In my dream, there are six or eight men who have all trained people to float in the air. Many observers are skeptical, even when they see the students clearly floating. Transparent support wires are proposed as the obvious secret to the feat.
But I see things differently. I say to my companion, “I don’t have any trouble believing this. As we get closer to the arrival of Moshiach, more and more of our human capacities are being revealed. This ability to float in the air must be just one of them.”
Even in my dreams, I have faith in the coming of Moshiach, and even though he may delay, nevertheless, I anticipate every day (and at night) that he will come.
Monday, December 25, 2006
Friday, December 22, 2006
It's 1938 Again
"It's 1938 and Iran is Germany."
It seems that everywhere I turn lately, Jewish writers and thinkers whose work I admire are drawing the parallel. I, who was born well after the Holocaust, have never before lived in a time when the world felt fundamentally unsafe.
The world feels fundamentally unsafe. We are living in serious times.
The nuclear threat from Iran, the beginning of the North American wave of aliyah, the coming of the Mosiach, my personal, desperate need to be in Israel – these things are all connected.
I think about the Jews in Germany who sniffed out that whatever was coming was NOT GOOD and got themselves the heck out of there before 1938. For every one who did, there must have been dozens of people in their lives who doubted their sanity, thought they were overreacting and tried to talk them into staying in Germany.
I fear for my friends and family members whose eyes are not yet open. I know I sound like a lunatic to them. What I really want to say is, “It’s hard to accept that there has been a fundamental shift in the world, but there has been. At a minimum, I beg you to make sure your passport is current, in case you have to escape to Israel. Pay attention to the news. Notice the parallels between the news and what was happening in Germany in the years before the war. You can’t pretend that something massive is not happening. Something massive is happening. Please notice!”
Of course, everyone asks the same question, “How much sense does it make to run to Israel if Israel is the center of the storm?”
As my friend R. reminded me today, this would be a perfectly logical question, IF the history of the Jewish people was based in logic. But everything about our history is lemalah min ha teva – it goes beyond the principles of rationality.
A crystal clear pattern emerges from the most basic study of T’Nach and Jewish history. When the Jews do wrong, Hashem empowers an enemy to force us to do teshuva, to repent. When we do, the enemy is vanquished.
What is our sin? I have a theory. In 1948, Hashem handed dominion over Eretz Yisrael to the Jewish people for the first time in 2000 years. And what did most of us do?
We stayed put.
Hashem offered us a gift and we turned up our noses and said, “No thanks.”
“No thanks. I can make more money in America.”
“No thanks. My family has a very nice house (and two cars!) in America.”
“No thanks. All our friends and family live in America.”
“No thanks. We already live a life of Torah and mitzvot in America.”
Hashem’s response?
“Well, if you’re not going to value my gift, I’m going to take it away.”
This is why making aliyah at this time makes perfect sense.
This is why making aliyah at this time makes perfect sense.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Might As Well Face It, I'm Addicted To Israel
I am addicted to Israel. A blessing that is also a curse.
I can’t stop obsessing about the place. I am constantly reading an endless stream of books about Israel. The place is perpetually on my mind. I can talk about it for hours and hours without flagging. If I’m not actually there, I’m planning for the next time I get to be there.
This past Shabbat, my teenager daughter told me that she is tired of all my talk about Israel and, in typical teenager-speak, she assured me that so are all her friends.
This is not a new form of censure. Certain adult friends have also, ahem… encouraged me to express an interest in other things. All my life, people have told me that I am “too intense”. One more reason I want to live in Israel – it’s the most intense country in the world, so, in that regard, I expect to fit right in.
Four times before in my adult life, I have been absolutely certain that a certain future course of action, each a major paradigm shift, was correct. In each case, my intuition, my binah was correct and the outcome was completely positive. I know we will end up living in Israel someday. But until we get there, what do I do with the energy that roils around in me?
What is it about this place that so captivates me? I recently heard an interview with Israeli actress Meital Dohan who lives in New York part-time. “Israel is my husband,” she said, “but New York is my lover.” I can so relate to that thought. Baltimore is my husband, but Israel is my lover.
The place is other-worldly. The history, yes, but also the promise of redemption. The luminous future of the Jewish people.
The spiritual energy of the Land lures me.
In the end, it is Gd who calls to me. I know that.
No wonder I can’t reign it in.
I can’t stop obsessing about the place. I am constantly reading an endless stream of books about Israel. The place is perpetually on my mind. I can talk about it for hours and hours without flagging. If I’m not actually there, I’m planning for the next time I get to be there.
This past Shabbat, my teenager daughter told me that she is tired of all my talk about Israel and, in typical teenager-speak, she assured me that so are all her friends.
This is not a new form of censure. Certain adult friends have also, ahem… encouraged me to express an interest in other things. All my life, people have told me that I am “too intense”. One more reason I want to live in Israel – it’s the most intense country in the world, so, in that regard, I expect to fit right in.
Four times before in my adult life, I have been absolutely certain that a certain future course of action, each a major paradigm shift, was correct. In each case, my intuition, my binah was correct and the outcome was completely positive. I know we will end up living in Israel someday. But until we get there, what do I do with the energy that roils around in me?
What is it about this place that so captivates me? I recently heard an interview with Israeli actress Meital Dohan who lives in New York part-time. “Israel is my husband,” she said, “but New York is my lover.” I can so relate to that thought. Baltimore is my husband, but Israel is my lover.
The place is other-worldly. The history, yes, but also the promise of redemption. The luminous future of the Jewish people.
The spiritual energy of the Land lures me.
In the end, it is Gd who calls to me. I know that.
No wonder I can’t reign it in.
Borat
Musing about this film, in that liminal state between being fully asleep and fully awake, it occurred to me that Borat's name is a conjunction of two words - boor and rat, both of which describe Sacha Baron Cohen's character perfectly. The film was outrageous and funny. The potential for offense was obvious, but muted for me when I realized, early on, that in the scenes in which he was supposed to be speaking his native Kazakhstani language, he was actually speaking Hebrew. An inside joke for the Jews.
In the end, what bothered me the most was not the anti-Jewish elements, or even the anti-women elements, because they were so over the top that they could only be understood as parody. What bothered me the most was that, in posing as a foreigner, he abused the trust of the people he interviewed. That makes him a boor and a rat.
In the end, what bothered me the most was not the anti-Jewish elements, or even the anti-women elements, because they were so over the top that they could only be understood as parody. What bothered me the most was that, in posing as a foreigner, he abused the trust of the people he interviewed. That makes him a boor and a rat.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Have We Forgotten the People of Gush Katif?
In August, 2005, the Israeli government destroyed 21 Jewish communities in the Gaza region and in the Northern Shomron and expelled 1800 families from their homes.
Maybe you hung a blue ribbon on your car, demonstrating that you were in favor of The Disengagement because you thought that it was important to try every possible avenue to peace.
Maybe you hung an orange ribbon on your car, demonstrating that you were adamantly opposed to The Disengagement, sensing that ceding control of Gush Katif to the Palestinians would yield nothing but intensified levels of violence.
Maybe you didn’t know what to think politically, but you grieved over the loss of Jewish homes and Jewish communities in Israel.
It doesn’t even matter at this stage. What matters today is whether you have effectively forgotten about the people of Gush Katif.
Like many others, when The Disengagement was threatened but had not yet been carried out, my husband and I made it a point to connect to the people of Gush Katif. We went with our daughters to visit the thriving Jewish communities of Gush Katif several times. We left inspired by the spiritual magnificence of the Jews living there.
After The Disengagement, our family returned to visit people in several of the temporary housing camps, to hear about their trauma first hand and to see how they were coping. Over and again, we found so many reasons to be in awe of these people who lost their homes, their communities and their livelihoods.
In January 2006, five months after the expulsion, 344 families were still living in the most temporary arrangements such as hotel rooms and tent cities. After months of being in storage, many families lost their household goods to weather damage or theft. As a result of the destruction of communities, 1800 people who lived and worked in Gush Katif were still unemployed five months later. Of the 220 farmers from Gush Katif, only 11 had been given alternative plots of land by the Israeli government five months after their farms were destroyed.
In May 2006, nine months after the expulsion, 118 families were still living in hotel rooms and tent cities. At that point, 50% of the adults from Gush Katif were still unemployed. Most people who had owned farms and businesses had not yet been given any compensation for their losses, and even those who received compensation for rebuilding their homes found that the compensation offered was less than the most basic cost of building a home in Israel.
Most of the expelled families have already moved several times and are still not in permanent housing. According to Dror Vanunu, International Coordinator of the Gush Katif Committee, thirteen months after The Disengagement, “building has not begun on even one new house for the expellees.” He predicts that, unless the government dramatically changes its course, thousands of people will be forced to spend between five to seven years in the cramped and poorly constructed temporary homes that were installed in what amounts to refugee camps.
Dislocation, unemployment, destruction or theft of household goods, unimaginable bureaucracy, poverty, traumatized families, divorces and suicide. All outcomes of The Disengagement.
Anita Tucker, spokesperson for the destroyed communities of Gush Katif, speaks of the eternal optimism of the people of Gush Katif, starting over despite all the loss, all the obstacles, all the devastation. She refers to those who are still helping when she says, “The most beautiful thing of all is that there are amazing people in Am Yisrael popping up everywhere who see this perseverance and strength [of the former Gush Katif residents who remain determined to rebuild their glorious communities]. These special people, Am Yisrael people, care and love the fact that the Gush Katif people won't allow the government to force them to be ‘unfortunates’."
The truth is, the Jews who remember and who are still helping the expellees put their lives back together are so special, not in small measure, because they are so rare.
Have we forgotten the people of Gush Katif?
You tell me.
Ways You Can Still Help The Families of Gush Katif
Donate to Anita Tucker’s community of Netzer Hazani:
Central Fund for Israel
980 6th Avenue,
New York, NY 10018
Memo Line: Netzer Hazani
Donate to Rachel Saperstein’s Operation Dignity:
Central Fund for Israel
980 6th Avenue,
New York, NY 10018
Memo line: Operation Dignity
Donate to the Gush Katif Committee
Friends of Gush Katif P.O.B. 1184 Teaneck, NJ 07666
Shop in the Gush Katif Online Store
Order a copy of With an Outstretched Arm, an original English-language women's musical that serves as a fundraiser for Lema’an Achai’s work with Gush Katif families.
Minimum donation $18
rivkah30@yahoo.com
Order a copy of Home Game: The Movie to support the rebuilding of Netzer Hazani. The movie is about the determination, faith and struggle of the Netzer Hazani community basketball team to win the 2005 basketball tournament during the time that they were also struggling against the Israeli government plans to uproot them from their homes.
Maybe you hung a blue ribbon on your car, demonstrating that you were in favor of The Disengagement because you thought that it was important to try every possible avenue to peace.
Maybe you hung an orange ribbon on your car, demonstrating that you were adamantly opposed to The Disengagement, sensing that ceding control of Gush Katif to the Palestinians would yield nothing but intensified levels of violence.
Maybe you didn’t know what to think politically, but you grieved over the loss of Jewish homes and Jewish communities in Israel.
It doesn’t even matter at this stage. What matters today is whether you have effectively forgotten about the people of Gush Katif.
Like many others, when The Disengagement was threatened but had not yet been carried out, my husband and I made it a point to connect to the people of Gush Katif. We went with our daughters to visit the thriving Jewish communities of Gush Katif several times. We left inspired by the spiritual magnificence of the Jews living there.
After The Disengagement, our family returned to visit people in several of the temporary housing camps, to hear about their trauma first hand and to see how they were coping. Over and again, we found so many reasons to be in awe of these people who lost their homes, their communities and their livelihoods.
In January 2006, five months after the expulsion, 344 families were still living in the most temporary arrangements such as hotel rooms and tent cities. After months of being in storage, many families lost their household goods to weather damage or theft. As a result of the destruction of communities, 1800 people who lived and worked in Gush Katif were still unemployed five months later. Of the 220 farmers from Gush Katif, only 11 had been given alternative plots of land by the Israeli government five months after their farms were destroyed.
In May 2006, nine months after the expulsion, 118 families were still living in hotel rooms and tent cities. At that point, 50% of the adults from Gush Katif were still unemployed. Most people who had owned farms and businesses had not yet been given any compensation for their losses, and even those who received compensation for rebuilding their homes found that the compensation offered was less than the most basic cost of building a home in Israel.
Most of the expelled families have already moved several times and are still not in permanent housing. According to Dror Vanunu, International Coordinator of the Gush Katif Committee, thirteen months after The Disengagement, “building has not begun on even one new house for the expellees.” He predicts that, unless the government dramatically changes its course, thousands of people will be forced to spend between five to seven years in the cramped and poorly constructed temporary homes that were installed in what amounts to refugee camps.
Dislocation, unemployment, destruction or theft of household goods, unimaginable bureaucracy, poverty, traumatized families, divorces and suicide. All outcomes of The Disengagement.
Anita Tucker, spokesperson for the destroyed communities of Gush Katif, speaks of the eternal optimism of the people of Gush Katif, starting over despite all the loss, all the obstacles, all the devastation. She refers to those who are still helping when she says, “The most beautiful thing of all is that there are amazing people in Am Yisrael popping up everywhere who see this perseverance and strength [of the former Gush Katif residents who remain determined to rebuild their glorious communities]. These special people, Am Yisrael people, care and love the fact that the Gush Katif people won't allow the government to force them to be ‘unfortunates’."
The truth is, the Jews who remember and who are still helping the expellees put their lives back together are so special, not in small measure, because they are so rare.
Have we forgotten the people of Gush Katif?
You tell me.
Ways You Can Still Help The Families of Gush Katif
Donate to Anita Tucker’s community of Netzer Hazani:
Central Fund for Israel
980 6th Avenue,
New York, NY 10018
Memo Line: Netzer Hazani
Donate to Rachel Saperstein’s Operation Dignity:
Central Fund for Israel
980 6th Avenue,
New York, NY 10018
Memo line: Operation Dignity
Donate to the Gush Katif Committee
Friends of Gush Katif P.O.B. 1184 Teaneck, NJ 07666
Shop in the Gush Katif Online Store
Order a copy of With an Outstretched Arm, an original English-language women's musical that serves as a fundraiser for Lema’an Achai’s work with Gush Katif families.
Minimum donation $18
rivkah30@yahoo.com
Order a copy of Home Game: The Movie to support the rebuilding of Netzer Hazani. The movie is about the determination, faith and struggle of the Netzer Hazani community basketball team to win the 2005 basketball tournament during the time that they were also struggling against the Israeli government plans to uproot them from their homes.
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Was it Gd?
It’s been raining in Baltimore for the past week or so. On Thursday, I came home from work and gathered up all the bags and cups from my car and stepped out into my driveway. In my hand, I held the wireless transmitter for my car – the little black box that turns the alarm system on and off.
As a result of the rain, the transmitter got a little wet.
I pressed the button to lock the car and set the alarm and… nothing happened. So I locked the car with the key and stepped into my evening, quickly forgetting all about it.
The next morning, I automatically pressed the unlock button, as I have been doing every time I get near the car since I bought it five years ago.
Nothing happened… “Oh yeah,” I reminded myself. It wasn’t working last night.
Later that day, I called the car dealer to find out just how much a new transmitter costs. At least $100, I was told. “If it got wet, you might have shorted it out. But maybe it’s just the battery,” the service manager suggested.
I went to the store and bought a new battery, for a WHOLE lot less than a hundred bucks. I popped open the transmitter and changed the battery.
Nothing happened…
“Okay,” I say to Gd. “I get it. This is an atonement for something else I did. You’ve given me the hassle and the cost of replacing the transmitter in order to punish me with the inconvenience and expense, but it’s a chesed because I really deserve a greater punishment for whatever it is I did.”
I finished my errands, relying on the key to open and lock the car doors. When I got home, I put the broken transmitter in a drawer and wrapped a piece of masking tape around it with the date and a note to indicate it was broken.
Then I went to take a shower for Shabbat.
Coming out of the bathroom, my younger daughter says to me, “I think that noise is your car alarm.” Indeed it was. But how could that be? The transmitter was lying in a drawer, probably shorted out, but, in any case, broken.
I took the transmitter out of the drawer and, by rote, clicked the unlock button. The alarm quieted down.
I realize that many people will assume that the transmitter dried out sufficiently to begin working again, or some other “logical” explanation.
I assume that Gd restored my transmitter because I accepted the din. I accepted that the malfunction was a potch from Above. Once I strengthened my belief, yet again, that Gd is involved in my life, even to that level, I demonstrated that I had learned my lesson. In response, Gd fixed my transmitter for me.
As a result of the rain, the transmitter got a little wet.
I pressed the button to lock the car and set the alarm and… nothing happened. So I locked the car with the key and stepped into my evening, quickly forgetting all about it.
The next morning, I automatically pressed the unlock button, as I have been doing every time I get near the car since I bought it five years ago.
Nothing happened… “Oh yeah,” I reminded myself. It wasn’t working last night.
Later that day, I called the car dealer to find out just how much a new transmitter costs. At least $100, I was told. “If it got wet, you might have shorted it out. But maybe it’s just the battery,” the service manager suggested.
I went to the store and bought a new battery, for a WHOLE lot less than a hundred bucks. I popped open the transmitter and changed the battery.
Nothing happened…
“Okay,” I say to Gd. “I get it. This is an atonement for something else I did. You’ve given me the hassle and the cost of replacing the transmitter in order to punish me with the inconvenience and expense, but it’s a chesed because I really deserve a greater punishment for whatever it is I did.”
I finished my errands, relying on the key to open and lock the car doors. When I got home, I put the broken transmitter in a drawer and wrapped a piece of masking tape around it with the date and a note to indicate it was broken.
Then I went to take a shower for Shabbat.
Coming out of the bathroom, my younger daughter says to me, “I think that noise is your car alarm.” Indeed it was. But how could that be? The transmitter was lying in a drawer, probably shorted out, but, in any case, broken.
I took the transmitter out of the drawer and, by rote, clicked the unlock button. The alarm quieted down.
I realize that many people will assume that the transmitter dried out sufficiently to begin working again, or some other “logical” explanation.
I assume that Gd restored my transmitter because I accepted the din. I accepted that the malfunction was a potch from Above. Once I strengthened my belief, yet again, that Gd is involved in my life, even to that level, I demonstrated that I had learned my lesson. In response, Gd fixed my transmitter for me.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Women's Voices
In the robust Jewish community where I live, there have been two Tehillim rallies and one Rally for Israel since the start of this war. The second Tehillim rally was the only one of these events that I was able to attend.
The crowd was about 1000 strong. From my comfortable seat in the women’s section, it looked like the men were packed together tightly. Each chapter of Tehillim was read by the leader, verse by verse, and then repeated by the crowd. Occasionally, the voice of the leader would crack.
My feelings are raw lately. Very much reminiscent of how I spent last August, obsessively monitoring the news from Gush Katif and crying, crying, crying. So this was rally was an exact fit for my feelings. I raised my voice in prayer and I cried some more.
