Well. I’ve thought about it. I’ve talked about it. I’ve even obsessed about it.
But I’ve been busy you know. Getting organized in a new apartment, in a new city, in a new country, finding preschools for the kids and getting them settled in…
But now I’m doing it. Blogging. For these very reasons: getting adjusted and settled in a new (and crazy!) country.

A couple months ago Lance and I scooped up our kids, packed a bunch of suitcases, and moved from paradisiacal Sarasota, Florida, to Tel Aviv, Israel.

A place where one must constantly look down to dodge the dog shit. And where the stench of cat piss is scarcely noticeable after the first week.

A place bustling with cafes, but in which Starbucks doesn’t stand a chance.

A place where there are no dryers because there is sun.

A place where everyone is royalty when it comes to breakfast. The most important meal of the day (a robust spread of eggs, chopped salad, cheese spreads, jams, fresh rolls) is the staple of the city’s cafes. Day and night.

A place where there is so much to do that one needs to decide what not to see in order to decide what to see.

A place where one must always remember to ask, when looking at apartments, whether there is an elevator and parking. In our case no and no. No biggie. No car either.

A place where boys “watering” (peeing on) trees is not only acceptable but encouraged.  In our case (at the insistence of our younger tyke), this phenomenon is gender transcendent.

A place where there’s no such thing as one-stop shopping. You have your neighborhood bakery, neighborhood greengrocer, and neighborhood deli. Your writing supply store. Your baby store. Your book store. Your And the little nameless hole-in-the-wall junk store for everything and anything else.

A place where everybody is prepared to help by telling you, very simply, what to do and how to do it. You’re looking for a gift to bring to someone? A bottle of wine. Something else? Are you out of your mind? No need to exaggerate. 

A place where the widespread collective greeting of “Shana Tova” (Happy New Year) is both a nicety and a curse.  Where the clerk at the candy store offers Sebastian an extra little treat exclaiming “Shana Tova sweetie!” And where two men, engaged in dispute, part ways, grunting “Shana Tova!”

A place where paradoxes are stark. And impressions abound.

A place that is in the process of becoming. home.