When I gave birth to the Little One, I almost died. The pregnancy itself had been a difficult one. Questionable genetics combined with a bad obstetric history (and that would be putting it mildly) dictated that I would be watched carefully, and that we would always err on the side of caution. Once we cleared the initial genetic hurdles, I found myself faced with such issues as the unexpected discovery at week 16 of an incompetent cervix (resulting in urgent surgery to put in a cerclage and me working from home for the remainder of the pregnancy) and the subsequent diagnosis of gestational diabetes. To make matters worse, I was utterly depressed. Despite the fact that the pregnancy was progressing relatively decently – if not smoothly, the fear that something would somehow go horribly wrong was never far from my mind. Four failed pregnancies led me to believe that the odds were not in my favor, which meant that I basically spent my entire pregnancy holding my breath and waiting for something to go wrong.

Nothing in my wildest dreams – or nightmares – could have prepared me for what I experienced when I gave birth. The bleeding began once my son was out, and it simply wouldn’t stop. The placenta wasn’t coming out and my uterus wasn’t contracting as it should have. In short, I was hemorrhaging. I suddenly felt weak and sick, and as the blood drained from my face and I turned white, I heard my husband pleading with me to stay awake.

As the medical team worked feverishly to get my body to do what it was supposed to, I was consumed by sheer terror; I was sure that I was dying, and even began to think about my husband having to raise our son as a single parent. An anesthesiologist was hovering outside the room, ready to rush me into surgery in the event that the doctors wouldn’t be able to stop the bleeding, which would have necessitated the removal of my uterus in order to save my life. Fortunately, we didn’t reach that stage. The doctors managed to stop the bleeding, employing a number of often painful techniques and persevering until it worked. I received four units each of blood and plasma, and was hooked up to oxygen after they discovered that my oxygen saturation levels were low. I remained in the delivery room for approximately twelve hours after giving birth, at which point I was moved to a room in the maternity ward that was directly across from the nurses’ station.

While the doctors in the hospital refused to discuss it, my own doctor confirmed what I already assumed to be true. My life had been in danger, and I could have died. While the birth itself had been fairly routine, my condition deteriorated rapidly within an hour. There was no indication that what I had experienced was in any way related to the problems I’d had during the pregnancy. What had happened to me could happen to anyone, without any prior warning.

And that’s why I was so utterly appalled by this article in last Friday’s Haaretz Magazine about unassisted home births. Don’t get me wrong – I can certainly respect that there are some women who are turned off by the hospital experience, or that some women wish to give birth naturally and with no painkillers (I, on the other hand, informed the nurses every ten minutes or so that without an epidural, I wouldn’t give birth…). I also realize that most births tend to proceed as they should, and that complications are minimal. But what about those few births that go wrong, those births that go so spectacularly off course that the lives of the mother and and/or the baby are in danger? What do you do when you’re giving birth alone in your bathroom and your baby won’t come out? What do you do when the bleeding just won’t stop?

I was shocked by the women in the article, angered by what I perceived as being ignorance and misguided priorities. Isn’t it more important to survive a birth procedure that might not be precisely to your liking than to die as a result of the “perfect” birthing experience? I realize that given my own background, I may not be the best person to judge. Perhaps I am overly sensitive when it comes to such issues, but I cannot help becoming incensed by women who naively believe that nothing can happen, that despite all of the medical technology placed at our disposal, they are prepared to turn their backs on modernity in the most extreme manner possible. Some of you will condemn me for being judgmental, and I accept that there’s truth in that. I just cannot help but think that had I chosen this path, my son would not have a mother.

For those of you under 30, this post just might not be for you. You lot have always known what a fax machine was, and unless you grew up with a Mac, your computer always came with the Microsoft Windows operating system. Opening and closing virtual windows on your computer comes as natural to you as opening and closing real windows comes to us.

