The Ishmaelite Exile

All my life, I have been a quintessentially non-political person. I don’t subscribe to newspapers and I don’t watch TV news. Since the Internet has become a part of my life six days a week, I'm admittedly a bit more informed than I used to be. And, truth be told, since I began this obsession with Israel, I’m much more likely to know what’s going on in Israel than in the US Congress.

Nevertheless, I recently read a book that was written as a warning to Americans, but it involves Israel as well. The book is called Because They Hate: A Survivor of Islamic Terror Warns America. It was written by Brigitte Gabriel, the founder of the American Congress for Truth.

Here’s the essence of the book in a nutshell. Brigitte Gabriel grew up as a Christian in Lebanon at a time before Lebanon was a Muslim county. She lived, if you can call it living, through the Muslim takeover of Lebanon. Her message? The Muslims intend to take over the entire world and will kill all the non-Muslim infidels in the process. Sounds like the plot to a B-movie I would never go see.

But she’s not the only voice making this argument. The Terrorism Awareness Project has two brief videos on its site that make the same claim. The goal of global jihad is to make the entire world Muslim.

If you’re paying attention, and Gd help you if you’re not, this message has to penetrate into your soul. There is a connection among the dozens of major terrorist incidents that are springing up all over the world. They are sourced from the same well.

When I was a kid, being educated in American public schools, we were taught that the American Civil War was fought over slavery. Later, I learned that subtler, more sophisticated political questions were also at issue.

Similarly, if you think that the problem Israel has with its Arab neighbors are all because of land disputes and Israel’s treatment of the Arab refugees and their subsequent generations, your vision would benefit from some expansion. The Muslims openly refer to America as The Great Satan and Israel as The Little Satan. The issue of Palestinians is like the issue of slavery in the American Civil War. Related, but not the essence of the conflict.

So, what’s the spiritual spin on all this bad news? The Torah predicted all this long ago. To learn more, read The Ishmaelite Exile by Rabbi Yechiel Weitzman

What are they thinking?

I really can’t understand world opinion. Here’s an example. A little-known Islamist group abducts Alan Johnston, the BBC's Gaza correspondent while BBC correspondents walk around in freedom in Jerusalem. At the same time, the BBC has a long-standing reputation for anti-Israel bias.

I can understand how someone can focus on the sad stories of Arabs living in disputed territories in Israel and feel sorry for the limitations in their lives. But I can’t understand how anyone can look objectively at the bigger picture of how this sad situation came into being, and what perpetuates it, and conclude that Israel is the oppressive villain in the story. So there must be something else going on.

I liken it to Hashem hardening the heart of Paroh before the Israelite slaves were freed. Gd took us out of slavery in Egypt after we had been slaves for 210 years. We had sunk so low, we were practically indistinguishable from the Egyptians themselves. How much greater was this redemption than if Gd had taken us from palaces and the highest crust of society!

So, the more Israel, and, by extension, the Jewish people, are reviled in the world, the greater the miracle when Gd sends our Ultimate Redemption.

Are You Tough Enough?

It was only when Israel started looking to me like a legitimate option that I began to notice the myriad may ways I have to compromise to live as a Jew in America.

A quick example of the hegemony of Christianity in America. In his role as a synagogue rabbi, my husband went to a Catholic hospital recently to visit congregants. He was directed to the Spiritual Care Department to register. On the registration form, he was asked all the usual questions: name, title, etc. And then the form, which asked him to identify his congregation, asked the question this way: “church?” You may say, “Well, it’s a Catholic hospital.” But this was the Spiritual Care department. If anyone on the hospital grounds knows that not all people in the world are Christians, it ought to be the chaplain’s office.

My nephew sent me to the Internet today to look at the website for Hard As Nails Ministries. Hard As Nails Ministries uses in-your-face street culture to attract kids to a Christian life. In a clip on their website, Justin Fatica, Executive Director of Hard as Nails Ministries asks his prospective participants, “How tough do you think you are? Are you tough enough to live for Christ?”

