Everyday Life: A Photo Blog

I walk around Israel like a kid in a candy store.  There are Jewish messages embedded everywhere.  Sometimes, my husband sees them first and he points out what he knows will delight me.  Here are some favorite scenes from my everyday life in Israel over the past few weeks.

At Elon Moreh, we were greeted by this homemade sign on our cabin door:
"Welcome Rav Elan and Rivkah.  Shabbat Shalom."

While waiting at the Cellcom service center in Jerusalem,
a mother and daughter passed the time reciting Tehillim (Psalms).

The same day, there was an Arab woman and a haredi girl sitting side-by-side,
also waiting for service at Cellcom.  More evidence that Israel is definitely an apartheid country (kidding!)

 All over Israel, there are displays of small kitchen appliances whose chief marketing ploy is to suggest
 that they are American made. I always find this deeply ironic.

On a frozen drink dispenser at a street festival in Tiveria (Tiberias), there was a bumper sticker that says:
"In every Jew, there is Moshiach."

In Israel, people post Biblical verses outside their homes.  In this case, the words come from
Tehillim 102:14-15  "Rise up. Comfort Zion... Because her servants take pleasure in her stones and love her dust."  Especially apt because the house upon which these words appear was built in the middle of an undeveloped area.

This is the house on which the verses from Tehillim are displayed near the front entrance.
In context, they make a lot more sense.

My favorite!  This one reminds customers in this produce store not to forget to say "In honor of the Holy Sabbath" when selecting fruits and vegetables that will be served on Shabbat.

POSTSCRIPT: After this post was published, comments led to this - one more picture, taken on an Egged bus by fellow blogger SaraK, who shares my proclivity for photographing "only in Israel" images.

"To the soldiers of Israel: Go and return home in peace!  We love you.  From the Nation of Israel."

It's All How You Spin It

For all the country's technological advances, there are few things in Israel more complicated for new olim than cellphone plans.  I was kind of getting used to calling our cellphone provider every month to have them explain some aspect of our bill, which varied widely from month to month.  Like many olim, I always had a sneaking suspicion that we were paying too much.  So when the opportunity to work with an English-speaking cellphone broker came up, I grabbed it.

It's his job to call all three Israeli cellphone players and negotiate the best deal for us.  I speak to him in English, he speaks to them in Hebrew and we save hundreds of shekels a month.

Theoretically.

It's several weeks later, we've moved to a new cellphone provider and, due to compatibility and reception issues, in effect, we have close to zero cellphone service.  It's a long saga, and the final chapters are, as yet, unwritten.

But here's something I noticed.

If I think about it all the time, counting how many hours have passed since the last communication, worrying about what we're missing since we can't easily be in touch with one another during the day, kicking myself for messing with a system that was working, I basically burn a hole in my esophagus.

If I think about emuna instead, about believing that God runs that world and everything that happens to us is custom-designed and ultimately for the good, the hole in my esophagus begins to heal and my blood pressure returns to normal.

I'm doing all I can to solve the problem.  Eventually, we will have working cellphones.  In the meantime, we have electricity, no one in our family is ill or injured, we aren't sleeping in bomb shelters, we have food and enough money to refill the fridge when it empties, we have landlines at home and in our offices, so we're not totally cut off from one another all day, etc.

It's all in how you spin it.

Ani Ma'aminah

Although we've been down this road together before, I want to return to a subject that is both controversial and very, very close to my heart.

On September 11, 2001, I sat in our den in Baltimore and took a call from an old friend who had made aliyah  five years previously.  She told me that we needed to get to Israel soon.  And she told me something else too.  She said that Jews in Israel are able to see things more clearly than Jews outside of Israel - that something in the very nature of Israel makes it possible to have a kind of spiritual vision, a sense of Hashem moving in the world, and that ability is lacking for Jews who live outside of Israel.

At the time, I was offended by her assertion.  Ten years later, it's clear to me that she was right.

Yesterday afternoon, there was a highly uncharacteristic earthquake that measured 5.8 on the Richter scale on the East Coast of the US.  By most accounts, this was the largest earthquake on record in the region, centered near the Washington, DC area.  The quake was felt in Baltimore, 40 miles (about 65 Km) away.  Since we have a lot of friends in Baltimore, my Facebook News Feed was overtaken with firsthand reports of the experience of being in the first earthquake in Baltimore in our lifetimes.

Of course, the Facebook statuses of my Israeli friends were all hinting about the proximity of the quake to Washington DC, the seat of a foreign government which has been less and less supportive of the Jewish State.   It is also the seat of government of the country in which the largest population of Jews outside of Israel still lives, leading many to wonder what message Hashem might have been sending.

So I posted this status on Facebook: Raise your hand if you think the earthquake in Baltimore/Washington just might have some spiritual significance. Perhaps a message to American Jews??

As I write these words 24 hours later, there are 38 comments on my status and 14 thumbs-up "likes". Many people are clearly looking to understand the spiritual significance of the earthquake.

But a handful took great offense, accusing me of asserting some sort of prophetic message, as if I know what Hashem's message is. So, instead of hinting, I thought I would take a moment to explain, as clearly as I can, what I believe about the stage of Jewish history we are in and how yesterday's earthquake might fit in.

What I am about to say is clear to many, many people with whom I speak in Israel and to a rare few who live outside of Israel, but I am writing here as an individual and what I say here is my own truth.  I preface my remarks with two introductory comments:

1) I am not a prophet and I do not assert that I understand exactly what Hashem is "thinking".
2) I acknowledge that history may yet prove me wrong.

