Taking a stand

Every few years, without fail, there comes a point during Chodesh Irgun when the typical Anglo parent decides that he or she is fed up and isn’t going to take it anymore.

Helpless in the face of paint-splattered clothes, late nights, and kvetchy kids, said Anglo parent finally declares that it’s time to take a stand.

After all, online griping or even commiserating with other beleaguered parents in real life only goes so far.

Unfortunately, however, seeing as we don’t live between the covers of a melodramatic Gothic novel, locking the kids in their rooms and forbidding them from participating in Chodesh Irgun isn’t really an option. And given the current political climate, neither is demanding that the Education Ministry, the Knesset, or even the Supreme Court outlaw the entire endeavor.

But one is determined not to give up without some sort of fight, and so one makes a tiny, insignificant gesture that fools no one but oneself.

For instance, as one’s beloved offspring head out to the snif (the inevitably rickety caravan or lean-to that serves as the youth group’s headquarters) to “paint walls,” “rehearse,” or whatever it is that they’re calling it these days, one demands, “Call me when you get there! And don’t forget to take your umbrella!”

If all goes according to plan, the offspring in question obligingly groan and hopefully even roll their eyes before shrugging and doing as they’ve been told.

“Ha! Take THAT, Chodesh Irgun!” one secretly exults.

Of course, since it’s been raining rather steadily all week, and since making a phone call isn’t a big deal, deep down one is well aware that the kids would have taken the phones and umbrellas with them anyway.

But then again, during Chodesh Irgun, even the most meaningless parental “victory” is as good as it’s going to get…

!שבוע טוב ומזל טוב לשבט החדש

Little Bo Peep has lost her… cows?

Warning: The following post may exceed the recommended daily allowance for parental boasting. Proceed at your own risk.

It’s like watching a train wreck.

What with Yom HaAtzma’ut and even Pesach Sheni behind us, it’s just a matter of days before Lag BaOmer arrives in all its flaming, sooty, and incomprehensible glory.

For those just tuning in, Lag BaOmer, aka “the Night of the Tightly Sealed Windows,” consistently ranks (at least for adults) alongside Chodesh Irgun at the very top of the annual “what time of year do you dread the most” poll.

But while there’s absolutely nothing one can do to prevent Lag BaOmer from happening, one CAN turn to the time-honored traditions of avoidance and denial in a desperate attempt at mitigating some of its inherent unpleasantness.

To this end – and with your indulgence, of course - I’d like to take a few minutes to remind myself that being the Anglo parent of Israeli offspring isn’t always about heaps of smoke-infused laundry and enough stockpiled wood to light up, well, a small country…

After all, upon occasion, those very same Israeli offspring have a habit of accomplishing some pretty amazing things.

(Yes, this is where the aforementioned parental bragging begins…)

For instance, as you may recall, a few months ago I featured a poster that a certain Shiputzim daughter had skillfully drawn for her Mishnah class.

Recently, she had to make another project for the same class, and this time, she chose to make a diorama about Bava Metzia 2:9, which asks, “what is an aveidah (a lost item)?”

As you can see in the following pictures, the right side represents a case which isn’t considered to be an aveidah (“one who found a donkey or a cow grazing along the road”), and the left side depicts an example of something that IS an aveidah (“a cow runs among the vineyards”):

As always, please click on the pictures for a much better view.

</parental boasting>

What is your preferred method for dealing with Lag BaOmer’s nuisances?

!שבת שלום ומבורך

In support of Chodesh Irgun?

Like just about every other parent in the entire country, I’ve never exactly been a big fan of Chodesh Irgun*.

* Chodesh Irgun in a nutshell: Chodesh means "month”, and irgun literally means "organization". Most youth movements (or at least the religious-Zionist ones) dedicate one month a year - usually around MarCheshvan - to what is essentially a month-long color war or competition between the different shvatim (age groups). Chodesh Irgun culminates with Shabbat Irgun, and on Motzai Shabbat Irgun, the oldest shevet (i.e. ninth grade) receives a permanent name. Feel free to check out my older Chodesh Irgun posts for more information. </nutshell>

In fact, over the years, I think I’ve pretty much mocked everything there is to mock about Chodesh Irgun… and then some.

