Lag B'Omer Is Bonfire Night - All Night

Tonight is Lag B'Omer. It's a day of celebration in the middle of seven weeks of restricted fun from Passover until Pentecost. There are various stories, myths and customs connected to this whole period - I suggest you google The Omer and Lag B'omer if you're interested. I'm merely going to offer you a glimpse of what tonight means in Israel today: bonfire night!

About two weeks before the kids start collecting wood. They collect from the recently pruned trees left by the side of the roads for the rubbish trucks, they raid building sites and the back of supermarkets for delivery palettes, they scour the neighbourhood behind buildings and anywhere they might find discarded wooden doors or furniture. And they "borrow" the supermarket trolleys to aid the collection.

DD and I set out to the wasteground at the bottom of our street at about 6.30pm. On the way we met teams of supermarket managers going round with big vans to collect up their trolleys. "It costs them 5 shekels," one of them told me, "but it costs us a fortune." I asked him why he didn't wait until the morning as the older kids don't even start until about 9 or 10pm. "We're out all night," he told me. "We need to grab them before some of the stupid ones try to burn them on the fire."

At 6.30 it's still light and the younger children are out with their class or families for an earlier bonfire.

However, the older ones who start much later and stay out all night, have sent scouts ahead to secure their spot. They also guard the wood as it comes in. Parents drive up with boot-loads, more trolleys... the amount of wood collected is phenominal. And it just kept on coming.

Some of the bonfire structures were works of art.

And some of the bigger ones can be quite scary when alight.

But Israelis are good about putting them out afterwards. By the time it was getting dark some of the younger parties were already done.

DD and I found some friends who kindly invited us to join them. In fact there's a lot of comraderie. As 'our' fire was lit quite early we had a lot of requests to take a starter flame from us.

Obviously there was a lot of food about (we are Jewish after all). Our lot put marshmallows on skewers and melted them over the fire. After dessert they burnt the sausages and gleefully gobbled them down in bread rolls with ketchup.

Some parties were more elaborate.

DD stuck to marshmallows which she enjoyed cooking but declined to eat after they were all black.

Then the big boys started to arrive and they came with their music and more wood.

After that things just got crazy.

And at about 8.15 there was a tug at my shirt and a tired little voice said, "I want to go home now." So we did.

Storybook Reallocation - Where Do I Complain?

I came across this global blog hop at On the Threshold of Africa (a fascinating blog by a brave mother about her British family living and working in Africa - and I don't mean South Africa, I mean Africa proper). It's called Six Word Saturday and it's hosted by Cate at Show My Face. You describe your Saturday or a part of it, in six words. You can add an explanation or not. Of course I will. And a couple of photos.

Storybook Reallocation - Where do I complain?

As an English teacher, I've collected several shelves of children's books over the years. The Ladybird books were on the bottom shelf of a  bookcase just outside DD's bedroom. They are a hotch-potch of very easy readers, stories for every age up to 10 and condensed classics for children. I had about 40 of these. Now I have four. The speech that went with the redistribution went like this.

"Mummy, these are DD's. (Sweeps hand along shelf next to her bed.) Some for now and some for when I'm bigger. Those are yours." (Points to bookcase outside room.)

Then she went to sleep and I crept in with my camera.

These are my four Ladybird books

These have been reallocated

#ArtIHeart 8 - An Impulse Buy

Art I Heart

Share the art you love from your walls, a birthday card, what your child drew at school, that you saw in The National Gallery in London...

1. Choose one piece of art that has a short personal story behind it. It could be something on your wall, something you've seen in a gallery and love, homedrawn, on a postcard, on a birthday card, something by Degas or something by your DS.

2. Take a photograph, scan or download a picture of your picture and post it along with the short story about why you are drawn to it, have it on your wall, bought it, or hate it. Don't forget to link back to the linky so your readers can see the other entries.