The deep voices of the men’s responsive reading engulfed me. Even though I was sitting in the midst of hundreds of women, with my eyes closed, I felt the power of the men’s combined voices viscerally.
And then I opened my eyes, looked around, and saw that virtually none of the women, other than me, was using her voice. Many were moving their lips in silent prayer and I don’t doubt for a moment that their kavannah was at least as potent as the men's.
But I was saddened by the thought that, as a community, we have so silenced our women that, when our voices are necessary to pray, to moan, to shout for Hashem’s compassion, we are, for the most part, mute.
The crowd was about 1000 strong. From my comfortable seat in the women’s section, it looked like the men were packed together tightly. Each chapter of Tehillim was read by the leader, verse by verse, and then repeated by the crowd. Occasionally, the voice of the leader would crack.
My feelings are raw lately. Very much reminiscent of how I spent last August, obsessively monitoring the news from Gush Katif and crying, crying, crying. So this was rally was an exact fit for my feelings. I raised my voice in prayer and I cried some more.
The deep voices of the men’s responsive reading engulfed me. Even though I was sitting in the midst of hundreds of women, with my eyes closed, I felt the power of the men’s combined voices viscerally.
And then I opened my eyes, looked around, and saw that virtually none of the women, other than me, was using her voice. Many were moving their lips in silent prayer and I don’t doubt for a moment that their kavannah was at least as potent as the men's.
But I was saddened by the thought that, as a community, we have so silenced our women that, when our voices are necessary to pray, to moan, to shout for Hashem’s compassion, we are, for the most part, mute.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
What I Want American Jews To Know
Erev Shabbat, we received a number of phone calls and emails from friends and family in America. And they all asked us a version of the same rhetorical question: “You must be so relieved to be leaving the war zone over there and finally coming home.”
I wanted to scream.
I AM ALREADY HOME my neshama shouted back, even if I didn’t say the words out loud. NO, I don’t want to leave! The only real reasons to return to America are the two girls to whom I gave birth. Everything else is either sustainable from here or can be approximately duplicated.
I feel like I am speaking into a void when I talk like this to American Jews. In Israel, it is common to hear it said of Jews outside of Israel, “They just don’t get it.”
So rather than agonize over the differences in our perspectives, I wondered to myself whether I could explain to the Jews we love and with whom our lives are knit together in America, exactly what it is they don’t yet see.
It’s a formidable task and I don’t know if I’m up to it.
Here are some assumptions with which I begin:
1) Jewish life in America, like Jewish life in every Diaspora community throughout history, is finite. And it is rapidly waning.
2) The center stage of Jewish history has shifted to Israel. The significant events in Jewish history from this point on will all occur in Israel.
3) Gd really, really wants us to live in Israel, never more so than now. The entire Torah is filled with evidence of His desire.
4) We are living in the shadow of Moshiach. Even if he does not arrive in my lifetime, we are already living in Messianic times.
5) This war is not about land. It is about the right of the Jewish people to exist. It is, fundamentally, a war between good and evil. The enemy is such pure evil that the Jew ought to be roused from slumber and realize that the only security in the world is Hashem.
Now that I've put it down in black and white, I realize that these assumptions are the whole explanation.
All the rest is commentary.
Friday, July 21, 2006
Now I’m All Wound Up
It’s a couple of hours before Shabbat and I’m more upset than ever.
Daniel Gordis just posted one of his famous dispatches where he argues that this war has nothing to do with a Palestinian state.
This is not an ordinary war over land. This is an existential war over our very existence. They just want to destroy us.
The great spiritual mistake of the miraculous victory of the Six Day War was that we forgot that Gd handed us the victory, in exactly the same way He did all through the book of Yehoshua (Joshua). We came to believe that our swift and decisive victory was from the strength of our own hands. BIG MISTAKE. A few years later, the Yom Kippur War was much harder to win.
When we think that the answer lies in the right geo-political/military analyses and actions, we make the same mistake. It's not for nothing that the two fronts of this war are the exact two places from which we withdrew.
Gd is SHOUTING at us and most of us are still asleep, caring more about what color Crocs to buy than about this existential war the Jewish people are fighting.
We need Gd, not more hours of CNN coverage. I’m afraid to return to America because I know I’m gonna wanna slap American Jews out of their oblivion.
The American chapter of Jewish history is almost over. There is no future for us, as a people, in America. There is nothing there but illusion and delusion.
Those who think they are safer in America are deluding themselves. Gd is shrieking for us all to Come Home.
We are living in very serious times.
Daniel Gordis just posted one of his famous dispatches where he argues that this war has nothing to do with a Palestinian state.
This is not an ordinary war over land. This is an existential war over our very existence. They just want to destroy us.
The great spiritual mistake of the miraculous victory of the Six Day War was that we forgot that Gd handed us the victory, in exactly the same way He did all through the book of Yehoshua (Joshua). We came to believe that our swift and decisive victory was from the strength of our own hands. BIG MISTAKE. A few years later, the Yom Kippur War was much harder to win.
When we think that the answer lies in the right geo-political/military analyses and actions, we make the same mistake. It's not for nothing that the two fronts of this war are the exact two places from which we withdrew.
Gd is SHOUTING at us and most of us are still asleep, caring more about what color Crocs to buy than about this existential war the Jewish people are fighting.
We need Gd, not more hours of CNN coverage. I’m afraid to return to America because I know I’m gonna wanna slap American Jews out of their oblivion.
The American chapter of Jewish history is almost over. There is no future for us, as a people, in America. There is nothing there but illusion and delusion.
Those who think they are safer in America are deluding themselves. Gd is shrieking for us all to Come Home.
We are living in very serious times.
Doing Something
We’re scheduled to leave Israel in a few days. Except for the fact that our children are in America, I’d much prefer to stay here while our country is at war. I’ve joked that I want to stay, even though there’s not much two Americans can add to the war effort.
And then tonight, it occurred to me that there is much we can do. CNN graphically reports the negative impact of the war on Lebanese civilians but does not begin to lay bare the disruption of the lives of ordinary citizens in Israel.
The trickle of people fleeing the north has become a flood. The city of Bet Shemesh is absorbing somewhere from one to two thousand people in municipal buildings. Local residents are adopting refugee families and taking care of their most immediate needs for laundry, meals, showers and the like.
Communal meals are being prepared for families in bomb shelters. There are drives all over the country for blood, non-perishable food, diapers for babies and toys for children in bomb shelters, bedding, fans, clothing, flashlights and all the essentials of daily life.
People left with dirty dishes in the sink and whatever cash they had in their pocket in order to catch the last bus headed toward the center of the country. How much can you pack in 20 minutes? Families displaced, jobs lost, homes destroyed, children traumatized, money gone.
This sounds hauntingly familiar. We just did this. We just mobilized a year ago to deal with the refugees from Gush Katif who had all the same immediate and pressing needs. Gd-forbid that these most recent refugees are still homeless a year from now.
As soon as we leave Israel, a neighbor’s family will occupy our apartment. She is currently hosting 18 (!) of her family members from northern Israel in a very small apartment down the street. And they’re the lucky ones because they are together with family.
While we’re here, we can beg Hashem to end the decree. We can send money, donate food and household items, give blood. And when we leave, we can give someone a temporary home.
That’s not nothing.
And then tonight, it occurred to me that there is much we can do. CNN graphically reports the negative impact of the war on Lebanese civilians but does not begin to lay bare the disruption of the lives of ordinary citizens in Israel.
The trickle of people fleeing the north has become a flood. The city of Bet Shemesh is absorbing somewhere from one to two thousand people in municipal buildings. Local residents are adopting refugee families and taking care of their most immediate needs for laundry, meals, showers and the like.
Communal meals are being prepared for families in bomb shelters. There are drives all over the country for blood, non-perishable food, diapers for babies and toys for children in bomb shelters, bedding, fans, clothing, flashlights and all the essentials of daily life.
People left with dirty dishes in the sink and whatever cash they had in their pocket in order to catch the last bus headed toward the center of the country. How much can you pack in 20 minutes? Families displaced, jobs lost, homes destroyed, children traumatized, money gone.
This sounds hauntingly familiar. We just did this. We just mobilized a year ago to deal with the refugees from Gush Katif who had all the same immediate and pressing needs. Gd-forbid that these most recent refugees are still homeless a year from now.
As soon as we leave Israel, a neighbor’s family will occupy our apartment. She is currently hosting 18 (!) of her family members from northern Israel in a very small apartment down the street. And they’re the lucky ones because they are together with family.
While we’re here, we can beg Hashem to end the decree. We can send money, donate food and household items, give blood. And when we leave, we can give someone a temporary home.
That’s not nothing.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
During This War That Has No Name
I want to relate two divergent incidents that happened to us in Jerusalem in the last 24 hours, during this war that has no name.
My husband and I were walking on Emek Refaim, a street in the German Colony in Jerusalem. Emek Refaim is filled with restaurants and gets a lot of foot traffic. We came upon a hand-painted sign on a white sheet, hanging on a wall directly on Emek Refaim. In Hebrew, the sign read, “Our brothers in the North, we are with you.”
This was the first sign of its kind we had seen in Jerusalem and, moved by the sentiment of support for the Israelis who live in the area of the county that is being pounded by Hezbollah rockets, I stepped into the street to take a picture of the sign.
A non-religious Israeli couple walked by and the man said to us, in a disparaging Hebrew, “You’re from there, but we are here.”
Did he think I was gawking at Israel’s most current pain? That it was all just some kind of sideshow, some local color, to an ignorant American tourist? I consoled myself by saying, “He doesn’t know anything about me.” He doesn’t know the extent to which I am also connected to this country. On some level, I can understand his reproach. It happens that he guessed at least partially right. I’m not yet living in Israel. But that doesn’t mean that I am not wholly with Am Yisrael as we face this most recent wake-up call. And his approach is not exactly going to win support for Israel.
Sometimes, we are our own worst enemies.
The second incident occurred this afternoon as we were driving back into Jerusalem from a cemetery in Beit Shemesh. At an intersection near the entrance to the city, a young religious woman, maybe 17 or 18, more of a girl really, came to our car window and handed me a small piece of paper and a piece of candy.
The Hebrew note, clearly homemade, photocopied, roughly cut and decorated by a small child, began: “Dear Precious Jew”. It included the text of Chapter 121 in Sefer Tehillim and an announcement of a prayer rally at the Kotel, to beseech Hashem to have mercy on the Jewish people and to bring peace to the region.
She just handed me the note and the candy through the open car window and said, in simple Hebrew, “You should have a good day.”
I was greatly moved by her simple act of faith in the power of Jewish prayer. An attempt by an ordinary Jew to make a difference, a spiritually magnificent part of this holy people of which I am privileged to be a part.
My husband and I were walking on Emek Refaim, a street in the German Colony in Jerusalem. Emek Refaim is filled with restaurants and gets a lot of foot traffic. We came upon a hand-painted sign on a white sheet, hanging on a wall directly on Emek Refaim. In Hebrew, the sign read, “Our brothers in the North, we are with you.”
This was the first sign of its kind we had seen in Jerusalem and, moved by the sentiment of support for the Israelis who live in the area of the county that is being pounded by Hezbollah rockets, I stepped into the street to take a picture of the sign.
A non-religious Israeli couple walked by and the man said to us, in a disparaging Hebrew, “You’re from there, but we are here.”
Did he think I was gawking at Israel’s most current pain? That it was all just some kind of sideshow, some local color, to an ignorant American tourist? I consoled myself by saying, “He doesn’t know anything about me.” He doesn’t know the extent to which I am also connected to this country. On some level, I can understand his reproach. It happens that he guessed at least partially right. I’m not yet living in Israel. But that doesn’t mean that I am not wholly with Am Yisrael as we face this most recent wake-up call. And his approach is not exactly going to win support for Israel.
Sometimes, we are our own worst enemies.
The second incident occurred this afternoon as we were driving back into Jerusalem from a cemetery in Beit Shemesh. At an intersection near the entrance to the city, a young religious woman, maybe 17 or 18, more of a girl really, came to our car window and handed me a small piece of paper and a piece of candy.
The Hebrew note, clearly homemade, photocopied, roughly cut and decorated by a small child, began: “Dear Precious Jew”. It included the text of Chapter 121 in Sefer Tehillim and an announcement of a prayer rally at the Kotel, to beseech Hashem to have mercy on the Jewish people and to bring peace to the region.
She just handed me the note and the candy through the open car window and said, in simple Hebrew, “You should have a good day.”
I was greatly moved by her simple act of faith in the power of Jewish prayer. An attempt by an ordinary Jew to make a difference, a spiritually magnificent part of this holy people of which I am privileged to be a part.
Friday, July 14, 2006
Gd's Newest War
For the past few weeks, I’ve been collecting my thoughts in order to write about why Israel is such a magical place. I was trying to capture a sense of the serendipitous way things happen in Israel.
Then the missiles started landing in northern Israel. Reservists are being called up and, in the north, people are being advised to stay close to their miklatim (bomb shelters). It is worthwhile to remember that the extraordinary former residents of Gush Katif endured this kind of missile fire for years and years, all the while building their beautiful, now destroyed, communities.
We Jews have been living with our enemies for a very long time. Three thousand years ago, King David wrote: Long has my soul dwelt with those who hate peace. I am peace, but when I speak, they are for war. (Tehillim 120:6-7)
There's always something dramatic, even theatrical, going on here, so it takes more than what’s happened so far to unmoor the whole country. Our American friends, assuming from the media that Israel has turned into a war zone, started asking us if we’re okay.
We’re okay. We’re home in Ma’ale Adumim, very close to Jerusalem, out of missile range, at least for now. Life in Jerusalem mostly goes on as usual. We take day trips, visit family and friends, eat dinner in lovely little restaurants and prepare for Shabbat. We’re saying more chapters of Tehillim and trying to stay focused on the big picture.
In Israel, it is easier to see the big picture, to not get distracted by details of news reports and to see that the destiny of the Jewish people, and progress toward our final Redemption, being played out, just as our Rabbis told us it would.
We are in the fifth, final and most difficult exile, the so-called Ishmaelite exile. Read The Ishmaelite Exile by Rabbi Yechiel Weitzman for more on this idea. The difficulty of this exile is the powerlessness felt by the whole world. How does one protect oneself from millions of people who believe that murdering Jews, even if it results in suicide, is their highest religious obligation?
There are so many absurd aspects to life in Israel. Three hundred million enemies surround us and the world demands our restraint. We evicted 9,000 Jews from their homes in Gush Katif and the Northern Shomron last summer and destroyed their communities. At the same time, we allow 10,000 illegal Arab dwellings to stand on Jewish-owned land in east Jerusalem. Absurd!
And yet, 300 million enemies surround us and we are still here. Life has a different texture in Israel. Gd is a real factor in the lives of ordinary people who pepper their conversation with awareness of Gd’s Hand in events, large and small. We recognize the newest battles here as part of Gd’s plan to move Jewish history forward toward the Messianic Era and we try not to obsess about the details of each news report. At the same time, with all of our humanity, we mourn and grieve for the soldiers and civilians we are losing and gnash our teeth at the frustration of being under attack, incomprehensibly, yet again.
At this point, only Gd knows whether this will end up being a couple of tense days that will quickly be put down or whether this will escalate into a full-scale, long-term war, Gd-forbid. In the meantime, the Jewish people fight, pray and continue waiting for a time when Gd vanquishes our enemies in response to our prayer:
Pursue them with Your tempest and terrify them with Your storm. Fill their faces with shame and then they will seek Your Name, Hashem. Let them be shamed and terrified forever and then they will be disgraced and they will be doomed. Then they will know that You, Whose Name is Hashem, are alone, Most High over all the earth. (Tehillim 83:16-19)
Then the missiles started landing in northern Israel. Reservists are being called up and, in the north, people are being advised to stay close to their miklatim (bomb shelters). It is worthwhile to remember that the extraordinary former residents of Gush Katif endured this kind of missile fire for years and years, all the while building their beautiful, now destroyed, communities.
We Jews have been living with our enemies for a very long time. Three thousand years ago, King David wrote: Long has my soul dwelt with those who hate peace. I am peace, but when I speak, they are for war. (Tehillim 120:6-7)
There's always something dramatic, even theatrical, going on here, so it takes more than what’s happened so far to unmoor the whole country. Our American friends, assuming from the media that Israel has turned into a war zone, started asking us if we’re okay.
We’re okay. We’re home in Ma’ale Adumim, very close to Jerusalem, out of missile range, at least for now. Life in Jerusalem mostly goes on as usual. We take day trips, visit family and friends, eat dinner in lovely little restaurants and prepare for Shabbat. We’re saying more chapters of Tehillim and trying to stay focused on the big picture.
In Israel, it is easier to see the big picture, to not get distracted by details of news reports and to see that the destiny of the Jewish people, and progress toward our final Redemption, being played out, just as our Rabbis told us it would.
We are in the fifth, final and most difficult exile, the so-called Ishmaelite exile. Read The Ishmaelite Exile by Rabbi Yechiel Weitzman for more on this idea. The difficulty of this exile is the powerlessness felt by the whole world. How does one protect oneself from millions of people who believe that murdering Jews, even if it results in suicide, is their highest religious obligation?
There are so many absurd aspects to life in Israel. Three hundred million enemies surround us and the world demands our restraint. We evicted 9,000 Jews from their homes in Gush Katif and the Northern Shomron last summer and destroyed their communities. At the same time, we allow 10,000 illegal Arab dwellings to stand on Jewish-owned land in east Jerusalem. Absurd!
And yet, 300 million enemies surround us and we are still here. Life has a different texture in Israel. Gd is a real factor in the lives of ordinary people who pepper their conversation with awareness of Gd’s Hand in events, large and small. We recognize the newest battles here as part of Gd’s plan to move Jewish history forward toward the Messianic Era and we try not to obsess about the details of each news report. At the same time, with all of our humanity, we mourn and grieve for the soldiers and civilians we are losing and gnash our teeth at the frustration of being under attack, incomprehensibly, yet again.
At this point, only Gd knows whether this will end up being a couple of tense days that will quickly be put down or whether this will escalate into a full-scale, long-term war, Gd-forbid. In the meantime, the Jewish people fight, pray and continue waiting for a time when Gd vanquishes our enemies in response to our prayer:
Pursue them with Your tempest and terrify them with Your storm. Fill their faces with shame and then they will seek Your Name, Hashem. Let them be shamed and terrified forever and then they will be disgraced and they will be doomed. Then they will know that You, Whose Name is Hashem, are alone, Most High over all the earth. (Tehillim 83:16-19)
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Using my Hebrew - ha!
This week, during a visit to Israel, my husband and I drove to the section of Jerusalem called Talpiot, where there are a lot of furniture stores, to look for a couch to replace the hand-me-down we got when we first opened the apartment.
We found one couch that we liked, but it was the first store that we looked in, so we didn't buy it. We went to a second store where the salesman spoke some English but I tried to speak to him in Hebrew a little.