The Spiritual Care Department’s form and the Hard As Nails Ministries are two in a long list of examples of how blunt American Christians are about their public identification as Christians, of their religious beliefs, not afraid to be outspoken, forthrightly claiming the airtime in American cultural space that they feel, that they know, is legitimately theirs.

Contrast this with American Jews. When was the last time you heard of America Jews rallying for Hashem? At best, when we get together in this country, it’s to wield our political opinions. Jews rally. Jews speak out. But more often than not, it’s about politics, not about Gd.

Ah, but in Israel… where we are the majority culture! Think Lag B'Omer in Meron.

Think Kiddush Levana in Tzfat.

Think of the power of being part of a place where your religion is the religion and you never, ever have to feel embarrassed about being a Jew.

An uncomfortable admission: a have an Israeli flag on my car, an easily understood symbol in my predominantly Jewish neighborhood. But when I, even I, drive through other neighborhoods, places where Jews don’t live, let alone make open statements of religious identification, I worry. Will my Israeli car flag make my car more vulnerable to vandalism?

I hardly think Christians have the same concerns about their “What Would Jesus Do?” bumper stickers.

Don't misunderstand. I have nothing against American Christians claiming this country as their own. Unlike the majority of American Jewry, I am happy to cede America to its Christian majority.

As long as we get a country of our own to live in peace and security.

Lihyot am chofshi b'artzeynu.

The Next Best Thing To Being There

I just got off the phone with my brother, who has the great merit of living in Israel. He recently moved to an apartment from the porch of which, he says, he can see my apartment. Since he lives in the same neighborhood as our apartment, I can visualize everything he describes: where he was shopping earlier today, where the Lag B’Omer festivities will happen motzei Shabbat, where the dog I hear yapping over the phone lives. Everything is clear in my mind.

Earlier today, my husband and I listened to a woman from our community report about spending Pesach in Israel. Where she stayed, what tours she took, the feeling that she had while there. And every bit of what she said was so REAL to me. I could picture exactly where the apartment was because I have a nodding familiarity with that section of Jerusalem. We took most of the tours she described, even with the same touring company. Everything felt familiar.

Earlier in the week, a friend sent me an email invitation to a weekly Torah class, along with a note that said, “When you’re living here, we’ll go to these kinds of things together.”

Sunday, we are headed to New York City for the Salute To Israel Parade and Israel Day concert. While there, surrounded by thousands of other people waving blue and white flags, wearing pro-Israel t-shirts and eating felafel, it will be easy to imagine that I am actually in Israel.

I spend so much time in Israel in my head that it sometimes shocks me when I open my eyes, look around, and see America.

The Full Quote

Thanks to Andrea F. for helping me find the exact Gordis quote:

"For after all, if there's a place in this world that can make you cry, isn't that where you ought to be?"

The quote appears on page 44 in If A Place Can Make You Cry: Dispatches from an Anxious State by Daniel Gordis.

My Heroes

In his most recent dispatch, Daniel Gordis writes about the lack of flags in his Jerusalem neighborhood, relative to previous year’s celebrations of Yom Ha’atzmaut (Israel Independence Day). He lives there and I don’t, so I can’t be too hard on the guy, but his most recent dispatch was depressing. In fact, his last few have been on the gloomy side. In the end, he rallys a bit and argues against the world-weariness that seems to have engulfed his neighbors. But the overall impression of the article left me feeling deflated.

Contrast that with the Yom Ha’Atzmaut celebration my family went to at Yeshivat Rambam in Baltimore. Among the highlights were the daglanut (flag dancing ceremony) where dozens of middle-school students marched and formed joyous patterns with dozens of Israeli flags.

The other highlight was a very special community celebration of families who are making aliyah this year. Each family is brought up to the stage amid wild applause and standing ovations where they light a Candle of Inspiration. These families are our heroes.

They are our heroes because they make aliyah when the current government is misguided… or even corrupt. They make aliyah despite the fact that the outcome of our last war was a major disappointment. They make aliyah even knowing that we have enemies who kidnap our sons and hold them hostage for outrageous demands. They make aliyah knowing that enemies who want to destroy us surround Israel. They make aliyah anyway, because they know there are four inseparable parts of being a complete Jew.