3. Link up (it's open till next Thursday, 4pm GMT), leave a comment, et voila!

Here's mine:

It's a print by Israeli artist Itzu Rimmer, who I only found out today studied in London at St Martins and Harrow Art College - not too far from where I grew up. Not a very good photo, as usual. You can clearly see the reflection of the camera in the glass (held up by my hand). Oh well. I could've taken the pictures down and done a better job but I didn't. You see it's one of three:

I was walking home from work one day and saw three other Itzu Rimmer prints mounted in a triple frame outside a gallery. My interest was piqued and I went in to find more. In the end I prefered to choose my own three prints that were framed seperately. I bought them there and then. Here are closer views of the other two (both with my relfection getting in the way):

However my favourite is the one on the right. Partly because I love the colours but also because of the view if depicts. My first visit to Israel was for my gap year - a year long stay on a kibbutz in the Beit She'an valley (south of Tiberias and the Sea of Galilee). Looking west toward the River Jordan and the Jordanian Hills, this was very similar to what we could see. It reminds me of being a 19yo and getting up at 4.30am to pick avocados or pomegranates, depending on the season.

Towards the end of our year the First Lebanese War (called Operation Peace in the Galil) broke out and all the young men, and many of the older men too, were called up to their army units. The kibbutz women took over the men's jobs and the gap-yearers were elevated to jobs with more responsibility to take over from the women. I was given a baby house to run and loved looking after five 2yos from 7am till 4pm every day. I'd worked with these toddlers before so I knew the ropes. I'd been the helper. Now there were no helpers, it was just me. 30 years later when I'm on my own with a 3yo, I can't believe I had the patience.

Growing Up

Just his week I'm feeling the baby years are really behind us and DD is growing up fast. We had easy flights to and from London (compare with this) during which she looked out of the window and told me, "Mummy, there are clouds on the floor." And, as we took off, "my ears are broken."

Also she has moved into her own bedroom without any fuss (take note all those doom-mongers who warned me against letting her sleep in my bed with, "you''ll never get her out you know." You know who you are.)

DD helps herself to a yogurt from the fridge, a teaspoon from the drawer and sits at her little table, opening the yogurt herself, licking the inside of the lid first. When she's finished she throws away the pot and throws the spoon in the sink.

She replenishes the toilet paper in the bathroom, taking out of the cupboard under the sink four rolls at a time and stacking them neatly on the shelf next to the toilet.

I can let her run around in the park with her friends while I sit and chat to the mothers (one eye out obviously) and I don't fly into a panic if I lose sight of her for a minute. It's fantastic to be able to trust that she won't run out into the road or leave the park without me, I've been waiting three years for that, eyeing the mothers on the park benches enviously. 

A couple of nights ago she told me, from her bed, that she had spilt water on her pyjama trousers. I called back that it would dry and she should go to sleep. Checking on her later the damp PJ bottoms were on the floor by her bed. I assumed she'd just taken them off and gone to bed bare-bottomed. In the morning I saw that she'd actually taken another pair of PJ bottoms from the drawer and put them on. Added to this, instead of calling for me in the morning or running to find me as soon as she woke up, I found her busy choosing clothes to wear.

Then yesterday at the park I saw her take her shoes and socks off, put the socks inside the shoes and place them all in the bag on the back of the buggy, before climbing into the sand-pit. Only the day before she had come running to me to help her take off her shoes.

Obviously there have been new things learnt and new skills conquered almost every week of her life. I think it's the sudden independence that has given me the heads-up. Though the slight feeling of starting to become superfluous to (some of) her needs excites me rather than fills me with pangs of nostalgia for nappies and breast feeding.

Goodbye baby-girl. Hello shopping buddy.

One exhausted-looking 3yo who has spent a week staying up till 10pm with her teenage cousins, which may be how she learnt to be a teenager all of a sudden.

Sensible Baby Names

After a lengthy absence I've written a response to the 100 Word Challenge over at Julia's Place. The prompt this week is:

Ruby

(in honour of its 40th week).

From Google Images

I know siblings called Ruby and Reuben. Also Danny and Andy. Nadia and Diana? Passable. On the whole I'd avoid naming your children in sets like the best china.