With these couches, you have to order them and they take two weeks to make. There was a couch there that was close to the couch we really wanted and close to the color we really wanted, so I asked if we could buy that exact couch off the floor instead of waiting two weeks for a new one to be made.
I was trying to explain that we wanted the couch as soon as possible since we're only going to be in Israel for a short time, so I said, "Anachnu b'aretz rak shalosh shavuot." (Translation: "We're only in the country for three weeks.")
Well, he thought we were olim chadashim (new immigrants)! He gets a big smile on his face and says, "Bruchim habayim!" and "Welcome to Israel!" and "This is your REAL home." Then he gets on the phone with someone at the factory and pleads with her that we are olim chadashim and we have nowhere to sit, so can she please make the couch as fast as possible?
He was so happy for us that we didn't have the heart to tell him that we aren't really olim chadashim. Sof, sof (in the end), it's still going to take shvuayim (two weeks) to make the couch. We left the store feeling a little guilty, though we really didn't mean to mislead him. But we thought, oh, so that's how olim chadashim feel, being welcomed everywhere.
I have to tell you, it was a nice feeling.
We found one couch that we liked, but it was the first store that we looked in, so we didn't buy it. We went to a second store where the salesman spoke some English but I tried to speak to him in Hebrew a little.
With these couches, you have to order them and they take two weeks to make. There was a couch there that was close to the couch we really wanted and close to the color we really wanted, so I asked if we could buy that exact couch off the floor instead of waiting two weeks for a new one to be made.
I was trying to explain that we wanted the couch as soon as possible since we're only going to be in Israel for a short time, so I said, "Anachnu b'aretz rak shalosh shavuot." (Translation: "We're only in the country for three weeks.")
Well, he thought we were olim chadashim (new immigrants)! He gets a big smile on his face and says, "Bruchim habayim!" and "Welcome to Israel!" and "This is your REAL home." Then he gets on the phone with someone at the factory and pleads with her that we are olim chadashim and we have nowhere to sit, so can she please make the couch as fast as possible?
He was so happy for us that we didn't have the heart to tell him that we aren't really olim chadashim. Sof, sof (in the end), it's still going to take shvuayim (two weeks) to make the couch. We left the store feeling a little guilty, though we really didn't mean to mislead him. But we thought, oh, so that's how olim chadashim feel, being welcomed everywhere.
I have to tell you, it was a nice feeling.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
I Always Cry
I always cry when I leave Israel. I left Israel today, unspeakably sad, sobbing in the apartment and then in the monit halfway to the airport (though I withheld primal wailing for fear of scaring my children). For the first time ever, I also cried when my plane landed in America.
My oldest daughter thinks I’m depressed because I have to leave Israel.
I’m not depressed.
I’m grieving.
I’m losing something precious, something ephemeral, something exceedingly subtle and difficult to explain. Leaving Israel hurts my heart, steals my soul.
This is a very hard time to be a lover of Israel and a Religious Zionist. Right now, there is an undeclared civil war going on. The stakes in this ideological civil war are enormous. There are two visions for what this country will be… and they are on a collision course.
One side loves the Land and understands the holiness inherent in it. In Israel, it is often said, G-d is a local call. Will Israel be a country defined by the Torah and in relationship to G-d?
The other side has a vision of Israel as a nation like all others. Will Israel be a secular, European-esque state for Jews, its specific borders less important than the security of them? This is the side of the current Israeli government.
Will Israel be a Jewish State? Or will it merely be a State for Jews?
Rabbi Pinchas Winston teaches that the Land of Israel is unavoidably holy. One simply cannot live in such a sanctified place and remain ambivalent about it. To live there is to face one essential choice: to connect with the kedusha… or to rebel against it.
The current government of Israel is rebelling against it. How else can I understand that the government sent in police in riot gear, mounted on horses, truncheons swinging, against defenseless Jewish teenagers who love the Land of Israel and wanted to protect nine Jewish homes in Amona while it ignores tens of thousands of illegal Arab and Bedouin dwellings? It is utterly incomprehensible. Except as rebellion against sanctity.
It is from this existential conflict about the very nature of Israel that I must rip myself away. And come to dwell in the Land of Consumerism, fast food, cable TV and ersatz Judaism.
I might more easily rip the skin off my face.
My oldest daughter thinks I’m depressed because I have to leave Israel.
I’m not depressed.
I’m grieving.
I’m losing something precious, something ephemeral, something exceedingly subtle and difficult to explain. Leaving Israel hurts my heart, steals my soul.
This is a very hard time to be a lover of Israel and a Religious Zionist. Right now, there is an undeclared civil war going on. The stakes in this ideological civil war are enormous. There are two visions for what this country will be… and they are on a collision course.
One side loves the Land and understands the holiness inherent in it. In Israel, it is often said, G-d is a local call. Will Israel be a country defined by the Torah and in relationship to G-d?
The other side has a vision of Israel as a nation like all others. Will Israel be a secular, European-esque state for Jews, its specific borders less important than the security of them? This is the side of the current Israeli government.
Will Israel be a Jewish State? Or will it merely be a State for Jews?
Rabbi Pinchas Winston teaches that the Land of Israel is unavoidably holy. One simply cannot live in such a sanctified place and remain ambivalent about it. To live there is to face one essential choice: to connect with the kedusha… or to rebel against it.
The current government of Israel is rebelling against it. How else can I understand that the government sent in police in riot gear, mounted on horses, truncheons swinging, against defenseless Jewish teenagers who love the Land of Israel and wanted to protect nine Jewish homes in Amona while it ignores tens of thousands of illegal Arab and Bedouin dwellings? It is utterly incomprehensible. Except as rebellion against sanctity.
It is from this existential conflict about the very nature of Israel that I must rip myself away. And come to dwell in the Land of Consumerism, fast food, cable TV and ersatz Judaism.
I might more easily rip the skin off my face.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Shame Shame Shame
Our family is back in the Holy Land, touring and visiting friends. What really struck me today was an off-hand comment by our dati tour guide. Arabs, non-Jewish, pork-eating Russians, Bedouins, Druze and Baha’is are full citizens of Israel.
And I’m not.
G-d must be some kinda disappointed in the Jewish people. We received this extraordinary, astonishing Land as a gift from G-d. And the millions of Jews who live in chutz l’aretz (outside the Land of Israel) have chosen to live elsewhere. As if it’s an equivalent choice. Chocolate or vanilla? Potayto or potahto? Jerusalem or Baltimore?
I’m ashamed of myself.
And I’m not.
G-d must be some kinda disappointed in the Jewish people. We received this extraordinary, astonishing Land as a gift from G-d. And the millions of Jews who live in chutz l’aretz (outside the Land of Israel) have chosen to live elsewhere. As if it’s an equivalent choice. Chocolate or vanilla? Potayto or potahto? Jerusalem or Baltimore?
I’m ashamed of myself.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Guest Column: Anita Tucker's Visit to Baltimore
On January 16, 2006, we had the very great honor of hosting Anita and Stuart Tucker at Moses Montefiore-Anshe Emunah. The following account of Anita Tucker's visit to Baltimore was written by my friend and sometime chavrusa, Ruth Eastman. Ruth wrote this piece because she wanted to "do something" to help. Through her very accurate transmission of Anita Tucker's message to us, may we all be inspired to "do something" to help strengthen those who are still hurting so they may again soon return to their status as ba'alei chesed.
---------
BS”D
ANITA TUCKER'S VISIT
by Ruth Eastman
It was not in Hashem’s plans to save Gush Katif. But it is certainly not in Anita Tucker’s plans that anyone should forget the people of Gush Katif.
Passionately, warmly, and with humor and incredible emunah, Mrs. Tucker describes her own personal rise and fall of Netzer Hazani, one of the several communities bulldozed by the Israeli government on August 18, 2005.
Anita tells of arriving in Beersheva in 1969. She and her husband were young idealists, leaving the comforts of Brooklyn to make aliyah. She describes the reasons she came: her parents were refugees from Germany; her grandparents were refugees from Germany and Poland; her great-grandparents were also refugees. She didn’t want to be a refugee. So she “went home” to the Land of the Jewish people.
Anita and Stuart lived in Beersheva for seven years. Then they decided that their children would need a challenge. So they moved with their three kids to the sand dunes of Gush Katif, with the guidance of the Ministry of Agriculture. They were greeted by the religious leaders of the neighboring Arab communities, who asked how they expected to grow anything in the land the Arabs had called “The Cursed Land” for generations. In the twenty-nine years they spent in Netzer Hazani, they made the desert bloom.
On the morning of August 17th, all of the children lined up at the fence. They filled gas canisters with kerosene, and set them on fire. Anita tells us that all of the protests that the youth engaged in were carefully negotiated with the highest echelons of the IDF, so that no one would be hurt. It was very important, the residents and the Army felt, for the children to have a safe outlet for their rage. On the 18th, when the soldiers came to evict the families, more than a hundred media people joined the residents in crying over the soon to be destroyed communities.
The soldiers were dressed in specially designed gray uniforms. The uniforms were made bedavka to be intimidating, so as to make the expulsion easier. The soldiers marched up to Anita’s home in five rows of three. They were sent in these waves, in order to prevent the soldiers from breaking down. If the first row would become emotional, the second would come, and then the third…
Each family found its own way to protest the expulsion. One woman emptied her home of everything precious, filled it with wood and kerosene, and set the house on fire. She screamed at the soldiers: “You think you are destroying my home? This is just a structure. My home is my community. You can’t take that from me!” Anita’s family took nothing out of their home. They set the table with a beautiful cloth, and laid out a lovely breakfast. When the soldiers came to the door, the family rushed them inside. The soldiers were caught off guard by this behavior, and did not resist. Soon, they were sitting around the Tuckers’ table, hearing the stories of how the family had spent its last 29 years.
The soldiers remained stoic throughout the stories and tears and entreaties of the family members. They did not cry; their faces did not lose their robot-like expressions. Finally, calm, rational Anita broke down. “Please, dear soldiers, give me one crumb to take to my children! Tell me how you really feel about this! Don’t leave me not knowing how you truly feel about what you have to do! For my children and grandchildren! For your children! Give me one crumb!” Her youngest son, who had just ended his military service with an elite unit of the Golani Brigade, protested by wearing his full uniform, and tearing kriah in his uniform shirt.
Still nothing. No change in the soldiers’ demeanor. Finally, Anita’s eldest daughter, Mia, grabbed the first soldier she could, and dragged him and Anita into the parents’ bedroom. “My parents slept in these beds for 29 years. You are not going to leave until you give my mother just one crumb, just one true thing, about how you feel.” Then she went out, closing the door on her mother and the soldier! Anita looked the soldier in the eye… and he began to cry like a baby. Her spirits lifted. She was no longer afraid for the Jewish people. There was hope, because the Jewish feeling inside the soldiers had not been extinguished. Mia pushed one soldier after another, one at a time, into the room; Anita looked them in the eyes… and fourteen soldiers wept like children. The fifteenth, the leader, remained stoic… And Anita left him in the room.
Later, when the family was being escorted out of the house, Stuart remembered that he had left his tallis and tefillin behind. He asked permission to go back and retrieve them. When he walked into the house, he saw the leader of the soldiers… crying like a baby.
The families were marched or dragged to big black buses. They asked to be taken to the Kotel, to pray for the House that would be eternal. (Somehow, the media misquoted Anita, and CNN reported that she had requested to be taken to the Temple Mount, so that they could begin to build the Third Temple. This caused a stir in the government.)
The evacuees were told that each family would get 50,000 shekels “off the bus,” to compensate them for their loss. (This money has still not materialized, for most families.) But there were miracles… And at this point in her story, Anita Tucker refers to her “virtual clothespin.” “I really believed, right up until the last moment, that Hashem would make a miracle in the blink of an eye. But I realized: I must have blinked. I missed it. The miracle didn’t come. So now I have these virtual clothespins, to keep my eyes open all the time. And I see a yeshua happen in so many ways. There are miracles from Hashem everywhere.” She told about a woman who approached her at the Kotel, when the buses first dropped them off. Anita was as dazed and traumatized as the other evacuees. And the woman came up to her and said, “Your name is Anita, isn’t it? You have a job to do. Take this pen and paper. Go to all of your people. Find out what they are missing. Everybody forgot something that they will need for Shabbat. Get the list, and take this money, and buy what the people need.” She left Anita with a pen and paper, and a plastic bag with 10,000 shekels! Anita did what she said. When the purchases were all made, only sixty shekels were left. Anita has tried to find this woman, but has never seen her again. Miracles are everywhere.
Anita pointed out that the biggest miracle is the Jewish people. As the evacuees were being driven away in the buses, they saw that the streets were lined with people. When the buses would stop, Jews pushed flowers and food into the windows, offering expressions of sympathy and encouragement. Individual Jews have tried to help, to try to convince the government to treat these displaced families humanely and fairly, to not forget them.
The government is still letting the people down, and they are still living in the terrible limbo of hotel rooms and tent cities. They are still expected to pay the mortgages on their destroyed homes! Their possessions are still locked up in containers, due to a dispute between the storage company and the government. Many young people, discouraged and angry, are getting into trouble. No one knows what will be. Like many of the Gush Katif evacuees, Anita and Stuart are in their sixties. They gave their youth to the Land, to build their country, to retrieve the holy yerusha of our ancestors.
In two minutes, 29 years was bulldozed to nothing before their eyes.
Donations may be sent to Central Fund for Israel, Ein Tzurim D.N. Sde Gat, Israel, 79510. The memo should read: Netzer Hazani. According to Anita Tucker, 100% of the funds go to the refugees.
---------
BS”D
ANITA TUCKER'S VISIT
by Ruth Eastman
It was not in Hashem’s plans to save Gush Katif. But it is certainly not in Anita Tucker’s plans that anyone should forget the people of Gush Katif.
Passionately, warmly, and with humor and incredible emunah, Mrs. Tucker describes her own personal rise and fall of Netzer Hazani, one of the several communities bulldozed by the Israeli government on August 18, 2005.
Anita tells of arriving in Beersheva in 1969. She and her husband were young idealists, leaving the comforts of Brooklyn to make aliyah. She describes the reasons she came: her parents were refugees from Germany; her grandparents were refugees from Germany and Poland; her great-grandparents were also refugees. She didn’t want to be a refugee. So she “went home” to the Land of the Jewish people.
Anita and Stuart lived in Beersheva for seven years. Then they decided that their children would need a challenge. So they moved with their three kids to the sand dunes of Gush Katif, with the guidance of the Ministry of Agriculture. They were greeted by the religious leaders of the neighboring Arab communities, who asked how they expected to grow anything in the land the Arabs had called “The Cursed Land” for generations. In the twenty-nine years they spent in Netzer Hazani, they made the desert bloom.
On the morning of August 17th, all of the children lined up at the fence. They filled gas canisters with kerosene, and set them on fire. Anita tells us that all of the protests that the youth engaged in were carefully negotiated with the highest echelons of the IDF, so that no one would be hurt. It was very important, the residents and the Army felt, for the children to have a safe outlet for their rage. On the 18th, when the soldiers came to evict the families, more than a hundred media people joined the residents in crying over the soon to be destroyed communities.
The soldiers were dressed in specially designed gray uniforms. The uniforms were made bedavka to be intimidating, so as to make the expulsion easier. The soldiers marched up to Anita’s home in five rows of three. They were sent in these waves, in order to prevent the soldiers from breaking down. If the first row would become emotional, the second would come, and then the third…
Each family found its own way to protest the expulsion. One woman emptied her home of everything precious, filled it with wood and kerosene, and set the house on fire. She screamed at the soldiers: “You think you are destroying my home? This is just a structure. My home is my community. You can’t take that from me!” Anita’s family took nothing out of their home. They set the table with a beautiful cloth, and laid out a lovely breakfast. When the soldiers came to the door, the family rushed them inside. The soldiers were caught off guard by this behavior, and did not resist. Soon, they were sitting around the Tuckers’ table, hearing the stories of how the family had spent its last 29 years.
The soldiers remained stoic throughout the stories and tears and entreaties of the family members. They did not cry; their faces did not lose their robot-like expressions. Finally, calm, rational Anita broke down. “Please, dear soldiers, give me one crumb to take to my children! Tell me how you really feel about this! Don’t leave me not knowing how you truly feel about what you have to do! For my children and grandchildren! For your children! Give me one crumb!” Her youngest son, who had just ended his military service with an elite unit of the Golani Brigade, protested by wearing his full uniform, and tearing kriah in his uniform shirt.
Still nothing. No change in the soldiers’ demeanor. Finally, Anita’s eldest daughter, Mia, grabbed the first soldier she could, and dragged him and Anita into the parents’ bedroom. “My parents slept in these beds for 29 years. You are not going to leave until you give my mother just one crumb, just one true thing, about how you feel.” Then she went out, closing the door on her mother and the soldier! Anita looked the soldier in the eye… and he began to cry like a baby. Her spirits lifted. She was no longer afraid for the Jewish people. There was hope, because the Jewish feeling inside the soldiers had not been extinguished. Mia pushed one soldier after another, one at a time, into the room; Anita looked them in the eyes… and fourteen soldiers wept like children. The fifteenth, the leader, remained stoic… And Anita left him in the room.
Later, when the family was being escorted out of the house, Stuart remembered that he had left his tallis and tefillin behind. He asked permission to go back and retrieve them. When he walked into the house, he saw the leader of the soldiers… crying like a baby.
The families were marched or dragged to big black buses. They asked to be taken to the Kotel, to pray for the House that would be eternal. (Somehow, the media misquoted Anita, and CNN reported that she had requested to be taken to the Temple Mount, so that they could begin to build the Third Temple. This caused a stir in the government.)
The evacuees were told that each family would get 50,000 shekels “off the bus,” to compensate them for their loss. (This money has still not materialized, for most families.) But there were miracles… And at this point in her story, Anita Tucker refers to her “virtual clothespin.” “I really believed, right up until the last moment, that Hashem would make a miracle in the blink of an eye. But I realized: I must have blinked. I missed it. The miracle didn’t come. So now I have these virtual clothespins, to keep my eyes open all the time. And I see a yeshua happen in so many ways. There are miracles from Hashem everywhere.” She told about a woman who approached her at the Kotel, when the buses first dropped them off. Anita was as dazed and traumatized as the other evacuees. And the woman came up to her and said, “Your name is Anita, isn’t it? You have a job to do. Take this pen and paper. Go to all of your people. Find out what they are missing. Everybody forgot something that they will need for Shabbat. Get the list, and take this money, and buy what the people need.” She left Anita with a pen and paper, and a plastic bag with 10,000 shekels! Anita did what she said. When the purchases were all made, only sixty shekels were left. Anita has tried to find this woman, but has never seen her again. Miracles are everywhere.
Anita pointed out that the biggest miracle is the Jewish people. As the evacuees were being driven away in the buses, they saw that the streets were lined with people. When the buses would stop, Jews pushed flowers and food into the windows, offering expressions of sympathy and encouragement. Individual Jews have tried to help, to try to convince the government to treat these displaced families humanely and fairly, to not forget them.
