Hard life

This past month reminds me of an old joke:

An orthodox Jew trains to become an astronaut and after many years of waiting and praying, is finally selected for a mission to orbit the Earth. The mission is a success and the astronauts are welcomed as heroes. The rest of the crew comes off the shuttle beaming, but the Jew is the last to come off, and he looks like hell. He is dishevelled and gaunt, with bags under his eyes. He looks like he hasn't slept in days.

"What happened to you?" His wife asks, "What was it like orbiting the Earth?"

He looks at her with weary eyes. "Shacharit, Mincha, Maariv! Shacharit, Mincha, Maariv!"*

These past few weeks have felt similar: Shabbat, Rosh Hashanah, Shabbat, Yom Kippur, Shabbat, Sukkot, Shabbat, Shmini Atzeret, Shabbat!

If you don't know what that means, try to imagine that each of those foreign words represents an average of cooking and eating three Thanksgiving meals. You'll get the idea.

The five pound weight gain between Thanksgiving and Christmas? I wouldn't be surprised if we put on fifteen.

There's a Yiddish saying: Shvertz azayan Yid, it's hard to be a Jew.

But it's great, too. We have been so fortunate to spend each meal with the wonderful friends we've made here. They have welcomed us into their homes and their huts with warmth, kindness, and enormous meals.

This year has been particularly interesting due to its proximity to the general elections. Tentatively, the subject is broached: "Do you follow politics?", "Did you watch the debate?", "Can I ask you? Who are you going to vote for?"

It's a charged topic. Emotions run high. I answer even more cautiously, hoping to avoid an awkward moment. Invariably, my liberal leaning friends are timid and shy about bringing up politics, while my conservative leaning friends tend to put it out there as a challenge. I enjoy it either way.

I'm a political junkie. I watch the debates, I listen to the news, I read the magazines, I troll the blogs, I've even read the policy papers. I've compared health care reform, contrasted tax policies, scrutinized foreign policy, judged character and temperament. And I have come to a conclusion: democracy is hard.

Picking a presidential candidate is a piece of cake. All the information you can ever hope to glean is out there for the picking with the entire spectrum of analysis to color your views. I don't understand people who say they haven't decided because they haven't heard enough about each candidate. Would their shoe size make it any clearer?

But how do you vote for Water Reclamation District Commissioner or Recorder of the Deeds when you don't even know what they are? The latter sounds like a jester in a Medieval lord's manor! For several hours this evening I poured over the internet researching the positions and the candidates. I even checked on the Chicago Bar Association website to find their recommendations for Circuit Court judge retentions. I have to admit, I am making one selection based on the candidate's goofy grin in his homemade website. He'll make a fine court jester.

Now I'm ready, my choices in hand, to perform my civic duty. Democracy, like Jewish holidays, takes a lot of work to get right, but it's so satisfying when you do get out there and vote.

But if you think being a Jew or a member of a democratic society is hard, try owning a hamster.

Day two of hamster stewardship, and I say to my hubby: We (I use the royal "we" loosely, to connote "you") need to pick up the little guy more, he needs some affection. My husband, whose idea it was to get the rodent in the first place, says. "Go ahead and take him out for a bit!"

So I do.

I hadn't cleared ten paces when the thing leaps from my arms, flings himself to the ground, and dashes under the oven. I panic and call to my husband to help me retrieve the overglorified rat. There we are, two grownups, sprawled on the kitchen floor; one with a flashlight, the other a broom, trying to draw a pea-brained hamster out from his hiding place. But in a moment, he completely disappears. My heart stops.

My husband coolly pulls the oven out from the wall, and unplugs it. We look around and notice a large gap between the kitchen cupboards and the wall. Using a mirror and the flashlight, we try to find a black-furred creature behind a long cupboard in a dark kitchen. At this moment I begin sobbing hysterically at the thought of telling my son I have lost his first pet on its second day here. For an hour we try to lure him out with treats, but to no avail. I go to bed, crying myself to sleep with guilt and self-recrimination.

The next morning I awoke with a heavy heart, dreading what I'd have to tell my dear son. As I passed through the kitchen to his room, I saw the oven still pulled out with the hamster's cage behind it, opened with a little treat in the middle. I saw a pile of books, like a ziggurat, leading to a bucket with a towel tucked in the bottom and peanut butter crackers on top. I saw flour sprinkled on the floor of every entrance to help detect little hamster prints, should he try to escape. My husband had been busy all night researching hamster rescue on the internet, and setting little traps to recover the rodent.

But there was still no sign of the missing pet. I solemnly went in to wake up my boy.

My son bolted upright when I told him his beloved Chompy had escaped. We cried together as he came out of his room to inspect the mess his father had made. He gingerly stepped behind the oven to see, and asked me, "Is that where he went?"

At that very moment, old Chomp poked his head out from behind the cupboards, and dashed out. I scooped him up, quick as lightening, and in no time we had him safely back in his cage. Crisis averted.

Hamsters may be hard, but one thing is really easy - spending time with my kiddos on a warm autumn day. On Sunday, after soccer games and piano practices, we headed out for an adventure to the sculpture gardens to explore the new sculptures and enjoy the fall foliage.

We weren't disappointed. The children marvelled at the glowing crimson

and saffron leaves.

It was the perfect day: warm, sunny, and vivid.

We strolled, imagined fairies and elves hiding behind the bushes, and saw real bunnies hopping along the path.

With kiddos as great as mine (ptui, ptui, ptui, hamza, hamza, bli ayin hara'ah, masha'allah!), making an ordinary day magic, is easy as pie.

*Shacharit: morning prayer services; Mincha: afternoon prayer services; Ma'ariv: evening prayer services.