When I was in elementary school, taking home one of the coveted school computers from the library meant bringing home a keyboard of sorts (of which I have little to no recollection), a small black and white television for use as a monitor, and what I can only assume was a modem that would allow me to connect to the local network. Picking up the phone receiver (which was, of course, not cordless – this was the 70s, after all, when the only portable phone we knew of could be found in the car of Jennifer and Jonathan Hart), I’d dial the requisite number, wait for the appropriate series of tones to sound, and then place the receiver in the modem. I’d log on to the network (my chosen ID was “ringo”, reflecting my early love of The Beatles), and using the limited tools at my disposal, exchange crudely formatted (but quite well-written, of course ) messages to others on the network – other local students who’d also managed to score a computer for the weekend.

Remember these?

I played games like “Eliza” and “Dungeons and Dragons“, and used my proudly acquired – though clearly inadequate – knowledge of BASIC to create simple programs. We all learned BASIC in school, and the geeks kids who were evidently more clever than I were testing the waters with programming languages like Fortran and COBOL. There were no graphics. There were no colors. To be honest, there wasn’t much of anything.

Computers were not central to my life while growing up. Indeed, they were barely of any interest to me at all. In university, I was the proud owner of a Brother word processor (two, actually, after the first one was stolen during a break-in), and the less than proud owner of a failing grade in my first university-level computer course. I passed it with flying colors the second time around with a different teacher, so I hope you’ll indulge me and allow me to blame my earlier failure on what was so obviously an instructional glitch.

Somewhere along the way, though, something changed. At some point, I unwittingly discovered – and embraced – my inner geek. Days spent sitting in front of the computer began to get the better of me, and I found myself becoming curious – intrigued, even. With the advent of the internet, I was utterly smitten. I was amazed by the capabilities, by the virtual doors it opened. Think about it! Think about what you can do! If you’re persistent, you can find information about anything. Or anyone… You can make purchases, you can make travel plans. And when you make those plans, you can even get your bearings long before you arrive, thanks to programs like Google Earth. You can see the sights without leaving home, or take a tour of your hotel while wearing your pajamas (or while not wearing them, though if that’s the case, I may or may not want to know…). You can find old friends and make new ones; you can find songs (or they can find you…).

Longing to poke that special someone? Got an irresistible urge to throw a sheep at your high school crush? If you answered yes to either of these questions, then you should be on Facebook, of course, the website that lets you do almost anything to your friends and loved ones. Start a snowball fight or a food fight with your mates (or with your favorite blogger, but remember that she plays dirty), fling office supplies at your colleagues (because face it – they’re all on Facebook too). Challenge me to a word game, though I should warn you – I can be very, very competitive.

And how about those gadgets you keep around the house? You know, the ones you can use with your computer? iPhones and cameras and scanners, oh my! Seriously, could you have imagined 10 or 15 years ago being able to use your cell phone to access your email? How incredible is it that I can connect my camera to my computer and send you a photo via email, which you can receive on your cell phone anywhere in the world – within seconds? Not that I’m going to, of course, so don’t be getting your hopes up. Requests, however, may be considered (get your mind out of the gutter! You know who you are…)…

Less than 20 years ago, I was amazed by the act of being able to send a piece of paper through my phone and have that content come out on someone else’s phone somewhere else in the world. Today, my five year-old son begs me to allow him to watch VOD, and I’m quite certain that he already knows more about it than I ever will. My father just got his first mp3 player. He’s waiting for me to arrive and assist him with the mindboggling task of filling up this credit card-sized gadget with nearly 1000 songs and old radio show recordings. The player was a Father’s Day gift from my mother, and the process of getting it loaded up is a Father’s Day gift from me. It will undoubtedly be a time-consuming technological labor of love, and as I compile a list of suitable download sites, I think to myself, what a wonderful world…

My son the observer

“Look, Mommy. Bubble crap.”

“Ummm, no sweetie. That would be bubble wrap.”

**********************

My son the language specialist

“Mommy, do you want me to sing the Ben 10 song in English or Hebrew?” my son asked.

“In English,” I replied. “You know I always like it when you use your English.”

He quickly hums the opening instrumentals, and with great gusto, launches into the lyrics.  “A cytoquada aliens…”

I looked at him with a bemused smile and said gently, “I’m not sure that’s right, sweetie. I don’t think ‘cytoquada’ is a real word.”

“Yes it is,” he retorted.

“It’s not, sweetie. I’m sorry.”