The government is still letting the people down, and they are still living in the terrible limbo of hotel rooms and tent cities. They are still expected to pay the mortgages on their destroyed homes! Their possessions are still locked up in containers, due to a dispute between the storage company and the government. Many young people, discouraged and angry, are getting into trouble. No one knows what will be. Like many of the Gush Katif evacuees, Anita and Stuart are in their sixties. They gave their youth to the Land, to build their country, to retrieve the holy yerusha of our ancestors.
In two minutes, 29 years was bulldozed to nothing before their eyes.
Donations may be sent to Central Fund for Israel, Ein Tzurim D.N. Sde Gat, Israel, 79510. The memo should read: Netzer Hazani. According to Anita Tucker, 100% of the funds go to the refugees.
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Why We Chose Ma’ale Adumim
We could have bought an apartment anywhere in Israel. Literally. We are still living in America most of the year and wanted to buy a small apartment so we could establish our proverbial foothold in Israel, and, because we still earn our living in America, we were not tied to any location because of employment considerations.
We looked at about 20 different communities before we chose Ma’ale Adumim. We had a wish list for the apartment, of course, but we were also looking for three specific features in the community: we wanted to be near (but not in) Yerushalayim, we wanted to be among lots of English speakers and we wanted to share our community with people who were different than us.
Back in America, we narrowed our search down, synchronized our schedules and found that we unexpectedly had the same four days free. We booked tickets back to Israel and started looking at specific properties in three communities.
In one community, we looked at an apartment on a street that had the same Hebrew name as my father (A”H). I thought that might be a sign. But the climate was too hot and the neighbors, lovely though they were, were all 20 years too young. In another, we saw a nice-enough apartment, except for its view of three other apartment buildings.
The realtor must have been teasing us. She saved Ma’ale Adumim for last. A positive feeling about Ma’ale Adumim remained with me from our first visit. My first, strongest impression was that Ma’ale Adumim was clean and well-run. The rows of palm trees at the city entrance reminded me of the Miami Beach of my childhood. I loved the rhythm and rhyme of the entrance sign that said, Bruchim HaBaim l’Ma’ale Adumim (Welcome to Ma’ale Adumim; but it sounds so much better in Hebrew.)
The city has so many services we have come to appreciate. There’s a mall with a kosher food court, a large outdoor shopping plaza, a local cab company, excellent bus service to Yerushalayim, a makolet (local grocery) with lots of American products, a pizza shop that offers free delivery, a community center with indoor and outdoor pools and a library with excellent air conditioning and a collection of English books.
In four days, we had found a community, bought an apartment, hired a lawyer, organized a mortgage, opened a bank account and picked tile for the kitchen and bath. Just as Hashem shorted the road for Eliezer as he went searching for a wife for Yitzchak, this was our sign that Hashem had blessed our efforts to buy a home in Israel.
The apartment we bought was surprisingly affordable and had everything we wanted. And more. Opposite our front gate, where we go to take out our trash, is a view of Har Nevo where Moshe stood and looked out upon the Land he would never get to enter. And from our mirpeset (porch), we have an amazing view of Har Hatzofim (Mt. Scopus) and the rest of Yerushalayim. The first Friday night we spent in the apartment, I sat on the mirpeset, sang L’cha Dodi, watched Shabbat descend upon Yerushalayim and wept at my extraordinary good fortune. The mirpeset is still our favorite part of the apartment. It’s the place my husband and I sit, at the end of the day, and talk about what a miraculous piece of real estate G-d set aside for the Jewish people.
Even with all this, hands down, the most important part of Ma’ale Adumim is the people. Our first Shabbat in Ma’ale Adumim, my husband went to the Carlebach minyan and met an old school friend he had not seen in over 30 years. A new friend, who later became the woman we trust to look after our apartment in our absence, furnished our apartment so we would have beds to sleep on when we first arrived. We never lack for invitations for Shabbat meals nor for help negotiating whatever Israeli system we have to face.
The truest signs that Ma’ale Adumim is the right community for us are the magical reverberations that have occurred among our family and friends since we bought this apartment. Previously reluctant friends and family from America have come to visit Israel because we have a safe, comfortable home in a great community where they know they can stay. Friends who are considering aliyah are now looking seriously at Ma’ale Adumim. And my brother, who made aliyah a few months ago, loved the community so much, he rented an apartment down the street from us.
Because of Ma’ale Adumim, our family has begun to come home.
We looked at about 20 different communities before we chose Ma’ale Adumim. We had a wish list for the apartment, of course, but we were also looking for three specific features in the community: we wanted to be near (but not in) Yerushalayim, we wanted to be among lots of English speakers and we wanted to share our community with people who were different than us.
Back in America, we narrowed our search down, synchronized our schedules and found that we unexpectedly had the same four days free. We booked tickets back to Israel and started looking at specific properties in three communities.
In one community, we looked at an apartment on a street that had the same Hebrew name as my father (A”H). I thought that might be a sign. But the climate was too hot and the neighbors, lovely though they were, were all 20 years too young. In another, we saw a nice-enough apartment, except for its view of three other apartment buildings.
The realtor must have been teasing us. She saved Ma’ale Adumim for last. A positive feeling about Ma’ale Adumim remained with me from our first visit. My first, strongest impression was that Ma’ale Adumim was clean and well-run. The rows of palm trees at the city entrance reminded me of the Miami Beach of my childhood. I loved the rhythm and rhyme of the entrance sign that said, Bruchim HaBaim l’Ma’ale Adumim (Welcome to Ma’ale Adumim; but it sounds so much better in Hebrew.)
The city has so many services we have come to appreciate. There’s a mall with a kosher food court, a large outdoor shopping plaza, a local cab company, excellent bus service to Yerushalayim, a makolet (local grocery) with lots of American products, a pizza shop that offers free delivery, a community center with indoor and outdoor pools and a library with excellent air conditioning and a collection of English books.
In four days, we had found a community, bought an apartment, hired a lawyer, organized a mortgage, opened a bank account and picked tile for the kitchen and bath. Just as Hashem shorted the road for Eliezer as he went searching for a wife for Yitzchak, this was our sign that Hashem had blessed our efforts to buy a home in Israel.
The apartment we bought was surprisingly affordable and had everything we wanted. And more. Opposite our front gate, where we go to take out our trash, is a view of Har Nevo where Moshe stood and looked out upon the Land he would never get to enter. And from our mirpeset (porch), we have an amazing view of Har Hatzofim (Mt. Scopus) and the rest of Yerushalayim. The first Friday night we spent in the apartment, I sat on the mirpeset, sang L’cha Dodi, watched Shabbat descend upon Yerushalayim and wept at my extraordinary good fortune. The mirpeset is still our favorite part of the apartment. It’s the place my husband and I sit, at the end of the day, and talk about what a miraculous piece of real estate G-d set aside for the Jewish people.
Even with all this, hands down, the most important part of Ma’ale Adumim is the people. Our first Shabbat in Ma’ale Adumim, my husband went to the Carlebach minyan and met an old school friend he had not seen in over 30 years. A new friend, who later became the woman we trust to look after our apartment in our absence, furnished our apartment so we would have beds to sleep on when we first arrived. We never lack for invitations for Shabbat meals nor for help negotiating whatever Israeli system we have to face.
The truest signs that Ma’ale Adumim is the right community for us are the magical reverberations that have occurred among our family and friends since we bought this apartment. Previously reluctant friends and family from America have come to visit Israel because we have a safe, comfortable home in a great community where they know they can stay. Friends who are considering aliyah are now looking seriously at Ma’ale Adumim. And my brother, who made aliyah a few months ago, loved the community so much, he rented an apartment down the street from us.
Because of Ma’ale Adumim, our family has begun to come home.
Monday, June 27, 2005
Gush Katif and Me
As I sit in a modest synagogue in Netzer Hazani, one of the 21 towns of Gush Katif, listening to the staggering life story of a young mother named Mayan Yadai, I realize that I’m crying. Born a non-Jew in Croatia, Mayan grew up in wealth and comfort. Then came the war in Yugoslavia followed by years of trauma. Upon escaping Yugoslavia, she fell in love with an Israeli. Understanding that he would not marry a non-Jew, Mayan was determined to learn about that which meant more to her future husband than their love for each other. In the process, she became a Jew. In Mayan, I recognize a Jew with more faith in G-d and with more of an unwavering bond to the Jewish people and to the Land of Israel than I may ever merit to have. And that’s why I’m crying.
I have just spent an entire day in Gush Katif with my family. This was our second trip there this year. If anything, I am more in awe of the people of Gush Katif than I was five months ago.
This is not a political story, although there are, unquestionably, political issues at hand. This is a personal story of what I saw today, with my own eyes.
The Maoz Yam Hotel (formerly the Palm Beach Hotel) was a wasteland in January. It closed at the beginning of the current Intifada when people stopped vacationing in Gaza. Arab vandals came in and decimated the beachfront property, tearing out and carting away literally everything, including toilet bowls and ceiling tiles. Recently, with permission of the private owner, dozens of Jewish families and singles have moved into the hotel, renovating it just enough to make it habitable. Although maligned in the press as extremist settlers, I saw only selfless people working around the clock to renovate the abandoned property so those who are moving into Gush Katif to support the local residents will have a place to sleep at night.
In Gush Katif, I keep meeting people who are indomitable in their love of G-d, in their love for all Jews and in their absolute, unwavering love of the Land. They live each moment with intensely heightened purpose.
I listened to Rachel Saperstein as she showed us the remains of an actual kassam rocket that landed within a few feet of her home in Neve Dekalim. The government wants to give her home to the terrorists who nearly killed her daughter in a suicide bombing. Rachel Saperstein looks like everyone’s Jewish grandmother. But she insists that we see what is happening to her family in the larger context of Jewish history.
Everyone we meet in Gush Katif reminds us that it is not just their homes and greenhouses and synagogues and cemeteries that are threatened. It is no less than the 3300 year-old relationship between Jews and the Land of Israel that is being threatened.
As we travel through the Gush Katif towns of Netzer Hazani, Neve Dekalim and Kfar Darom, I see how G-d blesses the sweat and effort of countless Jews over the past 30 years. Where once there was nothing but sand dunes, I see 36 synagogues, 1000 acres of greenhouses that yield 15% of Israel’s total agricultural export and 60% of its organic vegetables, beautiful homes, gardens, schools, playgrounds and yeshivot. And everywhere I look, I see Jews who did more for Israel in the past hour of their lives than I have done in the past 20 years of mine.
I go home to my apartment in Ma’ale Adumim. I look out over the lights of Jerusalem. I think about how the government of Israel wants to hand over a gift of this magnitude to our enemies in exchange for absolutely nothing. I shake my head in disbelief.
And then, I cry some more.
I have just spent an entire day in Gush Katif with my family. This was our second trip there this year. If anything, I am more in awe of the people of Gush Katif than I was five months ago.
This is not a political story, although there are, unquestionably, political issues at hand. This is a personal story of what I saw today, with my own eyes.
The Maoz Yam Hotel (formerly the Palm Beach Hotel) was a wasteland in January. It closed at the beginning of the current Intifada when people stopped vacationing in Gaza. Arab vandals came in and decimated the beachfront property, tearing out and carting away literally everything, including toilet bowls and ceiling tiles. Recently, with permission of the private owner, dozens of Jewish families and singles have moved into the hotel, renovating it just enough to make it habitable. Although maligned in the press as extremist settlers, I saw only selfless people working around the clock to renovate the abandoned property so those who are moving into Gush Katif to support the local residents will have a place to sleep at night.
In Gush Katif, I keep meeting people who are indomitable in their love of G-d, in their love for all Jews and in their absolute, unwavering love of the Land. They live each moment with intensely heightened purpose.
I listened to Rachel Saperstein as she showed us the remains of an actual kassam rocket that landed within a few feet of her home in Neve Dekalim. The government wants to give her home to the terrorists who nearly killed her daughter in a suicide bombing. Rachel Saperstein looks like everyone’s Jewish grandmother. But she insists that we see what is happening to her family in the larger context of Jewish history.
Everyone we meet in Gush Katif reminds us that it is not just their homes and greenhouses and synagogues and cemeteries that are threatened. It is no less than the 3300 year-old relationship between Jews and the Land of Israel that is being threatened.
As we travel through the Gush Katif towns of Netzer Hazani, Neve Dekalim and Kfar Darom, I see how G-d blesses the sweat and effort of countless Jews over the past 30 years. Where once there was nothing but sand dunes, I see 36 synagogues, 1000 acres of greenhouses that yield 15% of Israel’s total agricultural export and 60% of its organic vegetables, beautiful homes, gardens, schools, playgrounds and yeshivot. And everywhere I look, I see Jews who did more for Israel in the past hour of their lives than I have done in the past 20 years of mine.
I go home to my apartment in Ma’ale Adumim. I look out over the lights of Jerusalem. I think about how the government of Israel wants to hand over a gift of this magnitude to our enemies in exchange for absolutely nothing. I shake my head in disbelief.
And then, I cry some more.
Saturday, June 11, 2005
Naso 5765: Hair, There, Everywhere
In this week’s parsha, Naso, we find a biblical reference to the practice of married Jewish women covering their hair. The Sotah ritual was designed to test, through supernatural means, the possible guilt of a married woman whose husband suspected her of committing adultery. During the Sotah ritual, the Kohein (priest) was required to stand before the woman suspected of adultery and uncover her hair. The Talmud explains that, from the fact that her hair is uncovered during the Sotah ritual, we can infer that a married woman's hair is normally covered.
The practice of hair covering is one of the immediate markers of an Orthodox woman and one that many people don’t fully understand.
An obvious parallel to hair covering for women is the kippah (known in Yiddish as a yarmulke). However, the two are not identical.
One important difference is whether one is covering one’s head or one’s hair. A kippah is meant to cover one’s head. The Talmud teaches that the purpose of a kippah is to remind the wearer that G-d is always above. In fact, yarmulke comes from an Aramaic expression (yirah malka) that expresses veneration for G-d. By contrast, a woman’s head covering is meant to cover her hair.
Even the most casual synagogue attendees are likely familiar with the chapel cap (doily), which some women pin onto their heads while attending synagogue services. Women who do not generally cover their hair sometimes wear hats to synagogue. These customs appear to emerge from the sense that one ought not pray while bareheaded. In that sense, they are more related to the head covering of the kippah than to the hair covering of an Orthodox woman.
Another difference is that even young children may wear a kippah whereas hair covering is reserved for married women. A third difference is that, in non-Orthodox communities, it is not unusual to see a woman wearing a kippah, often in a very feminine style. While Jewish men are required wear something on their head, there is no mitzvah for them to cover their hair.
Both a kippah and hair covering are markers of Jewish identification. For the insider, the style of kippah or the style of hair covering signifies with which part of the community s/he is associated. For example, a black velvet kippah signifies association with the yeshiva world where a kippah srugra (knitted kippah) identifies the wearer as a Modern Orthodox Jew. These distinctions are not always completely accurate. I recall being amused seeing a kippah for sale that was half black velvet and half kippah sruga.
This sociological principal applies to women and their hair coverings as well. For example, a Modern Orthodox woman will sometimes wear a hat that does not cover all of her hair. Lubavitch women almost always wear sheitels (wigs). Women in the yeshiva world will generally wear a sheitel for formal occasions, but often wear snoods (decorative fabric bags worn at the back of the head to hold the hair) for less formal occasions.
Many wonder how a Jewish woman can wear a sheitel that is practically indistinguishable from real hair and may even improve her appearance. The underlying assumption is that a married woman covers her hair in order to look less attractive.
This is not the case.
Covering one’s hair is a way of containing the sensual energy that is emitted through the hair and directing it right back to the woman herself. By contrast, uncovered hair dissipates this energy into the world at large. Covering one’s hair is a reflexive spiritual process that has more to do with the woman’s intimate relationship with herself and her husband than with the world around her. This might be why some Chassidic women wear a hat on top of a wig. The wig is the hair covering that contains her sensual energy and the hat is a social statement, marking her as a married woman.
This explanation, that hair covering is something a woman does for her own spirituality, goes a long way to understanding why, whether a woman covers her hair with a hat, a tichel (scarf) or a sheitel, as long as her hair is covered, she has fulfilled the mitzvah.
Among the 613 commandments, there is no mitzvah to be unattractive.
The practice of hair covering is one of the immediate markers of an Orthodox woman and one that many people don’t fully understand.
An obvious parallel to hair covering for women is the kippah (known in Yiddish as a yarmulke). However, the two are not identical.
One important difference is whether one is covering one’s head or one’s hair. A kippah is meant to cover one’s head. The Talmud teaches that the purpose of a kippah is to remind the wearer that G-d is always above. In fact, yarmulke comes from an Aramaic expression (yirah malka) that expresses veneration for G-d. By contrast, a woman’s head covering is meant to cover her hair.
Even the most casual synagogue attendees are likely familiar with the chapel cap (doily), which some women pin onto their heads while attending synagogue services. Women who do not generally cover their hair sometimes wear hats to synagogue. These customs appear to emerge from the sense that one ought not pray while bareheaded. In that sense, they are more related to the head covering of the kippah than to the hair covering of an Orthodox woman.
Another difference is that even young children may wear a kippah whereas hair covering is reserved for married women. A third difference is that, in non-Orthodox communities, it is not unusual to see a woman wearing a kippah, often in a very feminine style. While Jewish men are required wear something on their head, there is no mitzvah for them to cover their hair.
Both a kippah and hair covering are markers of Jewish identification. For the insider, the style of kippah or the style of hair covering signifies with which part of the community s/he is associated. For example, a black velvet kippah signifies association with the yeshiva world where a kippah srugra (knitted kippah) identifies the wearer as a Modern Orthodox Jew. These distinctions are not always completely accurate. I recall being amused seeing a kippah for sale that was half black velvet and half kippah sruga.
This sociological principal applies to women and their hair coverings as well. For example, a Modern Orthodox woman will sometimes wear a hat that does not cover all of her hair. Lubavitch women almost always wear sheitels (wigs). Women in the yeshiva world will generally wear a sheitel for formal occasions, but often wear snoods (decorative fabric bags worn at the back of the head to hold the hair) for less formal occasions.
Many wonder how a Jewish woman can wear a sheitel that is practically indistinguishable from real hair and may even improve her appearance. The underlying assumption is that a married woman covers her hair in order to look less attractive.
This is not the case.
Covering one’s hair is a way of containing the sensual energy that is emitted through the hair and directing it right back to the woman herself. By contrast, uncovered hair dissipates this energy into the world at large. Covering one’s hair is a reflexive spiritual process that has more to do with the woman’s intimate relationship with herself and her husband than with the world around her. This might be why some Chassidic women wear a hat on top of a wig. The wig is the hair covering that contains her sensual energy and the hat is a social statement, marking her as a married woman.
This explanation, that hair covering is something a woman does for her own spirituality, goes a long way to understanding why, whether a woman covers her hair with a hat, a tichel (scarf) or a sheitel, as long as her hair is covered, she has fulfilled the mitzvah.
Among the 613 commandments, there is no mitzvah to be unattractive.