So it’s probably only fair (i.e. l’maan haseder hatov, for the Hebraically-oriented amongst you) to give Chodesh Irgun’s supporters a chance to defend its honor.

Thus, I turned to the experts and asked each of them the following question:

What is the point of Chodesh Irgun? In other words, what purpose  - if any - does it serve? 

Here are their responses:

(I’ll let you decide if their answers help clear things up. Bonus points: See how many Heblishisms you can pick up…)

Chanich/ah #1:

“To have fun!”

Chanich/ah #2:

“To practice for the dance, which is the most important part of Chodesh Irgun. Also, instead of all the time having stam pe’ulot [Ed. - loosely: regular activities], you have Chodesh Irgun to make things a little more interesting.”

A member of what will soon be the new shevet:

“To organize and arrange the snif [Ed. – the local youth group chapter], and to open and start the new year.”

A former madrich/ah:

“To legabesh [Ed. – very, very, VERY loosely: to unite and to promote team spirit], and to give the kids a chance to do something that they don’t get to do everyday. It’s also supposed to be educational. The kids learn about the theme and leyaseim [Ed. – to implement] it.”

A dedicated member of “Iyov” (an acronym for “אשרי יושבי ביתך” – i.e. someone who doesn’t belong to any youth group):

“I never thought there WAS a point to Chodesh Irgun…”

What do your favorite chanichim and madrichim have to say on the subject?

Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles

Warning: The following post may exceed the recommended daily allowance for hyperbole. Proceed at your own risk.

As every desperate/bemused/frustrated/resigned (pick your favorite adjective) Israel parent is well-aware, Chodesh Irgun is upon us.

So, why haven’t I mentioned this important fact, you’re no doubt wondering?

Two reasons, really.

a) It’s kind of hard to mention anything, when one is busy neglecting one’s blog.

b) I figured that by now, I’d pretty much said everything there was to say (and then some…) about Chodesh Irgun.

But then yesterday, a miracle happened.

Yes, a miracle.

Right here in TRLEOOB*.

<brief explanation>

First, a quick refresher for those who – for reasons best known to themselves – have not committed every single word I’ve ever written to memory. (But if you consider yourself to be an OurShiputzim expert, please feel free to skip ahead…)

Chodesh Irgun usually includes at least one communal seudah shlishit, and said seudah shlishit is inevitably preceded by the Call.

As I noted in my original post on the subject, the Call is when the madrich/madrichah (youth group leader/counselor) calls (hence the name) each of the chanichim (youth group members) to arrange who will bring what to the seudah shlishit.

Without fail, the Call arrives about an hour before Shabbat (when no one has time to run out and go shopping, even if the stores weren’t closed) and involves the most random items (which the typical family rarely stocks in their pantry).

</explanation>

If you’ll kindly consult your calendar, you’ll see that yesterday was a MONDAY – i.e. many, many, MANY days before Shabbat.

Yet, amazingly, it was, indeed, yesterday when one of the Shiputzim daughters got the Call from her madrichah!

And as if the Call’s timing wasn’t shocking enough, the Shiputzim daughter in question was merely asked to bring a bottle of drink and a can of pickles - neither of which is remotely obscure or exotic.

Astonishing, no?

In fact, I’m sure you’ll agree that this means that TRLEOOB* now qualifies for a recitation of שעשה לי נס במקום הזה (“Blessed is… the One Who performed a miracle for me at this site”)…

______________

*TRLEOOB=the real life equivalent of our blog

I do not think that means what you think that means

According to the bylaws of the powerful (yet, admittedly, nonexistent) National Anglo Bloggers Union (slogan: “taking over the country, one Heblish blog post at a time”), Anglo bloggers must - at least once during their blogging careers – write about English words that have crept into Hebrew and are now among the hardest words for non-native Hebrew speakers to understand.

Personally, I fulfilled my blogging contractual obligations over three and a half years ago with my magical post.

Nevertheless, with your indulgence, I’d like to revisit this topic and examine the specific issue of formerly-English words that seem to have acquired a slightly different meaning or connotation when they migrated over to Hebrew.

Of course, in and of itself, this isn’t really a big deal.

That is, except when Israelis try to speak English and insist on using one of the aforementioned, er, evolved words… but with its new, Hebrew connotation.

Which, needless to say, can – and often does! – lead to some a great deal of confusion.