Rather defiantly now, “it is, Mommy!”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

“Okay,” I responded, sighing in defeat.

He starts from the beginning. “A cytoquada aliens…”

*****************

My son the sound technician

Snuggled up against me on the couch, the Little One picks up his head and asks, “Mommy, is your tummy rumbling?”

“I don’t think so, sweetie. Why do you ask?”

“I heard something through your nipple.”

During the four years that I’ve been writing this blog, I’ve made no secret of the difficult path we traveled in our quest to have a child. Following a series of failed pregnancies and the loss of one son born too prematurely and with too many problems to survive, we turned to egg donation. Amazingly, we received offers to donate from a number of wonderful friends, but the only offer I was emotionally capable of accepting was NRG’s. If I couldn’t do it on my own, if I had to turn to a cold medical procedure to make this work, there was no one I wanted to join us on this journey more than NRG.

That was nearly eight years ago, and while the procedure failed, my friendship with NRG has continued to flourish, despite the distance and despite the time that passes between visits. And today, eight years later, I am still in awe of her selflessness, amazed by what she went through for me. Shortly after we returned to our lives, I came across a song – a song that so perfectly described the gratitude I felt for all that my friend had given me. I found it in the most random of ways, really. If I remember correctly, I discovered it on a greeting card website as a song that could be attached to ecards. The only problem was that it couldn’t be downloaded, and even though I saved the link and listened to the song frequently, I eventually lost the link, and thus lost the song.

I’ve searched for the song many times over the years, always without success. Links to the artist didn’t help, as the song was never mentioned on any of the sites I found. Last week, I listed the song in this blog entry:

“Thank You, by Lionel Bastos. I don’t even remember how I stumbled upon this song, nor do I have a copy of it today – I can’t find one anywhere, nor can I find a clip of it on YouTube. Listening to it always reminded me of NRG and all that our friendship has given to me over the years. Hey Lionel, if you’re reading this – how do I score a copy of this amazing tune?”

Lionel Bastos wasn’t reading when I wrote that last line, but my friend E was. Imagine my surprise on Monday morning when I found an email from E in my Inbox, and while I choose to keep the exact wording to myself, suffice it to say that I was shocked to find the song attached. E had tracked down the distributor and conveyed his request. The distributor, in turn, put E in touch with Lionel himself, and Lionel was happy to help. In a subsequent email, E wrote, “shockingly, the song really doesn’t exist most anyplace else.  You weren’t going to find it.  The distributor doesn’t have copies of the original album (called “Rising Above the Madness” – number 10 on this list, South African Rock Digest’s top 30 albums in 2001), no one out there’s selling a used copy, the label doesn’t have any, the online retailers don’t have any and – get this – Lionel Bastos’ house was broken into and all of his copies were stolen. He readily agreed to send me the MP3, though, so it was all good.”

I asked E if he could give me Lionel’s email address. I was sure that E had already thanked him (and I had thanked E, of course), but I wanted to thank him as well. I had to thank this person who had helped to make my birthday so special. I ended my email to him by writing, “Anyway, thanks again for doing this. It was the last thing I expected, and I don’t know what impresses me more – E taking the time to track you down to get the song or you for your willingness to share it with me. It’s definitely one of the more beautiful songs I’ve heard. You have an amazing talent.”

And Lionel Bastos wrote back. Once again, I was positively stunned. Not only had I finally found his song – or rather, it had finally found me, but here he was, the songwriter himself, offering me birthday wishes and being utterly charming. When I asked, he quickly gave his permission (as did E) to write about this experience, one I can only describe as being somewhat surreal. I’m not quite sure what I did to deserve such good fortune, but I do know that I’m grateful to both E and Lionel for making it happen. Most of all, though, I am grateful that neither of them could see the silly, stupid grin I had on my face all day, which would surely have destroyed the credibility I’d worked so hard to build (assuming, of course, that I’d managed to build any in the first place). So, to both of you, E and Lionel (and to NRG, whose friendship is the reason why these lyrics resonated with me so strongly), thank you.

(Lyrics and music by the fabulously talented – and utterly charming – Lionel Bastos)

If all the world’s a stage and we are merely players,
Who’s the audience that’s keeping us up here?
On a planet that is riddled with indifference…
It’s nice to know some people care.
Now all the phrases I could use seem to be in little cues,
Trying to work their way into this song.