Friday, April 22, 2005
Pesach 5765: Sing Women Sing
There are so many traditional teachings that emphasize the greatness of the women in the time of Yetziat Mitzrayim (the Exodus from Egypt) that the Talmud asserts, “It was in the merit of the righteous women of that generation that the Jews were redeemed from Egypt.”
On the second days of Pesach, we retell the story of how G-d miraculously propelled the newly freed Hebrew slaves across the Yam Suf (Reed Sea) by sending a wind that parted the waters and dried the seabed. This scene is one of the most powerful and enduring images of women in the Bible. And Miriam the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a timbrel in her hand; and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances. (Ex. 15:20)
Once the immediate danger had passed and all had crossed the Yam Suf safely, Moshe (Moses) led the men in songs of praise to G-d for their salvation and Miriam led the women. Can you picture this famous visual image? Women with clothing flowing in the breeze, dancing feet and tambourines held high above their heads, led by Miriam.
Although Moshe was the greatest prophet Judaism will ever have, Miriam’s prophecy is equated with that of Aaron. Miriam is such a strong leader that she is often grouped with her brothers Moshe and Aaron. For I brought you up out of the land of Egypt, and redeemed you out of the house of bondage, and I sent before you Moses, Aaron, and Miriam. (Micah 6:4)
A ritual example of this is found in a lost custom of Seder night. The foods on the Seder plate are said to remind us of numerous things. Rabbi Eleazar of Worms (12th century) teaches that the shank bone and the egg remind us of Moshe and Aaron. He further teaches that some people add a portion of fish to the Seder plate, to honor Miriam in addition to Moshe and Aaron.
Fish on the Seder table is also associated with the women of the generation of the Exodus. It was the women who saw a future for the Jewish people and who wanted to continue to have children. The Egyptians decreed that the men should sleep out in the fields and the women sleep at home to reduce the opportunities for them to be together. Nevertheless, the women believed in Redemption. They groomed themselves in copper mirrors so that they would look attractive and their husbands would want to be with them. When going out to see their husbands in the field, they brought jars of hot water in which little fish appeared. By eating the cooked fish and drinking water, the men were refreshed. On these visits, the women would encourage their husbands by reminding them that Redemption was certainly coming.
Water, in addition to being used by women to rejuvenate their husbands in the fields, is associated with other Biblical women. Rivka came and drew water for Eliezer and his flock of camels and this proves to be the test of her worthiness. Rachel is first met at the well where she has come to water her father’s flocks. Even Moshe meets his future wife, Tzipora, at a well and she later sustains him with food and water during his 10 years in her father’s prison.
Miriam herself has multiple connections with water. Her first appearance is near water, when she is sent to look after her brother Moshe as he is placed in the Nile River. As mentioned, she is associated with the Song of Miriam that she led at the Yam Suf and also with the Well of Miriam that, until her death, supplied the Hebrews with water in the wilderness.
We evoke these associations by placing the Kos shel Miriam (Miriam’s Cup) on our Seder table. The Kos shel Miriam is a relatively new symbol. Rather than the wine that fills Kos shel Eliyahu (Elijah’s Cup), the Kos shel Miriam is filled with pure water, symbolizing all the associations between Miriam, the women of her generation, and water.
Wine in the Kos shel Eliyahu is produced only through human effort. Water in the Kos shel Miriam, like the Ultimate Redemption of the Jewish people, comes only from G-d.
On the second days of Pesach, we retell the story of how G-d miraculously propelled the newly freed Hebrew slaves across the Yam Suf (Reed Sea) by sending a wind that parted the waters and dried the seabed. This scene is one of the most powerful and enduring images of women in the Bible. And Miriam the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a timbrel in her hand; and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances. (Ex. 15:20)
Once the immediate danger had passed and all had crossed the Yam Suf safely, Moshe (Moses) led the men in songs of praise to G-d for their salvation and Miriam led the women. Can you picture this famous visual image? Women with clothing flowing in the breeze, dancing feet and tambourines held high above their heads, led by Miriam.
Although Moshe was the greatest prophet Judaism will ever have, Miriam’s prophecy is equated with that of Aaron. Miriam is such a strong leader that she is often grouped with her brothers Moshe and Aaron. For I brought you up out of the land of Egypt, and redeemed you out of the house of bondage, and I sent before you Moses, Aaron, and Miriam. (Micah 6:4)
A ritual example of this is found in a lost custom of Seder night. The foods on the Seder plate are said to remind us of numerous things. Rabbi Eleazar of Worms (12th century) teaches that the shank bone and the egg remind us of Moshe and Aaron. He further teaches that some people add a portion of fish to the Seder plate, to honor Miriam in addition to Moshe and Aaron.
Fish on the Seder table is also associated with the women of the generation of the Exodus. It was the women who saw a future for the Jewish people and who wanted to continue to have children. The Egyptians decreed that the men should sleep out in the fields and the women sleep at home to reduce the opportunities for them to be together. Nevertheless, the women believed in Redemption. They groomed themselves in copper mirrors so that they would look attractive and their husbands would want to be with them. When going out to see their husbands in the field, they brought jars of hot water in which little fish appeared. By eating the cooked fish and drinking water, the men were refreshed. On these visits, the women would encourage their husbands by reminding them that Redemption was certainly coming.
Water, in addition to being used by women to rejuvenate their husbands in the fields, is associated with other Biblical women. Rivka came and drew water for Eliezer and his flock of camels and this proves to be the test of her worthiness. Rachel is first met at the well where she has come to water her father’s flocks. Even Moshe meets his future wife, Tzipora, at a well and she later sustains him with food and water during his 10 years in her father’s prison.
Miriam herself has multiple connections with water. Her first appearance is near water, when she is sent to look after her brother Moshe as he is placed in the Nile River. As mentioned, she is associated with the Song of Miriam that she led at the Yam Suf and also with the Well of Miriam that, until her death, supplied the Hebrews with water in the wilderness.
We evoke these associations by placing the Kos shel Miriam (Miriam’s Cup) on our Seder table. The Kos shel Miriam is a relatively new symbol. Rather than the wine that fills Kos shel Eliyahu (Elijah’s Cup), the Kos shel Miriam is filled with pure water, symbolizing all the associations between Miriam, the women of her generation, and water.
Wine in the Kos shel Eliyahu is produced only through human effort. Water in the Kos shel Miriam, like the Ultimate Redemption of the Jewish people, comes only from G-d.
Sunday, March 13, 2005
Vayikra 5765: G-d is in the Details
I am unfailingly attracted to the color olive green. I am also consistently drawn to tapestry. So when I saw a couch pillow in olive green tapestry, you’ll understand why I bought it on the spot.
Although this pillow has been in my house for a few years, I recently awoke from an afternoon nap with this pillow on my lap. And in that transition from sleeping to wakefulness, I noticed things in the olive green tapestry pillow I had never seen before. A basket of apples. A wheelbarrow filled with flowers. A house number. A rake standing next to an open door.
Parshat Vayikra can be like that. At first blush, it’s filled with so many details about the sacrificial system that it can all run together. But then one detail stands out. And the more we examine it, the more it reveals to us.
There is a detail in Vayikra on which I’d like to focus your attention. Acknowledging that you may have a negative visceral reaction, you are no doubt familiar with the concept of the sacrificial offering of animals on an altar. You may be less aware that, in certain cases, a sacrificial offering may be made from flour and oil. In this context, the detail to which I’d like to draw your attention is that every sacrificial offering, whether animal or flour and oil, must be accompanied by salt.
The more one studies the concept of salt in the Bible, the more details are revealed. For example, the medieval rabbinic commentator Rashi offers a reason why salt must accompany every sacrifice. According to Rashi, during the Six Days of Creation, G-d divided the Lower Waters from the Upper Waters in order to establish the heavens and the seas. Rashi says that the Lower Waters objected to this separation because they wanted to remain close to G-d. G-d consoled the Lower Waters by making a promise that, in the future, salt from the sea would be offered on the altar as part of every sacrifice. This is referred to as the Covenant of Salt.
As the quintessential food preservative, salt is a Biblical symbol of eternity and permanence. In rabbinic commentaries about Lot’s wife, the famous Pillar of Salt, it also a symbol of the care with which G-d chooses our punishments.
There is a concept in traditional Jewish thought called midda k'neged midda, which is generally translated as “measure for measure” but is best understood, in American idiom as “the punishment fits the crime”.
What was the midda k'neged midda aspect of G-d turning Lot’s wife into a pillar of salt? In other words, what did she do to deserve that?
Lot and his wife (whose name our traditional records as Edith, Edis or Irit) lived in Sodom and Gomorrah. The people there were profoundly hostile to visitors. However, as a result of having grown up as the nephew of the exemplary host, Avraham, Lot was a bit different than his neighbors and one day, he invited two guests into his home.
In response, Lot’s wife asked to borrow salt from her neighbors, thus subtly hinting at the presence of guests in her home. Some say that she wasn’t subtle at all but approached her neighbors by saying, “May I borrow some salt for our guests?” Since it was forbidden to host guests in Sodom and Gomorrah, Lot’s wife was aware that, by asking neighbors for salt, she was putting the lives of her husband’s guests into danger.
During the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, she famously looked back even after she was told not to. Her midda k'neged midda punishment was to be turned into a pillar of salt. Just as she sinned with salt, so she was punished with salt.
Some say that her pillar is destined to remain standing until the Messianic age. Her pillar never diminishes, no matter what the weather. Others say that everyday, animals lick the pillar of salt that is Lot’s wife until only her feet remain and every morning, she regenerates, serving as a constant reminder of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah for, among other things, being stingy to guests.
Now that you’ve heard something of the story of Lot’s wife, don’t just sit there. Fill up your salt shakers and invite someone to join you for a Shabbat meal!
Although this pillow has been in my house for a few years, I recently awoke from an afternoon nap with this pillow on my lap. And in that transition from sleeping to wakefulness, I noticed things in the olive green tapestry pillow I had never seen before. A basket of apples. A wheelbarrow filled with flowers. A house number. A rake standing next to an open door.
Parshat Vayikra can be like that. At first blush, it’s filled with so many details about the sacrificial system that it can all run together. But then one detail stands out. And the more we examine it, the more it reveals to us.
There is a detail in Vayikra on which I’d like to focus your attention. Acknowledging that you may have a negative visceral reaction, you are no doubt familiar with the concept of the sacrificial offering of animals on an altar. You may be less aware that, in certain cases, a sacrificial offering may be made from flour and oil. In this context, the detail to which I’d like to draw your attention is that every sacrificial offering, whether animal or flour and oil, must be accompanied by salt.
The more one studies the concept of salt in the Bible, the more details are revealed. For example, the medieval rabbinic commentator Rashi offers a reason why salt must accompany every sacrifice. According to Rashi, during the Six Days of Creation, G-d divided the Lower Waters from the Upper Waters in order to establish the heavens and the seas. Rashi says that the Lower Waters objected to this separation because they wanted to remain close to G-d. G-d consoled the Lower Waters by making a promise that, in the future, salt from the sea would be offered on the altar as part of every sacrifice. This is referred to as the Covenant of Salt.
As the quintessential food preservative, salt is a Biblical symbol of eternity and permanence. In rabbinic commentaries about Lot’s wife, the famous Pillar of Salt, it also a symbol of the care with which G-d chooses our punishments.
There is a concept in traditional Jewish thought called midda k'neged midda, which is generally translated as “measure for measure” but is best understood, in American idiom as “the punishment fits the crime”.
What was the midda k'neged midda aspect of G-d turning Lot’s wife into a pillar of salt? In other words, what did she do to deserve that?
Lot and his wife (whose name our traditional records as Edith, Edis or Irit) lived in Sodom and Gomorrah. The people there were profoundly hostile to visitors. However, as a result of having grown up as the nephew of the exemplary host, Avraham, Lot was a bit different than his neighbors and one day, he invited two guests into his home.
In response, Lot’s wife asked to borrow salt from her neighbors, thus subtly hinting at the presence of guests in her home. Some say that she wasn’t subtle at all but approached her neighbors by saying, “May I borrow some salt for our guests?” Since it was forbidden to host guests in Sodom and Gomorrah, Lot’s wife was aware that, by asking neighbors for salt, she was putting the lives of her husband’s guests into danger.
During the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, she famously looked back even after she was told not to. Her midda k'neged midda punishment was to be turned into a pillar of salt. Just as she sinned with salt, so she was punished with salt.
Some say that her pillar is destined to remain standing until the Messianic age. Her pillar never diminishes, no matter what the weather. Others say that everyday, animals lick the pillar of salt that is Lot’s wife until only her feet remain and every morning, she regenerates, serving as a constant reminder of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah for, among other things, being stingy to guests.
Now that you’ve heard something of the story of Lot’s wife, don’t just sit there. Fill up your salt shakers and invite someone to join you for a Shabbat meal!
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
Outgrowing
In Israel, I am
fluid in two rhythms,
fluent in two idioms –
in perpetual translation.
Re-entry jars me.
The landscape flattens.
Color dissolves.
Music dissipates.
And old rooms no longer
contain me.
I am a sea creature
outgrowing my salt water shell.
Dreaming of rapid molting
and my next
best Home.
fluid in two rhythms,
fluent in two idioms –
in perpetual translation.
Re-entry jars me.
The landscape flattens.
Color dissolves.
Music dissipates.
And old rooms no longer
contain me.
I am a sea creature
outgrowing my salt water shell.
Dreaming of rapid molting
and my next
best Home.
Haneshama B’kirbi
like a blowfish
no!
like an Arab womb, heavy with child
but faster –
like a balloon,
the soul within me expands
to fill the hills, sandy and green
that stretch beyond my window
to Jerusalem
In fat orange pepper arising from arid sand,
a miracle in Gush Katif,
In the hot breath of a Bedouin’s camel
In a taxi driver’s Torah
In a bracha from the Rebbe
In a thousand Hebrew voices
In the dreams of the Jews
I expand
I inflate
in the sherut, back
i cry and cry
the soul within me deflates,
shrivels and wrinkles -
has to,
to fit
Outside the Land.
no!
like an Arab womb, heavy with child
but faster –
like a balloon,
the soul within me expands
to fill the hills, sandy and green
that stretch beyond my window
to Jerusalem
In fat orange pepper arising from arid sand,
a miracle in Gush Katif,
In the hot breath of a Bedouin’s camel
In a taxi driver’s Torah
In a bracha from the Rebbe
In a thousand Hebrew voices
In the dreams of the Jews
I expand
I inflate
in the sherut, back
i cry and cry
the soul within me deflates,
shrivels and wrinkles -
has to,
to fit
Outside the Land.
Sunday, January 30, 2005
Mishpatim 5765: Are Women Tainted?
In Judaism, action is more important than belief. This idea is sometimes expressed by describing Judaism as a religion of “deed, not creed”. In fact, unlike other religions, Judaism has no set of beliefs that one must accept in order to be a Jew.
The closest Judaism has to a set of beliefs are The 13 Principles of Faith of Rambam, also known as Maimonides, who was one of the greatest medieval Jewish scholars. (While Orthodox Jews generally believe in the validity of The 13 Principles of Faith, liberal Judaism challenges many of them.)
One of The 13 Principles of Faith states that Moshe was the greatest of the prophets. G-d demanded that Moshe remain in a constant state of tahara, of spiritual purity and receptivity, in order to be ready to receive prophecy at any time. As a result, Moshe separated from his wife Tzipora.
Was Tzipora the cause of his spiritual impurity? Was Moshe tainted by contact with her impurity?
Let’s leave this question open for a moment and look at this week’s parsha. Most of Mishpatim is a rendering of civil law. At the end of the parsha is a section that some commentators suggest is out of chronological order. Chapter 24 details the ascension of Moshe onto Har Sinai for 40 days and 40 nights, to receive the Torah. The problem is that Matan Torah, the Giving of the Torah. was already detailed in last week’s parsha.
Prior to Matan Torah, the prohibition against intimacy between husband and wife was expressed explicitly. Moshe said to the people, “Be ready after a three-day period; do not come near a woman.” (Exodus 19:15)
To be honest, I resented the implication of this verse for a long time. I didn’t like the fact that it spoke only to the men and I resented the implication, as we saw with Moshe and Tzipora, that women are tainted and must be avoided in order for the men to remain tahor, spiritually pure and maximally receptive.
A typical rabbinic commentary on this verse suggests that, by demanding that men abstain from sexual intercourse for three days prior to Revelation, G-d was testing the men to see if they were worthy of receiving the Torah. The idea behind this test is straightforward. Since the Torah serves to elevate the basic human drives, any man who was able to control himself sexually was ready to receive the Torah and to submit to G-d’s will.
An interesting comment, but what does this have to do with the women who are also preparing to receive the Torah? Are we nothing more than a sexual temptation, which, by avoiding, a man can prove his readiness to accept the Torah?
If we turn to Rashi, the most important Torah commentator of all time, a different picture emerges. In order be on the elevated level to receive the Torah, all the people, men and women both, were required to immerse in a mikvah to remove any taint of tumah. Tumah, a category of spiritual impurity, is caused by, among other things, the seminal discharge that occurs with intercourse.
In simple terms, immersion in a mikvah is a process that transforms tumah, spiritual impurity, into tahara, spiritual purity or receptivity. It is critical to remember that tumah and tahara are spiritual concepts that have no parallel in the physical world and should never be confused with the concepts of dirty and clean.
Moshe needed to be ready to receive prophesy at a moment’s notice. Since he would not always have time to immerse in a mikvah before responding to G-d’s call, he separated from his wife in order to refrain from having intercourse with her.
Rashi teaches that if a woman still had semen within her body that was less than 3 days old, she would not be in the state of tahara, of spiritual purity or receptivity, necessary to receive the Torah. In other words, Rashi says that the demand for men to separate from women prior to Matan Torah was for the benefit of the women! In this way, they would be certain to be free from the tumah that accompanies intercourse and thus be eligible to receive the Torah along with the rest of the Bnei Yisrael, the Children of Israel.
Rashi comforts us.
The closest Judaism has to a set of beliefs are The 13 Principles of Faith of Rambam, also known as Maimonides, who was one of the greatest medieval Jewish scholars. (While Orthodox Jews generally believe in the validity of The 13 Principles of Faith, liberal Judaism challenges many of them.)
One of The 13 Principles of Faith states that Moshe was the greatest of the prophets. G-d demanded that Moshe remain in a constant state of tahara, of spiritual purity and receptivity, in order to be ready to receive prophecy at any time. As a result, Moshe separated from his wife Tzipora.
Was Tzipora the cause of his spiritual impurity? Was Moshe tainted by contact with her impurity?
Let’s leave this question open for a moment and look at this week’s parsha. Most of Mishpatim is a rendering of civil law. At the end of the parsha is a section that some commentators suggest is out of chronological order. Chapter 24 details the ascension of Moshe onto Har Sinai for 40 days and 40 nights, to receive the Torah. The problem is that Matan Torah, the Giving of the Torah. was already detailed in last week’s parsha.
