Family Growth Chart

 Many years ago, we bought a metal frame and white cotton fabric walls to build our sukkah. The frame stayed up all year, I sewed together several bed sheets to throw on top to make a shade, and we'd often have our Shabbat meals outside on the patio when the weather cooperated.

After a few holidays of getting tired of staring at the plain white walls, I decided I wanted to design something to paint on the walls. First I thought something rather industrious - traditionally on Sukkot (Feast of the Tabernacles), there is the concept of seven holy guests - Ushpizin - who visit the sukkah, one for each day of the holiday. Then I thought maybe to start a bit more simply, the seven species of fruit associated with the Land of Israel, and the four species associated with the holiday of Sukkot.

And then I hit on a family-inclusive, long-term project. Using just one handprint from each family member, we would build a mosaic over the years.

The first year was 2010.

We started with a sun. Six members of the family, and a false start.

In 2011, we added part of the sky. And a son-in-law.

2012 saw grass grow, and a grandson.

2013 we had flowers bloom.

In 2014, the multicolored butterflies arrived.

And in 2015, we did the other part of the sky, and welcomed a second grandson to the family and to the sukkah family project.

In 2016 we moved to a location where we don't have a place to build our own sukkah, so for now, the family project is on hold. Happily, as soon as it's up and going again (please God, for Sukkot in 2021), we will be adding several new family members.

So, any interesting traditions you have to chronicle the growth of your own families?

Existing vs Living

The past year, I've been living in a high stress situation. And the past 6 months only increased the levels of stress. And yes, I know I'm not the only one.

I've basically stopped doing things I used to enjoy. I can't remember the last time I picked up a camera. I don't remember when I last baked bread. I stopped my 5k walks. Blogging and vlogging are a thing of the past.

Yeah, once a month I get a manicure. But it's a passive activity that doesn't require my creativity (beyond picking a new manicure) or much of my attention.

I've been existing, but not living.

And I want that to stop. I NEED that to stop.

I've begun to notice the world around me again. The small things, like flowering weeds or the pomegranates that are coming into season.

I think it's time to pick up my camera again.

I've started watching my diet and cutting down carbs and cutting out sugar.

I think it's time for me to find a suitable bread recipe and start baking again.

Losing weight won't happen with just a change of diet, I NEED to exercise. Until I can afford a treadmill, I need to do something.

I think it's time to start walking again.

I've been told that I'm pretty decent at putting a sentence together. Putting the stuff that causes my stress hamster running at 1 AM down on paper - digital as it may be - is a good way for me to move things out of my head, which in turn will let me get a decent night's sleep. Vlogging will help me track my getting healthy journey.

I think it's time to get writing and recording again.

So the camera battery is now being charged, and my workout gear is getting dusted off.

Photo taken at the urban lot farm in February, 2020 BC... Before Corona.

60 Seconds

Before I go into what our Saturday night was like, I'd like to give some perspective. Folks who live in "Tornado Alley" will have the better idea of this analogy.

Imagine sitting at home, or driving home from work, when the tornado sirens go off. You have X number of minutes to get to safety, get your family to safety, wrestle the dog or cat to safety (or leave Fluffy to her fate). As you huddle in your shelter, you hear the storm on its destructive path. Hopefully, you're a lucky one, and you'll escape with little or no damage, injury, or worse.

The all-clear comes and it's back to whatever you're doing. Maybe you decide to start dinner. Or take a shower. Or go back to bed. Or, go outside to inspect any damage.

Ten minutes later, however, the tornado siren goes off again. And it's run to safety, regardless of your state of dress or undress.

Imagine doing this over, and over, and over, and over again. Day after day, week after week, year after year.

Saturday night, Zach and I were watching TV. The air conditioner was on, so the windows were closed. At about 11:13 p.m., my phone gave a weird chirp, and when I got up to look at my phone, I heard the faint wails of the siren.

I paused the TV and opened the window to make sure what I was hearing was real, immediately turned, told Zach to help roust the boys from sleep, and we had to get the apartment building stairwell IMMEDIATELY.

We have 60 seconds from the time the siren goes off to get to safety.

You try rousting kids from a deep sleep and getting out of the apartment in less than 60 seconds.

We heard faint booms as rockets from Gaza were intercepted by Israel's Iron Dome. We heard a fighter jet or two flying over head.

I'll admit, we didn't wait the required 10 minutes to go back to the apartment. The boys were tired. And cold. They were wearing shorts, and nothing else.

