Sky rockets in flight

Imagine being all excited about your 6th birthday party.

You've been planning for months. Your birthday is around Purim time so you're planning a fancy dress party. Your costume is chosen and ready. Your cake is baked. Your mother has bought all kinds of goodies your health conscious family doesn't usually have in the house.

You've invited friends from all around Israel. You're excited to show them your kibbutz with it's cow shed full of black and white cows. You're very proud of "your" cows.

You're counting down the time left until your party, only just over a day to go.

And then rockets start raining down on southern Israel, air raid sirens blaring night and day sending you and your family and your neighbours scurrying for cover with only seconds to spare. Your mother announces, sorry sweetie, it's just too dangerous to have your party here right now, we can't invite people to our home, it isn't safe.

My own 6 year-old, J, was supposed to be going to A's costume party. She too was all excited, anticipating the games and of course, the thrill of real live cows in the barn.

Only A lives in a kibbutz within rocket range of Gaza and as of Saturday night over 100 rockets had been fired into Israel, the residents of the region staying close to their shelters.

Saturday night we got a call from little A's mother telling us that for the third time in about a year she's had to tell guests not to visit because of the "security situation". This is the third time J was meant to go down to A's southern kibbutz and A's mother has had to cancel because of rocket fire from Gaza into Israel.

Poor A as you can imagine was disappointed. And worried about the cows that don't have a shelter like the people do.

Luckily her mother is a resourceful woman and on short notice she figured out that the birthday party could be relocated to parkland just north of their kibbutz, an area still out of range of the rockets from Gaza.

A got to have her party and host all her friends from around Israel. They had a treasure hunt in the woods and pass the parcel, then her big brother did a magic show followed by a feast of falafel, hummous, pita and salad, chips, Bamba (peanut butter puffs - Israel's national kids' snack) and a chocolate crisped rice birthday cake.

J came home bouncing and happy, excited by the surprise location of A's birthday party and by the little individual packs of candy each child received - there were SO many flavours to choose from!

She also came home chattering about all clear signals, sirens, clearing up unexploded bombs and the dangers of unexploded ordinance.

Try as one might, you can't shield the kids from this, even if they aren't in areas directly affected by the rockets. J knows that her friends to the south of us have to live with air raids. She knows that there is a chance that one day we might be in range too. She knows what to do during drills.

After today she also knows first hand from A and other kibbutz children what it's really like, what the adults warn the children to be careful of (if you find bits of shrapnel or exploded rocket when you're out playing don't touch!) and what they do if the siren catches them outdoors or in the car.

I can see that to some extent she is anxious about it all, a little scared, but mostly she is matter of fact, practical and accepting. This is just the way things are. This is the way A has grown up, and for J it's as straight forward as that. Rocket attacks are to her and A as much a force of nature as the theoretical earthquakes we drill for too.

Hamentaschen recipe

 It's that time of year again, stores are chock full of garish costumes and face paint, DH is practicing his theatrical Megilla reading and every evening our peace is disturbed by teenagers throwing firecrackers in the park late at night. Purim must be coming!

Our multitudinous local bakeries have been selling hamentaschen since the day after Hannukah, and as with the Hannukah sufganiyot every year sees new attempts to out do the competition with unusual and bizarre hamentasch flavours.

Our family custom is to make our own, for the younger generation it is one of the highlights of the month of Adar, and just like  the bakeries, we seem to experiment with new fillings each Purim. One thing remains constant though, our basic hamentasch recipe.

I seem to have developed a reputation for being the go to person for wholewheat hamentaschen. "My" recipe is based on my mother-in-law's white flour recipe which I adapted for wholewheat, and just because I can't help tinkering with recipes. What I love about this recipe is that it is simple and kid, even toddler, friendly, so it's fun and easy to turn hamentaschen making into a family project.


Wholewheat hamentaschen dough

2 eggs
1/2 cup olive oil
Juice of one orange (about 1/2 cup)
2 tsp vanilla
1/2 cup demarara (light brown) sugar
2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
2 3/4 cup wholewheat flour + a little more


Choose a filling of your choice for example a jam of some sort (we like the whole fruit kind), brownie mixture, chocolate chips, dried fruits, dulce de leche, poppy seed, pie filling, English mince pie filling, halva spread, peanut butter, carob spread or even soft cheese with cinnamon.

Preheat oven to 180C or about 350F
1. Mix wet ingredients
2. Add dry ingredients and knead. (If the dough is sticky rather than smooth and easy to work with gradually add a little more flour to the mixture in handfull increments, until the dough has a smooth, non-sticky texture and is easy to shape.)
3. Roll into a ball and then flatten into a circle
4. Fill with jam or other filling of your choice
5. Fold over the filling and pinch into a triangle shape
6. Do not grease pans
7. Bake at 350 F (about 180C) for around 15 minutes (check after 10)

NB If you're using wholewheat flour this will come out looking darker than with white flour.