With this in mind, I believe:

that we are in a very significant stage of Jewish history, just prior to the geula shlayma, the complete Redemption of the Jewish people.

that the galut (Diaspora) existence of the Jewish people is rapidly coming to an end.

that the American economy will never rebound and things will never "return to normal" in the US.

that Hashem is trying to shake up and wake up the Jews outside of Israel to understand that they have no future in a land that is not their own.

that there is a finite, and rapidly diminishing, amount of time in which Jews outside of Israel will be able to make aliyah with dignity.

that we all, Jews the world over, must stop relying on anything (e.g., money, foreign governments, political machinations, military action, nature, etc.) other than Hashem.

that we all, Jews the world over, must do serious teshuva, separating ourselves from materialistic values and attaching ourselves to spiritual values, spiritual behaviors and to Hashem directly.

that we all, Jews the world over, must grow in emuna and understand that ein od milvado - there is nothing, nothing, nothing but God.

This is what I believe, and I live my life, and make daily choices, with these principles in my mind, in my heart and in my soul.

Though I can't know for sure, it is entirely plausible to me that the earthquake was meant to be a reminder that God, and only God, controls everything, everything, everything that happens in the world and that we, as Jews, are called upon to follow His lead.

And right now, He is leading all of us Home.

Rivkah's Random Klita Tips

Now that we've been here a year, I find myself dispensing tidbits of information to even newer olim.  So I started to think, what if I were to write down all my tips, or as many as I can recall, and let others add to the list?  These are things I had to learn, either the hard way, or from people who have been here longer than we have.  As Ruti Mizrachi always says, "Don't thank me. I'm a giver." But please do use the comments section to add your helpful tips.

Mostly, these appear in no particular order, though I've divided the tips into those that are generally true in Israel (especially in the Jerusalem area) and those that are specific to my community of Ma'ale Adumim.

General Tips in Israel (mostly in the Jerusalem area)

The thickest grocery brand of napkins is sano sushi.  After a number of disappointing purchases of Nikol brand, we now always buy sano sushi white napkins in the double pack.

Unlike table napkins, every brand of Shabbat toilet paper we've ever bought is pretty much the same quality, so it's fine to buy the cheapest one.

We always buy Molett brand toilet paper and facial tissues.  We find them the closest to what we are used to.  Ironically, although economy size packaging hasn't really caught on in Israel, toilet paper is sold in giant packs.  The one we always buy has 48 rolls.

Sale price signs on grocery store shelves generally list the last four numbers of the UPC code for the products that are actually included in the sale price.

It took me months to figure out the trash bag situation.  Trash cans are marked in liters and bags are marked in cm, so there's no natural match.  Our 50 liter trash can is slightly smaller than a standard 13 gallon kitchen trash can in the US.  The correct size bags are 75x90cm.  We buy Nikol brand orange liners (though different brands may vary by a few cm).  They are much thinner than what we were used to, but they do the job.

If you're looking for an American grocery item, the most likely places in the Jerusalem area are CheaperKol on Kanfei Nesharim in Givat Shaul, SuperDeal in Talpiot (which also has excellent prices), Chofetz Chaim on Aggripas (butcher shop with American-style deli plus some grocery items) or the local makolet in a neighborhood where a lot of former Americans live.  Meatland in Ra'anana is also a good source.

Grocery stores in Israel deliver.  Some will deliver for free if your order is large enough.  But even if you have to pay, the delivery charges range from 10 to about 25 NIS.  Some stores charge more for deliveries closer to Shabbat and less for deliveries earlier in the week.

Grocery stores have limited selections of spices.  But the Machane Yehuda shuk has a few really excellent spice shops and you can buy more exotic or hard-to-find spices there.

It is possible to buy Philadelphia brand cream cheese here but it's very expensive.  Tnuva Napoleon is the most like whipped American cream cheese.  It comes in a few varieties in a 225 gram tub.  The plain variety has a daisy on the package.

Dairy products generally list the percentage of fat on the label.

Meat is sold by numbers and not by cuts.  For example, brisket is #3.  There is a diagram of a cow divided into numbers, but unless you happen to know which part of the cow your favorite cut comes from and if
this description doesn't help you, you'll have to ask a neighbor or a butcher for help.

For cholent meat, ask for basar chamim which comes boneless and pre-cut into chunks.

Chop meat is much cheaper frozen than fresh.

Rami Levi often sells whole chickens for a few shekels a kilo on Thursdays.  My husband hasn't quite mastered cutting a whole chicken into 1/8s, but he's definitely got the wings and legs down.

Some stores (Rami Levy for sure) have "shuk day" early in the week when selected vegetables are just 1 NIS/kilo.  This is generally Tuesday and sometimes Wednesday.

Grocery stores in Israel are tiered.  This is not a comprehensive list of all grocery stores, but it will give you an idea of how things work:

Upscale, expensive
Mega Ba'Ir
Shufersal Sheli

Middle class
Mega
Shufersal Big
Mr. Zol

Cheaper
Mega Bool
Shufersal Deal

Cheapest
Stores that cater to haredi customers (e.g. Yesh, Shefa Shuk, Osher Ad in Givat Shaul and Sha'arei Ezra in Romema)

Although we shop in other places too, our major weekly shopping is done at Rami Levy.  Their prices are routinely very competitive and the owner of the company is a mensch.

Many chain stores, especially grocery stores, offer their own cartis mo'adon.  It's what we used to call a frequent shopper or bonus card.  Some of them are free and give you access to in-store special prices.  But some are actually credit cards which may be free for the first year, but then cost around 15 NIS a month.  The first thing the cashier will ask you in a store that has one is, "Cartis mo'adon?"

Another question cashiers often ask is if you want to buy any of the specials that are available at the register.  There are generally 5-6 sale items that are pictured right on the shelf where you sign your receipt.

After your groceries have been totaled, the cashier will also ask you how many payments you want your total to be divided into.  So if cash flow is a problem, you can arrange to pay in November for groceries that you ate in September.

Credit cards in Israel are somewhat like a cross between an American credit card and a debit card.  Your bank will give you a monthly credit limit.  As you charge things throughout the month, your available balance is reduced by the amount you've charged.  Then, once a month, your bank will deduct your credit card balance from your bank account and your available balance resets to zero.