I mean, consider the following examples:

1) סימפטי/סימפתי (sim-PA-ti) (both spellings are used) – According to some of my favorite translation software, this word is the Hebrew equivalent of “sympathetic.” However,  any good dictionary will tell you that the actual definition is “pleasant or likeable”…

2) מייל (mail) – Oddly enough, in Hebrew, mail refers only to email. (The non-electronic variety is דואר – do’ar.)

3) קליפ (cleep) – It may look like “clip.” It may sound like “clip.” But, as it turns out, it isn’t [necessarily] “clip.” For instance, the video in this post is referred to as a “cleep,” even though it’s a complete video…

4) מורל (moh-RRRAHL) – This word obviously comes from the English word “morale.” But in Hebrew, it means a cheer or cheering – as in the loud shrieks and shrill cries that characterize the annual Chodesh Irgun performances and are the bane of Israeli parents’ existence…

Can you think of any other examples?

Member of the tribe

{Cue: TV announcer voice}

I’m standing here with Mrs. S., author of the, uh-- {checks notes} Ah, yes, the “Our Shiputzim blog.”

Unfortunately, due to her semi-anonymous status, we’re unable to point our cameras directly at her. In fact, I can’t even tell you her real name.

But I can tell you that I’ll be providing a live, play-by-play description as she attempts to perform what can only be described as a truly HISTORICAL feat.

You see, as I stand here and watch, Mrs. S. hopes to become one of the only bloggers in the WORLD to discuss Chodesh Irgun* for the fourth year IN. A. ROW!

[Ed. note – See the bottom of this post for a brief explanation of Chodesh Irgun.]

Can she do it? After all, not only has she already written about the ooltra, the sleepless nights, the paint-splattered clothing, and the generation gap, she’s even shared many of Chodesh Irgun’s secret underpinnings. (See here, here, and here for details.) Is there really anything left to talk about?

Let’s watch closely and find out:

Five words: Standing according to the shvatim.

Maybe this only happens in our community, but more often than not, during Chodesh Irgun’s dramatic climax – i.e. the big ceremony where the new shevet receives its name* - the parents are asked to arrange themselves according to their own shvatim (age groups).

After the requisite joking (“I’m don’t belong here with the middle aged people. I belong over there with the twenty-somethings!” :-)), the Israeli parents good-naturedly line up behind the appropriate sign with their shevet’s name on it. 

Which, naturally, means that the oleh parents – especially those, like YZG and me, who didn’t grow up in Bnei Akiva – are at a complete loss and end up awkwardly on the side, feeling foolish.

And, for the record, looking the names up on the Internet in advance doesn’t help.

Because inevitably, as the hapless Anglo parent tries to nonchalantly head on over to what Google insisted was the correct shevet, the following exchange ensues:

Well-meaning Israeli: {kindly} “Are you sure you’re in Shevet X?”

Hapless Anglo: {hesitantly} “I think so…”

Well-meaning Israeli: {taking charge} “How old are you?”

Hapless Anglo: {actually answers question, much to his/her own surprise}

Well-meaning Israeli: “Well, then, you should be in Shevet Y, over THERE.” {points}

Second well-meaning Israeli: {overhearing the conversation} “Shevet Y?! Mah pitom! S/he is in Shevet Z!”

Third well-meaning Israeli: {joining the fray} “Nonsense! S/he’s right. S/he’s in Shevet X!”

Hapless Anglo: {thinks to self} “Hmm. This will make an excellent blog post…”

{breathlessly} And there you have it, folks! Four consecutive years’ worth of blog posts about Chodesh Irgun! Is that amazing or what?! History in the making!! {surreptitiously wipes away a tear}

I now return you back to the main studio…

!בהצלחה לכל החניכים והמדריכים

__________

*Chodesh Irgun in a nutshell: Chodesh means "month”, and irgun literally means "organization". But in this case, irgun refers to a youth movement. Most youth movements (or at least the religious-Zionist ones) dedicate one month a year - usually around MarCheshvan - to what is essentially a month-long color war or competition between the different shvatim (age groups). Chodesh Irgun culminates with Shabbat Irgun, and on Motzai Shabbat Irgun, the oldest shevet (i.e. the ninth graders) receives a permanent name.

Lag BaOmer vs. Chodesh Irgun

It’s an age-old question.