So we went back into the apartment, the boys went back to bed, and we went back to watching TV, but this time, the air conditioner was off, and the window was open.

And 10 minutes later, the siren went off again.

I don't know how we (Israel) got to calling these sirens "red alert", but it's become part of our every day vocabulary. To be honest, I think it glosses over the seriousness of just what it represents. Let's call it what it is. An air raid siren.

The boys were cranky about having to get up again (can you blame them?), but I was much happier about that than having to face a panic attack from one or both (could you blame them?). They were still in shorts, and I foolishly didn't think to tell them to put on a shirt and sweatpants as we all went back to the apartment.

TV show was over, it was now 11:30 p.m., Zach and I went to bed. We had the air conditioner on in our room, but I also left the window open a little so I could hear the air raid siren. And just as I was finally falling asleep, at about 11:55.... another siren.

Lather rinse repeat. Only this time, about 2 minutes after the first siren, came a second. At least this time we were still in the stairwell. As the times before, lots of booms as rockets from Gaza were intercepted. The building DID rattle a few times from the concussive force, and we did hear a larger explosion which meant a rocket landed somewhere in the city and hit a building of some kind (high school cafeteria was hit about a 20 minute drive from our place).

THIS time as we were heading back into the apartment, I told the boys to change into a t-shirt and sweatpants. Thankfully, the rest of the night was quiet.

This photo is of Zach and the boys, during siren 2 or 3-4. I didn't feel comfortable posting it with them half dressed, so I censored it a bit. There's nothing censored about their expressions, though.

State of the Nati - A New Chapter

Today, Zach and I had a meeting at Nati's school with his teacher, Y, the class psychologist, one of the therapists, and a school administrator. I will admit to a certain amount of trepidation, since Y was rather insistent on having this meeting, and I was worried they were going to tell us that they feel he should switch to the school for autistic children (which deals with children who have much more severe cases of autism) rather than keeping him in a class for higher functioning kids in a mainstream school. I don't know why I immediately went negative, it just seems to be reflexive for me.

Nati will be turning 12 in May, and if things had worked out better for him scholastically, he'd be in the 6th grade now. But he spent an extra year in preschool, and repeated second grade, which means he's actually only in the 4th grade. Now, I'm not giving this information because I'm embarrassed by/for him; I know he does the best he can, I know he's a smart kid, and I know he's come a long way. This is just information for context, and part of the reason Zach and I had a meeting today.

Nati is the oldest in his class. If he were in 6th grade, we'd be discussing middle schools for him. And that's actually what this meeting was about. Beginning dialog and starting to weigh the pros and cons of keeping Nati on the track he's been on (meaning 5th grade next school year, and being the oldest in his class by far), or moving him up to middle school, to be with his peers for the next school year instead.

His teacher and the therapists have noticed that during recess, Nati does seek out the 6th graders to play with (in my head, I call them the older kids, but in reality, they're Nati's age), which is rather telling. He seems to instinctively be seeking out his peers. Being older means his physical hygiene class (which they get) will be different than those of the 9 and 10 year olds; he'd be learning about puberty, the various changes in his body, the need for deodorant, etc. And as a Jewish boy, they'll be discussing turning 13 years old and the all important bar mitzvah.

Which has been a red line for him for nearly 2 years now. He doesn't want the chaos of a party or of a being around a lot of people. Which I completely understand. We would cater anything we'd do around HIS needs and sensitivities. Instead of having him read a portion from the Torah scrolls, he'd just say the blessing. Instead of having it on Shabbat in a full synagogue, we'd do it during the week for family only. Instead of having a big party... heck, we'll have a BBQ and he can have all the hot dogs and onion rings he wants. No music, no flashing lights.

And if he's in a class of peers, where all the boys are planning a bar mitzvah of some kind, maybe he'll come around.

As far as his actual education, we're told that at a certain point, classes often become a mix of different grades (and in classes for ASD kids, the class size is 8-9 children), but same age. The kids all have their own IEP (Individualized Education Program, called TALA here in Israel), so Nati wouldn't suffer scholastically by finishing 4th grade and going into 7th.

Once we were all in agreement that getting things started to move Nati up to middle school for September 2019, Y and the therapist both said that at the beginning of the meeting, they each felt that having Nati go to 5th grade was the right move for him, but after talking things out, and seeing how he's already seeking/needing peers rather than just classmates, making this move this year rather than next year is the best solution for Nati. There are three possible schools in Be'er Sheva that will suit Nati, but we won't know until closer to the 2019-2020 school year where he'll be exactly. And before anyone asks, no, I don't think any of the three schools are religious.