Produce, meat and bulk foods are weighed in kilos.  A kilo is 2.2 pounds.  So half a kilo (500 grams) is approximately a pound and a quarter kilo is approximately half a pound.

Israeli apartments don't have closets, so people buy free-standing aronot, which typically have hanging space, drawers and shelves.  There are hundreds of different styles and a very wide range of prices.  The best place we found, great variety and fair prices, is the Si Rahit furniture store, 15 Rechov HaTnufa in Talpiot.

Talpiot is a Jerusalem neighborhood that has tons of furniture and housewares stores.  Furniture styles in Israel tend to be very simple and many stores have very similar styles of couches, desks, aronot, etc.  Unique items, imported from Europe for example, are available here, but only from very high-end merchants.

AACI (Association of Americans and Canadians in Israel) was established in 1951.  They have many services for English-speaking olim, but I particularly want to highlight their klita department for help and referrals for all kinds of bureaucratic problems and also their English language lending library.

English books are definitely harder to find in Israel.   For some people, Amazon's kindle or another eReader is their solution.  There are used books stores in Israel that sell English books.  Check out the ESRAbooks shop in Modi'in.

There are also a few companies that ship English books to Israel without charging an arm and a leg in shipping.  My two favorites are: Better World Books and The Book Depository, which offers free worldwide shipping.

The best place we found to buy appliances is Salon Yerushalayim on Rechov Yafo right near the Machane Yehuda shuk.  We always deal with Nir Moshe who speaks excellent English.  Contact him at salonyam@bezeqint.net or cal 02-624-2535.

To avoid mold, always leave the door to your front-loading washing machine open when not in use.

eLuna is a great English website for reviews of restaurants all over Israel and also for 10% discount coupons.

Easy Park is a small yellow device, sold in the post office, that allows you to preload money to use when parking in municipal lots all over Israel.

If you don't have an Easy Park device, there are meters in some places, but more common are the kiosks at which you pay and get a paper ticket, with an expiration time, to put inside your front dash.

Movie theaters in Israel show a lot of America movies, but it's wise to ask if there are subtitles because sometimes the films are dubbed into Hebrew. The Globus multiplex at Binyanei HaUma has the best popcorn and the Jerusalem Cinematheque shows the most eclectic films.  The Jerusalem Film Festival happens every summer with hundreds of films from all over the world.

There are lots of festivals in Jerusalem in the summer but a really mammoth one is Hutzot Hayotzer, the International Arts and Crafts Festival, that happens every August in Sultan's Pool across from the Old City.

Dates in Israel are written in the European style: day/month/year.  So 14-08-11 is August 14, 2011. And a range of dates, like 14-25/08 means August 14-25.  It takes some getting used to.  I tend to write dates like this: 14 Aug 2011 so it's clear to everyone.

Women over the age of 60 and men over the age of 65 are entitled to half-price bus fare on Egged buses.

Ask neighbors and friends for referrals to English-speaking service providers (e.g. insurance agents, appliance repair, bankers, travel agents, etc.)

Tips Specific to Ma'ale Adumim and/or Mitzpe Nevo

There are recycling collection bins for plastic bottles, paper and old clothing.  However, small beverage bottles (both plastic and glass) and wine bottles are each redeemable for cash (generally 25-30 agorot). The Blumberg family in Mitzpe Nevo collects these redeemable bottles and donates all the money to Ateret Cohanim.  Their address and phone number is listed in the Mitzpe Nevo directory.

The best pizza in Ma'ale Adumim is Pizza Roma - 02-590-0232.  Pizza shops generally include a free 2 liter bottle of soda with every full-size pizza, in the store or delivered.

Rami Levi stores distribute free calendars around Rosh Hashana time.  The best one for accurate times in Mitzpe Nevo is published by Pnei Shmuel (The Down Shul).

Purim time, both the Mitzpe Nevo and Klei Shir neighborhoods operate communal mishloach manot projects.  You choose which neighbors you want to send mishloach manot to, pay a set fee per recipient and a team of volunteers designs, packs and delivers one package to each family.  Each Purim package from Mitzpe Nevo also includes a neighborhood phone book. The proceeds go to tzedaka.

On the night of Yom HaAtzma'ut, there is music, fireworks and carnival booths on the lawn behind Kikar Yahalom.

Mimi Faran is a former American living in Klei Shir who does all kinds of sewing and repairs.  Her work is fine quality and very reasonable priced. Contact me for her phone number.

Frozen broccoli in the 800 gram package is one of the few items that are cheaper at Mr. Zol than at Rami Levi.

There is a car wash on the very bottom level of the Ma'ale Adumim mall.

If you live toward the top of Mitzpe Nevo, Egged's 175, 120, 124 and 126 stop just after the snail and it's a downhill walk from there.  Not as close as the #174 will take you, but good to know in a pinch.

The hofshi hodshi is Egged's monthly pass that allows unlimited bus travel between Ma'ale Adumim and Jerusalem and within Jerusalem.  As of this writing, it costs 292 NIS.

A one-way adult fare from Ma'ale Adumim to Jerusalem is 8.80 NIS.  There is a discounted multiple ride ticket (cartisia) that is 35.20 NIS for 5 rides.  Youth up to age 18 are entitled to a more deeply discounted cartisia.

A complete list of Egged discounts is available here

Graphos on the bottom level of the mall near Steimatzky's is a good place to make copies and send faxes.  It's also a good place to buy Hebrew letter stickers for your computer keyboard.  But be sure to buy them in a color that contrasts with your keys.  

There is an English language book swap and sale in Ma'ale Adumim twice a year.  Used books are 5 or 10 NIS each and all the proceeds go to tzedaka.

Annual car inspections can be done in Mishor Adumim.

Disclaimer: This random collection of klita tips are all off the top of my head and, in many cases, reflect my family's idiosyncratic preferences. Some of them I figured out through trial and error, but a good portion of them I learned by asking olim who have been here longer than we have. This list was fun to compile but it's not meant to be comprehensive.  

