You’re not covered for organ transplants

Would you like to buy insurance?

A phone conversation that I have at least three times a week:



This is Dudu from ABC Insurance. I want to talk to you about extra health insurance.

I’m not interested.

But currently you’re not covered for organ transplants. What will you do if you need an organ transplant?

I don’t know, I guess I’ll deal with that if it comes.

God forbid, of course I don’t want you to need an organ transplant. But you have to care about your health. Don’t you care about your health?

Apparently not.

And what about your kids? What will they do if you can’t take care of them while you’re having an organ transplant?

They’re pretty independent so hopefully they’ll be ok.

If you don’t get this insurance, you’ll end up banging your head against the wall in frustration.

Well, I’ll try to put a pillow on the wall before I bang my head against it, especially since my current insurance probably doesn’t cover self-inflicted head injuries. I’m not interested, good bye.

Good bye.


These salespeople’s tactics are very similar to the robo-call (what a great term for that! I saw someone use it recently, don’t remember who) recordings from the grave of Shimon Hatzadik promising eternal blessing if I just donate.


My no good very bad fadicha day

After being home all week with my sick kid, it came as no surprise that I woke up this morning feeling under the weather myself. But there was no way I wasn’t going to work, with everything that had piled up while I was gone weighing on me.

Feeling as I did, I didn’t have strength to wear anything remotely uncomfortable, or patience to spend time considering my options. I pulled out my jean skirt that is exactly the most unattractive length; put on a shirt with a brown and black flower pattern; because I was cold I also put on a grey sweater; and adorned my head with one of my shleppiest mitpachot. Oh, and thick black stockings with my oh-so-comfy bubby shoes. Clearly makeup was out of the question.

Pack of tissues in hand, I staggered out the door to head to work, wiping my nose as I went.

But I had forgotten one important detail: I had a meeting, and not just any meeting, but one with a team working on a project related to…religious women’s fashion. Every time they mentioned how hard it is for religious women to find fashionable modest clothing, I nodded vigorously in agreement, while they gazed at me with great sympathy in their fashion-conscious eyes.

If we do end up working together, it will be because they see me as the poster girl for the problem, and not the solution 🙂


Miriam Borg

Miriam Schwab wearing Google Glass


I finally tried Google Glass for the first time, thanks to Niv Calderon who was kind enough to let me wear his pair for a bit at the ConnectIL event today.

As you can see, I was quite thrilled with the toy, I mean business tool, and couldn’t stop laughing.

This type of in-your-face wearable technology means that any effort that we currently need to make to check our email, facebook, twitter, by taking out our phone, unlocking it, etc., would be reduced to none. The thought of this type of always-on, technologically-framed world makes me feel ill. I can totally see myself eating my words down the line, but you have to wonder: is there a line that we should draw between real and digital? And if so, where is it?

It’s still a cool toy. Wheeeeee!


Ima, what are latkes?


Chanukah sameach! Love this holiday (ok, I love them all, but still), so here’s a little “real life in Israel” story for you to add some holiday cheer.

I was walking on Emek Refaim with two of my kids, and we walked past Tzidkiyahu, the ready-made food store. I’m a pretty loyal customer of theirs since I often buy Shabbat food there (public service announcement: their alei gefen are the best in all of Israel).

Anyways, Aiman, their Arab store manager, was standing outside and asked me if I would be buying there this Shabbat. I said yes, and he said, in Hebrew, “Good, we’ll have latkes for Chanukah!” I said great, since latkes made by someone else are my way to roll, and we parted.

My kids turn to me and say, “Ima, what are latkes?”

(Explanation for those who don’t get why I think this is funny: basically, Aiman, who certainly does not have roots in Eastern European Jewish and Yiddish culture, knows more Yiddish than my Israeli-born children. “Latkes” is the Yiddish word for the traditional potato pancakes made on Chanukah, but my kids only knew them by the Hebrew word, “levivot”! Thanks to Aiman, they now know just a little more Yiddish.)

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