Changing Perspective, One Smile at a Time

Years ago in high school, I had a teacher who taught a variety of subjects throughout the years. I didn't particularly like her, and it certainly wasn't helped by the fact that none of the subjects she taught held any interest for me. Oooh, shocker! Student doesn't like teacher! Oooh, bigger shocker! Student doesn't like subjects being taught!

But there's one thing she said once - and since it was a million years ago, I don't remember if this was what the lesson was about, or just something she said in passing - that really stuck with me, and I've tried really hard to carry it on throughout my life.

It doesn't cost anything to smile.

Nothing profound, nothing earth-shattering. But the words resonated with me for some reason.

Since I can't remember the context, I imagine when she talked about cost, she meant actual financial cost. No comments about braces or plastic surgery, please.

I've taken it to also mean emotional and mental. Once upon a time I would have also said physical, but for years I've suffered from "Dear God, kill me know" sinus pressure headaches, where it hurts to think, so I've removed that from my equation. And I understand being in a mental or emotional place, where smiling seems impossible, but having been there, done that, I firmly believe in faking it till you make it.

Throughout the years, I've tried very hard to instill this tenet into my children. I know I've succeeded with my daughters, as I have been told time and again from neighbors and strangers-to-me (in other words, people who know my daughters) what polite, kind, and thoughtful girls I have. My boys are significantly younger and are a work in progress, but I definitely work on it with them as well.

There's a Russian woman who lives in the house next to Nati's van stop. Often, when we wait, she's outside, mopping her porch. I started saying good morning to her as we arrive, and she'd reply in kind. After about a week, if I was too slow with my greeting, she'd say good morning to me first.

There's an elderly couple in our building, and Nati and I often see them as we head to his stop in the morning. I started saying good morning to them as we passed them. Now, as soon as the woman sees us coming out onto the street, she'll wish us a good morning.

Thanking the bus driver when he opens the door. Telling the cashier to have a good day. Saying hello to the driver when you get into the taxi. Little things to you, but they can mean so much to the person receiving.

Unfortunately, politeness is seen almost as a bad trait here in Israel. I joke and say that the national sport is yelling, but frankly, it's not far from the truth. I think the worst insult you can give an Israeli is to tell him he's a "frier", a sucker. And for some reason, politeness seems to be equated with being a frier.

So it's going to be an uphill battle, doing things one smile at a time.

What profound bit of unintentional wisdom have you carried through from high school?

Family Affair

My sister-in-law, we'll call her Molly, is here in Israel for an intensive 2 week seminar. Her days (and many evenings) are packed with lectures and meetings, and unfortunately it doesn't leave a lot of time for non-seminar touring and certainly doesn't leave a lot of time to visit family.

The last time we saw Molly in person was the summer of 2012, when Zach, the boys, and I flew to the States for a family visit. Nati was 5, Elchanan was 3. Neither were toilet trained... oh, that was fun. So the last time Molly saw my boys, they were barely out of toddlerhood. And it had been even longer since Molly saw my daughters, and she'd never met my son-in-law or my grandsons.

Needless to say, I wanted to arrange a family get together, despite Molly's tight schedule.

My original idea was everyone come to Jerusalem, where Molly was based, and we'd go to a restaurant. But then I started picturing the get together.

First of all, it would mean that my daughter and her family would have to travel by bus, minimum of 90 minutes, just to get to Jerusalem, and then depending on where the restaurant was, would have to get there as well.

Five minutes after arriving, Nati would start complaining that he wants to go home.

Ten minutes after that, Elchanan would start complaining that he's bored. And when he gets bored, he starts picking on... well, everyone.

We'd have to make sure that my grandsons (ages 6 and 3) would sit at the table for the meal, and the schmoozing.

Yeah, none of that seemed appealing.

But then I realized that this get together wasn't going to be about the food, it was about the family. The people, gathering together for the company and the conversation, reconnecting.

So then I suggested having a BBQ at my daughter's house. We'd pick up Molly in Jerusalem and then drive further north to where my daughter lives. By car, it's about 45 minutes. I made cole slaw, potato salad, a batch of chocolate chip cookies, brought burger and hot dog buns, and bag of chicken wings marinading in a home made sauce. I told my daughter to buy the burgers and hot dogs, and I'd reimburse her. The reason behind that was so those items would be cooked and ready (especially for the kids) when we got there. See, sometimes I have a good idea.