Remember to post your klita tips in the comments section.

The Soul of the Matter

Generally, when I sit down to write a new blog post, I have a pretty clear idea where I'm going with it.

This time is different.

I've had a tickle in my brain for days and days, but no really clear direction.

When I was in the throes of adolescence, I wrote poetry like a fiend.  I would be seized by a sudden itch to write.  A word, a phrase or a line would enter my brain, fully formed, and I could not rest until I committed it to paper (and back then, I composed on paper, literally).

Sometimes writing is still like that for me.  But not this time.

This time I have a vague sense that I want to write about how much the spiritual aspect of life has been at play for me, but I'm not sure where to start.

I experience my life in Israel in two major ways.

Often, I am thinking about logistical and financial worries.  How to get from place A to place B by bus.  Who to invite and what to cook for Shabbat.  How to pay for tuition. Where to get the best price on orange juice or a new ceiling fan.  Whether we can afford to run the air conditioning today. How to get all our remaining funds out of America before the whole economic system crashes. My mind often feels like it's chasing itself.

But that's only part of the story.

I also experience my life in Israel as exceedingly soulful.

I live in a world where people talk openly about God and about the spiritual dimension of life.  I have tried, in recent weeks, to break my attachment to popular fiction and study more Torah.  I am almost through a 500+ page commentary on Sefer Yehoshua and plan to move on to Shoftim just as soon as I can.  I've all but stopped reading the newspaper and rely on the Facebook newsfeed to alert me to major events worldwide.  (You may laugh, but it's where I first heard about many recent global events.)

Every day, there is another reason to add a name to my prayer list. An illness. A family crisis.  But also engagements, new babies, weddings. I see problems, mine and those of other people, as spiritual struggles.  I attend events around town and cherish feeling my spirit moved by them.  I think about God and easily tick off lists of things I'm grateful for.  I believe so strongly in the inherent correctness of Jews living in Eretz Yisrael that simple moments here bring me great joy.

I once learned that, as we grow older and see the inevitable limitations of the physical, we come to better appreciate the meta-physical, which is infinite.  Although I am not yet old (except in the eyes of my children), I am already aware of this process happening within me.  It's one of the reasons why, statistically, outside Orthodox circles, adult Jewish education tends to attract people in their 50's and above.  Once the potent pull of the physical diminishes in power, the spiritual begins to attract attention, even if we don't fully understand the dynamic.

Side-by-side with worries about the price of orange juice are repetitive thoughts of where we are in Jewish history.  What does it mean that there have been recent, tragic slayings in all segments of Am Yisrael?  I feel the breath of Moshiach on the back of my neck.  I worry about the price of orange juice, but I also anticipate Redemption any moment.  It's a ceaseless dialectic, an unending tension.

This year, I listened to Eicha read outdoors, on an empty hilltop near our home, on land we don't build on because the US government pressures us not to.  But I am in Eretz Yisrael, listening to Eicha just a few kilometers from Yerushalayim.  The wind whips the pages of my sefer.  I am surrounded by Jews who also think it's important to come to this abandoned hilltop on the night of Tisha B'Av. My husband's voice leads the group in prayer and I feel the breath of Moshiach on the back of my neck.

At a program marking six years since the abandonment of Gush Katif, I listened to speaker after speaker who all know that the spiritual side is what's really important in life.  I listened to Shlomo Katz, whose music never fails to move me, remind us that all this turmoil in the world is temporary.  We will return to Gush Katif.  We will reunite with the rest of Am Yisrael.  And we will live in a world more spiritual than physical.

For now, more and more each day, I try my best to live with emunah, the unshakable belief that everything God does is for the good.  As time passes, I love God more and more and anticipate the Redemption with deeper belief.  I am, as I often say, unspeakably grateful to live here, where there are so many people who understand all this.

Year Two, Day Two

Compared to our house in Baltimore, we live in very small quarters. No closets. No basement. No yard. No attic. No driveway.

Objectively, it's an average Israeli apartment.  Three bedrooms plus a small safe room that we use as a library. Two bathrooms.  Two small mirpesot (outdoor porch areas) - one for the sukkah and one for sitting on, feeling privileged to have a view of Jerusalem and for swooning over the fact that we actually live in Israel.

The most distinctively different feature of our new quarters is that we have no kitchen.  That is, we have no separate room that can be called a kitchen.  What we have is a kitchen wall that leads directly into our dining "room", which, come to think of it, isn't a room either, but just an extension of the kitchen wall. Nevertheless, week after week, we manage to crank out meals from our kitchen wall and serve guests in our dining "room".

This past Wednesday night, we celebrated our first aliyahversary by the Hebrew calendar.  We celebrated with another couple who were on our aliyah flight by inviting Rabbi Nachman Kahana to speak on the topic, "The Connection Between Aliyah and Geula."  We were hoping for 40 people and were overwhelmed that there were close to twice that number in attendance.  Rabbi Kahana spoke for approximately an hour and, thinking about it later, I was blown away by how far we have come in just one year.

There are things that used to baffle us when we came here to visit that we now accomplish with ease.  For example, we were never sure on what temperature to set the air conditioner in the summer, so we used to set it at 19 degrees.  Ha!  Living on shekels, we would never do that now.

We used to be confused about which plastic and glass bottles could be recycled and which couldn't.  In Israel, there are a number of individuals who cash in used bottles and donate the money to tzedaka.  But only some bottles are eligible for redemption.  The rest of the plastic bottles go in the big green recycling cage across the street and most glass jars, regrettably, go in the trash. We're not guessing anymore about what to do with each empty container, but I was thinking about how, a year ago, I was never sure.

It took us some time to find a brand of cream cheese that has a similar consistency to what we were used to.  "Just remember to look for the daisy on the label," my sister-in-law reminded me when I asked to take an empty container with me so I could buy exactly that brand.