Conversely, it's unfair to call one Gabriella Isabella Amber Rose and the other Sue. But two sisters called Isabella and Gabriella invites the question: And where is Salmonella?

Made-up names are in but nobody remembers them so Dlaybard and Jogaryll are out.

Biblical names? Solid but don't inflict Job or Jezebel.

Anything from nature is acceptable (well not grub or sap, obviously).

For further advice on naming baby contact Yentl-Magot@sensiblenames.com (pronounced Majeaux).

IOC What Are You Waiting For?

At the 2010 Winter Olympics in Vancouver, a moment of silence was held at the Opening Ceremony. Georgian, Luger Nodar Kumaritashvili died during training when he lost control of his sled and crashed into a metal barrier. On entering the Olympic stadium his seven teammates recieved a standing ovation for their courage in deciding to continue with the games from the 50,000+ spectators. Then the minute's silence was observed in honour of an Olympic athlete, one of the Olympic family.

At the 1972 Olympics in Munich 11 Althletes were murdered by terrorists who broke into the Olympic Village at 4am and raided their quarters. You can read the full story of the Munich Massacre here. The International Olympic Commitee has never officially memorialized these athletes in any way at any Olympic Games since. The families of the murdered athletes have been asking for a moment of silence in their honour for 40 years.

The German Olympics in Munich was the first Olympic Games to be held in Germany since the Nazis and Hitler himself hosted the Games in 1936. In Israel there was much debate about whether they should attend. Would it be offensive to the survivors of the Holocaust? In the end it was decided to attend in the spirit of  putting sport above politics and to acknowledge that Germany was now run by a new generation with whom we were re-building relations.

No one is quite sure why the IOC will not honour the Israeli athletes who died on their watch but, as we mark the 40th anniversary of their deaths, enough is enough.

“These men were sons; fathers; uncles; brothers; friends; teammates; athletes. They came to Munich in 1972 to play as athletes in the Olympics; they came in peace and went home in coffins, killed in the Olympic Village and during hostage negotiations,” writes Ankie Spitzer (widow of fencing coach Andrei Spitzer who was killed) in a petition to the IOC for one minute of silence after 40 years.

To the International Olympic Committee, they came to honour your Games in the spirit of peace among athletes and nations. They died on your watch. Is one minute of silence in their honour too much to ask? What are you waiting for?

Please take a moment to sign the petition you can find it here. Also please share this post on your facebook and twitter pages by clicking on the f and the t below.

#ArtIHeart 7 - Deluded Mother

Art I Heart

Share the art you love from your walls, a birthday card, what your child drew at school, that you saw in The National Gallery in London...

1. Choose one piece of art that has a short personal story behind it. It could be something on your wall, something you've seen in a gallery and love, homedrawn, on a postcard, on a birthday card, something by Degas or something by your DS.

2. Take a photograph, scan or download a picture of your picture and post it along with the short story about why you are drawn to it, have it on your wall, bought it, or hate it. Don't forget to link back to the linky so your readers can see the other entries.

3. Link up (it's open till next Thursday, 4pm GMT), leave a comment, et voila!

Here's mine:

Not the best focussed photo of the artwork but you'll get the picture (pun intended) even it's a bit blurred. A year and a half ago at 20 months, DD started Nursery. This is the drawing she did on her first day. The Hebrew at the top of the frame says: My First Picture At Nursery. I have it up still on our 'gallery' on the back of the door.

This particular one always makes me smile and laugh at myself. It represents one of those 'I know I'm a mother' moments. Why? At the end of the first day the teacher put all the First Pictures up on the wall. When I came to collect DD I looked at the display and I honestly thought that DD's picture was the best. And I honestly thought I was being objective.

Later I laughed when I realized that I had been a typical mother. I was so happy to have been a typical mother and to have, finally, gained some insight into the minds of those deluded women who think that their perfectly average children are more amazing than everyone else's children. My only saving grace was that I didn't go round telling everyone what a gifted artist my daughter is. Since then a degree of objectivity has returned and there are some very gifted 3yo artists at the nursery. However, I don't think that DD is one of them at the moment.