Gd

The Torah

The Jewish Nation

and the Land of Israel.

True, all is not fine and dandy in the Holy Land. But to his eternal credit, Daniel Gordis also taught us that if a place can make you cry... you should live there.

Dear Reader: Please help me find his exact quote.

The Calendar Conspires Against Us

Pesach in America in 5767: Two sederim, two days of Yom Tov, one regular day of Chol haMoed, erev Shabbos, Shabbos, erev Yom Tov and two more days of Yom Tov.

It’s hard to sustain holiness for so many days. And I’m not even talking about the endless rounds of shopping, cooking and eating. I feel this twice a year – Pesach and the Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot sequence. I know the whole calendar history reason and how, even though we have a fixed calendar, we don’t abandon the customs of our ancestors.

I still feel like the calendar punishes us for not being in Israel.

In his Haggadah, Rabbi Shlomo Riskin mentions how, in exile, even a Jew’s calendar can be taken away. He cites the example of Jews in Russia before they were permitted to emigrate. Their most fervent request from their foreign visitors was for a Jewish calendar, to which they did not have access in Russia, so they would know on which days to celebrate the Yamin Tovim.

But there is another way we Jews in America feel the consequences of living in the calendar of our hosts. We have adapted to life in exile in subtle ways we don’t even notice. For example, today is Sunday. Easter Sunday. So even though it is one of the days I could have done some household shopping, I couldn’t because the vast majority of the country is celebrating their holiday and most stores are closed.

I once had a Catholic secretary. Through working with her, I realized that she got all of her holidays off automatically, while I had to take leave to be off for mine. Admittedly, the fact that it was possible for me to keep the Jewish holidays while working in that job made me a lot better off than many others whose jobs just will not allow for taking time off according to a totally different calendar. Still, I rarely took a real vacation in all those years because I had to use my leave time to fit my Jewish life into a non-Jewish calendar.

Two successive days of yom tov just four days apart. Easter Sunday. Taking precious leave time to enable you to live as a Jew. No mail on Sunday because of the Christian Sabbath. Counting our years according to the major religious event of another religion. Using names of days that have their origins in Norse and Greek and Roman gods. Being constantly reminded that your calendar is not the calendar of the host country.

In how many ways does the calendar of the non-Jew work against us?

Reading The Haggadah With Aliyah Glasses

Many years ago, disheartened at the overwhelmingly masculine face of the Haggadah, I went on a search for commentaries that would reveal something, anything! feminine about this essential story of the Jewish people. And I found lots of material hidden, as much of the feminine aspects of Torah are, just below the surface. For years after that, at least once during the pre-Pesach season, I would give a talk called Feminine Aspects of The Passover Story.

This year, in preparation for Pesach, I looked at Haggadah commentaries with a different appetite. The seminal story of the Jewish people is found in the Haggadah! Gd took us out of slavery in Egypt to be His people. For what purpose? To live our lives in Monsey, Lakewood or Baltimore? I don’t think so. The whole purpose of the drama in Egypt was to bring us to the Land of Israel.

The Haggadah is a virtual pre-aliyah seminar!

One point that came to me quite clearly, when learning The Haggadah of the Jewish Idea (Or Ha’Raayon) by R. Binyamin Zvi Kahane, son of R. Meir Kahane, was that American Jews are asleep at the switch.

“But in every single generation they rise up against us to destroy us. And the Holy One, Blessed be He, rescues us from their hands."

Is it true that in every generation, the non-Jews want to destroy us? Haman and Hitler wanted to annihilate us physically. In other times and places, we are seduced into assimilation and thus destroyed spiritually.

R. Shimon Apisdorf complied a list of 30 attempts to get rid of the Jewish people by the nations of the world. Slavery, crusades, expulsions, pogroms, war. There is no end to the ways other nations have wanted to extinguish the Jewish people.

But that could never happen in America, right?

“America is an advanced, civilized country.”
“We have never had such good friends as we have in the White House.”
“A strong Jewish community in America assures a strong Israel.”
“America is different.”