The cheese and the deli turkey I most prefer both have cherry tomatoes on the package.  If they change the packaging, I'm in trouble, but for now, I shop by graphics and get what I need.

Kishke is another achievement of our lives in Israel.  Despite this Wikipedia article that claims it's available in most Israeli supermarkets, we haven't been able to find it.  We did buy one product that says kishke in Hebrew letters, but the food inside bears absolutely no resemblance to the food product we call kishke, except for the slight orange coloring.  So, in Israel, I learned to make my own.  It's not that hard, especially after the vegetables are grated.  And the homemade version is probably a lot healthier than the MealMart kishke we used to buy.

Oh MealMart kishke!  I DO miss you!

When we came as tourists, we were baffled by how to pump self-serve gas.  In Israel, in addition to swiping your credit card at the pump, you have to enter your mispar zehut (national identity number).  Although my husband was born in Israel and had a mispar zehut (and a really low number at that), we could never remember where I wrote it down.  In Israel, you need that number for nearly every economic and government transaction.  It's asked for so routinely that most olim memorize their number in the first week. But when we used to come, we had to go to the full-serve pump because we didn't know my husband's number so we couldn't pump our own gas.

These everyday examples don't tell the whole story, but they do tell part of the story of our first year.  Adult olim quickly realize how much of their adult lives in America were managed without requiring too much new thinking.  Here, there's so much to learn every day.  But, a year and two days in to our lives in Israel, I can see how, eventually, many things that were baffling have become routine.

Over the past year, my husband and I made new friends, brought two of my favorite rabbis to our shul to speak, began teaching and learning Torah with a new depth, found work, bought a car and insurance and learned to shop in shekelim.  My husband is often asked to officiate at bnei mitzvot and weddings and to teach Torah in Jerusalem, but he is also developing many non-rabbinic aspects of himself.  I finished ulpan, learned a bunch of new recipes, learned how to cook in celcius and how to use the Egged bus system and ran a successful English book swap and sale that raised money for JobKatif, the organization where our oldest daughter does her national service.

But above all, we start year two with profound gratitude for the privilege it is to live here, relying on and feeling closer than ever to Hashem.  Here, the spiritual aspects of life are continually strengthened and the material aspects of life continually diminish in significance. That's the best part.

What Goes Up, Must Come Down

Often, in the late afternoons outside our apartment, we get heavy winds.  Since there are no buildings behind us or in front of us, leaving our front door at that time of day feels like stepping into a wind tunnel. Sometimes it's good for a laugh.

Over Shabbat, our downstairs neighbors' partially-inflated kiddie pool flew up in the wind and attached itself to our fence.  I tried to dislodge it, but to no avail. The winds were too strong.  I assumed that, when the winds died down, it would detach itself and fall back down.  Instead, it flew even higher, to the poles of our sukkah porch. And there it remains, even after Shabbat ended.

Somehow, this seemed a fitting metaphor for my recent visit to the States.  It was a very difficult trip, logistically certainly, but mostly spiritually.

On the positive side, I had the pleasure of being able to reconnect with old friends, many of whom went out of their way to offer concrete assistance and emotional support.  To realize that, despite the distance, the bonds of friendship still exist, was very comforting.

And there is, unarguably, excellent shopping to be done in the States. After having lived and shopped in Israel for a full year, I was momentarily dazzled by the brightly lit, wide aisles and the incredible variety of relatively inexpensive merchandise available everywhere.

And there is so much water!  It rains on the East Coast in the summer.  In fact, in one particularly torrential thunderstorm, I was reminded of the anxiety I used to feel because such storms held great potential for flooding the basement of our old house.

Admittedly, the cheesy magazines in the nail salon and the car repair shop waiting room do not represent the best of America, but the shallowness of what passes for popular culture shocked me. I watched a romantic comedy powered by low-grade, sexually-charged humor.  I watched it, but I felt guilty and disappointed in myself the whole time.

I was disoriented much of the time I was there, the way one feels the first day out after having spent a week in bed on cold medicines. I was driving down familiar streets, stepping into familiar places, but I had changed in some very notable ways.  This was no longer my life.  And I felt the dissonance.

I missed hearing and saying Shabbat Shalom to everyone starting Wednesday evening.  I missed the sense that my life has a higher purpose.  I felt, in some visceral way, the absence of the Shechina.  I had a great deal of difficulty feeling connected to G-d.  I didn't lose intellectual awareness of G-d.  But I could not feel my neshama.

What went up, came down.

Due to multiple delays, flight cancellations, missed connections and a heap of bad advice dispensed by the airline, it took 48 hours to get home.  It was as if the potent pull of the profane was trying to hold me back.  I told my mother, only half in jest, "Don't get remarried, don't get sick and don't die.  Because I'm never leaving Israel again."

We just ended my first Shabbat back.  Over Shabbat, I started a new Torah learning project, one that had been scratching around my head for some time.

And I have begun again to breathe.

Far From Home

I had to leave Israel on very short notice to take care of some pressing business far from home.  At 3:45 AM on a quiet street in Jerusalem, a pierced, Israeli man, wearing a blue polyester track suit, sticks his shaven head into the half-full sherut, looking for travelers to America so he can shout, "I love America!"

I keep silent.

In a transit airport, I feel conspicuously Israeli.  There is Hebrew on my shirt, shkelim in my wallet and an Israeli passport among my documents.  "Travel on your American passport," I was told in one international capitol.

Scrolling through pictures of chayalim on buses on the camera roll of my iPhone reminds me of home.

The contrast between the chayelet in uniform and the poufy straw beach bag amused me.

I cherish this image of a chayal davening on my bus in the morning.

But I am not home.  I'm suddenly in an international airport, with hours to pass before my connecting flight. I wander into the "Multi-faith room" looking for a quiet place to say a few chapters of Tehillim.  At the door, I see a Muslim man in a western suit, bowing on his prayer rug.

