בנשמה

A house is just a house. I believed this rather strongly the past two years, having seen the hardest life transition of a father passing and a mother shortly after fighting cancer, now thank G-d on the mend (thanks to all your continued prayers and with the advancement of science, bi'h). The other day we signed our purchase and sale to a young Jewish couple who moved from France three years ago to the United States. They live close to the area and hope to start and raise a family in Sharon. The letter they attached with their offer resonated with me. It concluded with "we hope you will make the right decision for us BH." Our house was on the market for less than three weeks (maybe two). And it all happened so fast. The Jewish Agency approved us around May 22nd. The house got an offer around that time too. The lift was scheduled. Family in Israel asked us to get more serious as to what we plan to do after we land (right, that part... Oops). The very next day I was asked

"Don't look back," my good friend who made aliyah last summer, wrote me. The Jewish Agency approved our move on May 22. Everything has REALLY now been going into motion. As I sat on the stairs of a gorgeous summer home my mom rented for the night, I couldn't help but think about opportunities and regrets (for those NYers and NJers I highly recommend this slice of paradise ). The weekend started by celebrating our new son with a kiddush for those who could not attend the bris. Setting up our  living/dining room with 16-18 chairs, I wondered if I would have an opportunity to do that someday in Israel. We love entertaining and hosting, always attempting to invite and keep an open door policy. Truth is in 10 New England years, I can count the amount of times I've been able to see family or them to me. The mixed emotions of happiness and sadness I hope are more the first than the other, given the independent choices made over a great length of time. I will miss Th

" I hate my life ," my now five year old daughter claimed last night. Surprised, I asked her why and was answered "because I miss my friends and I will miss my friends." The face in the pictures would show a completely different story. Generally our cheerleader, as you might imagine, bedtime took longer. It was a tough two hours. Dashing out of the house at 6:20 p.m. for the Yom Hazikaron tekes at our shul, I watched as our eldest looked semi horrified (ok maybe a lot) by the stories of young men who died serving the country. We quietly discussed how without these men, we wouldn't have a country, and that he can choose whatever he'd like to do within the army. Later that night, he too asked if we've ever been in the army. Josh answered no, but that Grandpa Raba was in the army (he's 94 and we just saw him on Pessach) and that roommate also served in the Israeli army (shout out to my cousin's husband!). The transition from Yom Hazikaron to Yo

It's been an interesting weekend. Our house just four days on the market received an offer Sunday afternoon. We approved. Though sad to leave what's become so secure and certain as home, Josh before bedtime asserted "this is good for us." It has been a tough weekend in Israel. Rockets, sirens, casualties and mayhem. I'm on two WhatsApp groups. One, ladies making aliyah 2019 discussed T-shirt orders and arranging flights. The other, reconnecting with seminary classmates displayed anxiety and concern. Talk about polar opposites. I didn't go to shul this past shabbat. Partially the weather, stroller frame left in the car, exhaustion and fear. I kissed my children goodbye and let them go to shul. But I myself was afraid. Saturday night we managed an hour without the kids at a bar mitzvah. There were two armed cops standing by the doorway, surveying everyone that walked through the door. I learned that our shul, which has had congregants volunteer as shmi

In some relationships, both husband and wife are on the same page. In others, there's one who has to do the convincing or see the potential. Josh and I fall more often into the second category (especially when it comes to large purchases). Ten (almost now eleven) years ago, celebrating his passing the GRE exam at Abigail's in NYC, applications for advanced degrees were underway. Josh received an acceptance to BU and UMDNJ. I won't ever forget the huge poster boards we took into our then 750 square ft. Washington Heights apartment as we discussed (maybe argued) the pros and cons. Soon after, I was onto searching Craigslist for apartments (old school and perhaps considered sketchy now). We landed in Malden, MA, seeing a multifamily home. The rooms were dusty, the wall paper was 1960's and I didn't want to move. Josh promised me it would work. It did. Putting our own touches into the unit, a few years later, at eight months pregnant, the landlord decided to sell bo