I tend to be secretive, but since I started blogging I find myself sharing all kinds of embarrassing things to produce amusing posts. Bear with me while I meander a bit–there is a punch line to the following story.
It started several months ago when I tore a leg muscle. Around that time I couldn’t figure out why my legs were tired all the time, even after a short walk. I was convinced that I had some horrible degenerative disease. Then, while carrying a cranky four-year-old, I tripped over a mound meant to prevent cars from entering a park. She got a bump on the head; I got a bruised knee and sore muscles. A few days later I tripped again, this time on nothing. Result: Two bruised knees and noticeable bruises on my face. Two weeks later the marks have just about disappeared.
After the second fall I realized that my shoes were causing the problem. I wear orthotics and orthopedic running shoes, and as everyone knows, running shoes wear out. (My metal orthotics never need replacing except for the leather lining.) Usually I am careful to replace worn-out shoes immediately; these were already eight months old so I should have thought of it. Instead I suffered extreme pain for two months while functioning on a suboptimal level, lacking stamina for walking or standing.
Now that morning I had more cash on hand than usual. Even though conventional wisdom says that credit cards lead to excess spending, excess cash is the problem for me. In this case it was a reimbursement for a credit card purchase so technically I had already spent the money.
Last night we paid a shiva (condolence) call to a dear friend and neighbor who lost her mother z”l. We began talking about condolence calls from people you don’t recognize, and being too embarrassed to ask who they are. She recalled the following story about someone who asked, and received an unexpected reply.
While at a neighbor’s shiva, a Hassid dressed in tights, kapote, and gartel walked into the house and sat down. A hush fell over the visitors. (I actually saw something similar happen at a recent shiva, but that Hassid brought an entourage.) The mourner, who happened to have many chassidic relatives, asked him if he was related to her. He said no.
“Why have you come?” she asked.
“I’m the repairman,” the Hassid said. “I’m here to fix your washing machine.”
And he proceeded to do just that.
My post on extreme tzniut received over 50 comments. Bloggers discussing it on their own blogs include Lilith, Jewlicious, Frumhouse, JacobdaJew, Rafi, Miriam, and Tikkun Olam.
A Russian-Israeli blogger named “antidos” also wrote about it, but I couldn’t read what he said.
Since writing the post I’ve discovered subcategories among the face-coverers. Not all subscribe to Rabbanit Keren’s philosophy about speech fasts and multiple layers of clothes.
In other blog news, Jack’s Shack hosts the ultimate Jewish blog carnival, Haveil Havalim # 151.
Batya posted the recent Kosher Cooking Carnival: Extreme Weather Edition. You can submit posts for the February edition, hosted by Food History, here. I’ll be hosting the April, pre-Pesach edition.
From Aidel Maidel
You have 15 minutes to make a list of sentences that start with “I can.” You aren’t supposed to edit it, either.
Here’s mine.
(I ran the spell-check anyway.)
When my husband’s aunt and uncle made aliyah from the US in the 60′s, they spent a few years in Bnei Brak. That first morning, one of the children noticed laundry hanging outside some nearby buildings. “Ma,” he said, “We live in a slum.”
A reader of my post, Twelve Things I Love about Israel, had a similar reaction when I listed laundry as one of my favorite Israeli activities. (Helene, if you’re still around please delurk.) I think it’s a shame that so many Israelis use dryers; we have sun nine months out of twelve. Even on cloudy, threatening days a good wind can blow laundry dry in a few hours.
Most Israeli apartment buildings contain a shaft just for laundry lines. A decorative railing hides your dirty (from the pollution) linens but allows air to circulate. In my old building, the lines were completely covered by a concrete roof. In my current apartment I have to pay attention to the state of the clouds. If only the weather report would predict the exact hour rain will fall on my nearly dry clothes.
From the 6th floor window, out of which I do my hanging, I have a view of a dangerous, unsignalled intersection. A left turn is legal only in one of the four directions, and drivers coming from the side street can’t go straight; they must turn right.
Israeli drivers are affronted, I mean affronted, when forbidden to go straight through an intersection. The violation rate is about one per load of laundry. Once or twice I reported a truck driver to his employer, but without a license plate number they couldn’t identify him. When I am driving behind someone about to make an illegal turn I start honking; I also signal the correct direction to drivers as I’m crossing the street. My kids start cheering if I get the drivers to change their mind.
I’m protective of that intersection; my kids cross there all the time. Occasionally the police stake out the corner and catch offenders; I figure they get about 0.0001% of the lawbreakers. I haven’t noticed a deterrent effect.
I’ll be watching, though.
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