For all you are, all you’ve been, all you’re ever going to be,
All the little things you’ve said and done – for me.
For all you are, all you’ve been, all you’ve ever seen me through,
All the love with which you took me in…
Thank you.
Thank you.

If our reality comes from our imagination,
Then I imagined me some angels long ago.
Never thought that I’d ever run out of superlatives.
Just shows how much I know.
And all the words I want to say seem to be in their clichés,
Trying to work their way into this song.

For all you are, all you’ve been, all you’re ever going to be,
All the little things you’ve said and done – for me.
For all you are, all you’ve been, all you’ve ever seen me through,
All the love with which you took me in…
Thank you.
Thank you.

Now there will always be changes,
And our share of goodbyes.
But like a hope that springs eternal, some love never dies.
For all you are, all you’ve been, all you’re ever going to be,
All the little things you’ve ever done – for me.

For all you are, all you’ve been, all you’ve ever seen me through,
All the love with which you wrapped me in…
Thank you.
Thank you.

For all you are…

Thank you.

For all you’ve been…

Thank you.

At the Little One’s brit milah celebration, the Husband surprised me with a birthday cake of my own. My son was supposed to have been born on my birthday, but when the contractions began on the evening of May 26^th, 2004, I knew that our birthdays were not going to be the same. He popped out shortly after 2am on the 28^th, just over a week shy of my 36^th birthday. Which means, of course, that today I’m 41 (and that my favorite blogger in Ireland is recovering from her birthday, which was yesterday – happy birthday, Beth!).

In honor of my 41^st birthday, I’ve decided to take on the rather mammoth writing task of sharing 41 songs that either take me back to a specific point in time or have somehow made an impact on my life – both for better and for worse. I often receive requests to revive 80s Music Video Sunday (though most of the requests seem to come from Benji. Funny, that…), so while this is going to be a bit different, I hope you enjoy it.