Prior to Matan Torah, the prohibition against intimacy between husband and wife was expressed explicitly. Moshe said to the people, “Be ready after a three-day period; do not come near a woman.” (Exodus 19:15)
To be honest, I resented the implication of this verse for a long time. I didn’t like the fact that it spoke only to the men and I resented the implication, as we saw with Moshe and Tzipora, that women are tainted and must be avoided in order for the men to remain tahor, spiritually pure and maximally receptive.
A typical rabbinic commentary on this verse suggests that, by demanding that men abstain from sexual intercourse for three days prior to Revelation, G-d was testing the men to see if they were worthy of receiving the Torah. The idea behind this test is straightforward. Since the Torah serves to elevate the basic human drives, any man who was able to control himself sexually was ready to receive the Torah and to submit to G-d’s will.
An interesting comment, but what does this have to do with the women who are also preparing to receive the Torah? Are we nothing more than a sexual temptation, which, by avoiding, a man can prove his readiness to accept the Torah?
If we turn to Rashi, the most important Torah commentator of all time, a different picture emerges. In order be on the elevated level to receive the Torah, all the people, men and women both, were required to immerse in a mikvah to remove any taint of tumah. Tumah, a category of spiritual impurity, is caused by, among other things, the seminal discharge that occurs with intercourse.
In simple terms, immersion in a mikvah is a process that transforms tumah, spiritual impurity, into tahara, spiritual purity or receptivity. It is critical to remember that tumah and tahara are spiritual concepts that have no parallel in the physical world and should never be confused with the concepts of dirty and clean.
Moshe needed to be ready to receive prophesy at a moment’s notice. Since he would not always have time to immerse in a mikvah before responding to G-d’s call, he separated from his wife in order to refrain from having intercourse with her.
Rashi teaches that if a woman still had semen within her body that was less than 3 days old, she would not be in the state of tahara, of spiritual purity or receptivity, necessary to receive the Torah. In other words, Rashi says that the demand for men to separate from women prior to Matan Torah was for the benefit of the women! In this way, they would be certain to be free from the tumah that accompanies intercourse and thus be eligible to receive the Torah along with the rest of the Bnei Yisrael, the Children of Israel.
Rashi comforts us.
Friday, December 24, 2004
Vayechi 5765: Knowing Who You Are
Eight years ago, I went to Israel for the first time in my life. I spent exactly one day at She'arim College of Jewish Studies for Women learning Torah in Israel. The class I most remember, taught by She’arim’s Director, Rebbetzin Holly Pavlov, was about this week’s parsha. Rebbetzin Pavlov went through the brachot, the blessings, that Yaakov (Jacob) bestowed upon his sons. When we think of a parent blessing a child, as many Jews have the custom to do at the Shabbat table on Friday nights, we imagine parents conferring all manner of exceptional wishes for a first-rate future.
When we examine some of Yaakov’s brachot, Rebbetzin Pavlov taught, they seem to be far less than ideal. In language that has to be unlocked by studying rabbinic commentary, Yaakov blesses his sons one-by-one, often by comparing them to animals. Judah is a lion's whelp (49:9). Naftali is a hind let loose (49:21). Issachar is a large-boned ass, couching down between the sheep-folds (49:14). Gee, thanks Dad! What kind of bracha is that?
But upon closer examination, we see that Yaakov wasn’t simply wishing his sons well for their future. He was telling them who they are. He was identifying for them their strongest characteristics and, in that way, helping them to know themselves and their roles better. In this way, Rebbetzin Pavlov taught, Yaakov gave them each the greatest bracha of all – the blessing of self-awareness.
Have you ever wondered about your own distinctiveness? Have you ever asked yourself what your personal role is in the world? Have you ever wondered why you, specifically, were created? Yaakov’s bracha to his sons was to hold up a mirror and let them know themselves. The rest of us have to figure it out the hard way.
Which brings me to our most recent trip to Israel. Each trip has its own flavor. This time, we saw many important and historic sites. But what most impressed me most was that I kept meeting the most intriguing people who had turned their lives upside down in order to live as Jews in Israel.
I met one couple who started their lives as Christians in Oklahoma and who are now, three weddings later, living as Orthodox Jews in Israel. One man from Texas met a 9 year-old girl from a marginally Jewish home when he was 12. After many long and complicated years apart, during which time he converted to Judaism, they were reunited. Two weeks later, they were engaged and are now married and living in Israel with their infant daughter while the man continues his studies in a yeshiva.
While in Jerusalem, I saw a one-woman show about a woman who was born to Japanese parents in Hawaii. She grew up and became a Broadway dancer and eventually fell in love with a Jewish man. This particular Jewish man knew very little about his Judaism beyond the importance of raising his children as Jews. The journey they embarked upon led both of them to become serious Jews now living in Jerusalem.
Then there are the Anousim Returnees about whom I’ve just begun to learn. These are people, descended from Jews who were forcibly converted to Christianity in Spain and Portugal, who are reclaiming their connection to the Jewish people. After centuries of being separated from the mainstream Jewish community, the Anousim are formally converting and many are returning to live among the Jewish people in Israel.
I’m consistently moved and inspired by the ways people, recognizing the radiance of a Jewish life, grow, change and fight to become proud Jews. The extreme contrast between these remarkable souls who risked everything to become Jews, and the American Jews who are utterly indifferent about their connection to the Jewish people and about their lives as Jews, is heartrending.
I wish I could give every American Jew a bit of what Yaakov gave each of his sons: knowledge from which they could understand their role in the world.
You are a Jew. You are part of a dazzling and eternal people. It may be that you don’t yet have enough information to judge the value of your inheritance.
But it’s not too late to find out. It’s never too late to learn who you are.
When we examine some of Yaakov’s brachot, Rebbetzin Pavlov taught, they seem to be far less than ideal. In language that has to be unlocked by studying rabbinic commentary, Yaakov blesses his sons one-by-one, often by comparing them to animals. Judah is a lion's whelp (49:9). Naftali is a hind let loose (49:21). Issachar is a large-boned ass, couching down between the sheep-folds (49:14). Gee, thanks Dad! What kind of bracha is that?
But upon closer examination, we see that Yaakov wasn’t simply wishing his sons well for their future. He was telling them who they are. He was identifying for them their strongest characteristics and, in that way, helping them to know themselves and their roles better. In this way, Rebbetzin Pavlov taught, Yaakov gave them each the greatest bracha of all – the blessing of self-awareness.
Have you ever wondered about your own distinctiveness? Have you ever asked yourself what your personal role is in the world? Have you ever wondered why you, specifically, were created? Yaakov’s bracha to his sons was to hold up a mirror and let them know themselves. The rest of us have to figure it out the hard way.
Which brings me to our most recent trip to Israel. Each trip has its own flavor. This time, we saw many important and historic sites. But what most impressed me most was that I kept meeting the most intriguing people who had turned their lives upside down in order to live as Jews in Israel.
I met one couple who started their lives as Christians in Oklahoma and who are now, three weddings later, living as Orthodox Jews in Israel. One man from Texas met a 9 year-old girl from a marginally Jewish home when he was 12. After many long and complicated years apart, during which time he converted to Judaism, they were reunited. Two weeks later, they were engaged and are now married and living in Israel with their infant daughter while the man continues his studies in a yeshiva.
While in Jerusalem, I saw a one-woman show about a woman who was born to Japanese parents in Hawaii. She grew up and became a Broadway dancer and eventually fell in love with a Jewish man. This particular Jewish man knew very little about his Judaism beyond the importance of raising his children as Jews. The journey they embarked upon led both of them to become serious Jews now living in Jerusalem.
Then there are the Anousim Returnees about whom I’ve just begun to learn. These are people, descended from Jews who were forcibly converted to Christianity in Spain and Portugal, who are reclaiming their connection to the Jewish people. After centuries of being separated from the mainstream Jewish community, the Anousim are formally converting and many are returning to live among the Jewish people in Israel.
I’m consistently moved and inspired by the ways people, recognizing the radiance of a Jewish life, grow, change and fight to become proud Jews. The extreme contrast between these remarkable souls who risked everything to become Jews, and the American Jews who are utterly indifferent about their connection to the Jewish people and about their lives as Jews, is heartrending.
I wish I could give every American Jew a bit of what Yaakov gave each of his sons: knowledge from which they could understand their role in the world.
You are a Jew. You are part of a dazzling and eternal people. It may be that you don’t yet have enough information to judge the value of your inheritance.
But it’s not too late to find out. It’s never too late to learn who you are.
Toldos 5765: The Marriage of Rivka and Yitzchak
By all accounts, the marriage between Avraham and Sarah was a marriage of equals. The medieval commentator Rashi teaches that Avraham and Sarah spent time teaching others to have faith in G-d. At that time in history, belief in One Supreme G-d was a novel, and not particularly popular, idea. Rashi teaches that Avraham converted the men and Sarah converted the women. And although G-d spoke to Avraham numerous times, Sarah was far from being spiritually ineffectual herself. In fact, she had a level of spiritual insight that, at times, exceeded Avraham’s.
If Avraham and Sarah were essentially peers, the workings of the marriage of Rivka (Rebecca) and Yitzchak (Isaac) were much subtler and harder to understand. To begin with, Yitzchak was much older. Rivka had just been born when Yitzchak survived the Akeidah (“Binding of Isaac”) at age 37. There is one opinion that Yitzchak was 40 and Rivka was just three when they married.
In addition, Yitzchak was the son of Sarah and Avraham, two wholly righteous people. In contrast, though she herself remained untainted, Rivka grew up in a household and in a society where evil was the norm. Her brother Lavan was the famous Biblical swindler. In today’s terms, Yitzchak was “sheltered” and Rivka was “worldly”.
Another clue about the complexity of their marriage is the striking paucity of dialogue between Rivka and Yitzchak, as recorded in the Torah. In fact, there is only one line that passed between them. “Rebecca said to Isaac, ‘I am disgusted with my life on account of the daughters of Heth; if Jacob takes a wife of the daughters of Heth like these, of the daughters of the land, what is life to me?’” (Genesis 27:46) In this verse, Rivka bemoaned the fact that their son Eisav (Esau) married women from among the locals and expressed anguish over the possibility that Yaakov (Jacob) might do the same if they did not send him away.
Besides their dissimilar ages, backgrounds and the seeming lack of verbal communication between them, Yitzchak is among the most enigmatic characters in the Torah. He takes few decisive actions and is what we would today call reactive rather than proactive. Rivka, by contrast, was an active player in her life and in her marriage. Most of what the Torah relates about the events in the marriage of Rivka and Yitzchak is told through the actions of Rivka.
In his new book, Women In The Bible, Rav Shlomo Aviner, the Chief Rabbi of Beit El, Israel, offers us insight into the marriage of Rivka and Yitzchak. Rav Aviner teaches that Yitzchak existed on a plane that was above the mundane in this world. He was capable of seeing only those things that were eternal.
The Sages say that Rivka’s role was to serve as intermediary between Yitzchak and G-d. Imagine a Person of Great Achievement who excels at one specific thing. Such a person would benefit from having a personal assistant to handle the mundane, temporal aspects of life, freeing the Person of Great Achievement to achieve in one arena. Rivka was like the personal assistant to Yizchak’s Person of Great Achievement. Neither could be said to be superior because it took the combination of both of their skills to accomplish what neither could do alone.
Yitzchak’s character was primarily hidden and Rivka was the more overt player throughout their lifetimes. However, together they made a very strong union. So much so that Rav Aviner says that their unique relationship was the tikkun, was the spiritual rectification, for one of the curses that G-d pronounced upon Chava (Eve).
Rav Aviner says, “The appearance of Isaac and Rebecca rectified the damage done by Adam and Eve, which had punished Eve: And he will rule over you (Genesis 3:16). From the beginning of the world until this very day, the fact is that men dominate women, sometimes with a cruel hand. The strength of Isaac and Rebecca remedied this situation. Isaac in no way dominated Rebecca. Since childhood, it was impossible to dominate her. Even her father and brother could not control her.”
From Rivka we learn that there is not just one correct lifestyle choice for every Jewish woman. Each of us has our own manner of serving G-d. We do not all need to be the same.
If Avraham and Sarah were essentially peers, the workings of the marriage of Rivka (Rebecca) and Yitzchak (Isaac) were much subtler and harder to understand. To begin with, Yitzchak was much older. Rivka had just been born when Yitzchak survived the Akeidah (“Binding of Isaac”) at age 37. There is one opinion that Yitzchak was 40 and Rivka was just three when they married.
In addition, Yitzchak was the son of Sarah and Avraham, two wholly righteous people. In contrast, though she herself remained untainted, Rivka grew up in a household and in a society where evil was the norm. Her brother Lavan was the famous Biblical swindler. In today’s terms, Yitzchak was “sheltered” and Rivka was “worldly”.
Another clue about the complexity of their marriage is the striking paucity of dialogue between Rivka and Yitzchak, as recorded in the Torah. In fact, there is only one line that passed between them. “Rebecca said to Isaac, ‘I am disgusted with my life on account of the daughters of Heth; if Jacob takes a wife of the daughters of Heth like these, of the daughters of the land, what is life to me?’” (Genesis 27:46) In this verse, Rivka bemoaned the fact that their son Eisav (Esau) married women from among the locals and expressed anguish over the possibility that Yaakov (Jacob) might do the same if they did not send him away.
Besides their dissimilar ages, backgrounds and the seeming lack of verbal communication between them, Yitzchak is among the most enigmatic characters in the Torah. He takes few decisive actions and is what we would today call reactive rather than proactive. Rivka, by contrast, was an active player in her life and in her marriage. Most of what the Torah relates about the events in the marriage of Rivka and Yitzchak is told through the actions of Rivka.
In his new book, Women In The Bible, Rav Shlomo Aviner, the Chief Rabbi of Beit El, Israel, offers us insight into the marriage of Rivka and Yitzchak. Rav Aviner teaches that Yitzchak existed on a plane that was above the mundane in this world. He was capable of seeing only those things that were eternal.
The Sages say that Rivka’s role was to serve as intermediary between Yitzchak and G-d. Imagine a Person of Great Achievement who excels at one specific thing. Such a person would benefit from having a personal assistant to handle the mundane, temporal aspects of life, freeing the Person of Great Achievement to achieve in one arena. Rivka was like the personal assistant to Yizchak’s Person of Great Achievement. Neither could be said to be superior because it took the combination of both of their skills to accomplish what neither could do alone.
Yitzchak’s character was primarily hidden and Rivka was the more overt player throughout their lifetimes. However, together they made a very strong union. So much so that Rav Aviner says that their unique relationship was the tikkun, was the spiritual rectification, for one of the curses that G-d pronounced upon Chava (Eve).
Rav Aviner says, “The appearance of Isaac and Rebecca rectified the damage done by Adam and Eve, which had punished Eve: And he will rule over you (Genesis 3:16). From the beginning of the world until this very day, the fact is that men dominate women, sometimes with a cruel hand. The strength of Isaac and Rebecca remedied this situation. Isaac in no way dominated Rebecca. Since childhood, it was impossible to dominate her. Even her father and brother could not control her.”
From Rivka we learn that there is not just one correct lifestyle choice for every Jewish woman. Each of us has our own manner of serving G-d. We do not all need to be the same.
Monday, October 11, 2004
Women in My Sukkah
Quick… picture an image of a Jew. Don’t read on until you’ve got an image fixed in your mind.
If you’re like most, chances are you imagined a Jewish man, or possibly a Jewish boy. Art and media images of Jews are, almost invariably, images of Jewish men. There are several reasons for this. Men, especially religious men, with their beards, payos (sidelocks), yarmulkes, hats and tzitzits look so obviously Jewish. And we live in a culture that is swayed by appearances.
There is also a traditional concern with safeguarding the privacy of Jewish women. I understand this, but the net effect is that Jewish women become, to the untrained eye, nearly invisible. To demonstrate my point, try looking at a display of Sukkah decorations and notice how hard it is to spot a woman in any of the posters.
This paucity of images of Jewish women doing Jewish things has always bothered me, especially since we have only daughters, which is why most of the Jewish art in our home features Jewish women. We also make a special effort to include images of Jewish women as we decorate our Sukkah. This unconscious overlooking of women as Jews is also incredibly common in books and speeches, where Jews are often equated with Jewish men, as in the expression, “the Jews and their wives”.
Happily, there is a Sukkot custom that gives us an opportunity to invite Jewish women back into the picture, literally. The Zohar, a classic Kabbalistic work, introduces us to the idea that the Patriarch Abraham, along with six other Biblical figures, joins us when we sit in our Sukkah. On a metaphysical level, the souls of seven men who looked after the Nation of Israel -- Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, Aaron, Joseph, and King David -- actually leave their eternal home in the upper realms to join us in our celebration of Sukkot in this world.
The custom, known as Ushpizin (an Aramaic word meaning male guests), developed to formally invite Abraham to join us in our Sukkah in the first night of Sukkot and to do the same for each of the other Biblical guests on subsequent nights. It is common practice to decorate the Sukkah with a poster that bears the names of the Ushpizin. Some have the additional custom of setting aside a particularly fancy chair in the Sukkah, sometimes covered with sacred books, for the Ushpizin. Others light a candle to welcome them.
There is a parallel, through far less known tradition, recorded in the 17th century by an Italian kabbalist, that the seven prophetesses should also be invited into the Sukkah as Ushpizot. Who are these seven prophetesses? By name, they are Sarah (Genesis), Miriam (Exodus), Deborah (Judges), Hannah (I Samuel), Avigail (I Samuel), Huldah (II Kings), and Queen Esther (Book of Esther).
These are the seven women who were gifted with prophecy that was significant enough to be recorded in our tradition for all time. Their stories are largely unknown to us. Even some of their names are entirely unfamiliar. Open a T’Nach (the Jewish Bible) and look up their stories. It will enrich your Sukkot this year.
We find another feminine resonance embedded in the holiday of Sukkot. As the children’s song goes, there are mitzvahs for your nose and mitzvahs for your toes, but there are only a handful of mitzvahs for your whole body at once.
The inside of a Sukkah is a sacred space in which one is totally enveloped by the presence and protection of G-d. Similarly, the mikveh, one of the three mitzvahs to which women have a unique relationship, is also a sacred space in which one is totally enveloped by the presence and protection of G-d.
So this year, decorate your Sukkah with images of Jewish women or the work of Jewish women artists. The Internet is the single best source for these images. Do a little homework and learn about the seven women prophetesses. Discuss them over the Sukkot holiday, especially the much-neglected Huldah, after whom one of the gates to the Old City of Jerusalem was named. As you sit in a Sukkah, think about how the experience parallels the experience of mikveh. And take a moment to invite Ushpizin and the Ushpizot into your Sukkah this year.
If you’re like most, chances are you imagined a Jewish man, or possibly a Jewish boy. Art and media images of Jews are, almost invariably, images of Jewish men. There are several reasons for this. Men, especially religious men, with their beards, payos (sidelocks), yarmulkes, hats and tzitzits look so obviously Jewish. And we live in a culture that is swayed by appearances.
