Private Eyes

It’s official: miracles really do happen! A big miracle, bigger than all 250 miracles at the Red Sea, happened to me just last week! My husband and I actually escaped for one night! Peace and quiet… delicious food… seaside hotel… and free toiletries! #itwasawesome!

A few weeks ago I was ready to snap and run away. I felt like a pressure cooker with no outlet valve. The challenges of life were getting to me, and I couldn’t force myself to have a more positive attitude.

Okay, so I lied. What really happened was that hubby let it slip that he had tons of Amex points. That was all I needed to hear. I decided that I would use those points solely for me. Seriously, what does he need? The fantasies began, until I realized that I couldn’t actually use those points here. How about a $50 gift card for Starbucks? Ha! There is no Starbucks in Israel! You’re almost having a panic attack at the thought of no Gingerbread Spice Latte on your way to work. I understand. Believe me.

No Saks Fifth Avenue. No Target. No Walmart. No Old Navy. No Costco. No drive-thru car wash. Goodness gracious, it’s a miracle I survive here! Since I couldn’t go shopping, I did the next best thing and chose to cash in on those rewards points with a night out at one of the swankiest hotels in Israel. Awww, snap! That ain’t a bad consolation prize, right? The only downside was that my husband insisted on tagging along. I wasn’t thrilled about it, but I didn’t have much of a choice. He made the reservation in his name.

Ummm, hello?? Who do you think got him all those thousands and thousands of points in the first place? Does he really think that all of the clothes, shoes, and toys for the kids (and a few things for myself, of course) just magically showed up at my parents’ house, waiting for him to bring them back from his trips to the States?

We told the kids we were leaving that morning. They nearly staged a revolt. I promised them pizza dinner and the two awesome babysitters that they love. It didn’t help. I offered to throw in a large bottle of Coke. They were starting to warm up to the idea. I then promised them some breadsticks that come with chocolate dipping sauce. Sold! They were practically kicking us out the door, and I almost opted for the pizza party instead of the fancy hotel.

By the time we got there, I was nearly starving since I hadn’t eaten in three hours. We enjoyed a fantastic lunch, and later that evening had an outasight gourmet dinner as if we were two real adults. During dinner, I thought I heard kids fighting and screaming. I kept looking behind my shoulder and under the table, paranoid that the kids might have followed us to the hotel and were spying on us. So I did the only logical thing to ease my paranoia, and ordered another glass of sparkling white wine.

The next morning, there was a breakfast buffet that was seriously out of this world. You know what that means. Eat until you can hardly breathe. I am a proud Jew, and I gotta get my money’s worth. So what if I didn’t pay for the room? I ate so much, my husband started making snorting noises every time I got up from the table to waddle over to the buffet, just to check if I missed anything.

By the time we (I) finished breakfast, it was almost late afternoon and the restaurant staff was giving me dirty looks. They wanted to put the food away already so they could set up for dinner. I reluctantly left, with my husband walking ten steps behind me with his head looking down, trying to make it as if he didn’t know me. “Am I embarrassing you?!” I confronted him. “No, honey, um, I’m just guarding my eyes,” he responded. Sure.

As I wrote in “The Freebie Gene,” I love to get things for free, especially when I’m on vacation. Maybe it’s not just a genetic defect as I had originally thought. It could be that all those years of being a naive and unwitting accomplice to my mother’s “complimentary hotel towels and everything else that isn’t chained to the floor” Mafia crime ring might have had a slight impact on me.

On our way back to the room, I spotted the housekeeping cart. My eyes suddenly opened wide and I excitedly drew in my breath (which was very difficult) when I saw my beloved cart. My heart started beating fast. Trying to ignore the thumping, I nonchalantly walked over to the cart, looking this way and that, and ended up standing next to it like an embarrassed, trying-to-look-cool 13-year-old boy standing next to his crush at the junior prom. I passionately eyed the cute little bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body gel which were innocently peeking up at me from the top drawer. “Take me! Take me!” the squeaked. My hand very slowly reached up to grab me some.

All of a sudden, the housekeeper bustled out from the room she was cleaning and nearly scared the food out of me. Dios Mio! My hand instinctively pulled up to the side of my head as I pretended to cooly slick my hair back like John Travolta in Grease. The fact that my hair was covered made me look slightly awkward, though. The housekeeper gave me a questioning look, and my husband rushed over like Prince Charming and dragged me by my elbow to the room. I longingly looked back over my shoulder and blew kisses at the cart. “I’m comin’ back for you, babe,” I whispered.

When we got back to the room, I lay down, which wasn’t a very good idea. I tried to sit up, but I couldn’t manage that, either. Finally, I reached a compromise and reclined on eight pillows. After a short while, my husband told me that we had to start getting ready to leave. Miraculously, at that moment I received a second wind.

What can I take “for the kids?” wink, wink. Let’s see… there’s those cute little sugar sticks, some non-dairy creamer, a few elegantly packaged tea bags, stirring spoons, pads of paper, pens, slippers, laundry bags… My husband was nearly melting into a puddle of embarrassment, until he saw me start to fumble with the espresso machine.

“RACHELI!” he barked. That’s the second time in an hour that I nearly had the wits scared out of me. I jumped. “I can’t take the espresso machine?” He just stared at me with his mouth open in utter shock. I got the feeling that he was wondering how in the world he got suckered into marrying me.

“Don’t you know that Hashem is watching?” he asked. Like, oooops. I forgot that little part. Maybe it was because I didn’t have any stress – aside from the hundreds of phone calls from my oldest son, threatening me that he wasn’t going to go to school that morning. For about 24 hours, life was so carefree!

A carefree life – it’s the Devil, Bobby Boucher! I may be slightly jealous of those carefree people. But seriously, it is amazing that most of us live without the awareness that our Father is watching. When we can’t see the connection between our transgressions and future tribulations, we may believe that life is random and unfair. Like, that’s so totally not true!

Imagine all of the things that we wouldn’t do if we were really aware that Hashem and the NSA were recording all of our actions, 24 hours a day. Imagine all of the sins that we wouldn’t do, simply because we would be afraid of having to pay the price later! How much more righteous would we be??

So there you have it: more awareness of Hashem = less sinful behavior = less harsh judgments. Go ahead and say it. I’m a genius.

As we left the room, I thought I heard Hall & Oats’ “Private Eyes” playing. I’m actually starting to wonder if they wrote this popular song as an attempt to expose the NSA’s covert spying of the American people and the Israeli government.  Apparently no one took them seriously, because the song was so catchy, and they were about 35 years ahead of their time (think Ed Snowden.)

When we neared the housekeeping cart, my husband grabbed my arm again: “Guard your eyes, guard your eyes…” He repeated it like a mantra until we reached the elevator. “Let go of my arm, OJ,” I snapped.

When we got back home, it wasn’t long before I was daydreaming about running away again. It’s possible that the Mashiach might get here before I get to plan my next great escape… I hope!

The next time you catch yourself about to do something in private that you would never want others to know about, sing yourself this little reminder, courtesy of my favorite secret Kabbalist/government informer musical duo.

Private eyes, they’re watching you

They see your every move

Private eyes, they’re watching you watching you watching you…