Which is worse: Lag BaOmer or Chodesh Irgun?

Of course, if you’d ask me today, I’d have to go with Lag BaOmer, hands down.

But I admit that I may be somewhat biased, because this year’s regular Lag BaOmer after effects were only exacerbated by a number of scheduling conflicts.

For instance:

• A young man I know went to a bar mitzvah last night – i.e. the night after the bonfire - and didn’t get home until nearly midnight.
• Today was the math bagrut. (“Don’t worry,” a certain teenager assured me. “I’ll be home early [sic]. Our medurah is going to end at 2 am, because everyone needs to study…”)

In other words, a more objective approach to this issue is in order, and thus I have taken the liberty of preparing the following chart:

Lag BaOmer	Chodesh Irgun
Exhausted, kvetchy kids	Exhausted, kvetchy kids
Bemused, exasperated, but ultimately resigned parents	Bemused, exasperated, but ultimately resigned parents
Clothes reeking of smoke	Clothes splattered with paint
The hypnotic glow of the bonfire	The hypnotic glow of the ooltra
Parents waiting anxiously for their darling offspring to come home	Parents waiting anxiously for their darling offspring’s performances to come to an end
An entire month wasted spent collecting wood and searching for an ideal bonfire spot	An entire month wasted spent painting the snif and rehearsing the performances
Fodder for many an Our Shiputzim blog post	Fodder for many an Our Shiputzim blog post
Begs the question: What do the kids do all night??	Begs the question: Is the new shevet’s name better than HaGevurah??
Overheard: “It’s 3:00 AM. Do you know where your kids are?”	Overheard: “We need to finish making all the tchuparim before the yashvatz!”
Adored by kids; barely tolerated by parents	Adored by kids; barely tolerated by parents
Only in Israel!	Only in Israel!

So, what do YOU think: Lag BaOmer or Chodesh Irgun?

Don’t forget to show your work… ;-)

__________

P.S. The newest Haveil Havalim is available here. Special thanks to the Rebbetzin's Husband for including my Iyar Challenge post.

A negotiated settlement

We’ve all been there.

Of course, by “we”, I mean “parents of Israeli kids”, and by “there”, I mean “the Call”.

The Call arrives, with alarming regularity, on every Erev Shabbat Irgun, but it also can – and often does – happen on random Fridays throughout the year.

Basically, it works like this:

Some twenty minutes before candle lighting, the phone rings.

“You have a telephone!” one of your darling Heblish-speaking children inevitably yells across the house at his/her sibling.

It’s the madrich/ah, calling to say that they’re having a communal seudah shlishit in the snif (literally, chapter or branch – but also refers to the physical structure where the youth group meets) and that your child needs to bring [an obscure item, which you rarely buy anyway but certainly don’t have available this close to Shabbat].

Which is why I was pleasantly surprised when this past Erev Shabbat Irgun, the Call came at noon.

As the madrich pointed out, our local makolet (neighborhood grocery store) is still open at that time.

He mentioned this interesting fact, you see, because he had wanted ACSC (=a certain Shiputzim child) to bring chummus, but I had replied that we didn’t have any extra on hand.

Back when I was a brand new olah, I would’ve meekly accepted the harsh decree and headed off to the makolet at what is always the busiest and craziest time of the week.

Now, however, a dozen-plus years after our aliyah, I know that nothing is set in stone.

After all, this is the Middle East, where bargaining is a time-honored tradition.

And so, here’s how it went:

Me: {opens pantry and notices a few cans of pickles} Can we bring pickles instead?

ACSC: {dutifully relays the message}

Madrich: {hesitates} I think someone is bringing that already. {thinks for a minute} But we do still need pitot. Is that an option?

ACSC: {dutifully relays the message}

Me: {opens freezer and notices a large bag of pitot} Yes! How many do you want?

ACSC: {dutifully relays the message}

Madrich: Ten.

ACSC: {dutifully relays the message}

Me: No problem.

ACSC: {dutifully relays the message}

How do YOU handle “the Call”?

Around the J-Blogosphere

Several items of note from around the J-Blogosphere:

1) שועלים הלכו בו. (“Shu’alim hilchu vo.” - “Foxes prowl over it.” – Eichah 5:18)

Har HaBayit after the Churban? Well, yeah, but also, Capitol Hill last Friday.

