and lit it with neon lights and arrows, so that a complicated task seems effortless. This has been one of those days. Baruch Hashem!

Brief history (my mechutanim were subjected to the long version, so I can spare you):

Years ago, I read a post by Rav Shlomo Aviner about our halachic obligation to do what we can to stay healthy. He ended his argument by saying one should get a bike. I filed that recommendation away for later.

Recently, due to an injury, a surgeon said to me: "Stop doing crunches. They're not good for your condition. Get a bike." So, it's been on my mind. The Dearly Beloved -- ever anxious to spoil me rotten -- said we would get a bike when the "bike man" comes to Neve Daniel, as he does a couple of times a year.

Yesterday, there was an offer on the Efrat chat list that made its way to the Neve Daniel chat list about a really wonderful offer for The Perfect Bike. With the help of friends and new relatives, "Queenie" made it to her new home in Neve Daniel before 11:00 AM. No boring details -- but suffice it to say that her Shimano brakes and Tourney gearing system are more than welcome here... and I could not have afforded her out there in "the real world." And there is nothing better in the world than friends, and family.

This success was after a week of equally wonderful climbs up madraigot (steps) in Hebrew learning. Besides receiving the gift of two lovely chavrutot who understand the art of being "language parents," I heard an inspirational talk by Chris Lonsdale on How to Learn Any Language in Six Months. He practiced on Mandarin Chinese. (Somehow, learning Hebrew sounds easier than learning that.) Go ahead. Let yourself be inspired.


The best thing I got from the video was the permission -- which I've been working on since I saw my children learning Hebrew while I was still stuck in dikduk (grammar) -- to just communicate, without worrying if what I am saying is perfect. Chris helped, with his video -- but Esther and Shira get most of the credit, for being so proud of me for just communicating effectively... even with mistakes. How I am coming to love them!

The biggest miracle of the day? The Dearly Beloved is on Facebook. Technology is visited upon all the Eastmans. Will wonders never cease?

Coach on Facebook. I know -- right???

May you be blessed with an amazing leap of growth -- preferably spiritual, but I'm happy with any mental, emotional, intellectual, communal growth as well -- during this holy month of Nisan. May you be blessed with a real sense of freedom from all the foolish notions with which YOU shackle yourself to keep yourself trapped.

I wish us both blessing and success!

Glossary:
Baruch Hashem!: Blessed is God!
Mechutanim: the parents of my child's spouse (Why don't we have such a word in English, that speaks of the relationship, the kinship, of the inlaws to each other? I have new FAMILY!)
Halachic: relating to Jewish law
Queenie: I know. I'm sorry and embarrassed that as a writer, I didn't give her a more creative name. But I can't help it. She whispered that name to me, the moment I saw her lovely, royal purple self. What can I do?
Chavruta, chavrutot (plural): Jewish study partner - a relationship as complex as a marriage
Nisan: the month in which we celebrate the freedom of the Jews from slavery in Egypt, and which we observe with the eight-day holiday of Pesach (Passover)