Monthly Archives: June 2008

Touch me

Your touch sets me on fire

Lightning fuses from tip of toe to top of head

Igniting pathways in between

Your lips are like molten lava

Burning with every kiss

The merest hint of contact and I am aflame

My body yearning to quench its thirst

With the fire of your burning passion

The promise of our mutual explosion

A temptation not to be ignored

The slow steady burn that leads

To the conflagration of the soul

Dear heart, I melt for you.

Copyright H Sabo 2008

Haveil Havalim #171

weekly jewish blogger carnival is up on Ima on the Bima’s blog.

thanks for the shout out!!

Shabbat Shalom

Bad Shabbes

my boys love this song, a take of daniel powters “bad day”

just something to send you into shabbat with a smile!

Shabbat Shalom!

Customer Disservice

Now, come on big credit card companies – don’t you want my business? You wanted me to have a GoldCard – I would love one. Problem is, the person you had call me obviously doesn’t have English as a first, second or even tenth language. I could barely understand a word he was saying. I asked for the supervisor – now that was weird, they called me, yet I took control of the conversation. They don’t like that over there in credit card hell. But you know what, the supervisor’s English was not that much better. Do they not screen these people first? So finally I understood that they wanted to give me a gold members card, for free, but needed to read me the conditions. You know how when some people read there is no change in tonality? Well this person was reading English (I know because he asked me which language I would like my information in, maybe I would have understood if I asked for it in gibberish) in a total monotone. I ended asking them to just send me the information in the mail – but they can only do that if I agree to taking the goldcard and then if I disagree after reading the blurb I can cancel it..what? what is this world coming to??

From the Frumster Files

Guaranteed to get this guy a date – “I am not financially secure at the moment”.

Suit Yourself

Why are boys so difficult to shop for / with? We went today to get suits for the upcoming barmy. The barmitzvah boy is still growing so I am waiting till the last possible minute with him, but I shlepped the others. They would have been more than thrilled to walk in, point at something that looked alright, and walk out with even trying it on. What am I saying? They would have been happier to stay at home and have me buy the suits without them! We went to the factories because when you are buying multiple suits you have to do it as cost effective as possible. So the décor was not exactly conducive to long discussions about the merits of double breasted vs single breasted jackets (like I know the difference? They both have buttons?!!). like the kids could even have cared?


But still, I had one kid wheeling around the warehouse on his heelys not even bothering to stay still long enough to try the jacket on, another one willing to take the first one I touched, and the youngest telling me that whatever Ima thinks is best he will choose. Where is the thrill of the chase, the high of finding a bargain, and in the right size too? Does this look better than the first, let me try the other size on again? No, none of that. All I got was – Yeah Ima, one said, it’s a suit. I need a suit. Works for me, Ima. Do I really have to try it on? But its gonna look dorky over my teeshirt………<more eye rolling ensues>. Can we go now? Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease??


I could have sworn we were in the factory for hours, in fact it was less than 20 minutes. I even managed to find a long denim skirt for myself, but the kids sucked all the fun out of that. Ima, we didn’t come here for you, you have enough clothes already (perish the thought!!).


And you know, I must be a glutton for punishment. They needed dress shoes too, so I figured while they are already in abject misery let me just take advantage. 3 shoe stores later they were done. Salesman at the last place said I was lucky to have boys. Said girls come in with their mothers and take hours and then don’t even buy anything. My boys were done in less than 5 minutes each. Yeah fits, looks good, you’re paying Ima so who cares about the price……lets go and end this nightmare.


Do you have any idea how many hours and stores it took to get my ensemble for the barmitzvah together? And I enjoyed every single minute of it.  Is it kids, or is it the male population that hate to shop? Sigh…..thank G-d that’s over and done with. All I have to do now is take the barmitzvah boy himself. Oh what a barrel of laughs that promises to be.


3 suits – hundreds of dollars

2 pairs of shoes, slightly less

Torturing the kids – priceless…..

a binding mitzvah – a mother’s view

“And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your might. Take to heart these instructions with which I charge you this day. Impress them upon your children. Recite them when you stay at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you get up. Bind them as a sign on your hand and let them serve as a frontlet between your eyes” Devarim 6:5 – 8


I sit there and watch him concentrate, his forehead wrinkled with effort. My son, the eldest child of my heart, is putting on his tefillin for the first time. I have already told him to expect the tears to fall, after all I am a mother who loves so deeply. I watch him lovingly and excitedly open his tallit bag, and gently remove the two tefillin boxes with their various straps. His eyes dance excitedly as he looks up briefly to check that I am watching him. He explains what he is doing as he goes along, for my benefit as much as to remind himself what he is doing.


He rolls up his left sleeve, and folds the sleeve to be just so. He carefully removes the tefillin from its storage box, and kisses it with holy reverence. He slides it up his arm and positions it in the right place. He gives me a goofy grin as he starts to wind the straps around his arm in the time honored fashion. He redoes it a few times to make the spaces as even as can be.


I am catapulted down memory lane, remembering the day my older brother put on tefillin, the same earnest look of concentration, the same joy in participating in a man’s mitzvah. They look nothing alike, my son and his uncle, yet at that moment their eyes share the same knowledge of being accepted into a new circle, the brotherhood of MAN.


The shel yad is almost done, but the shel rosh has to be put in place before it’s all finished. Out comes the trusty tefillin mirror to aid him in placing it correctly. The sofer showed him how to use his fingers in such a way to check that it is placed properly. He looks up at me and sees the tears streaming down my face. He rolls his eyes, but gently, knowing that I wouldn’t be Ima if this didn’t touch me so deeply. He looks so proud, so thrilled with the mitzvah that will be his to do very soon. He is shining, he is performing this mitzvah with such joy and love. I am proud that I have raised him for this, that I have helped him connect with the traditions of his forefathers.


My camera is snapping away, but the pictures I see with my own eyes are indelibly traced in my soul.  What an honour and a privilege to watch my own child put on tefillin. He is finally finishing with the shel yad, and is triumphant at getting it right the first time. He stands tall and allows me to drink him in, my son the barmitzvah boy, my son who is about to become a man. Never have I witnessed such joy and simcha upon doing a mitzvah, never have I felt a part of something so huge, so tied to my Jewish identity.


At this moment he is holy, he is consecrated to G-d, we both feel G-d’s presence in this room and in our hearts. This mitzvah that he has performed, and will continue to do every week day for the rest of his life, will connect his mind and his heart and his soul to do the service of Hashem.


My wish for him is that every day that he lays tefillin he will feel the joy that he feels today, he will feel the call of the ancestors to carry on our traditions, and that he will pass these traditions on to the next generation.


Mazel Tov my son, Mazel Tov.

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