What’s the deeper significance of this modern twist on an ancient vision? I have no idea, but please leave your best creative suggestions (profound and/or humorous) in the comment section…

2) The latest Kosher Cooking Carnival is available here. Special thanks to Risa for including my cinnamon marble cake post.

3) Clearly, someone on Bnei Akiva’s executive board is an avid Our Shiputzim fan.

I mean, wouldn’t you agree that their choice of Na’aleh (literally, “we shall go up”) as the new shevet’s name is a clear indication that they read my Rosh Hashanah post, which declared that תשע”א (the Jewish year 5771) stands for תהא שנת עליה ארצה (“Tehei Shnat Aliyah Artzah” - “May this be a year of aliyah to Eretz Yisrael”)?

!שבוע טוב וחודש טוב

Chodesh Irgun 5771

I know what you’re thinking.

“Why haven’t there been any Chodesh Irgun posts on the Our Shiputzim blog this year?” you’re no doubt wondering.

And you do have a point.

However, I figured that I more or less exhausted the topic last year.

And besides, it’s been the usual toxic mix of late nights, neglected schoolwork, paint-spattered clothing, and arguments civilized discussions concerning any and all of the above.

Nevertheless, in the interest of good blogging, here are two Chodesh Irgun-related blogbits:

1) Note: The following scenario is based on recent events a work of complete fiction. Any resemblance to reality is purely intentional coincidental:

Mother: No, you can’t go paint the snif in those clothes. You know that they’ll get ruined. Why don’t you wear that old jean skirt that’s hanging in your closet?

Daughter: {horrified} No WAY am I walking around in that skirt!! Someone will SEE me!

Mother: {mistakenly believing that reason and logic can play a part in this exchange} First of all, no one will see you, because it’s dark outside. And anyway, what does it matter if they see you? Everyone knows that it’s Chodesh Irgun, and they’ll realize that you’re obviously on your way to paint the snif…

Daughter: {rolls eyes}

Does this sound familiar?

2) The new shevet's name – Na’aleh (literally, “we shall go up”) – has been announced.

In an effort to gauge popular sentiment in advance of their next release, the developers of the ever-popular Generation Gap program immediately took to the streets and recorded the following initial reactions:

“Well, it’s kind of strange to have a verb as a name, but it’s still pretty good.”

“It’s okay, I guess.”

“At least it’s not HaGevurah…

בהצלחה לכל החניכים והמדריכים

!ושבת שלום ומבורך

 

Stand in judgment

Warning: The following post may lead to the shattering of a long-held and cherished childhood belief. Proceed at your own risk.

Essentially, Chodesh Irgun* – accurately described by Baila as a “month long color war” – is a competition between the various shvatim (age groups).

And like any competition, Chodesh Irgun requires judges.

Traditionally, the judges are usually alumni of the snif (chapter) who, for one reason or another, do not serve as madrichim (counselors).

Which brings me to today’s shocking revelation.

But first, I think you should prepare yourself. Are you sitting down? Do you have a glass of water handy – just in case?

I hate to have to disillusion you like this, but the truth must be told.

{gulps and prepares to blurt out the stunning news}

The system is… rigged!!

{checks to make sure that none of the readers have fainted}

The judges, you see, are really just symbolic figureheads, who have absolutely no say. Instead, the madrichim are the ones who decide in advance – at one of their many yashvatzim – who will win.

I realize that this is all deeply disturbing.

But aren’t you relieved to know that our intrepid reporters – and their reliable inside source - are on the case?

And in related news, it turns out that I’m an investigative blogger after all...

_________

*Yes, I AM aware that I’ve been milking Chodesh Irgun for far more than it’s worth. Why do you ask? ;-)

Generation Gap 1.5

As you will no doubt recall, last year, the Our Shiputzim R&D Department released a critically-acclaimed program which could accurately guess a reader’s age group.

Go ahead and try it out for yourself.

Now, according to the development team’s long-term strategic goals, the plan was to issue a brand new release in honor of this year’s Chodesh Irgun.

No one anticipated any problems, and in fact, the developers were certain that the new release would merely involve some minor tweaking to last year’s version.