And it was amazing. The kids all got to eat and run, play as they wished, where they wished. The grown ups got to have pleasant conversation. And as a bonus, Molly got to see a part of the country that she'd otherwise not have had an opportunity to visit. And we took a 5 minute pause to do some amazing star gazing in mostly dark skies.

What kind of family get together have you been to that ended up being fantastic and amazing, despite being nothing like what you first planned it to be?

One Big Something Family

Normally I work from home. The company I work for is located more in the center of the country, while I live smack in the middle of the Negev Desert. Driving, it's nearly 2 1/2 hours. I don't get up to the offices on a regular basis, but occasionally there are holiday-related things I make an appearance for. Today, the team I work with organized a brunch at a cafe not too far from the offices.

Now, when I go up to the offices, I take the train. It's temperature controlled, I don't have to worry about sitting in traffic, there are bathrooms on board, and since I get on at the first stop, I always get a seat. Sometimes it's even got an outlet so I can charge my phone. The big disadvantage is getting from the train station to the office. The scheduling is way off, and often not particularly convenient. But for the three or four times a year, I manage.

For the most part, the seats are arranged four around a table. Well-padded, often even have a middle arm rest, decent-ish amount of leg room. Well, for me, anyway. And yes, I'm short. When you are lucky enough to get a car with electrical plugs, it's only two per table, so that can be annoying if your laptop or cellphone is low on battery and your seatmates are already plugged in.

On this morning's ride, as we pull out of the Ashkelon station, an older man (OM1) sits in the seat diagonally from me in "my" quartet. Right across from me was a young Ethiopian woman in IDF uniform. And right next to me was another older man (OM2). I forget what sparked the beginning of the conversation, but by the time OM1 got off the train over an hour later, I knew quite a bit about his life and family, and he knew a bit about mine.

I knew he'd been a farmer all his life.

Right now he's only growing peaches and persimmons.

He used to grow apples as well, but with the import of Pink Ladies from the US, it's just not worthwhile.

Climate change is real.

His wife was an English teacher.

His wife is from South Africa.

He lived in SA for 6 months and moved back to Israel mainly because of antisemitism.

His family is from the UK, but he was born in Israel.

Much of his family left Poland during the 1930s.

He served in the IDF during the first Intifada and Lebanon Part I.

He has a son and daughter, and then his wife couldn't have more children because she had cysts on her ovaries and had to have them removed.

He's not religious at all, but all during his service and reserve duty, he carried his IDF-issued Psalms in his shirt pocket, just in case.

And a whole megillah of more information.

He got on, a total stranger. And I still don't know his name, and I can't remember what Moshav he lives on. But there's something about sharing a few square meters of space with other human beings for a couple hours. And maybe it's one of these "only in Israel" type of things. Yes, we're strangers. But genetically we're Jews, the three people (OM2 seemed rather put out that we were talking - not loudly, mind you) having a discussion were all immigrants or first-generation Israeli. And that commonality - Jewish-Israeli - immediately made us family.

Sure, we're a loud, obnoxious, frustrating, dysfunctional family.

So what insightful public transportation rides have you had?

Stress and the toll it takes on you

There's a saying from Psalms, "to go from strength to strength".

I, however, live my life going from stress to stress. I don't know why. But it's how I am. And lately, it's been a shitstorm of stress.

My summer plans to go to the US with the boys have been cancelled because 6 weeks after starting a new job (after being out of work for almost 3 months), my husband's company laid him off so they could have the out-of-work brother of one of the company founders basically work illegally. That was over 2 months ago.

We're moving to a smaller apartment on Sunday, the reasons for that being the apartment we're in is really too big for us (when we first moved in, my adult daughter was living with us, she's no longer doing that), the owners refuse to replace the air conditioning so it actually works (having spent 2 summers in Beersheva heat, I can't do that any more). There are a few financial reasons for moving, but frankly, the no air conditioning in 105 F degree weather is a HUGE motivator. Especially when you work from home as I do. And no, we can't simply buy new ones ourselves; it's central air conditioning and the way it was set up is just not good.

So we're moving. And hubby has been out of work for over 2 months. And the vacation that was keeping me sane was cancelled.

So I've been a bit stressed.