Here it goes, in no particular order…

1. It’s Still Rock and Roll to Me, by Billy Joel. Most kids today have probably never seen an actual record. When I was little, I used to check Billy Joel’s “Glass Houses” record album out of the library on a regular basis, mostly to hear this song. I can still sing it word for word, which will no doubt come in handy when I go to see Billy Joel and Elton John perform in Albany, NY in late July. The process of purchasing the tickets provided excellent fodder for a blog post, but I think I’ll combine it into a post-concert entry. Which brings me to…
2. Crocodile Rock, by Elton John. This is one of the first songs I can actually remember hearing and singing along to on the car radio. I think I might actually start to grin like an idiot if he sings it during the concert.
3. I Saved the World Today, by the Eurythmics. Shortly before our second trip to London for the egg donation procedure, I felt like my life was spiraling out of control. It was shortly after September 11^th, 2001. My parents planned to visit before our trip to London and I couldn’t give them precise dates because I still didn’t know what our precise dates were going to be. The logistics were a nightmare because airlines were changing their schedules. NRG and I were trying to coordinate medications, ultrasounds, and cycles, and our London-based clinic was suddenly trying to change the rules, asking us to come to London beforehand for a single appointment to get us started, instead of allowing us to work with our own local doctors as planned. Whenever I felt like I was about to lose it, listening to this song calmed me down. I must have played it more than 100 times.
4. Unforgettable, by Natalie Cole and Nat King Cole. This was our wedding song. We spent months trying to come up with a song, without success. While visiting a friend in New Orleans, I heard this song and knew straight away that this was the one. When the opening notes were played at the wedding, the guests responded with a collective “ooooh!”
5. Had a Bad Day, by Daniel Powter. This song was released in Israel shortly before the 2005 disengagement from Gaza. I’d started blogging again only several months earlier, at the urging my then blogging partner Anglosaxy. In the period leading up to the disengagement, the Anglo-Israeli blogosphere was on fire, and each day brought a new round of toxic, stomach-churning exchanges. There were days when I was afraid to read comments and open my inbox, and this was the song I played over and over.
6. Ani V’ata, by Arik Einshtein. This song, whose first line translates to “you and I will change the world”, and it’s the national song of the youth movement in which I grew up – Young Judaea. I can still remember the national summer convention when we voted to make it the movement’s official song. Those were the good old days, and hearing it now always takes me back.
7. Thank You, by Lionel Bastos. I don’t even remember how I stumbled upon this song, nor do I have a copy of it today – I can’t find one anywhere, nor can I find a clip of it on Youtube. Listening to it always reminded me of NRG and all that our friendship has given to me over the years. Hey Lionel, if you’re reading this – how do I score a copy of this amazing tune?
8. What a Wonderful World, by Louis Armstrong. This was the song I chose for the father-daughter dance at my wedding, and it’s also the song I used to sing to the Little One when he was a baby. Whenever he had trouble sleeping I’d carry him out to our porch and sing it softly into his ear, holding him close. Now that he’s older and wiser, he asks me not to sing at all. If you heard me sing, you’d make the same request…
9. Tears in Heaven, by Eric Clapton. Hearing this song always reminds me of our first son, whose name was Elad. I can’t listen to it without getting tears in my eyes, and even though I have it in my collection, I’ve decided I can’t have it on my mp3 player.
10. Oof Gozal, by Arik Einshtein. This song, whose title means “fly away little bird”, is essentially about empty nest syndrome. We chose to put the chorus of the song on Elad’s headstone – “fly away little bird; cut across the sky. Fly to wherever you desire to go”.
11. Corner of the Sky, from the Broadway musical “Pippin“. I learned this song in summer camp more than 20 years ago. I’ve often felt that I haven’t been in the right place, felt a need to find or create my own space in the world, so this song resonated with me from the first time I heard it. It still does.
12. Stairway to Heaven, by Led Zeppelin. That’s an easy one. I don’t know what school and youth group dances are like now, but back in the day, Stairway to Heaven was always the last song played. As the first notes were struck, there would be quick scan of the room followed by a calculated mad dash to find the slow dance partner who would be yours for a grand total of eight minutes and two seconds. I can remember at least two youth group friends who began the dance as friends, started making out, and ended up a couple for at least a year.
13. Brown Eyed Girl, by Van Morrison. Whenever I hear this song, I’m reminded of the impromptu performance on my wedding video, given by a small group of friends who were on Project Otzma with me, back in 1991-92. Definitely one of the more memorable moments from my wedding, along with the marathon best man’s toast, given by one of our closest friends – also an Otzma alum. More than 15 years later, he still gets teased about it.
14. Winds of Change, by the Scorpions. While on Otzma during the winter of 1991-92 (the last really wet, snowy winter in Israel), this song was by far the most popular song among the kids at the boarding school where we were volunteering (and where, incidentally, I also met my husband, who was the 11^th grade counselor). Our experiences there as volunteers could probably fill several books.
15. Open Arms, by Journey. The first song I ever slow danced to, at my first USY weekend event in Clifton Park, NY, back in 1982. We didn’t make out, and we certainly didn’t become a couple. Rumor had it that he did, however, become a small-time drug dealer.
16. Cliffs of Dover, by Eric Johnson. Hearing this completely instrumental song makes me want to jump in the car, roll down the windows, and blast it through the streets of Boston, as one of my college roommates and I used to do during our senior year.
17. Don’t Stand So Close to Me, by The Police. I can barely recall why, but this song will always remind me of Beth, an old friend from camp. It was during the summer of 1982, and while the background completely escapes me, I do remember that we sang it and played it a lot that summer, and that it always drew an amusing reaction from Beth.
18. Easy Lover, by Phil Collins and Philip Bailey. Remember the days when you could win concert tickets over the radio by being the 14^th caller after a certain song was played? I really wanted Phil Collins tickets, and this was the song we had to listen for. I dialed until my finger calloused (remember phone dials), but alas, it was not to be.