I pray, when the time comes, that the Jewish exodus from America be as gentle and pain free as possible. But that is not the same as assuming that the time we will be leaving America in large numbers will never come. When we leave, may it be volitionally, by Gd's Will, and not by the will of the rest of the American people, Gd-forbid.

In the words of George Santayana: "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it."

My advice to American Jews?

Get a passport.

If You Pay Attention

Two weeks ago, a friend showed me a magazine article she thought, correctly so, that I might appreciate.

The first mentioned a new spin on the Jonathan Pollard case. Pollard, an American Jew, served as a civilian American Naval intelligence analyst who passed intelligence to Israel in the mid-1980s. Pollard was indicted on one count of passing classified information to an ally, without intent to harm the United States, and he has been in prison ever since.

The big question that swirls around the case is, “Why has his punishment been so harsh and unrelenting?” Other convicted American spies have served far less time for much more egregious crimes.

The article, which appeared in Mishpacha Magazine, suggests that the reason for such a harsh punishment is that Jonathan Pollard is serving as an example to the rest of American Jews.

The fundamental message is this: “You Jews are welcome guests in our country. But you must never take advantage of our kind hospitality by spying against our interests. If you forget that you are guests and begin to act like you belong here, your punishment will be swift and harsh.”

While most American Jews will miss the point, it is a powerful one, not so different from the message sent by Germany to its Jews in the 1930s. If you forget that you are different from the other citizens of your host country, WE WILL REMIND YOU!

And it won’t be pleasant.

What is it going to take to get American Jews to start paying attention?

Talking Like You’re A Bible-Thumper

When I was growing up, I called religious people “bible-thumpers”. Of course, I was always referring to Christians, because I didn’t know any religious Jews back then.

Fast-forward 35 years and I’ve kinda turned into a bible-thumper myself. Which is to say, I’m always looking for evidence of Gd’s Hand in my everyday life.

Yesterday, I got a whopper of a view.

A month ago, I wrote a proposal to move forward, in association with a Jewish organization, with an idea I had. After several back-and-forth conversations about my proposal, I was told yesterday afternoon that, for various reasons, mostly having to do with timing, my proposal was not being accepted.

“That’s okay,” I told my husband. “I see myself as Hashem’s kli (vessel). If He wants me to move forward with this idea, He will open another door.”

After dinner, I opened my email. In it was an invitation from another Jewish organization inviting me to submit my proposal to them.

I find that kind of immediate hashgacha pratis (Divine intervention) to be an incredible spiritual pleasure. Gd really is paying attention to me. And it’s something that happens much, much more often, and more openly, in Israel.

A dear friend is visiting from Israel right now. She made aliyah nearly six years ago, and every time she tells me a story about her life, I long for that kind of access to spirituality. In Israel, ordinary people talk about spiritual ideas in the most ordinary places. The cab driver, the repairman, the clerk in the grocery store all talk about Gd and His Torah completely unselfconsciously. To be religious, to want to be closer to Gd, to want to understand the world through a meta-physical lens is not a mindset to be embarrassed by or to keep hidden in Israel. It’s part of the culture. It’s just so much more readily accessible there.

From Jerusalem, Gd really is a local call.

Clocks, Watches and Email

Sometime in the summer of 2005, I got a brainstorm. I decided that I wanted a two-faced watch so I could always know what time it is in Israel. While we were in Israel that summer, I dragged my husband and kids to the Adi Watch Factory in Kvutzat Yavne, near Yeshivat Kerem b’Yavneh. Let’s just say it’s off the beaten track. Back then, we hadn’t yet rented a car so we had to take buses. Despite the fact that Hebrew is my husband’s first language, we misunderstood the bus driver’s instructions and missed our stop. We ended up at a mall in Ashkelon. So we took a cab which drove us to the Adi Watch Factory, hidden in the midst of Kibbutz Yavne.

Into the factory store, in pursuit of a two-faced watch we went. They had one. It cost hundreds of dollars. An Israeli soldier drove us from the watch factory store to the main road so we could get the bus back to Jerusalem. A typical adventure in Israel, but no watch.