The thing about stress is, you don't often realize just how much you've been drowning in stress until the/a stressor has been relieved.

My husband has had several interviews with different companies, literally all over the world. And it looks like a local company is offering him a job. When he called me to let me know, I couldn't make it through the phone call without tears. I barely hung up with him before the ugly crying started. Sobbing, tears streaming down my face.No snot, because as usual my sinuses are stuffed. But I'm sure that would have been dripping too.

Okay, deep breath, find a tissue, and get back to packing.

So, do you go from stress to stress, or are you water off a duck's back kinda personality?

Time Zones, Internet, and Messaging

Growing up, the rule in our house was no phone calls to friends after 10 p.m. The thinking was that if you could wait till that "late", you could wait until morning, when it's a more reasonable time.

In today's day and age of the Internet, cell phones, and more messaging apps than you really need, one would think being aware of time would be standard. Almost my entire family lives along the eastern coast, which puts me seven hours ahead of them. Which is why I wait until 2 p.m. to send a WhatApp message to my siblings. That's 7 a.m. for my sister, brothers, and sisters-in-law. My other sister-in-law (Zach's sister) lives in California.  That's ten hours behind us. So I send her an email when I need to talk with her.

I keep my cell phone near my bed at night. It serves as my alarm clock. Now, it has a sleep mode setting, so that between 10 p.m. and 6 a.m. it's quiet. No notifications ping, phone calls are screened, and it's nice and quiet. The problem is there ARE people who may need to reach me in case of emergency, and the work around to get through is a right pain in the butt. The person has to call, let it ring a certain number of times, and then call back within a certain number of minutes. Quite frankly, if there's an emergency, they're not going to remember that. So I took my phone off sleep mode.

Last night I received several Facebook messages from friends on the East Coast of the United States. One person sent me multiple messages at almost 1 a.m. my time. For her, it was almost 6 p.m. Two hours later, I received another couple messages from someone else. Again, where she is, it's a perfectly reasonable time to message.... if you don't take into account what time it is where your recipient is.

I'm not naming names, I'm not calling anyone specific out, there's no need to apologize. Just be aware of the wider world we have access to thanks to the Internet.

What rule did you have growing up that thanks to today's technology makes it difficult or irrelevant?

Holidays, Family, and Depression

I moved 6,000 miles away from my family; parents, siblings, grandparents, almost all of my aunts, uncles, and cousins. And when I married Zach, I added a host of in-laws to that list.

Now, I get that for many, moving 6,000 miles away from family is a blessing. But I come from a fairly tight-knit clan, and we all pretty much get along. Holidays are a BIG thing for us. Getting together, sharing cooking duty, spending time together... it's what we do.

I've been living in Israel for almost 21 years and the holidays always depress the heck out of me. Or rather, it brings my depression to a whole new level.

I remember one year, going through fertility treatments, so I'm hopped up on hormones, and I'm getting ready for Pesach (Passover). I open the fridge and see the huge container of applesauce I had just made... and I totally lost it because I wanted my grandmother's applesauce (and her horseradish, sponge cake, gefilte fish, and stewed pears).

So we invite people - other ex-pats - to our Pesach seder, which is the main meal. I'll usually make a turkey, and a slew of other dishes. I fondly remember introducing the concept to an amazing Australian family who was joining us. Last year was by far one of the more interesting ones.

We had 9 guests, a couple who were vegetarian/vegan, and most of whom were actually not even Jewish. It was really fun for us to introduce and teach our customs to people who had never experienced a real Pesach seder. I made turkey, and I made zucchini stuffed with quinoa, mushrooms, and onions. There was a host of side dishes. And yes, I introduced them all to gefilte fish, which I admit, is an acquired taste.

This year, we're going to our daughter and her family for the Pesach seder for the very first time. And for the first time in a really long time, my usual holiday blues aren't that bad. I'm actually feeling pretty good and looking forward to going and spending time with my daughter, her husband, her delicious two boys, my other daughter, my husband, and our two sons.

Speaking of which, I need to get showered, and pack everything up so we can hit the road.

What are your family holiday meals like?

Vacation plans

So the last time I actually took a vacation was a ten-day trip to London, back in March, 2014. I went with my adult daughter and we played tourist, as this was the first time either of us had ever been. It was also the first time I'd ever taken a vacation without any children under the age of 15.