Variations:
a) Mix in some cocoa powder with the flour, even substitute as much as 1/4 cup cocoa powder to the dough.
b) Dilute the orange juice with liquor such as Baileys or other Irish cream, creme de menthe, rum, chocolate or coffee liquor.
c) Replace the vanilla extract with peppermint extract, works especially well with chocolate filling and with added cocoa powder in the dough.




Chocolate hamentasch filling

@250gr dark or bittersweet chocolate
3 tbl oil or softened butter
2/3 cup wholewheat flour
1 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
2 eggs
2 tsp peppermint extract or vanilla extract
2 tsp coffee
3/4 sugar
3/4 cup dark chocolate chips

1. In a microwave proof bowl melt the chocolate, taking care that it doesn't burn. Try it in small increments, the exact time needed will vary according to different power microwaves.
2. Mix in all the rest of the ingredients except for the chocolate chips.
3. Fold in the chocolate chips.
4. Fill hamentaschen (dough recipe above, I usually add cocoa powder to the dough). You will need to work fast as the filling will stiffen and harden as it cools.

Any left over filling can be used to make chocolate drop cookies, bake for about 10 minutes on 180C.

Tu B'Shvat

So we didn't do anything too exciting for Tu B'Shvat, but we did have a great walk on a hill near our home. Almond trees are not at their peak yet, aside from one tree, many cyclamen are yet to open, but the crown anemones are glorious, plenty of Land of Israel iris, wood sorrel and Dominican sage, asphodels starting to bloom in patches, some spring groundsel and pimpernels, start of the wild mustard, chamomile and several other flowers we usually see slightly later in the season and even a few early green ears of barley. Plenty to feast the eyes and senses on.





I've been walking over this hill for so many years, observing it in all seasons and weathers, but exploring with my kids is like seeing everything anew. I'm still the crazy lady lying belly down in the mud trying to capture just the right angle for a cyclamen portrait or a shot of an interesting clump of anemones, but now I have J and T getting down on the ground with me and noticing an ant or a grasshopper hiding in the grass, or spotting a tiny unfamliar wildflower I might not have seen otherwise. And sometimes as I'm trying to get my photograph T will climb on my back or J will lean over and block the light, but that's part of the fun of it, they want to learn everything from what each flower is called to why I need to twist in convoluted contortions to shoot a picture of a flower. 

Their boundless curiosity forces me to keep learning too, whether it's recalling long forgotten classes in geology or history, or looking up botanical facts, I have endless questions to answer. Even T is now old enough to be able to ask questions, albeit usually of the one or two word variety. He has graduated from being a "she-eino yodea lishol" (one who doesn't know how to ask) to a "tam" (one who asks simple or naive questions). 

J is often the one who rushes to answer these days, she is so excited to have a little brother to teach. The two of them enjoy exploring the hill together, J sometimes leading him along by the hand, pausing to point out items of interest, crouching down with him to inspect a patch of lichen or teach him the parts of a flower. I have no idea what T is absorbing from all this at his tender age, but he laps it up, thrilled when he recognises a flower he's learnt about, questioning if another yellow flower is the same as the one next to it. 

The highlights of our Tu B'Shvat walk were definitely the butterflies though - a painted lady and a green-striped white. I gave J our pocket butterfly field guide and she sat on the ground and opened it up, pointing out the different insects to T and trying to figure out which was posing for us on the path. Then the painted lady led us a game of chase around some of the prickly pear cactuses the kids trying to trace its erratic path, giggling in delight when it swooped low over them. 

It wasn't all nature lessons though. Our region is blessed with an abundance of archaeological sites - ruins from Crusader, Byzantine, Roman, Second and First Temple periods, and earlier. The earth is littered with shards of pottery and the entire hill is covered in ancient cisterns, now thankfully gated over for safety. Little T who barely talks in sentences recognises ancient olive presses and excitedly yells out the Hebrew "beit bud, beit bud!" whenever he sees one or anything resembling one. J points out the difference between the large rectangular stones typical of the Second Temple or Roman periods, and the smaller, uneven stones used in later construction, such as the upper section of the Crusader ruin atop the hill. We carefully peer down into an ancient mikva (ritual bath) and note the remains of plastering on its walls. 

To be sure we are a family addicted to books, watchers of documentaries and regular visitors to museums, but here, in our own backyard all of that truly becomes real and tangible. My oldest thrives on the theoretical, but out here she learns what books and films and museums just can't quite teach.

Our little local hill is truly their classroom.

The white season

 

 It was good to get back to the woods this week after a long break. The kids missed all those scrumptious climbable carob trees, the dried fruits in the upper branches still delicious for snacking on. I love the wonderful fresh scent of eucalyptus and pine, and the gentle shade they provide as the little people relax after a busy morning's climbing and playing in the dirt.