Back in America, I bought one on eBay for 13 bucks.

It gets a lot of attention. I love telling people why I have a two-faced watch. Some Jews think I’m nuts to care so much about what time it is in Israel.

But some get it.

About a year later, my husband went into RiteAid and bought himself one for $29.95. They are real conversation starters and highly recommended as an inexpensive, everyday way to stay connected to the Holy Land.

In a related way, I just figured out how to add a clock to my blog page. Considering I’m completely self-taught when it comes to computers, I get such delight when I figure out such a thing. The clock is set for Israel time. So if you’re not going to buy yourself a two-faced watch, at least you can think about Israel time each time you visit this blog page.

I also added another new feature in response to your inquiries. You can now sign up to get an email whenever I update the Bat Aliyah blog. At least that’s what I think will happen. Sign up now and we’ll find out together if it works.

On its website right now, the Orthodox Union has the results of a recent poll. The question was, “Have you thought seriously about making aliyah?”

Of nearly 1800 responses, 32% said, “I have plans in the next 2 years.”

Nine percent said, “When my kids finish school.”

Fifteen percent said, “When I retire,” and 25% said, “When Moshiach comes”.

Nineteen percent of the respondents of the Orthodox Union poll, presumably all Orthodox Jews, actually said, “No. Moving to Israel is not for me.” Even when one of the other options was, “When Moshiach comes.”

That’s scary.

Last night, we had a meeting of the Baltimore Chug Aliyah. At the same time, in another part of the synagogue, the annual banquet for a rather right-wing, yeshivish Orthodox synagogue was being held. While waiting in the hallway for a maariv minyan to gather, one of our chug aliyah members overheard the following conversation:

Banquet Guest: "Are all these people making aliyah?"

Chug Aliyah Member: "Yes, they are. Why don't you come join us?"

Banquet Guest: "I will go when Hashem tells me to go."

Silent Chug Aliyah Bystander: I had to walk away biting my tongue. I was thinking, "He did already tell you. It's called the Torah. Do you need an engraved invitation?"

It’s more than plausible to me that one of the reasons why Israel is in such a difficult position, and why the Arabs seem to be gaining ground, is that they have demonstrated over and over that they’re willing to die for Israel.

Most American Jews aren’t even willing to live there.

In My Mind

A few nights ago, my husband and I went to hear Gail Rosen, a local storyteller, tell the story of Hilda Stern Cohen, a Holocaust survivor. At one point in the story, after the war, when Hilda had resettled in America, Gail relates that, while Hilda was standing at her sink in her American home, she was here, caring for her her family… but part of herself was not here. She was still, mentally, in the camps, in the horror of the Holocaust.

That passage stood out for me in sharp relief. I’m here, going through the motions of my life. But sometimes, I feel that I am not here. Often, I am more in Israel, though only in my head. On most Shabbat mornings, when my husband is busy with his shul responsibilities until 2 PM, I read about Israel. I transcend my physical life here and I live in Israel, in my mind, for those few precious hours each week.

Born in the USA

Gd forbid that I leave the impression that I despise America or am ungrateful for its many kindnesses to my family. America has been a haven of the highest order, shielding my direct family line from the Holocaust and the pogroms that preceded them. In the early 20th century, three of my grandparents emigrated from Eastern Europe as young children; the fourth was born here. All eight great-grandparents and all four grandparents, as well as my own father, alehem hashalom, are buried here. My children are fourth-generation Americans.

America has been a critically important chapter in the history of my family. Here I was born and raised. There is nowhere else where I feel completely competent as an adult. Here, I have mastered the nuances of the language. I understand the culture. I know how to get things done.

At the same time, living as a Jew in America is rather like visiting a really nice resort. The facilities are lovely, maybe even nicer than your own house. The staff treats you well. You have a great time whenever you’re there. You look forward to visiting again.

But, ultimately, it’s not home.