There is also a traditional concern with safeguarding the privacy of Jewish women. I understand this, but the net effect is that Jewish women become, to the untrained eye, nearly invisible. To demonstrate my point, try looking at a display of Sukkah decorations and notice how hard it is to spot a woman in any of the posters.
This paucity of images of Jewish women doing Jewish things has always bothered me, especially since we have only daughters, which is why most of the Jewish art in our home features Jewish women. We also make a special effort to include images of Jewish women as we decorate our Sukkah. This unconscious overlooking of women as Jews is also incredibly common in books and speeches, where Jews are often equated with Jewish men, as in the expression, “the Jews and their wives”.
Happily, there is a Sukkot custom that gives us an opportunity to invite Jewish women back into the picture, literally. The Zohar, a classic Kabbalistic work, introduces us to the idea that the Patriarch Abraham, along with six other Biblical figures, joins us when we sit in our Sukkah. On a metaphysical level, the souls of seven men who looked after the Nation of Israel -- Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, Aaron, Joseph, and King David -- actually leave their eternal home in the upper realms to join us in our celebration of Sukkot in this world.
The custom, known as Ushpizin (an Aramaic word meaning male guests), developed to formally invite Abraham to join us in our Sukkah in the first night of Sukkot and to do the same for each of the other Biblical guests on subsequent nights. It is common practice to decorate the Sukkah with a poster that bears the names of the Ushpizin. Some have the additional custom of setting aside a particularly fancy chair in the Sukkah, sometimes covered with sacred books, for the Ushpizin. Others light a candle to welcome them.
There is a parallel, through far less known tradition, recorded in the 17th century by an Italian kabbalist, that the seven prophetesses should also be invited into the Sukkah as Ushpizot. Who are these seven prophetesses? By name, they are Sarah (Genesis), Miriam (Exodus), Deborah (Judges), Hannah (I Samuel), Avigail (I Samuel), Huldah (II Kings), and Queen Esther (Book of Esther).
These are the seven women who were gifted with prophecy that was significant enough to be recorded in our tradition for all time. Their stories are largely unknown to us. Even some of their names are entirely unfamiliar. Open a T’Nach (the Jewish Bible) and look up their stories. It will enrich your Sukkot this year.
We find another feminine resonance embedded in the holiday of Sukkot. As the children’s song goes, there are mitzvahs for your nose and mitzvahs for your toes, but there are only a handful of mitzvahs for your whole body at once.
The inside of a Sukkah is a sacred space in which one is totally enveloped by the presence and protection of G-d. Similarly, the mikveh, one of the three mitzvahs to which women have a unique relationship, is also a sacred space in which one is totally enveloped by the presence and protection of G-d.
So this year, decorate your Sukkah with images of Jewish women or the work of Jewish women artists. The Internet is the single best source for these images. Do a little homework and learn about the seven women prophetesses. Discuss them over the Sukkot holiday, especially the much-neglected Huldah, after whom one of the gates to the Old City of Jerusalem was named. As you sit in a Sukkah, think about how the experience parallels the experience of mikveh. And take a moment to invite Ushpizin and the Ushpizot into your Sukkah this year.
Sunday, August 22, 2004
Tzav 5762
(From a dvar Torah I gave at my older daughter's Bat Mitzvah on March 16, 2002)
The Torah portion that Ariella will read today comes from the third book of the Bible. In Hebrew, this book is known as Vayikra and in English as Leviticus. The Five Books of Moses, and each Torah portion within them, are named in Hebrew for the first significant word in the portion.
The English names are more like titles that capture the theme of the entire Book. So Genesis, for example, is about the beginning, the genesis, of humans and of Judaism. The theme of the Book of Exodus is the Exodus, what we call in Hebrew, Yetziat Mitzrayim – the exiting from Egypt. Leviticus is, in large part, about the role of the Levi’im, the Levites, the Priestly Class.
Although many people pray at home, the place of worship most familiar to Jews today is the synagogue. This was not always the case. After G-d gave the Torah to Moses on Mt. Sinai, he instructed Moshe to build a Mishkan – a portable sanctuary in the desert where sacrifices could be offered and G-d’s Presence could dwell among the Jewish people. The Jewish people carried the Mishkan around through most of their 40 years of wandering in the desert, assembling and disassembling it with each new encampment.
After the Jewish people settled in the land of Israel, the Mishkan was replaced with a more permanent structure that we call the Beit haMikdash or the Holy Temple. In both cases, all Jewish worship was centered in the Mishkan and later in the Beit HaMikdash. There were no synagogues then, as we know them now.
At the time of Ariella’s Torah reading, Jewish worship was centralized and focused on various kinds of sacrifices that were brought, on behalf of the Jewish people, by members of the Priestly class who were known as Levi’im and Kohanim.
As is the custom for the Shabbos mincha service, Ariella will read the first aliyah, the first eleven verses, of next week’s Torah portion. In a literary sense, this is a foreshadowing of things to come. In a culinary sense, this is an appetizer. In a spiritual sense, we connect one Shabbos to the next. This reminds us that, although we divide the Torah into sections for our convenience, it is really one seamless whole. Which is a reflection of the Oneness of G-d.
The portion Ariella will read is Tzav, which is a verb meaning Command. Hashem’s first words to Moshe in this parsha are, “Command Aaron and his sons…” Tzav – command, is related to mitzvah, which are commandments.
In the Mishkan, and later in the Beit HaMikdash, there was a complex system of offerings, each serving a different purpose. In the portion Ariella will read, Hashem is explaining to Moshe additional laws of the olah, the elevation-offering and of the minchah, the meal-offering. The olah was the only offering that had to be presented every day without exception. The minchah was an offering of flour and oil.
The Torah imparts to us a great deal of information about the system of offerings. For many people, the complex and specific details of each of the kinds of offerings, how they are given, when they are given, what the Kohain is supposed to wear when they are offered, and on and on… this is not exactly the most intrinsically interesting part of the Torah.
However, for the diligent student of Torah, many beautiful Jewish principles are learned from the minutest details of the sacrificial system. For example, as Ariella will shortly read for us, the very first task of each morning was the removal of the ashes that remained on the altar from the previous day’s sacrifice. This is a reminder that each new day brings new challenges. The one who is complacent, resting on past accomplishments, cannot make progress. Success comes to the one who understands that each day is a fresh opportunity. The removal of the previous day’s ashes reminds us to remove yesterday’s schmutz from our lives – to go forward without being hampered by the waste of the past. Even if we didn’t do anything to grow yesterday, or last week or last year or in the last decade, the daily removal of the ashes reminds us that each day is a new opportunity to grow – spiritually, intellectually or in refinement of character. Each day is a new chance.
In her leading of this prayer service, and in her Torah reading, Ariella is demonstrating that she has learned this lesson. Her preparation for her Bat Mitzvah, and her readiness to take on the responsibilities of an adult Jewish woman, represent significant Jewish growth. Ariella has been preparing for this day for many months. To learn to read from the Torah is no easy task. The Sefer Torah from which she will read, like all Sifrei Torah, has no vowels, no musical notes, no guidelines to assist her in the correct reading. Over the past months, Ariella has been diligently and patiently taught this section of the Torah in all its detail, by her loving Abba. I have been in awe, both of Ariella’s ability to master such a complex skill, and of Elan’s infinite patience and good cheer in encouraging her in this complex task.
Whether this is your first time or your hundredth time hearing the Torah read in a young woman’s voice, I invite you to listen to the voice of the future. And may Hashem grant us all the ability to grow closer to His
Torah.
Shabbat Shalom.
The Torah portion that Ariella will read today comes from the third book of the Bible. In Hebrew, this book is known as Vayikra and in English as Leviticus. The Five Books of Moses, and each Torah portion within them, are named in Hebrew for the first significant word in the portion.
The English names are more like titles that capture the theme of the entire Book. So Genesis, for example, is about the beginning, the genesis, of humans and of Judaism. The theme of the Book of Exodus is the Exodus, what we call in Hebrew, Yetziat Mitzrayim – the exiting from Egypt. Leviticus is, in large part, about the role of the Levi’im, the Levites, the Priestly Class.
Although many people pray at home, the place of worship most familiar to Jews today is the synagogue. This was not always the case. After G-d gave the Torah to Moses on Mt. Sinai, he instructed Moshe to build a Mishkan – a portable sanctuary in the desert where sacrifices could be offered and G-d’s Presence could dwell among the Jewish people. The Jewish people carried the Mishkan around through most of their 40 years of wandering in the desert, assembling and disassembling it with each new encampment.
After the Jewish people settled in the land of Israel, the Mishkan was replaced with a more permanent structure that we call the Beit haMikdash or the Holy Temple. In both cases, all Jewish worship was centered in the Mishkan and later in the Beit HaMikdash. There were no synagogues then, as we know them now.
At the time of Ariella’s Torah reading, Jewish worship was centralized and focused on various kinds of sacrifices that were brought, on behalf of the Jewish people, by members of the Priestly class who were known as Levi’im and Kohanim.
As is the custom for the Shabbos mincha service, Ariella will read the first aliyah, the first eleven verses, of next week’s Torah portion. In a literary sense, this is a foreshadowing of things to come. In a culinary sense, this is an appetizer. In a spiritual sense, we connect one Shabbos to the next. This reminds us that, although we divide the Torah into sections for our convenience, it is really one seamless whole. Which is a reflection of the Oneness of G-d.
The portion Ariella will read is Tzav, which is a verb meaning Command. Hashem’s first words to Moshe in this parsha are, “Command Aaron and his sons…” Tzav – command, is related to mitzvah, which are commandments.
In the Mishkan, and later in the Beit HaMikdash, there was a complex system of offerings, each serving a different purpose. In the portion Ariella will read, Hashem is explaining to Moshe additional laws of the olah, the elevation-offering and of the minchah, the meal-offering. The olah was the only offering that had to be presented every day without exception. The minchah was an offering of flour and oil.
The Torah imparts to us a great deal of information about the system of offerings. For many people, the complex and specific details of each of the kinds of offerings, how they are given, when they are given, what the Kohain is supposed to wear when they are offered, and on and on… this is not exactly the most intrinsically interesting part of the Torah.
However, for the diligent student of Torah, many beautiful Jewish principles are learned from the minutest details of the sacrificial system. For example, as Ariella will shortly read for us, the very first task of each morning was the removal of the ashes that remained on the altar from the previous day’s sacrifice. This is a reminder that each new day brings new challenges. The one who is complacent, resting on past accomplishments, cannot make progress. Success comes to the one who understands that each day is a fresh opportunity. The removal of the previous day’s ashes reminds us to remove yesterday’s schmutz from our lives – to go forward without being hampered by the waste of the past. Even if we didn’t do anything to grow yesterday, or last week or last year or in the last decade, the daily removal of the ashes reminds us that each day is a new opportunity to grow – spiritually, intellectually or in refinement of character. Each day is a new chance.
In her leading of this prayer service, and in her Torah reading, Ariella is demonstrating that she has learned this lesson. Her preparation for her Bat Mitzvah, and her readiness to take on the responsibilities of an adult Jewish woman, represent significant Jewish growth. Ariella has been preparing for this day for many months. To learn to read from the Torah is no easy task. The Sefer Torah from which she will read, like all Sifrei Torah, has no vowels, no musical notes, no guidelines to assist her in the correct reading. Over the past months, Ariella has been diligently and patiently taught this section of the Torah in all its detail, by her loving Abba. I have been in awe, both of Ariella’s ability to master such a complex skill, and of Elan’s infinite patience and good cheer in encouraging her in this complex task.
Whether this is your first time or your hundredth time hearing the Torah read in a young woman’s voice, I invite you to listen to the voice of the future. And may Hashem grant us all the ability to grow closer to His
Torah.
Shabbat Shalom.
The Magic of Shabbos
(Written in May, 2001)
A few weeks ago, I had a particularly fabulous Shabbos. I was in my mid-20s before I first learned about Shabbos. More than 15 years later, I experienced a Shabbos that was, without question, scented with the aroma of the World-to-Come.
I didn’t grow up with Shabbos, or with much Jewishness at all, for that matter. No Hebrew school. No Sara and Abraham. No Shema. No sukkah. No Israel (though I was born after 1948). And most assuredly, no Shabbos.
My early Jewish memories are rather limited. My brother’s bris when I was four. My mother, with a square of paper towel on her head, turning orange Chanukah bulbs in a plastic menorah and reciting in English, “Bless-ed art Thou, O! Lord our G-d, King of the Universe who has sanctified us by Thy commandments and commanded us to kindle the light of Chanukah.” The perpetual problem of which grandmothers’ gefilte fish tasted better. The Bas Mitzvah of a junior high school classmate, which I attended, but didn’t understand. Yiddish, spoken to prevent me from knowing. No bologna with milk but also no explanation as to why not. Scant snippets of Jewish moments. Not even whole memories.
Ah! But this special Shabbos was saturated with memory-making moments. Friday night, our table brimmed with friends, old and new. Before dinner, our 11 year-old led us in a game of Jewish bingo she created that afternoon. Her cleverness warmed me. None of the special dishes I cooked for dinner flopped. And then, loudly singing our communal bentching, our raucous Grace After Meals, filled with our family’s idiosyncratic quirkiness that grows more complex each year.
Shabbos morning, I walked to shul for the first time in months, after a winter of being confined by knee pain. Cherished friends, members of another congregation, joined us to celebrate the 30th anniversary of the husband’s bar mitzvah. Before our friend chanted his Haftorah, just as he had at age 13, his wife spoke powerfully, highlighting a theme of the Haftorah and relating it to her husband’s admirable character. The pleasure of having impressive friends.
Another family, mutual friends of very long-standing, whose loyalty was proven in my darker days, also came to our shul. Our children all know each other, some literally from birth. At the kiddush, we ate sweet pineapple and strawberry shortcake.
Walking home from shul, all 13 of us, I had an urge to commit absolutely every detail of this glorious day to memory. The complete peacefulness of Shabbos. No cars to drive. No phones to answer. No bills to pay. No PDA to hotsynch. The warm, soft weather of early spring. Early blossoming trees in full bloom. Young, healthy children, laughing together and running ahead.
A long Shabbos afternoon spent joyfully, surrounded by well-married friends with whom we share our worries and our inside jokes. All the brachas that Hashem perpetually presents to me, sweetly tied together in one glorious 25-hour Shabbos.
Someday, looking back on it will make me weep.
A few weeks ago, I had a particularly fabulous Shabbos. I was in my mid-20s before I first learned about Shabbos. More than 15 years later, I experienced a Shabbos that was, without question, scented with the aroma of the World-to-Come.
I didn’t grow up with Shabbos, or with much Jewishness at all, for that matter. No Hebrew school. No Sara and Abraham. No Shema. No sukkah. No Israel (though I was born after 1948). And most assuredly, no Shabbos.
My early Jewish memories are rather limited. My brother’s bris when I was four. My mother, with a square of paper towel on her head, turning orange Chanukah bulbs in a plastic menorah and reciting in English, “Bless-ed art Thou, O! Lord our G-d, King of the Universe who has sanctified us by Thy commandments and commanded us to kindle the light of Chanukah.” The perpetual problem of which grandmothers’ gefilte fish tasted better. The Bas Mitzvah of a junior high school classmate, which I attended, but didn’t understand. Yiddish, spoken to prevent me from knowing. No bologna with milk but also no explanation as to why not. Scant snippets of Jewish moments. Not even whole memories.
Ah! But this special Shabbos was saturated with memory-making moments. Friday night, our table brimmed with friends, old and new. Before dinner, our 11 year-old led us in a game of Jewish bingo she created that afternoon. Her cleverness warmed me. None of the special dishes I cooked for dinner flopped. And then, loudly singing our communal bentching, our raucous Grace After Meals, filled with our family’s idiosyncratic quirkiness that grows more complex each year.
Shabbos morning, I walked to shul for the first time in months, after a winter of being confined by knee pain. Cherished friends, members of another congregation, joined us to celebrate the 30th anniversary of the husband’s bar mitzvah. Before our friend chanted his Haftorah, just as he had at age 13, his wife spoke powerfully, highlighting a theme of the Haftorah and relating it to her husband’s admirable character. The pleasure of having impressive friends.
Another family, mutual friends of very long-standing, whose loyalty was proven in my darker days, also came to our shul. Our children all know each other, some literally from birth. At the kiddush, we ate sweet pineapple and strawberry shortcake.
Walking home from shul, all 13 of us, I had an urge to commit absolutely every detail of this glorious day to memory. The complete peacefulness of Shabbos. No cars to drive. No phones to answer. No bills to pay. No PDA to hotsynch. The warm, soft weather of early spring. Early blossoming trees in full bloom. Young, healthy children, laughing together and running ahead.
A long Shabbos afternoon spent joyfully, surrounded by well-married friends with whom we share our worries and our inside jokes. All the brachas that Hashem perpetually presents to me, sweetly tied together in one glorious 25-hour Shabbos.
Someday, looking back on it will make me weep.
Why We're Going to Israel Now
(From a talk I gave in June, 2002 when everyone thought we were crazy to go to Israel)
This week’s parsha, Parshat Pinchas, tells the story of the Daughters of Tzelefchod – five women from the generation that wandered in the desert – who had a profound love for the Land of Israel. Their father Tzelefchod died in the desert without sons. The story of the Daughters of Tzelefchod takes place when the time came to distribute parcels in the Land of Israel to each family. The women in this story so loved the Land of Israel that they insisted they be given a portion of the Land as their inheritance, despite the fact that there were no men in their family. They said:
"Our father has died in the desert.. And he had no sons. Why should the name of our father be removed (literally, be lessened) from the midst of his family because he has no sons". Give us (women) a possession together with the brothers of our father." (Numbers 27:3,4).
It’s far from coincidental that this story appears in this week’s parsha, as we prepare for our departure to Israel. After all, is there a page of T’Nach, of our Bible, that doesn’t mention the Land and its significance?
When I was a very young girl, my father, alav hashalom, once remarked, “If the United States was ever at war with Israel, I would go and fight for Israel.” It’s peculiar that I should remember that. It was offered without explanation, and I was too young at the time to understand its significance. In fact, this was the solitary comment about Israel that I recall ever hearing expressed in my childhood home.
I was not exactly raised with an abiding love for the Land of Milk and Honey. Or with any significant knowledge of Judaism for that matter. The place in me where a Jew ought to have existed was null and void. But I was driven by the desire to fill my empty space. And, with siyata d’shamaya, with help from Above, I eventually came to understand the significance of being a Jew so that I could live as one.
When I first started meeting Jewish people who had robust amounts of Jewish consciousness, I heard over and over again about the love of Jews for the Land of Israel. How much they looked forward to their next visit! How hard it had been to leave! How homesick they were, for the land that was not their home.
I heard it.
But I didn’t get it.
After the Rabbi and I were married, we went to Israel for my first visit. Although many Jews who visit Israel rush to the Kotel, the Western Wall, as soon as possible, I spent several days trying to avoid going there. I had heard so many dramatic stories of Jews encountering the Kotel. But I was apprehensive and afraid I wouldn’t feel anything.