After all, their inside source to the hadrachah world had told them the new shevet’s name on the Sunday before Shabbat Irgun. (Pretty cool, no? :-))

Note: The new name is Lehavah – להב”ה – literally, flame, but also an acronym for “L’Ma’an Shmo B’Ahavah” (Bnei Akiva’s theme this year) and “L’Shanah Haba’ah B’Yerushalayim HaBenuyah” (“Next year in rebuilt Yerushalayim.”) </Note>

Unfortunately, however, due to circumstances beyond their control, the developers had to settle for a mere upgrade – i.e. Generation Gap 1.5 (rather than Generation Gap 2.0).

What happened?

Well, after they were burnt last year, the older generation (i.e. 30+) was decidedly noncommittal:

“Lehavah? Hmmm. I’d better ask my kids what *they* think…”

But the only thing their kids would say was:

“At least it’s not HaGevurah…”

P.S. According to a popular joke currently making the rounds, Lehavah stands for Lo HaGevurah, Baruch Hashem…

Yashvatz and tchupar (gesundheit!)

As promised, here are two more secrets from the glamorous world of hadrachah:

1) Yashvatz (ישב”ץ) stands for yeshivat tzevet (ישיבת צוות) – literally, “staff meeting”. (Yes, this yet another one of those odd, unintuitive acronyms…)

Naturally, being a madrich/madrichah means attending many yashvatzim – especially during Chodesh Irgun, when there’s a yashvatz practically every. single. night.

But lest you feel sorry for the, ahem, “poor, overworked” madrichim, let me assure you that these are not your father’s staff meetings.

Don’t believe me?

Well, take a look at a recent yashvatz. There were neither conference tables, dull PowerPoint presentations, nor uninspiring speakers.

No, this so-called “staff meeting” involved a treasure hunt at a mall followed by pizza.

I rest my case….

(Hat tip: Baila)

2) Tchupar (צ’ופר) is usually translated as a bonus or an added benefit.

But as far as I’m concerned, tchuparim are the reason why I would’ve made a terrible madrichah.

Because in all my many years as a youth group leader and a camp counselor, I never had to prepare cute, little handmade prizes – aka tchuparim - for all my campers.

However, according to the Oral Law of Hadrachah, tchuparim are to be distributed at a number of pre-designated occasions – including after the Shabbat Irgun hofa’ot (performances).

Here’s a picture of what a certain madrichah gave out to all her chanichot (charges) at her peulat petichah (opening event):

Loose translation of the inscription: “The next two years depend on (talui – literally, ‘hang on’) us. We hope they’ll be the best ever. With lots of love, ####”

Other instances where tchuparim are de rigueur are at the machaneh, on various trips and hikes, and, of course, at the yashvatz…

Secrets from the world of hadrachah

Kids staying out late every night? Check.

Homework being ignored? Check.

Paint-spattered clothing? Check.

{nods} Yup. Tis the season.

As bemused, exasperated, but ultimately resigned parents across the country are well aware, Chodesh Irgun has arrived. (Which means that the ooltra is surely on its way...)

With most (but not all*) of the Shiputzim children being dedicated and active youth group members, we’ve seen this movie many times before.

But this year, there’s a significant difference.

You see, a few weeks ago, ACIT (a certain Israeli teenager) became the first member of the Shiputzim family to “go into hadrachah” (to use the Heblish term) – i.e. to become a madrich/madrichah (a youth group counselor).

Which means that I’ve been privileged to get a glimpse at some of hadrachah’s more esoteric aspects.

For instance, I now know that while chevrayah bet (i.e. the older division) is referred to by the acronym חב”ב (pronounced chaBAB), one never, ever says חב”א (i.e. chaBA) when discussing chevrayah aleph (the younger kids).

Also, I recently discovered that the Hebrew word for co-counselor is madash/madashit – מד”ש/מד”שית. (Madash is masculine, and madashit is feminine.)

Apparently, madash/madashit is an acronym for madrich/madrichah she’iti -  מדריך\מדריכה שאיתי – literally, “counselor who is with me”.

Here’s how one would use madash/madashit in a sentence:

.המד”שית שלי נוסעת לשבת – Hamadashit sheli nosa’at l’Shabbat. - My madashit is going away for Shabbat.

And if we expand the acronym in the above example, we get the following:

.המדריכה שאיתי שלי נוסעת לשבת – Hamadrichah she’iti sheli nosa’at l’Shabbat. – My counselor who is with me is going away for Shabbat.

