Beginning Again

 September 28, 2021  October 6, 2022

Hello, my dear friends and family. 

'Tis Hudicus Barticus, Hudles, Hoodie, or whatever else I may be called. And I am doing fabulously well, thanks for asking. As you can tell from the title, I'm in bidud (quaranteeeen—that's for you, Abba) right now, which is why I have time to write this blog post. But bidud isn't so bad, Baruch Hashem. For one, I'm used to it. This is my fifth time in bidud, I believe. I'm a pro at this thing. Also, I'm (still) kind of antisocial sometimes, so not being allowed to see anyone is just my cup of tea. Speaking of tea, I had this delicious tea on Yom Tov(that's for you, tea-timing madrichot). Sorry for the non-sequitur. 

Moving on...the plane ride was pretty good. I slept for most of it, thank the good Lord. 

Holy Story Time: At the very end of the plane ride, right before we started landing, I saw a man going around the cabin with a lulav and esrog and kippa in hand. He went to the non-religious looking people and asked if they wanted to shake the lulav and esrog. The creep that I am, I just watched this man go around to dozens of people, helping them say the bracha and do the shaking. But that's not even the most amazing part of the story. Since it was about half-an-hour to landing, all people were requested (read: forced) to sit in their seats. The man kept going around even after the dreaded seatbelt light went on. The stewardess went up to him and asked him to please get into his seat (read: get into ya' seat or else...). He looked at her and said, "Just one more person. Please." The stewardess nodded. "Just one more person." And as another attendant came up to them, the stewardess turned back and told him, "It's their holiday. He's doing something special for them," or something to that effect. If I hadn't already been crying from the smell of the omelets all around me, I probably would have started bawling from seeing that beautiful scene. מי כעמך ישראל

See what happens when you're a creep and watch people? Learn from me. Being a stalker pays off.  

Stressful Story Time: We landed about 5:20 pm on Sunday. Getting off the plane took awhile. Also, awkwardness happened when I got my 50-pound carry-on from the overheard compartment. Shorties like me should not be allowed to bring carry-ons onto the plane. Even standing on my tiptoes, I could barely reach. And the thing was heavy. So, as I swung it down, I might have hit the very nice lady standing next to me. Ouch. She was rubbing her leg as I said, "Sorry." She said it was no problem, but I saw her limping later in the airport as we were waiting for our luggage. That last part was a joke. I don't think I permanently damaged her leg. It was heavy, but not that heavy. 

Back to the stressful story now. After I got off the plane, Mrs. Stein called me. For those who don't know her, she was my next door neighbor, until she and her husband moved to Israel right after Purim this past year. I'm quarantining in their apartment for a week. If that doesn't tell you that they're saints, then I don't know what will. 

She called me telling me that she had ordered a taxi driver to pick me up. After giving me the taxi driver's phone number, location of pick-up, his taxi number, and his social security number, we hung up. I continued on my merry way, passing passport control with no problem, even with my fake passport, and landing at baggage claim. Now, baggage claim and I have a sticky relationship, ever since they lost my suitcases last year. You Maaloters will know what I'm talking about. Remember Ms. Brunner buying us certain items that we needed? Anywho, this time I got my baggage within 15 or 20 minutes. Which would have been fine, had the taxi driver not called me, asking me in his thick Israeli accent, "Where are you? I wait here for 10 minutes already." I tried to explain where I was and why I couldn't rush the stupid carousel. We ended the conversation amicably, with him promising a slow death if I didn't get there in five minutes. J.K. 

After I got my luggage, I started walking towards the throngs of people in line for the corona test. There wasn't a line; there was just a crowd of people smushed together, moving forward at a snail's pace. Which again, would have been fine, had I not had this death threat hanging over my head. While maneuvering my thousand pound suitcases with one hand, talking on the phone to the taxi driver and Mrs. Stein with the other, I started wishing for a third hand to push the people out of my way so I could just get that swab stuck up my nose and be out of the oppressive airport. Alas, Hashem did not grant me my wish, and I was stuck with two hands and a massive headache. 

It was about 6:15 by this time, and the taxi driver had told me that he had to leave by 7:00 for a prior engagement. Being a yekke did not help the situation. Thanks, Bubby and Zaidy. Thanks, Ema. Finally, after what seemed like an interminable wait, it was my turn to get the corona test. With a shove down my mouth and up each nostril—in that order—I was out of there.

It was 6:55 now, and I was running. Except I couldn't run, or even walk, or even take baby steps, because it seemed as if all of Israel were right in front of me, trying to get out of the airport. "Well, excuse me," I wanted to yell, "I have a driver who is waiting for me and he's gonna leave in two minutes if y'all don't get out of my way!" But of course I didn't, because I still want a husband. 

With two minutes until 7, I made it to the elevators, which were blessedly empty. 

