Thirteen Things that Happened at 3:00 in the Morning
One would think that calming my three year old son with his nightmarish fits at 3:00 o'clock would purport me to sleep. But that wasn't the case. now, I'm wide awake as if I'm ready to tackle the day.
1. I calmed Ivry down and he finally fell asleep on our bed
2. I went to the bathroom and tried to fall asleep
3. I tossed and truned and focused on the air-conditioning sound at the apartment above me
4. I hugged my son and saw he had fallen asleep
5. My brain started thinking
6. My stomach started hurting
7. I went to the bathroom again
8. I began to feel homesick for my four walled kibbutz apartment
9. I thought about my progress with my writing endeavors including that of my book, our impending visit to NYC to see my mom, and unfinished Passover tasks
10. I hugged my pillow
11. I hugged my son
12. I tried meditating
13. I came to the computer... and here I am!
I like to have a full 7 -8 hours sleep. Wonder what happened today? There's a lot of stress I'm feeling lately - that I know for sure. Stress with revising the book, finding enough freelance writing gigs if I make that decision to branch over to freelance writing and finding a day job. But then there are the triggers to all that stress.
Deep inside, I know where the anxiety is also coming from: I think I'd be better off knowing I've released the feelings of doubts and uncertainty. Is this just me? Is anybody else feeling this way at times.... Any thoughts?
Happy TT
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Wordless Wednesday: Can I Kiss You Before I Go to the JCC?
This is what my precious little Ivry said to me this morning just before he left for the Jewish Community Center where he attends daycare. I love you was all I could say!
On a different note, I spoke to my editor yesterday afternoon. We talked for about an hour. He praised the contents of the book suggesting that I could clearly benefit from the writing with a co-author. An hour later I called my reviewer and asked if she would be interested in doing the project with me. She gave an affirmative 'yes'. We'll, see how that goes!
Monday, April 7, 2008
Sedar Manners from New York to Israel and Back Again
Sedar Manners from New York to Israel and Back Again
by Dorit Sasson
As I watch my three year son slurp chicken soup after Friday night’s service, I am almost home. Well, almost. I want to get on that LIRR train to Far Rockaway so much. But for the sake of Sedar manners, I push that memory just a bit back in my subconscious.
I truly feel like an outsider now that we’ve moved back to the States. I’ve lived in both Israel and American in equal numbers of years, but when it comes time to slurping soup, time stands still. Momma tried to teach me what she thought were Sedar manners for eight years, and she didn’t compromise - even on a Sedar night. She thought the excitement of singing the four questions (what has changed, Ma Nishtana?) would perhaps distract me from slurping soup and watching others slurp. The thought of watching her almost eighteen year old daughter become excited by little cousin Zackary’s version of “Ma Nishtana?” (what has changed) made her finally realized that I was busy to be bothered with keeping up with sedar manners.
“Don’t you have something you would like to share with the family?” she asked me on my last Passover sedar.
“What, what are you talking about?” I asked as uncle Eddie put down his soup spoon and lifting his head.
“You know, about you volunteering on a kibbutz and moving to Israel.” My mom said.
Sharing my decision of emigrating to Israel, I felt like I was Moses leading the people across through the Dead Sea with his stick. All eyes were upon me. But I slurped my matzah ball soup quietly in order to distract myself from the silence. The truth was I was scared. I knew that Far Rockaway and Greenwich Village were really the only two homes I knew.
Uncle Eddie smiled. “Well, at least we know who’s going to be in Jerusalem next year, as they say in the Torah.”
Since then I have spent the next 18 Passover sedars in and around Jerusalem. Only last year, I’ve discovered a need to come back home, perhaps to understand that slurping Matzoh ball soup is just as universal as I thought it is.
After a long hiatus from submitting posts to Scribbit's Write Away Contest, I'm happy to say that I've found myself a bit inspired and submitted again.
by Dorit Sasson
As I watch my three year son slurp chicken soup after Friday night’s service, I am almost home. Well, almost. I want to get on that LIRR train to Far Rockaway so much. But for the sake of Sedar manners, I push that memory just a bit back in my subconscious.
I truly feel like an outsider now that we’ve moved back to the States. I’ve lived in both Israel and American in equal numbers of years, but when it comes time to slurping soup, time stands still. Momma tried to teach me what she thought were Sedar manners for eight years, and she didn’t compromise - even on a Sedar night. She thought the excitement of singing the four questions (what has changed, Ma Nishtana?) would perhaps distract me from slurping soup and watching others slurp. The thought of watching her almost eighteen year old daughter become excited by little cousin Zackary’s version of “Ma Nishtana?” (what has changed) made her finally realized that I was busy to be bothered with keeping up with sedar manners.
“Don’t you have something you would like to share with the family?” she asked me on my last Passover sedar.
“What, what are you talking about?” I asked as uncle Eddie put down his soup spoon and lifting his head.
“You know, about you volunteering on a kibbutz and moving to Israel.” My mom said.
Sharing my decision of emigrating to Israel, I felt like I was Moses leading the people across through the Dead Sea with his stick. All eyes were upon me. But I slurped my matzah ball soup quietly in order to distract myself from the silence. The truth was I was scared. I knew that Far Rockaway and Greenwich Village were really the only two homes I knew.
Uncle Eddie smiled. “Well, at least we know who’s going to be in Jerusalem next year, as they say in the Torah.”
Since then I have spent the next 18 Passover sedars in and around Jerusalem. Only last year, I’ve discovered a need to come back home, perhaps to understand that slurping Matzoh ball soup is just as universal as I thought it is.
After a long hiatus from submitting posts to Scribbit's Write Away Contest, I'm happy to say that I've found myself a bit inspired and submitted again.
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