19. Total Eclipse of the Heart, by Bonnie Tyler. This song reminds me of a party I had in my parents’ basement when I was in 10^th grade. Our school was hosting a group of Israeli high school students from southern town of Arad. We’re still very close with the young woman who stayed in our home, and feel like part of their family. Another interesting tidbit about this group is that it included Avi Balashnikov, who resigned this week from his post as director general of the state comptroller’s office – a post he took over only a few short months ago, upon resigning from his former position as director general of the Knesset. Despite the current controversy in which he’s currently embroiled, I have only fond memories of Avi who, it should be noted, had a full head of curly hair when I last saw him .
20. Wild World, by Cat Stevens. This was the song that our class sang to close the senior show, a longstanding tradition at my old high school that included a variety of skits and musical performances. This memory is from 1986. That’s right, fellow classmates – we graduated from high school 23 years ago. More than just a little stomach churning…
21. Hands Across America. Though people probably don’t remember this song as well as some of the other charity songs that were all the rage back in the mid-80s, I remember it well, singing it while holding hands with strangers in Washington DC on May 25^th, 1986. Somewhere, I’ve still got my Hands Across America t-shirt, which I’m guessing will never, ever fit again.
22. Twist and Shout, by The Beatles. My brother and his friends performed this song in a never-ending loop to close the camp talent show one summer. Not only was it great to see my little bro garnering so much attention, but one of his “bandmates” (who’s been one of his best friends since nursery school) went on to form one of Atlanta, GA’s hottest bands – Soup. Definitely cool to hear your little brother’s best friend singing on your mp3 player.
23. Big Rock Candy Mountain, by Burl Ives. My parents had a lot of folk music albums around the house when I was growing up. Hearing this one always takes me back to the den in my parents’ old house, and in the memory, I’m always rather pint-sized.
24. Cold as Ice, by Foreigner. I was always a tomboy when I was a kid, and as much as I loved all the ball games they let us play during physical education classes, I hated with equal passion the times when we were asked to put together and perform solo dance or gymnastics routines. I was never very good at either, and the thought of having to be the center of attention – especially under these circumstances – left me paralyzed with fear. My completely inability to fulfill these tasks meant that I was fascinated by those who could, and one of these talented individuals was a girl named Lynne. I’ve never forgotten that this was the song that Lynne chose – a memory tinged with sadness ever since I learned that Lynne was one of those killed on Pan Am flight #103 over Lockerbie, Scotland.
25. It’s All Magic, by Nimrod Lev and Orly Perl. This Hebrew-language song received heavy airplay during the late fall and winter of 1998/99. At the time, Elad was in a hospital located an hour’s drive from home, and driving back and forth every day meant that I heard this song on a daily basis. I never even really liked it, but for me, it’s inextricably linked to those dark days, the long drives to and from the hospital as we took shifts to ensure that one of us was there all the time.
26. Yoya, by Kaveret. Anyone who went to Young Judaea’s Camp Tel Yehudah during the 80s should know this song. At the very least, they should be able to do the dance. Geek that I was, I taught myself the words.
27. Blue Moon, by The Marcels. When you’re an awkward sixth grade girl in the throes of your geek years, what would be your biggest nightmare? If you guessed being asked to stand and then being serenaded by an all male a cappella singing group in your cousin’s fraternity house at Cornell University during homecoming weekend, you’d be right. Some scars memories never fade.
28. Little Star, by The Elegants. I did not have the cool 4^th grade teacher. The cool 4^th grade teacher was Mr. Reber. The kids in Mr. Reber’s class got to sing this awesome 50s song in their class play. I don’t remember what our class did for the class play. I don’t even remember that we had a class play.
29. Stumblin’ In, by Suzi Quatro and Chris Norman. I’m the person you want on your Trivial Pursuit team. I’ve got a head full of useless entertainment trivia, which is why I didn’t even have to think back in the spring of 1991 when the radio DJ asked who played Leather Tuscadero on Happy Days – Suzi Quatro. Hearing this song always reminds of that proud moment, even though I can’t actually recall if we won or not.
30. Sugar Sugar, by The Archies. When we were kids, my friend Amy had the coolest bedroom ever. It was in the basement of her family’s house, and in addition to the regular stairs leading down to the main part, Amy had a spiral staircase in her room, leading up to the ground floor. And, if that weren’t enough, you had to walk up two or three steps to get to her bed, which was surrounded by a wide frame. Hours and hours were spent jumping up and down on her bed while listening to this song, and hearing it always reminds me Amy and her fabulous room.
31. There’s a Hole in My Bucket, by Harry Belafonte and Odetta. Ever spend an entire drive from Springfield, Massachusetts to Schenectady, NY listening to this song repeatedly? I have. Thanks, NRG!
32. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. We lived on a great street growing up, with amazing neighbors all around. Every year, our next door neighbors would invite us to their annual Christmas party, and one year, one of the oldest daughters (one sister from a set of twins) surprised her parents with a recording of herself and a friend, singing this song. To this day, I believe that was the most beautiful version of this song that I’ve heard, and hearing any other version always reminds me of that one.
33. Rainbow Connection, by Kermit the Frog. Starting a new job is always stressful, especially when you get hit with massive amounts of work to do from day one. What makes the late nights in the office easier to bear? Copious amounts of pizza and singing along to the Muppets with your brand new colleagues.
34. Yom Shishi, by Benzene. We had music counselors in camp, and without exception, they all played a rather mean accordion – a necessity when singing those old Israeli songs. Then Jay came along, and Jay had an electric synthesizer. Jay rocked our world with his modern technology, and taught us songs that sounded much better when accompanied by a synthesizer than by an accordion. Yom shishi, which means “Friday”, was one of those songs. It quickly became a favorite, and nothing quite beats hearing it sung in a roar by 200 American teenagers.
35. You’ve Got a Friend, by James Taylor. A perennial youth group favorite, hearing this song always takes me back. In my mind, I can still see the lyrics printed out in the purple toner, having been typed up using a typewriter and printed out using carbon paper.