In the women's section, separated by a half-wall, are three women of indistinct national origin, asleep on the floor.  I turned away, feeling distinctly unwelcome in the multi-faith room.

The shops are clean, well-lit, creatively organized and filled with over-priced consumer goods that I have zero desire to acquire.  There is a paucity of kosher food options.  The only items I'm sure about are bottled water and shortbread cookies marked with a kosher symbol that I recognize from America.

I am surrounded by naked commercialism, much like any department store in America, every element designed to seduce me into parting from my cash.

I'm tempted twice.  Until I do the currency conversion and gasp. Shopping in most places in Israel just isn't this slick.

There are random Jew sightings:

but mostly it's an international European crowd, heavily accented with Muslims.  Right.  We Jews are a minority population in the bigger world.  I forgot.  Not intellectually.  But experientially.

Walking the streets of Jerusalem, I'm used to hearing many languages, but here, there is so much English around me that I am disoriented.  After a year in Israel, I am still cautious about speaking to strangers in public places for fear that we don't have a common language.  Suddenly, I am nearly universally understood and the awkward, deer-in-the headlights look I perpetually wear in public in Israel is gone.  I understand so much of what's going on around me.  It's very disorienting.

Even with that, I wish I was Homeward Bound.

Guest Post: An Incredible True Story

This story was sent to me by a new immigrant who wishes to remain anonymous.  She is approaching her one year aliyah anniversary and is still looking for work.

I'm reading this Garden of Peace book for women. It says to talk to Hashem at least an hour a day. Tell Him what you want, need, are grateful for, whatever.

I had some questions I needed answers for. Just thinking about what to say didn't seem 'enough' to have a conversation, so I started emailing Hashem. I made a file and email to myself and just file it there. Then all my time being on-line is for a worthy cause. I just keep typing what I would say. So, I asked some questions and prayed for some answers or sources to get the answers.

Now, I have mentioned where we live is not a religious neighborhood. It is quiet. We never get visitors or people knocking on our door. Twice in 10 months we have had kids collect for an organization, and once a friend came by to drop off something just after they had bought a car

So yesterday evening, the doorbell rings. It's a Breslov chasid collecting tzedakah and giving our little Breslov booklets. I am standing there with the book I am reading (Garden of Peace for Women.) I show him the book, of which he knows what it is, and hands me a booklet.

I say I can't read Hebrew so he goes back into his back and pulls out an English booklet (and it's his only English one. He has Hebrew, Russian, Spanish, and this English one). It's called Easy Money which deals with having emuna in Hashem, trusting Him for parnasah, etc. In it are my answers.

If I wasn't so flabbergasted I would have asked him why he came to our neighborhood. Why tonight? Why why why? Of course Hashem sent him is the obvious answer. But talk about "instant messaging from Hashem"! I could barely fall asleep.

Amazing, isn't it??!!

Milk in Bags and Other Consumer Behaviors for Olim

After nearly a year living in Israel, there are certain consumer habits we've acquired that are beginning to feel normal.  Because of its uniquely Israeli packaging (and also because it's price-controlled), buying our milk in plastic bags always makes me feel very, very Israeli. Occasionally, when there's no 1% milk in bags and I have to buy an ordinary cardboard container, I feel let down. (Not to worry. I don't get so depressed that therapy is required.)

Before Pesach, we bought a new plastic pitcher for our milk bags.

This one was an upgrade, because it has a built-in razor blade to slice through a corner of the bag to open it.  (I know how jealous you must be feeling.)

Knowing exactly how large a cut to make in the bag is something of an art form. After nearly a year here, my brother just taught me a milk spillage-reducing trick:  hold the corner opposite the opening as you pour. Brilliant!  I haven't spilled a drop since.

Here's another thing it took almost a year to figure out.  Each bag o'milk contains 1 liter, which is about 4 cups, so we go through them pretty quickly.  On any average day, we have 3 or 4 spare bags in the fridge. But we had no decent system for storing them until very recently.

What can I say?  It takes awhile to figure these things out.  This was a container we almost threw away because it had no lid.  But it's perfect for 4 bags of milk.  I'm so happy!

The produce here is different.  For example, the potato skins are much thinner, so I never peel potatoes anymore.  And I can't get 10 oz. boxes of chopped broccoli (which I used to buy 6 and 8 at a time), so now I buy bags of frozen broccoli florets, thaw the broccoli in the bag and then cut them with standard kitchen shears.  I save time not peeling potatoes and take a little more time with the broccoli.  It all works out in the end.

Kedem grape juice is available here, but it's sweeter and thicker than the Israeli grape juice we've come to prefer.  We had a favorite brand but we started experimenting to see if we could save a few shekels on something cheaper.  In the end, we decided that there really is a difference in taste and we went back to our favorite brand.  While my husband was making kiddush this Shabbat, I noticed the embossed image of two spies carrying a really big cluster of grapes - straight out of last week's Torah portion - right on our grape juice bottle.

I've starting writing cooking temperatures for new recipes in Celsius.  And I've gotten the general gist of weather temperatures, thanks to these three things:

1) While we were still in America, I flipped the toggle on my car's temperature gauge to Celsius so I could begin to correlate the number to the feel outside the car's windows.

2) A friend and fellow olah taught me this neat trick for estimating weather temperature:

30 is hot

20 is nice

10 is cold

Zero is ice

3) And another friend taught me this trick for converting Celsius to Fahrenheit temperature in my head:

Double the Celsius number

Subtract 10%

Add 32

We have malls here, but I've never seen a factory outlet center. Unless you're a tourist looking for souvenirs, there isn't much recreational shopping in Israel.  Which is just fine with me.  A few weeks ago, while my husband was in America working, I went to the grocery store all by myself for the very first time.  That was enough shopping excitement for me.