Back in the U-S-S-A

The real test of the impact of my time in Israel is how I feel several weeks later, when I have re-embedded myself into the rest of my life. I still find it hard to hold onto the elevated sense of spiritual potential that I experience there after I am back in the media-drenched, conspicuous consumption, narishkeit culture of America.

In a bookstore in the Old City of Jerusalem, I recently came across a volume of Jewish thought by Rabbi Meir Kahane. While some find him too politically incorrect for words, I am drawn to his passionate defense of Jews.

In his book Or Hara'ayon, he speaks of a barely-mentioned consequence of Jews living as minorities in other people’s lands. He says that the purity of Jewish culture becomes tainted by the overwhelming influence of the surrounding culture. In other words, the media-drenched, conspicuous consumption, narishkeit culture of America actually hurts our neshamot.

There are those who argue that one can live as fully a Jewish life in America as one can in Israel. One of many arguments against that point of view is that, of the the 613 mitzvot that Hashem set aside for the Jewish people, nearly half are dependent upon the Land of Israel. That’s clear evidence that Judaism lived in America is, by definition, deficient. It doesn’t make it completely without merit. But it isn’t the fullest expression of Jewish potential.

There is an aliyah-advocacy organization called Kumah. They promote this concept in a humorous message:
Dear America,
Thank you and Shalom.
We have to go Home now.
Your friends,
The Jews

Even when I am doing ordinary things in Israel, like visiting friends or buying fruit, I have a sense of elevation. When I walk the streets in Israel, I tell myself that I am walking in Gd’s Beloved Garden, even when I am walking to the dumpster to toss away our trash.

To feel elevated in Israel, all I have to do is walk outside. This spiritual amplification is simply not available to me outside the Land.

Made You Cry

I consistently get weepy on the last few days of any trip to Israel. Here are the things that made me cry this time:

The day before we left, we met with the head of a seminary to which we are considering sending our oldest daughter when she finishes high school. As we were leaving, almost as an afterthought, he told us about how the seminary’s trip to Poland is so impactful and how it helps the students appreciate the importance of Eretz Yisrael.

He told us about a student who called her American parents from Warsaw, Poland last year to say, “Here in Poland, I’ve decided that I need to stay in Israel. I’m making aliyah.” Her parents responded with pride and support and as he’s telling us this story, I’m standing on a residential street in Jerusalem, crying.

Later that day, I went with some friends to see an all women’s production of the story of the Book of Ruth. After the production, with the whole cast on the stage, the director comes out to make some announcements. “One of our lighting and tech crew members is leaving to join the Israeli army tomorrow,” she says. And then she proceeds to bentsch him, as parents do for their own children on Friday night, by reciting the Priestly Blessing. “I want to live in a country where such a thing as this can happen,” my soul shouts.

And then everyone sings Hatikva, the Israeli national anthem, and I begin to weep, covering my face with my hands because the longing is so intense.

One of the last things I did before we left our apartment was walk around and kiss each mezuzah. These are the very mezuzot I visualize in my mind each night when I say, “U-chtavtam al m'zuzot baytecha u-vi-sharecha: And you shall write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.” While waiting for the taxi, I stood on our porch and looked over Jerusalem, sending up prayers that Hashem bring me back very soon, weeping the whole while.

I always cry as the taxi drives out of Ma’ale Adumim and on to the airport. It takes all of my control not to wail. This time, on top of all the heightened emotion of the moment, the taxi driver said Tefillat Haderech aloud as we left Ma’ale Adumim and entered Jerusalem.

And I had to stop crying long enough to say "Amen".

What’s in a Name?

In Baltimore, where my family lives most of the year when we’re not in Israel, there is a main road named Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd.

Nothing wrong with that. It’s just not my history.

In the immediate neighborhood where we live in Baltimore, the streets are named for members of the builder’s family. Nothing wrong with that. It’s just not my family.

Ah, but in Israel, the streets are named for Jewish prophets and kings: Rechov Shmuel HaNavi, Devorah HaNaviah and Rechov David HaMelech. Streets are named for men and women of the Torah: Rechov Asher and Rechov Rivka. Streets are named for great rabbis: Rechov Hillel and Rabenu Tam. And streets are named for leaders throughout Jewish history: Sderot Golda Meir and Sderot Ben Gurion.