Hey! Coming up with 41 songs that have impacted your life is not easy! It’s not a matter of simply listing songs I like – there has to be a reason, there has to be some meaning, some memory. And, since I also decided that I don’t want to recycle too many 80s Music Video Sunday songs, I’ve automatically disqualified a multitude of old faves. So, after wracking my brain for days to come up with a full list of 41 new songs, I’ve only managed to come up with 35. Therefore, I’ve got a challenge for you. For those of you who know me – or those of you who think you know me, I’d love to know what songs make you think of me? What songs take you back to some experience we may have shared? I’m waiting…

***** Update*****

A special thank you goes out to the friend who actually managed to get me a copy of Lionel Bastos’ song “Thank You”, mentioned above as song number 7. You’re amazing!

The celebrations began two days ago with a field trip. As the Little One’s birthday falls on Shavuot this year (which begins today), we opted for an alternative sort of birthday party, taking his entire pre-school to the Old Courtyard at Kibbutz Ein Shemer. The kids harvested wheat, made flour (a very practical skill, no doubt), went for a tractor ride to the fields, and made rolls, and because it was the Little One’s birthday party (kudos to me for creating an invitation that included both wheat stalks and Ben 10 – the current object of my son’s affections), he was the star, always chosen to help with tasks and demonstrations. And, during the course of this wonderful, magical morning, there was one moment that stood out above all others, one moment when I knew with absolute certainty that this was my son. The look of pure joy on his face as the baby calf suckled away on his fingers left no room for doubt that my boy was just like me.

I’ve written a lot about the Little One here over the years, and in honor of his fifth birthday, I thought I’d share five  of my favorite posts.

Planes, Trains and Automobiles

The Wonderfully Wacky World of Why

Shake It, Mommy. Shake It!

Cabalay

Bathroom Humor

Last year’s birthday post for the Little One can be found here.

My original plan here was to post a clip of Danny Kaye singing his wonderful children’s song “I’m Five“, but hours of searching have proved fruitless. I did, however, manage to find a version of Robin singing it on the Muppet Show. The song begins at the 3:37 mark and is approximately one minute long.

Eshchar Hochman, a 36 year-old father of two little boys, was diagnosed with brain cancer two years ago. During an operation to remove the tumor, Eshchar had a partial hemorrhage that rendered him paralyzed on his entire left side. Doctors said that Eshchar wouldn’t be able to walk again, but using astonishing strength, he can now walk using of cane.