Here’s what actually happened. At first, I was stunned by the assault of women charity collectors at the Kotel. Nobody had warned me, and I wasn’t prepared. So before I could even get to the Kotel, I had to wade through a phalanx of women calling to me, reaching their hands out at me, demanding of me. The barrage disturbed me, but I was even more bothered by my unpreparedness to give charity properly.
As I walked closer to the Wall, there was no open spot, but I noticed a little side room up a few steps, and I made my way in there. Seated at the entrance was a woman, engrossed in her recitation of Tehillim, but aware enough of her surroundings to shake a charity can each time someone walked in.
More than really praying, I spent my time holding a book of Tehillim distractedly. I reminded myself over and over where I was. My body was actually at the Kotel. I was standing at the remnant of the Holy Temple. I was an American Jew and I was standing before the Kotel itself. I experienced a surreal sense of wonder.
By the time I met my husband on the plaza, I was crying. I couldn’t stop crying for nearly an hour. I had heard the Kotel referred to as the Wailing Wall. I always thought that was because people stood before it and wailed from distress. Now I knew another meaning. Because the Kotel, working its magic in my Jewish soul, had just brought me to tears.
Just tears.
No words.
Just a recognition of the raw spiritual capacity that is accessible only in Israel.
On a later trip, we had the great privilege of getting to Hevron, to the Ma’arit HaMachpelah, to the Cave of the Matriarchs and Patriarchs. To enter the building that has been erected on top of the cave, we had to pass through Israeli security, even back in 1998. We entered through metal detectors, from bright sunlight to semi-darkness, until our eyes adjusted to the natural light streaming in from tiny windows.
At one of the windows was a man. A rag of a man. A penitent. In shredded clothing. Bending and straightening. Bending and straightening. Shukling. Rapidly. And crying out, from an unimaginable depth within. Heart-rending. I understood nothing of what he said. Some might have mistaken him for a madman. I, who was standing in the holiest Land on Earth, in one of her four holiest cities, in one of the holiest places in one of the holiest cities, I chose to see sanctity. Again, I saw the raw spiritual capacity that is accessible only in Israel.
Even given these powerful experiences, I happily returned to Baltimore from each of our trips to Israel. Nice place to visit… but Baltimore is our home. So much so that last summer, we toured all the local Jewish cemeteries, looking for the place we most wanted to be buried. You see, we expected to die in Baltimore, because we saw Baltimore as our home.
As recently as last summer, I was what you might call a theoretical Zionist. I loved and supported Israel, but only in a distant, impersonal sense. From my home in Baltimore.
Three things happened since last summer that changed my relationship to the Land of Israel and that impacted our decision to travel there to look for an apartment in which to invest. The first was September 11th. The second was going to work for the University of Haifa, and the third was something I heard at a lecture last year.
On September 11th, something dramatic shifted in my worldview. On that day, I began to see my life in the context of Jewish history.
There is a lengthy litany of the years and the lands from which Jews have been expelled over the course of Jewish history. After the crusades, expulsions of entire Jewish communities became commonplace. In 1290, all the Jews were expelled from England. In 1306, Jews were expelled from France. In 1492, Jews were expelled from Spain. Dozens of sporadic expulsions of entire Jewish communities in Europe continued into the 19th century.
I was born in America, after the Holocaust. On September 11th, my lifelong presumption of safety in America was immediately and irrevocably shattered. I abruptly came to see the United States, where my parents, and the two generations that followed them, were born and have been living, for what it really is.
A host country.
Don’t believe me? A few historical facts may help you see things more clearly. The first Jews came to America in 1654, but Jewish men couldn’t vote in Maryland until 172 years later. In 1692, the Church of England was the official religion in Maryland. And until less than 150 years ago, public office could only be held by those able to take the oath “upon the true faith of a Christian”.
As great as America has been to Jews, and it has been, it’s hard to escape the fact that we live in a Christian country. Two months of every year, we are overwhelmed with preparations for Christmas. A friend of ours who made aliyah last year said that in Israel, the holiday soda bottles say Chag Sameach, not Merry Christmas. Here, Christmas and Easter are Federal holidays. In America, Christians get their holidays off automatically. Who among us, with the possible exception of those who work in Jewish institutions, hasn’t had to deal with the necessity of negotiating time off to celebrate our Jewish holidays?
Make no mistake. America, for all its love for religious tolerance, is hosting the Jews who live in her borders. This country is not ours.
And it never will be.
Right now, Jews live in relative safety and security in America. But for how long will that be the case? As great as this country is, don’t allow yourself to get so comfortable that you can’t imagine America vomiting out its Jews. Remember the lesson of history. It’s happened in every other country where Jews have ever lived. Our sense of security in America is deceptive. It’s a mistake to rely on it.
Addressing the Jewish Agency last Sunday, June 23, Prime Minister Sharon said, “Whatever happens here [in Israel] will influence the fate of the Jews all around the world. If Israel, Heaven forbid, becomes weakened, don't expect even for a minute that you will be able to live the lives that you are living now. It will disappear in the blink of an eye. Your responsibility is therefore no less than ours… Because it is now not only our fate, but also your fate that hangs in the balance."
It’s a mistake to walk around believing that what’s happening in Israel doesn’t threaten us as American Jews. The more precarious things become in Israel, the more precarious our security as American Jews will become. It’s scary to think about it. But it’s even scarier to be oblivious.
After September 11th, I asked myself, “What does this event mean to me?” “Is this a foreshadowing?” “Is this horrific event supposed to wake me from a coma of apathy? ”
I have surely been awakened from my coma and my eyes are wide open.
A second event that turned my heart toward Israel was accepting a position with an Israeli university. I used to be the most apolitical, unaware person imaginable. I’m not kidding. My strategy for keeping up with current events was that if it was big enough news, someone would tell me about it.
That all changed when I went to work for the University of Haifa. As a function of my job responsibilities, I now must know what’s going on in Israel. In fact, responding to parents about terrorist events in Israel is part of my job. So it’s not just news anymore. It’s my job. Events in Israel, and world events that impact on Israel, hold my attention now in a way they never did before. I’ve gone from being fundamentally oblivious to being relatively well informed about current events in Israel.
All this thinking about Israel and praying for her transformed something inside me. I don’t believe in a political solution. I believe that only a Divine solution will bring lasting peace. And so now I wait for Moshiach, for our Messiah, with ever-increasing eagerness.
And in the meantime? I was just there in November, but I knew I just HAD TO get to Israel again soon. I could feel it in me, like a gnawing.
I don’t mean to suggest that deciding to go was a no-brainer. We postponed and revised our plans several times. But neither was it the toughest decision a Jew ever had to make. In the years preceding the Holocaust, Jews made gut-wrenchingly painful decisions. Some saw what was coming. Others insisted that it wasn’t that bad or that it would certainly get better. Some got out, or got their children out, in time. And some didn’t. So many Jews in that generation, so many Jews in history, have been called upon to make tough decisions. The most I’ve ever been called upon to sacrifice, as a Jew, was baby shrimp with cashews in hoisin-flavored sauce. In comparison to deciding whether to send my children on Kindertransport and risk never seeing them again, making the decision to go to Israel was a piece of cake.
Are we scared to go? Well, yes… and no. Yes, because Jews are getting blown up in Israel on a regular basis. And no, because we have emunah, we have faith. We know that Hashem’s protection is portable. We pray for emunah strong enough to travel in spite of our fear, and, if necessary, G-d forbid, to live with the harm that could come.
And we believe that going to Israel right now, even for a relatively short trip, is something every American Jewish family should be considering. In a message encouraging American Jews to support Israel, Sandra Sokol, the President of AMIT, remembers and paraphrases Mordechai’s words to Esther in Megillat Esther : Do not imagine that you will escape in your affluence from among all the Jews; because if you remain silent at this time, relief and rescue will arise for Israel elsewhere and you and your father’s household will perish. And who knows, if it was not for a time like this that you were so elevated.
Maybe we can’t all live there yet. But we surely can look for ways to support Israel from here. An important purpose of our upcoming trip is to find an apartment to buy. We plan to invest in Israeli real estate as a way of supporting the Israeli economy. And in this way, we hope that we, and our friends and family, will be strengthened to visit Israel more frequently.
When visiting Baltimore last summer, Rabbi Shlomo Riskin of Efrat, Israel said, “If Israel is your Disneyland, then only come when the sun is shining. But if Israel is your Motherland, then come now because your mother needs you.”
We Jews have had a good run in America. But our motherland is threatened. It’s time to put our bodies where our hearts and souls are.
And that’s why we’re going.
Shabbat Shalom.
This week’s parsha, Parshat Pinchas, tells the story of the Daughters of Tzelefchod – five women from the generation that wandered in the desert – who had a profound love for the Land of Israel. Their father Tzelefchod died in the desert without sons. The story of the Daughters of Tzelefchod takes place when the time came to distribute parcels in the Land of Israel to each family. The women in this story so loved the Land of Israel that they insisted they be given a portion of the Land as their inheritance, despite the fact that there were no men in their family. They said:
"Our father has died in the desert.. And he had no sons. Why should the name of our father be removed (literally, be lessened) from the midst of his family because he has no sons". Give us (women) a possession together with the brothers of our father." (Numbers 27:3,4).
It’s far from coincidental that this story appears in this week’s parsha, as we prepare for our departure to Israel. After all, is there a page of T’Nach, of our Bible, that doesn’t mention the Land and its significance?
When I was a very young girl, my father, alav hashalom, once remarked, “If the United States was ever at war with Israel, I would go and fight for Israel.” It’s peculiar that I should remember that. It was offered without explanation, and I was too young at the time to understand its significance. In fact, this was the solitary comment about Israel that I recall ever hearing expressed in my childhood home.
I was not exactly raised with an abiding love for the Land of Milk and Honey. Or with any significant knowledge of Judaism for that matter. The place in me where a Jew ought to have existed was null and void. But I was driven by the desire to fill my empty space. And, with siyata d’shamaya, with help from Above, I eventually came to understand the significance of being a Jew so that I could live as one.
When I first started meeting Jewish people who had robust amounts of Jewish consciousness, I heard over and over again about the love of Jews for the Land of Israel. How much they looked forward to their next visit! How hard it had been to leave! How homesick they were, for the land that was not their home.
I heard it.
But I didn’t get it.
After the Rabbi and I were married, we went to Israel for my first visit. Although many Jews who visit Israel rush to the Kotel, the Western Wall, as soon as possible, I spent several days trying to avoid going there. I had heard so many dramatic stories of Jews encountering the Kotel. But I was apprehensive and afraid I wouldn’t feel anything.
Here’s what actually happened. At first, I was stunned by the assault of women charity collectors at the Kotel. Nobody had warned me, and I wasn’t prepared. So before I could even get to the Kotel, I had to wade through a phalanx of women calling to me, reaching their hands out at me, demanding of me. The barrage disturbed me, but I was even more bothered by my unpreparedness to give charity properly.
As I walked closer to the Wall, there was no open spot, but I noticed a little side room up a few steps, and I made my way in there. Seated at the entrance was a woman, engrossed in her recitation of Tehillim, but aware enough of her surroundings to shake a charity can each time someone walked in.
More than really praying, I spent my time holding a book of Tehillim distractedly. I reminded myself over and over where I was. My body was actually at the Kotel. I was standing at the remnant of the Holy Temple. I was an American Jew and I was standing before the Kotel itself. I experienced a surreal sense of wonder.
By the time I met my husband on the plaza, I was crying. I couldn’t stop crying for nearly an hour. I had heard the Kotel referred to as the Wailing Wall. I always thought that was because people stood before it and wailed from distress. Now I knew another meaning. Because the Kotel, working its magic in my Jewish soul, had just brought me to tears.
Just tears.
No words.
Just a recognition of the raw spiritual capacity that is accessible only in Israel.
On a later trip, we had the great privilege of getting to Hevron, to the Ma’arit HaMachpelah, to the Cave of the Matriarchs and Patriarchs. To enter the building that has been erected on top of the cave, we had to pass through Israeli security, even back in 1998. We entered through metal detectors, from bright sunlight to semi-darkness, until our eyes adjusted to the natural light streaming in from tiny windows.
At one of the windows was a man. A rag of a man. A penitent. In shredded clothing. Bending and straightening. Bending and straightening. Shukling. Rapidly. And crying out, from an unimaginable depth within. Heart-rending. I understood nothing of what he said. Some might have mistaken him for a madman. I, who was standing in the holiest Land on Earth, in one of her four holiest cities, in one of the holiest places in one of the holiest cities, I chose to see sanctity. Again, I saw the raw spiritual capacity that is accessible only in Israel.
Even given these powerful experiences, I happily returned to Baltimore from each of our trips to Israel. Nice place to visit… but Baltimore is our home. So much so that last summer, we toured all the local Jewish cemeteries, looking for the place we most wanted to be buried. You see, we expected to die in Baltimore, because we saw Baltimore as our home.
As recently as last summer, I was what you might call a theoretical Zionist. I loved and supported Israel, but only in a distant, impersonal sense. From my home in Baltimore.
Three things happened since last summer that changed my relationship to the Land of Israel and that impacted our decision to travel there to look for an apartment in which to invest. The first was September 11th. The second was going to work for the University of Haifa, and the third was something I heard at a lecture last year.
On September 11th, something dramatic shifted in my worldview. On that day, I began to see my life in the context of Jewish history.
There is a lengthy litany of the years and the lands from which Jews have been expelled over the course of Jewish history. After the crusades, expulsions of entire Jewish communities became commonplace. In 1290, all the Jews were expelled from England. In 1306, Jews were expelled from France. In 1492, Jews were expelled from Spain. Dozens of sporadic expulsions of entire Jewish communities in Europe continued into the 19th century.
I was born in America, after the Holocaust. On September 11th, my lifelong presumption of safety in America was immediately and irrevocably shattered. I abruptly came to see the United States, where my parents, and the two generations that followed them, were born and have been living, for what it really is.
A host country.
Don’t believe me? A few historical facts may help you see things more clearly. The first Jews came to America in 1654, but Jewish men couldn’t vote in Maryland until 172 years later. In 1692, the Church of England was the official religion in Maryland. And until less than 150 years ago, public office could only be held by those able to take the oath “upon the true faith of a Christian”.
As great as America has been to Jews, and it has been, it’s hard to escape the fact that we live in a Christian country. Two months of every year, we are overwhelmed with preparations for Christmas. A friend of ours who made aliyah last year said that in Israel, the holiday soda bottles say Chag Sameach, not Merry Christmas. Here, Christmas and Easter are Federal holidays. In America, Christians get their holidays off automatically. Who among us, with the possible exception of those who work in Jewish institutions, hasn’t had to deal with the necessity of negotiating time off to celebrate our Jewish holidays?
Make no mistake. America, for all its love for religious tolerance, is hosting the Jews who live in her borders. This country is not ours.
And it never will be.
Right now, Jews live in relative safety and security in America. But for how long will that be the case? As great as this country is, don’t allow yourself to get so comfortable that you can’t imagine America vomiting out its Jews. Remember the lesson of history. It’s happened in every other country where Jews have ever lived. Our sense of security in America is deceptive. It’s a mistake to rely on it.
Addressing the Jewish Agency last Sunday, June 23, Prime Minister Sharon said, “Whatever happens here [in Israel] will influence the fate of the Jews all around the world. If Israel, Heaven forbid, becomes weakened, don't expect even for a minute that you will be able to live the lives that you are living now. It will disappear in the blink of an eye. Your responsibility is therefore no less than ours… Because it is now not only our fate, but also your fate that hangs in the balance."
It’s a mistake to walk around believing that what’s happening in Israel doesn’t threaten us as American Jews. The more precarious things become in Israel, the more precarious our security as American Jews will become. It’s scary to think about it. But it’s even scarier to be oblivious.
After September 11th, I asked myself, “What does this event mean to me?” “Is this a foreshadowing?” “Is this horrific event supposed to wake me from a coma of apathy? ”
I have surely been awakened from my coma and my eyes are wide open.
A second event that turned my heart toward Israel was accepting a position with an Israeli university. I used to be the most apolitical, unaware person imaginable. I’m not kidding. My strategy for keeping up with current events was that if it was big enough news, someone would tell me about it.
That all changed when I went to work for the University of Haifa. As a function of my job responsibilities, I now must know what’s going on in Israel. In fact, responding to parents about terrorist events in Israel is part of my job. So it’s not just news anymore. It’s my job. Events in Israel, and world events that impact on Israel, hold my attention now in a way they never did before. I’ve gone from being fundamentally oblivious to being relatively well informed about current events in Israel.
All this thinking about Israel and praying for her transformed something inside me. I don’t believe in a political solution. I believe that only a Divine solution will bring lasting peace. And so now I wait for Moshiach, for our Messiah, with ever-increasing eagerness.
And in the meantime? I was just there in November, but I knew I just HAD TO get to Israel again soon. I could feel it in me, like a gnawing.
I don’t mean to suggest that deciding to go was a no-brainer. We postponed and revised our plans several times. But neither was it the toughest decision a Jew ever had to make. In the years preceding the Holocaust, Jews made gut-wrenchingly painful decisions. Some saw what was coming. Others insisted that it wasn’t that bad or that it would certainly get better. Some got out, or got their children out, in time. And some didn’t. So many Jews in that generation, so many Jews in history, have been called upon to make tough decisions. The most I’ve ever been called upon to sacrifice, as a Jew, was baby shrimp with cashews in hoisin-flavored sauce. In comparison to deciding whether to send my children on Kindertransport and risk never seeing them again, making the decision to go to Israel was a piece of cake.
Are we scared to go? Well, yes… and no. Yes, because Jews are getting blown up in Israel on a regular basis. And no, because we have emunah, we have faith. We know that Hashem’s protection is portable. We pray for emunah strong enough to travel in spite of our fear, and, if necessary, G-d forbid, to live with the harm that could come.
And we believe that going to Israel right now, even for a relatively short trip, is something every American Jewish family should be considering. In a message encouraging American Jews to support Israel, Sandra Sokol, the President of AMIT, remembers and paraphrases Mordechai’s words to Esther in Megillat Esther : Do not imagine that you will escape in your affluence from among all the Jews; because if you remain silent at this time, relief and rescue will arise for Israel elsewhere and you and your father’s household will perish. And who knows, if it was not for a time like this that you were so elevated.
Maybe we can’t all live there yet. But we surely can look for ways to support Israel from here. An important purpose of our upcoming trip is to find an apartment to buy. We plan to invest in Israeli real estate as a way of supporting the Israeli economy. And in this way, we hope that we, and our friends and family, will be strengthened to visit Israel more frequently.
When visiting Baltimore last summer, Rabbi Shlomo Riskin of Efrat, Israel said, “If Israel is your Disneyland, then only come when the sun is shining. But if Israel is your Motherland, then come now because your mother needs you.”
We Jews have had a good run in America. But our motherland is threatened. It’s time to put our bodies where our hearts and souls are.
And that’s why we’re going.
Shabbat Shalom.
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