My family.

My history.

In the community of Nof Alyalon, the streets are all named for the stones in the breastplate of the Kohein Gadol. In Ma’ale Adumim, there is a neighborhood where all the streets are named for instruments mentioned in Sefer Tehillim (The Book of Psalms).

Even driving to the grocery store on the streets of Israel, we proclaim our history. Everywhere in Israel, the names are saturated with Jewish resonance.

More evidence of being home.

Why Israel Really Is a Completely Different World

I saw a man kiss a mezuzah today. Okay, he was a Jew, albeit without a kippa, tzitzis or any outward sign of religious devotion. The mezuzah was on the door of an office. In the IKEA store. In Israel. His gesture was guileless, totally integrated with who he is. This profoundly Jewish gesture would simply NOT happen in any other part of the world.

Another notable event in our adventures at IKEA: we ate lunch. In the cafeteria. Like normal people do all over the world. But it’s an experience kosher consumers don’t often have, except in Israel where almost all restaurants, even cafeterias in Scandinavian furniture stores, have kosher supervision.

This, then, in two tiny episodes, is the power of a Jewish country.

There are thousands of ways a Jew, especially an observant Jew, adapts him/herself to a foreign culture. It becomes so ingrained, we don’t even realize we’re doing it. Until we’re in a Jewish country and it becomes possible to stop adapting because the country is already in synch with a Jewish life. That’s when you begin to notice all the ways you’ve been adapting.

Like getting off for Christian holidays but having to use leave time for Jewish holidays. Like bringing kosher food with you when you travel. Like Blue Laws or no mail on Sunday, because that’s the Christian Sabbath. Like celebrating, or at least marking, the “New Year” based on a lifecycle event of a Christian god. Like always feeling, ever so subtly, that you’re a minority in someone else’s majority culture. And don’t even get me started about the “not-our-holiday” madness, another season of which we have just endured. For five weeks a year, I cannot listen to the radio, shop, watch TV or read a magazine without being assaulted by a holiday that is not my own.

But in the only Jewish country in the entire universe, a non-religious IKEA employee with a screaming yellow shirt kisses a mezuzah as he goes from the Returns Department back to the Sales Floor, and nobody thinks he’s peculiar.

A Pointed Question

Last week, a friend asked me an intriguing question. Given that there are so may things I love about Israel, would I be as interested in making aliyah if I didn’t understand it to be a mitzvah – that is, Gd’s explicit instruction to the Jewish people? So I asked him, “If it wasn’t for the mitzvah element, would you still keep kosher?”

My answer to his question, and his answer to mine, were the same.

Probably not.

Since I have come to understand the preciousness of Israel in the Eyes of Gd, I have come to look to Israel with loving eyes. But what drives my intense desire for a life in Israel? Only that Gd wants me there.

After all, I don’t even like falafel.

Ikkar and Taful

Some years ago, my husband and I spent a Shabbat in Elazar with a Tehilla Pilot Trip . Since we were nearby in one of the Gush Etzion yeshuvim , the trip organizers were able to convince Rabbi Shlomo Riskin of Efrat to come and speak to our small group after Shabbat.

Over the years, Rabbi Riskin has spoken some memorable sound bites. This talk was no exception. One of the things he spoke about was how the Orthodox community in America was so focused on taful (the details) that we completely missed the ikkar (the essence). We’re obsessing about the wrong stuff!

There is so much concern over the minutiae of Halacha in so many behaviors. A Google search on how to open a potato chip bag for Shabbat yields at least half-a-dozen solutions. There is a raging debate in Halacha about whether electric shavers are permitted or forbidden.

We are drowning in taful.

At the same time, while all these halachic discussions are going on in the Orthodox communities in America, the voices of the halachic community, urging people to live in the one place in the world where the Torah was meant to be kept, are utterly silent.

A Different Kind of Messianic Dream

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.

It's 1938 Again

"It's 1938 and Iran is Germany."

- Benjamin Netanyahu

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.