Unfortunately, the tumor has returned and is far more aggressive this time. Eshchar requires the latest medical technology, and this technology isn’t available in Israel. It’s available in Belgium, and of course, it’s very expensive, with a staggering price tag of $250,000. Family and friends have given everything they can, but it simply isn’t enough. The Defense Ministry refuses to acknowledge Eshchar’s status because it’s very difficult to prove a connection between his illness and his military conditions.

Eshchar’s family and friends believe he can get better, but they need help. On Friday, May 22^nd, a “Run for Life” will be held at Ganei Yehoshua in Tel Aviv. The goal is to raise the funds that Eshchar desperately needs in order to cover medical costs in Belgium, and while registration has already been closed, donations can still be made.

The Shikma foundation for Eshchar Hochman
Bank Hapoalim
Account Number: 114085
Branch Number: 646
Gedera

A website (in Hebrew) created by Eshchar’s friends and family can be found here. The site currently has two pages in Hebrew, which can be found here and here.

Is it just me, or does this week’s Durban II conference in Geneva remind you of Tom Lehrer’s “National Brotherhood Week” as well?

While I don’t generally do the fundraising or promotion thing in this space, sometimes, something comes up that seems worthy of a mention. One of the best local English (and Dutch) language bloggers in Israel, Bert (Yonathan) of Dutchblog Israel, is raising funds for what he says is an ambitious project, which should result in an “extremely interesting, and probably very newsworthy” book. The subject of the project is the past, present and future of the Israeli-Palestinian peace process. If you are interested in sponsoring such a project, or if you know a person, company or organization that might be interested, you can have a look on Bert’s blog and contact him to receive more details.

The world has truly become a theater of the absurd when Iranian president Mahmud Ahmadinejad is considered a welcome guest at the UN-sponsored conference on racism that opens today in Geneva. Of course, the conference itself promises to make a mockery of the very concepts of the ideals that it purports to be combating, given that in all likelihood, it will once again turn into an anti-Semitic Israel-bashing session similar to that which occurred during the previous UN racism conference, held in 2001 in Durban, South Africa.

During the first Durban conference, Israel was repeatedly singled out and demonized as systematic human rights abuses and acts of racism in countries around the world were not even on the radar. One would think that Russia was beneficent towards breakaway Soviet Republics, that China offered government support for the Falun Gong and press freedoms for foreign journalists during the Olympics, that Turkish citizens were allowed to “insult Turkishness”, and that Africa was a bastion of democracy. One would think that women in Iran were given the same rights as men (which, if we are being honest here, do not amount to much in any case), that Iranian bloggers were not living in fear of their government (or dying in solitude in Iranian prisons), that Iranian citizens with dual citizenship were not being thrown in jail for spying on a regular basis.

There’s no question that racism exists in Israel, and anyone who says otherwise is, at best, naïve. Our track record with regard to Arab-Israelis is dismal, and at times, our treatment of the Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza has left me feeling utterly ashamed and mortified. However – and that would be a huge however, Israel is by no means the worst offender. Israelis do not go on violent rampages whenever Judaism or Israel are insulted, we do not burn down embassies of those who offend us. We cry foul when virulently anti-Semitic cartoons are published in newspapers, but we do not threaten the lives of the artists or the newspaper editors. Our leaders do not make it a habit of demanding that other countries be wiped off the map, and if they did, I daresay they would not be asked to address conferences dedicated to fighting racism.

What kind of legitimacy can be granted to such a conference when the leader of one of the most repressive, fanatic regimes in the world uses the conference podium for the singular purpose of vilifying another country? How can we expect the outcome of “Durban 2″ to be any different from the outcome of the previous conference, given the sadly predictable nature of Ahmadinejad’s speech earlier today? The walkout by Western delegates means very little – a pathetic show of symbolism that does nothing to lessen the hypocrisy of giving the Iranian president a platform in the first place. The very act of allowing him to speak has destroyed any remaining notions of conference credibility, and anyone who believes otherwise is setting themselves up for disappointment. There can be neither credibility nor legitimacy in such an atmosphere of hate and intolerance, nor can any true solutions be found. And needless to say, having one of the world’s most outspoken Holocaust deniers addressing a global racism conference on Holocaust Remembrance Day pretty much says it all, really.