And at exactly 7, I walked outside to where my taxi driver was waiting. 

He was really nice about the whole situation. That might have had to do with me apologizing seven thousand times and promising to be his slave for all eternity. 

He spoke very good English, which I asked him about. He hold me about living in New York many years ago, in Brooklyn—which I had finally visited and toured just the Shabbos before—and listening to English songs. So, now I know how to learn Hebrew. I just gotta listen to Hebrew songs. Easy peasy. 

He dropped me off in front of the Steins' building in Ramat Beit Shemesh. Mr. Stein came down to help me with my back-breakingly-heavy bags, and then my bidud began. 

Until I got the negative corona test on Monday, I kept on my mask whenever I was around the Steins. So I spent a lot of time in my room. Really, I just slept a lot. I have mono, remember? 

When I woke up on Monday at 6:00 am, I felt like crying. Hey, I woke up this past Wednesday morning at 4:00 am. No, not because I was in Eretz Yisroel. No, not being it was Hoshana Raba. But because it was 6:00 am!!! I'm not my mother who gets up at the crack of dawn to exercise and go on walks. Love you, Ema. 

I had just been on a 10-hour plane ride, gone through a roller-coaster of emotions, and had been expecting to sleep in till at least 9. But no, I woke up at 6:00. Thanks, life. Really appreciated. 

But davening on Hoshana Raba Yom Kippur in Eretz Yisroel definitely made up for the rude awakening. 

Erev Yom Tov was very chill. I got my negative corona test, Baruch Hashem, so the dreaded mask came off. The Steins and I said good-bye to the sukkah, which was pretty sad. And I even called some humanoids and answered the phone, which I think is impressive. 

And then Shemini Atzeres and Simchas Torah will be happening very soon happened. This was the first time I kept one day for this holiday, which wasn't even so weird, considering I couldn't go to shul or even outside. But Yom Tov was nice. I had great company. We had some deep, hashgafic conversations, some light-hearted chat, and some heated debates. We played banagrams, obviously. We ate delicious food. And I slept in on Tuesday. What could be better?

And now, it's Motzei Yom Tov, which is really sad. No more Yom Tov until Pesach, which is crazy. And what's worse is that I have so many things to do. You know those people who, from after Shavuos, say when there's anything that needs to be done, "After Yom Tov, I'll do it. I'll wait until after Succos." Well, guess what? That person is me. And it's after Succos. I have a to-do list as long as I am tall, which isn't really saying all that much. But I hate having to do things. It's so rude. Pretty sure I'll put things on hold until after Pesach. Oh, well. 

So, I think that's all. I hope that you enjoyed my first post. And if you didn't, you're wrong. Hope to hear from all of you! 

Love and miss you all. 

Toodles from Hoodles!

(2022)

P.S. Life did really happen this week. I think.

Stressful Story Time 2: Have you ever scarfed down two rolls and a soup (which was scalding) and chicken and grapes and a cookie that was in place of kreplach in about 20 minutes? No. Well, then consider yourself lucky. 

Also, if you did but it wasn't at the Seudah Hamafsekes, then it doesn't even count. 

Pretty much, I was running so many lates on Erev Yom Kippur, and I started eating like 30 minutes before Kol Nidrei, and I was about a 15 minute walk from shul, and I still hadn't paid for my seat, and I hadn't yet given my kapparos money to tzedakah, and it was highly stressful. Being a yekke did not help the situation.

So, then I ate really quickly. Not such a bright idea right before a 25-hour fast. But you know what? No one ever accused me of being bright. But, baruch Hashem, the fast wasn't the worstest thing ever.

The Dorky Daily by Judith Brat: 

Hudicus was walking through the streets of Yerushalayim, head down, mind occupied with thoughts of expected values and probabilities and density functions. She was on her way to her terrible, awful, mean, no-good, very-bad probability final. 

Step by step, she got closer to the dreaded school building. The only slightly calming thing was the bag slung over her shoulder, full of papers filled with formulas that she still didn't understand (not like she studied, so it was really her fault) pens, pencils, a calculator, and a siddur. 

This bag was a very special bag. It was her shark bag, the very same one that she had "borrowed" from Faeven many moons ago. 

And as she walked through the streets of the holiest city in the world carrying a shark bag like it was a totally normal purse, she looked quite dorky. 

So, the final came and went. It was okay, actually. Better than expected. My expected value was between a 30 and 40, and the probability of me passing was less than a .5. So, we shall see. 

Shabbos was vedy vedy nice. Mikvah-jumper Avigayil and I went to Ramois to my cousins. My little cousins are so big. They don't know a stitch of English, and I don't know a stitch of Hebrew, so I spoke to them in English, and they had no clue what I was saying. But we still got along very well. 

Remember when I said that the construction stopped? Well, I lied. They started again. So, sabotage plans commence!