Just waiting and waiting...and waiting

I'm waiting for a whole shitload of things.

1. Like the messiah. I spent most of last week feeling terribly depressed over the terrorist murders of the Holtzberg couple in Mumbai, India, leaving their two-year-old son orphaned. I even took a look at a video of the memorial service where the kid was screaming for his mother, and I burst into tears at work. What kind of revenge did their family want? Not a revenge with weapons. But that there should be MORE light in this world. And I cried again at the wonderful-ness that is Chabad. What Jewish-affiliated person doesn't look for a Chabad house when they are traveling anywhere in the world? Entering a Chabad house is like coming home to familiar surroundings and sitting in a warm living room, lit up with a beautiful fireplace, while the snow is raging down outside. I remember going to Florida with my husband once and we needed a babysitter. We called up the local Chabad, who got us in touch with a family of 12 daughters, the eldest of whom would be our babysitter. Needless to say, she was great with our daughter. I almost stayed with Chabad in New Delhi on Friday night, but decided instead to see the authentic local synagogue and see how real Jewish Indians bring in the Sabbath. But I knew that I can always rely on Chabad, if need be, anywhere in the world.

2. For the rain - The country is desperately in need of a washing up. There hasn't been any rain in weeks. Although I don't have shoes/boots for the rain, I'll risk having soaked socks for the health of the land. But it's cloudy out now and I think the rain will come today.

3. For hubby to start work - Those days/weeks in-between jobs are agonizing for him, as they are for me. That usually means lack of money for things like...food and other sundry items. Fortunately, I'm doing after-hours work so we can manage for food, but it means me coming home at 9:00 pm or even later. Only then do I start cooking and only at 10:00 pm do we eat. I try to imagine that we're not in Israel and that I'm in Spain or some other place, where it's the norm to eat supper so late. And those inbetween days brings out the worst in hubby's moods. Last weekend we were invited to a bar mitzvah at a synagogue about a 40-minute walk from our home. I don't remember the last time Hubs stepped foot into a shul - he hadn't even for the high holy days. But he sat around while I stuffed my mouth full of the delicacies laid out on several tables after the service, and muttered things to me like "there's nothing here in this synagogue..." and was about to hurl more insults at the synagogue and its congregants when I noticed the rabbi's wife standing near us. I shushed him loudly and he got insulted and walked away. As we were walking home, he continues his tirade against everything in and not in his life. I hear footsteps in back of me. Someone was walking behind me, but I didn't really care, I had just HAD it with that complaining man and I said something like "You are just such a FUCKING MISERABLE MAN, AND I HATE BEING WITH YOU WHEN YOU'RE LIKE THIS." And the person whose footsteps I heard, walked passed us. It was our friendly bank manager. I smiled sweetly at her, wished her a good Sabbath and wondered if she heard our spat.