Just the other evening we were learning about lizards with David Attenborough's stunning "Life in Cold Blood" series and today in the woods we saw three species of lizard and a skink, as well as what looked like shards of reptile egg shells that had recently hatched. One little lizard was so bold that when the toddler reached out to touch it instead of fleeing it remained calm standing in front of us, it would have allowed itself to be petted had I not steered the toddler's hand away. Loving nature is one thing, making nice to wild reptiles quite another.

(Of course I arranged the whole thing so that our field trip would be directly related to yesterday's study material. I'm that good at predicting where tiny high camoflagued reptiles might be hiding in the big wide woods...)

I love being out in these woods this time of year. The shade of the trees makes the heat comfortable, blocking the worst of the still strong sun. At intervals there is a refreshing light breeze and while that still doesn't really make it autumn, it takes the edge off the oppressiveness of summer.



In many ways this is the white season, and not just because white, the colour of innocence and holiness symbolises the Jewish New Year and High Holy Days we mark during this transitional season. The summer's pure azure skies are broken more and more often with fluffy white clouds, some even bringing a light drizzle. After the long dry months white dust is everywhere, waiting to be cleaned away with the first autumnal downpour.

Almost nothing blooms now save for one hardy flower, the squill, which has made this season its own, dotting hillsides and highway verges like tall white festive candles. Their pallid blooms echo the season's clouds, puffs of purity and freshness sprouting proudly amidst the yellow-brown vegetation shrivelled and crisped by the summer sun.


There is a sweet Hebrew children's book about the squill "Why does the squill flower in autumn?" (it rhymes in Hebrew). It tells of how the simple white squill had trouble attracting bees and pollinating insects during more hospitable flowering seasons, like winter and spring. It just couldn't compete with the the attractive bright red blossoms of the anemone or poppy, the blue-purple lupins, yellow daisies or pink cyclamen. Then a little bird let it in on a secret - if it were to flower at  the end of summer and early autumn, it would have all the bees and bugs to itself. And so almost alone among Israel's wildflowers it chose to bloom in the harshest season of the year.

Traditional Jewish symbols of  the autumn festivals tend more towards the ripe red pomegranates and apples which also mark this season, the honey golden fresh dates and purple figs. These adorn Rosh Hashanah cards, sukkah decorations and kindergarten wall displays.

It seems a shame to me that these Land of Israel signs of the holidays are so well known and associated with the holidays in Jewish communities around the world while the humble but prolific squill, harbinger of the rain, symbol of fresh beginnings and freedom from sin, should be so unfamiliar outside the Holyland.

Keeping our heads above water

The wave of "social justice" protests continue to sweep the country with demands for a "socially just" budget, more government spending, higher taxes on the rich, increased state benefits, higher wages for state employees and more. 

In principle many of the ideas sound good - more goverment programmes to help the poor and infirm, more government spending on healthcare, better paid state employees - in particular those with vital and difficult jobs like medical professionals and social workers. 

Problem is that raising spending to do those things would probably have the effect of plunging Israel into the economic depression plaguing most the western economies.

Things aren't perfect now in Israel but they could be one heck of a lot worse. We are just about the only western country which actually has low unemployment (5.5%, Israel's lowest ever), our international credit rating was actually just upgraded to A+ (by contrast the US credit rating was just downgraded) and responsible fiscal management means we have far less debt than the US or western Europe.

Look at the terrible crises in Greece, Spain, Italy, and for that matter the UK and US, and be warned, that will be Israel if we rock the boat now with increased spending and higher taxes.

In Israel today the top decile (asiron ha-elyon) pay 75% of the total income tax paid, and the top one percent of earners pay about 31% of income tax. Raising taxes and giving them more reason to either evade or leave the country is going to hurt all of us and result in more of the burden shifting to the already overburdened and lower earning middle classes.

So yes, maybe some small things can be changed, there must be wasteful government programmes that could be cut so the budget can be spent on more useful initiatives. Overall though we are currently one of the most stable economies in the world at a time when some of the strongest economies in the world are on the verge of collapse. True, many Israelis are just about holding their heads above water, but increase spending and increase Israel's debt and we'll find ourselves drowning just like our southern European neighbours.

Hoping for some southern comfort

This morning I had a call from the mother of a friend of my daughter's. She wanted to reschedule our proposed playdate this week. Nothing so unusual about that except for the reason. Their kibbutz isn't too far from Ashdod and since Thursday evening that part of the country has come under massive rocket fire from Gaza, including several direct hits on homes, schools and synagogues. My daughter's friend and her family have spent the weekend in or close to shelters listening out for sirens.