As to be expected, ACIT didn’t see why this amuses me. (“What? Madash is now a regular word…”)

But I suspect that some of you might appreciate the humor.

And as an extra side benefit, now that you’ve learned about madashim, perhaps you’ll be able to decode a bit more of your Israeli teenagers’ Facebook statuses…

_______________

*As I noted in this post: The other Shiputzim children are adherents of what is euphemistically known as “Iyov” (איוב – an acronym for אשרי יושבי ביתך – Ashrei yoshvei veitecha - “Praiseworthy are those who dwell in Your House”) – i.e. they prefer to stay home…

They did the ooltra…

Shavua tov!

Yes, I’m still here. It’s just that the bar mitzvah is this coming Shabbat IY”H, and so things are understandably busy here in TRLEOOB.

And on a related note, I would like to take this opportunity to thank my real-life friend and commenter MB and her family for hosting us for the now-traditional Meal on the Shabbat Before the Simcha (or, in Our Shiputzim-speak, the MOTSBTS). May our families continue to share many, many future smachot!

As some of you know, the Shiputzim children are members of Ariel* – rather than Bnei Akiva. (Ariel uses the same names as Bnei Akiva does – hence, last week’s HaGevurah post.)

Anyway, this Shabbat was Shabbat Irgun for the girls. (This coming Shabbat – yes, the Shabbat of the bar mitzvah! – will IY”H be the boys’ Shabbat Irgun.)

The reason I mention this is to reassure our loyal readers that yes, there was an ooltra. And the truth is that – all kidding aside – the dances were, as always, quite beautiful.

In fact, the girls introduced a new twist to the ooltra dance. Usually, such a dance is done to fast, up-beat music. However, this time, they did something completely different.

This shevet’s (age group) theme was “Captives and MIAs”. After showing a short slide show about the Israeli MIAs, the girls did a slow ooltra to Boaz Sharabi’s haunting “K’she’tavo”, a song about Ron Arad. The entire audience agreed that dancing in the dark was a moving and fitting tribute to the MIAs.

And in conclusion, mazal tov to our resident HaGevurah member on the new name. (Admit it – the name is starting to grow on you, isn’t it? )

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* That is – some of the Shiputzim children are Ariel members. Others are adherents of what is euphemistically known as “Iyov” (aleph,yud,vav,vet – an acronym for אשרי יושבי ביתך – literally, “Praiseworthy are those who dwell in Your House”) – i.e. they prefer to stay home.

Generation gap

The Our Shiputzim R&D department is pleased to announce the beta release of a complex algorithm which can determine a reader’s age group.

Please feel free to try it. You’re likely to find it surprisingly accurate. All you need to do is answer a single question:

When you heard that “HaGevurah” – הגבורה - (fortitude, heroism) is the new shevet's name, your immediate reaction most closely resembled:

[a] “HaGevurah sounds like a very nice name. What’s not to like about it? After all, gevurah is the midah (trait) of Yitzchak Avinu. I’m sure that the kids in the new shevet are very pleased with their new name.”

[b] “I’m so glad that we didn’t get that name…”

[c] “Oof! Why were we stuck with this name?! Why couldn’t they have given us a normal name?!”

[d] “I’m glad that they got rid of that name this year…”

If you picked [a], you are over the age of 30.

If you picked [b], you are between the ages of 16-29.

If you picked [c], you are in 9th grade.

If you picked [d], you are in 8th grade or below.

Ooltra cool

A fairly common feature of Israeli children's hofa’ot (performances) is the way overused fresh and original ultraviolet light.

Typically, the young performers don black clothes and put white socks on their hands and shoeless feet. Upon occasion, the kids will then add white belts or scarves to complete the look.

The overhead lights are turned off, and – with the “purple light” shining on the stage – the captive audience proud and loving parents watch as disembodied white blobs dance in unison before them.

Over the years, I’ve been privileged to see countless renditions of this routine - especially in honor of Chodesh Irgun and also at Chanukah parties in gan.

But it was only today that I learned that an ultraviolet light is known as an ooltra in Hebrew.

And what about the dance itself? According to one of my favorite Heblish-speakers, it’s referred to as “doing an ooltra.” (Sample sentence: “For our rikud (dance), we’re going to do an ooltra.”)