The last time I'd been back to the US was August, 2012. It was a family trip, so I hesitate to call it a vacation, although I didn't actually do any paid work. My boys were just over 5 years old, and about 3 1/2 years old. NEITHER were toilet trained. And let me tell you, family and handicapped bathrooms are not equipped to deal with a 5 year old in need of a diaper change. Yes, even at the zoo, and at children's museums.

Anyway, I'm now in the process of organizing a trip to the US. My in-laws are being generous enough to fly the boys and myself in; Zach just started a new job and won't have the vacation time. One of the main requests from the in-laws is they'd like to have the boys all to themselves for a week or two. But as I'd like to see my mother-in-law before she flies off to help my sister-in-law with her new baby, I'm giving them a week without me.

Wow. A whole week without children. A whole week without having to take care of anyone but myself, without having to answer to anyone. To plan my day as I'd like to spend it. I can't even fathom this concept, it's so foreign to me.

There are people I want to see. I've been living in Israel for over 20 years (and by the time summer rolls around, it will be 21 years), but thanks to social media, I still keep in touch with some of my childhood and young adulthood friends. And of course there are the new friends I've made thanks to social media. I have longtime Internet friends all over the world, and there's a decent list of them that I would LOVE to meet in person if I had the time and money. There's also a nice amount of folks who live within a reasonable distance from where I'll be staying.

Having at least a week to myself presents some interesting opportunities. And it gave me an interesting idea. This year my mom will be celebrating a milestone birthday, and my siblings and I have been discussing what to get her for over six months now. I had suggested we send her and my dad somewhere rather exotic. But then when it became apparent that my boys and I would be coming to the US, I suggested to my siblings that we do a ladies vacation. My mom, my sister, my sisters-in-law, and I go away for a few days. At first I suggested Las Vegas. But after thinking about it, I felt that since none of us are gamblers, going to Vegas would really end up being about spending money - shopping, spas, shows. And since we keep kosher, we wouldn't even have interesting food experiences. So then I suggested to my siblings the possibility of sightseeing somewhere none of us have ever been. San Francisco was one suggestion I had. And then, almost as a throw away, I brought up the possibility of the Grand Canyon.

And apparently, it really seemed to fire up my sister and one of my sisters-in-law! Go figure!

If you had a few days to yourself, where would you go? What would you do?

Clean up on aisle six aka the aftermath

Nati and I passed the spot where the bomb squad did their thing the other day. While they did a good job in cleaning things up, there was still a small pile of multicolored "confetti" made of plastic and paper swept into a corner. I was able to snap a couple photos before the local street sweepers came around and did a better job.

As I said in my previous post, white board supplies and school books.

This time.

Thank God.

See something, say something

Reporting suspicious or abandoned packages or bags is nothing new in Israel. And it didn't come about since 9/11. We've been doing this for YEARS (although I suppose post-9/11 is years now too...). And with many things, Israelis have this weird relationship with the see something, say something philosophy.

On the one hand, it has saved countless lives. Bombs in backpacks are a very real thing in this country. On the other hand, would a random daycare center in most any city in Israel be a target of terrorists?

I have reported several suspicious bags in my 20+ years of living in Israel. What's involved is calling the police, reporting your location, explaining what you're seeing, any relevant details about location (such as you're at a bus stop, near a day care or school, etc.), and answering any questions the dispatcher may have (among the questions I was asked was if the backpack was open, could I see any wires, did it look empty).

You also might be asked to stay until the police (and bomb squad) arrive, to make sure people don't walk near it, touch it, or knock it around.

So I did. I also stayed because the backpack wasn't visible from the street - there was a truck blocking it from the street - and since it was a girl's backpack, there was also a possibility that someone would come along to claim it - as it happened the last time I reported an abandoned bag.

Unfortunately it took the police and bomb squad 30 minutes to arrive, all the while parents were pulling up to the day care centers to collect their kids, and despite living literally across the street from a fairly large police station. I honestly have to say, the wait really made me feel like a "fryer", the Hebrew term used to describe a sucker or a rube.

But they finally did arrive, they cleared the area, made everyone evacuate to a safe distance, did some X-ray stuff, chased back people who didn't realize what was going on, and eventually did a controlled explosion.

I hung around until that part, and then went upstairs to my apartment. Twenty minutes with the police on scene was long enough for me, I didn't feel like hanging around further to watch the cleanup. Probably papers scattered everywhere. Pieces of crayon and white board markers...

Stock photo of a member of the Israeli police bomb squad

So, have you ever seen something, and then said something?