Plan had been that after her day at the kibbutz, we'd collect J and take her to the beach in Ashdod, followed by dinner at the nearby nice little kosher Indian restaurant. That was before a grad rocket injured several people outside an Ashdod yeshiva, while another grad lodged unexploded in the roof of an Ashdod synagogue.

I know this must sound terribly selfish, I'm thinking about my daughter's fun plans for the week while people are sitting in shelters and getting shot at. In a way that is precisely my point. Overseas there is this image of "warzones" places where people's lives are suspended permenantly among ruined buildings as they wait for the next rocket to fall or the next bomb to explode.

These places become divorced from normal life in the eyes of the foreign news (though of course this weekend's rocket attacks have gone largely unreported overseas). Yet this division of the world into neat "warzones" and "normal" just doesn't compute.

The cities and towns and villages of southern Israel are "normal" places, places where people just like you and me live and go to work or school or lounge about during the summer seeking relief from the heat by the beach or in the mall. People go jogging and walk their dogs and go to the movies or take a walk in the relative cool of early morning. There are run down tenements in dodgy neighbourhoods and luxury villas in comfortable suburbs, grim 50s apartment blocks and state of the art modern condo developments. There are farms and beaches and yeshivas and factories and hospitals and UNESCO World Heritage Sites and beautiful nature reserves. Just as elsewhere in Israel late summer is a time for music festivals, weddings and cooling off in waterparks.  People try to keep their children busy in the final few weeks of the summer holidays.

And suddenly all that is semi-frozen in the twilight zone uncertainty of a rain of rockets and sirens and government orders to cancel all large public gatherings, sporting events and concerts and for residents to stay close to their shelters or windowless interior rooms.

One friend was caught out by a siren while jogging one evening, spending the next half hour face down in the dirt and shaking from having felt and heard the impact of a rocket closeby. Another described the terror of having just left her cousins' house in Beer Sheva to return home to Jerusalem when the siren went, leaving her with a carload of children on an open road unsure whether to seek cover on the verge or to just keep driving.

In Tel Aviv the "social justice" protesters are still sitting in their tents protesting the rising price of housing and the cost of living. Down south sitting in a tent right now would be plain reckless.

Some would say going south right now was plain reckless but other friends of ours don't have that choice. For them the grievances of the protesters and the recent escalation of attacks from Gaza have come together alarmingly this week. Priced out of the centre of the country they found more affordable housing in Beer Sheva and are scheduled to move this week. School will be starting soon (God Willing in the south too) and they need to get settled in to their new home, rockets or no rockets.

Meanwhile another friend's sister and brother-in-law are in the process of signing on a nice apartment near the sea in Ashkelon. They too would have preferred something more central, closer to Tel Aviv, but Ashkelon is so much more affordable, and with its new housing projects, spruced up seafront promenade, marina and attractive beaches, seemed to offer a pleasant quality of life at a much cheaper price.

I asked whether they weren't concerned about Ashkelon's proximity to Gaza and the continued rocket fire. My friend's response? Once upon a time we were shocked that Gaza rockets could reach as far as Sderot. Then we couldn't believe Ashkelon was being hit. Then we were surprised at Grad strikes as far away as Beer Sheva and Ashdod. Then Yavne and Gadera. How long do I really think it wil be before they can reach Rehovot, Rishon Letzion, Modi'in and even Tel Aviv?

Red black mountains' majesties

I can understand why people would opt to drive down to Eilat along the scenic and remote Route 12, scene of Thursday's fatal terror attacks, rather than the more popular Arava route, with its many heavy trucks, heavy traffic and just far less evocative views.

Route 12 is the highway we like to take when driving by day. Just a few minutes after leaving the urban sprawl of Eilat and you are out in the untamed wilderness with views into Sinai, dramatic rugged red, black and orange mountains punctuated with dramatic wadis, the occasional ibex wild goats and dashing black and white wheatear perched on every other roadsign. In migration season you can see large numbers of majestic raptors from mountainside overlooks along the route.

By night the highway is positively spooky, shadowy dark mountains looming over the road like giant monsters and black wadis in the gaps between become bottomless voids waiting to swallow hapless motorists. Yet night has its beauty too - endless clear desert skies sparkling like a field of diamonds, the Milky Way a bright shimmering swathe across the heavens, maybe a desert fox or even hyena crossing your path, caught for a brief moment in a cone of headlights.

While this section of the road is usually considered safe for civilian motorists, it has always had its dangers. Bedouin smugglers use this long wild border to bring in illicit firearms, drugs, people and domestic animals. There are military checkpoints along the highway and often very visible military traffic and patrols. We've certainly been stopped along this route often enough and asked for ID. It's certainly always been my impression that the IDF takes the security of this vital road and adjacent border very seriously.

And now it's another dot on the map of terror.