Okay, one last cheap consumer thrill for now.  I love being able to buy special Shabbat toothpaste and toilet paper in virtually every tiny corner grocery store all over Israel.

Epic Fail

[Hodel is leaving on a train for Siberia] 

                                     Hodel: Papa, God alone knows when we shall see each other again.

Tevye: Then we will leave it in His hands. 

- Fiddler on the Roof (1971)

Almost a year ago, we made aliyah with a 15 year-old.  We joined our older daughter who made aliyah by herself the year before.  This morning, my now 16 year-old daughter walked through security at Ben Gurion airport on her way to Baltimore, and I don't know when I'll see her again.

From the time she walked through the glass doors past where we could no longer follow her, until just a few  hours ago, I barely spoke.  I craved silence, needing be alone with G-d, to figure out how to deal with the loss of her in our daily lives.

I've left Israel so many times in the past.  Always, in the last days and hours, I would gaze with great intensity at all there is to see here, trying to burn images into my brain so I could take them with me.  In these last days and weeks before her departure, I had to continuously remind myself that I'm not going anywhere.  I confused her departure for my own.

Rabbi Simeon said: "G-d gave Israel three wonderful presents, but each one was earned through pain and suffering: The Torah, the Holy Land, and the World to Come." 

I know many people who made aliyah, and I also know many stories of trials and tribulations - economic troubles, legal problems, housing issues, health problems, family challenges.  How many times did I hear Anita Tucker, spokesperson for the former residents of Gush Katif say, "You have to be zoche (you have to merit) to live in Israel," implying that it's not for everyone?  Rabbi Moshe Lichtman teaches that, just as in shopping, where a more valuable item commands a higher price, many people pay a high price to live in Israel, exactly because it's so valuable.

Today, I faced that dead on.

Kol hatchalot kashot: All beginnings are difficult.  We knew full well that bringing a teenager on aliyah was risky.  The first few months here were challenging for all of us, but especially for her.  As she reminded us over and over, she was the only one in the family who didn't get to choose aliyah.

In response to her early difficulties settling in, her father (my ex-husband), offered to let her come back to Baltimore to live with him.  As a result, nearly her entire first year in Israel was spent half-heartedly, with a foot in both worlds.

No one can succeed at aliyah like that.  Especially not a teen.

So she flew to America today without a specific plan to return. 

Yes, I could have refused to let her go.  If you think that would have been a good idea, I'm gonna guess you never parented teens.  At least now, she has the chance to make the choice she feels she was denied.  If she chooses to use her return ticket in August, she will be choosing Israel for herself.

As a result of my blogging and my work with the Baltimore Chug Aliyah, I regularly hear from people who long to make aliyah.  Some need practical advice. Others most need spiritual support.  At least a dozen times a week, I share essays and articles meant to strengthen the desire of other Jews to make Israel their home. What I have been able to share with hundreds of other Jews, I have been singularly unable to convey to my own child.

The poetic irony that my own daughter, in boarding that plane this morning. rejected one of Hashem's gifts that I especially cherish does not escape my notice. Lest you imagine otherwise, our parent-child relationship is a loving one and our connection is deep.  Hers was not a spiteful act.  

I will never stop davening that she comes to understand what it means to be able to live in Israel, that she comes to feel the pride of a Jew who is finally Home, that she opens her heart to Israel and that she comes back to strengthen this Land with her presence.

In the meantime, the fact that she chose Baltimore over Israel this morning feels like my own personal epic fail.

Chasm Spasm, Again

Last week, shortly after yet another person who lives in Israel told me he's going to America this summer, I updated my status on Facebook to say:

"I feel like I'm the only person I know who has no plans to go to America this summer."  

Thirty-six comments later, I knew I had stirred up a controversy. Early responders, all olim from America, used strong language to announce that they have no such plans: 

• I have no intention of going to America ever.
• I don't! America is a terrible place to be.
• don't do it!!!
• We are not going there....I cry every time I get home from anywhere and the States is the PITS to visit!!!!

Twelve comments later, someone in America took offense. 


Every time I write about this topic, it tends to generate strong reactions. So let me try to be as clear as I can.  There is a world of difference between someone (and for the purposes of this discussion, I'm really only talking about Torah Jews here) who would love to live in Israel but can't right now for a whole array of legitimate reasons and those who have a tenacious connection to America and who simply do not see aliyah and a life in Israel as a desideratum.

A few years ago, I heard Rabbi Simcha Hochbaum, visiting Baltimore from Israel, speak about how every generation has its unique challenge.  A generation or two ago, the challenge was Shabbat observance - how to remain gainfully employed in America while guarding Shabbat.  He reminded us that this issue overwhelmed a generation of Jewish immigrants but is hardly spoken about by American Jews anymore. The issue of our generation, he claimed, is undoubtedly aliyah to Eretz Yisrael.

What I said on Facebook bears repeating here: "Many of the people I know who have made aliyah have very strong feelings about the (lack of a) future for Jews in America and are, frankly, puzzled by the continued, steadfast loyalty of Jews to America. My sense is that, if it wasn't for friends and family (and Target), I don't know how many of us would actually ever go back."

That's the chasm spasm that seems to be gripping Torah Jews.  There are approximately 5.5 million Jews in Israel and approximately 5.5 million Jews in America (though many argue that this number includes approximately 2 million non-halachic Jews).  The next closest contender is France with less than 500,000 Jews.  So, since the vast majority of the world's diaspora Jews are in America, the controversy centers there.

Are Torah observant American Jews beginning to feel somewhat defensive about their decision to stay in America?  Are olim guilty of rubbing the noses of American Jews in it?  

It took me nine years from my first thought of aliyah to our aliyah flight.  So I, for sure, understand wanting but not being able to.  

But, for myself, I am really and truly, genuinely puzzled by those who simply do not want.  I'm sorry I can't be more PC about this but no, it really isn't a matter of personal preference.  We're not talking chocolate or vanilla here.  "Hashem is here. Hashem is there. Hashem is truly everywhere," is a nice children's song. It's not a justification for staying in America at this time in Jewish history, while storm clouds grow darker each day.

There are hundreds of Torah quotes, and many sefarim that make the case so much better than I could ever make it. (Just ask and I'm happy to recommend one, or 10 :-). If you don't have any intention of making aliyah,  at least don't kid yourself into thinking that Hashem doesn't care where you live as long as you keep His mitzvot.  If you think your life in America is kosher, even mehadrin min hamehadrin, at least be honest enough to acknowledge the the truth of the words of Rabbi Ya'akov Emden who teaches that Eretz Yisrael is, "The peg upon which the entire Torah hangs."

If you can't come right now, you can't come.  Anyone can understand that. But if you are a committed Torah Jew and you don't even want to come?

That's a chasm I just can't understand.

Some Days are Diamonds. Some Days are Stones.

Yesterday was a very hard day.  It's been a packed week, but yesterday was the most intense.

Our community lost a young, 25 year-old man who died trying to save someone else from drowning. This death, sudden and shocking, sits heavily in my belly.  We only met this young man once, back in the fall, when he joined his parents for a meal in our sukkah.  But this was probably the hardest funeral I have ever attended.

Funerals in Israel are much rawer than the often sanitized choreography of a Baltimore Jewish funeral. Limited seating often means most people stand.  In this case, there were so many hundreds of people that we stood outside the Beit Chesped, along with a couple of hundred other people who couldn't fit inside the main hall.  But we heard everything.

There were 7 or 8 speakers, all of whom painted a picture of an astonishingly kind and gentle soul.  Young men and women who knew him well were standing with red eyes, holding on to one another, seeking the strength to deal with this incomprehensible loss.

And after the speakers, the body was escorted to the burial site, wrapped simply in cloth and carried on a stretcher, not hidden in a decorative coffin.  This is real.  This is raw.  This is death.

The faces of the family members are burned in my brain.  White with grief.  Eyes that stare but do not see.

I can't shake it.  I can't stop thinking about it.  My neighbors buried their son yesterday and I am nauseous with the memory.

Directly from the funeral, we drove to the wedding of the son of other friends.  A huge, elegant wedding in a hall that was surprisingly tucked into a commercial district.  The chuppah, in the middle of the wedding hall, opened directly to the evening sky.

Many, many friends and acquaintances from the Old Country.  Gorgeous music.  Lots of food.  Lots of joyous simcha.  I cried there too.  The contrast was hard to hold.

We arrived home late and I was utterly spent.

Some days are diamonds.  Some days are stones.

And some days are both.

Thank you Tehillah for help with the image.

Rendered Speechless

I majored in Speech Communication in college.  I chose that major, not from a long history of passionate commitment to saying, "When I grow up, I want to major in Speech Communication," but from a technique I recommended to the students I taught in career development classes for years after.

I took the undergraduate catalog (which was still available in a paper edition in those ancient days of yore), circled every course that I wanted to take and majored in the department that had the most of them.

I have always been fascinated by human communication.  It's a process I cherish.  Which is why, when I find myself rendered speechless, it's especially painful for me.

Last week, leaving shul after Kabbalat Shabbat, I ran into two young women who were standing outside.

Me: "Shabbat Shalom.  Are you visiting?"
Them: "Yes, we're here from such-and-such seminary."
Me: "And who are you staying with?"
Them: "Family X and Family Y."
Me: "Very nice.  So, you're at the end of your year.  What are you planning next?  Shana Bet (a second year in seminary)?"
One of them: "I'm going home."

I don't know why, but this expression always pierces me like a dagger to the heart.

Me: Touching her gently on the arm, "You know, you already are Home."
Her: "Well, I really would like to make aliyah, but I don't want to come without my family."

So I tell her about our then 19 year-old daughter who did exactly that, and how, in the end, it contributed to the escalation of our own aliyah plans.

Her: "Oh, my family wants to make aliyah too, eventually.  But I have two brothers, 11 and 12.  And as my parents always say, 'Chinuch (education) comes first.'"

This is the part where I am rendered speechless.

My standard approach when talking with young people who still believe that America is their home is to point out how things are changing, how Moshiach is certainly on his way, how life won't be good for the Jews in America indefinitely and how, as young people, they should keep their eyes and ears open, keep their antenna up, and watch for the changes that are certainly coming.

Generally, they look at me as if I have two heads.  Or maybe three.

Yes, I know how it sounds to them.  Yes, I know what it makes me sound like.  Yes, I know how it embarrasses certain members of my family.   And still, I am compelled to make everyone uncomfortable by a sense of responsibility to warn that I don't fully understand.

When I became religious, I can't recall ever feeling compelled to convince other Jews that this is the right way to live.  Though I love explaining Judaism to Jews who don't yet know the richness of their own heritage,  I've been perfectly content to let others make their own religious decisions.

Why then do I persist in urging Jews to come Home at the first possible opportunity?  Why do the repeated explanations - I can't leave my family, everything I need to be a good Torah Jew is here in my American city, my home is in the US, I can learn Torah better in America, aliyah is not a Torah obligation, America will never turn on its Jews, the State has no kedusha since it was founded by non-religious Jews, I can make a living more easily in America, etc. etc. - fall so, so painfully on my ears?  Sometimes I feel I'm in a no-win, twisted contest.

When I hear one of these rationales, justifications, excuses, reasons emerge from the mouths of American Jews, religious American Jews, I am filled with such a rush of discomfort that I can't quite name.  Is it anger, at their intransigence? Is it fear, for their future? Is it pity, that they are so blind to what's coming? It's so complicated!

What I want to feel is love.

So from now on, here's my fantasy of a totally new approach.

Me: "So, what are your aliyah plans?
Them: "Oh, we're very comfortable in America."
Me: "Well, I hope you change your mind and come Home soon.  We need you here."