Expiration Date on My Tears

For a long time, I have been looking longingly at expiration dates on OTC boxes, bottles and food cans, wondering if I'll get to Israel before the item contained within the packaging expires.

What a relief not to have to do that anymore.

Leaving Israel this time was SO MUCH easier than it has been in the past.  It was hard to leave our daughter behind, knowing that it will be months before we see her again.  I cried the day we left, but 90% of my tears were because I was parting from my first-born.

It seems that, all along, there actually was an expiration date on my gut-wrenching, I-can't-leave-Israel-again-without-knowing-that-we-can-come-back-here-to-live tears.  All it took was one resounding YES WE CAN!

A Good Couple of Days in Israel

Even though we are not yet official עולים חדשים (new immigrants), we have been spending the past few weeks doing the kinds of things olim do - visiting prospective schools, networking for a job, researching health care options... and buying appliances.

Relying heavily on the advice of friends who preceded us as עולים חדשים by a few years, we bought a washer, a dryer and a refrigerator last Thursday.  On Sunday, the washer and dryer were delivered by a team of two.  Luckily, my Hebrew-speaking husband and daughter were home, so this delivery was a piece of cake.

What I wasn't able to get on camera was the delivery method.  One of the workers strapped on a huge cushion and carried the machines on his back, down the steps to our front door. Getting them into the house from this stage was the easy part.

Yesterday, my husband (did I mention that his Hebrew skills far outstrip mine?) had a networking appointment in Jerusalem and was out of the house most of the day.  My assignment was to wait at home for the refrigerator delivery.  While waiting, I spent time sorting out our Israeli utility and Visa bills, trying to figure out what things really cost here.

A few rapid-fire Hebrew phone calls later, during which all I understood was our address and the word מקרר which I know means refrigerator, the delivery scene, with the heavily cushioned, fridge-toting back worker, repeated itself at our stairs.  Again, I didn't get a photo until the fridge was at our door.  The talking delivery man kept speaking to me in insanely fast Hebrew.  Even though by this point, I'm sure he thought I'm an idiot, I was able to understand that I needed to wait an hour before putting food into the fridge.  And I managed to ask him, in Hebrew (thank you very much), where the Shabbat switch is.  This is so cool.  There is a simple switch, standard on this Israeli-made fridge, that shuts off both interior lights for Shabbat.

While I was home waiting for the מקרר to cool down, three young Ethiopian boys came to the door collecting tzedaka (though don't ask me for what cause).  I gave them 10 shekels, they gave me a piece of paper and blessed me with the words Tizku l'mitzvot — may you be worthy to perform additional positive commandments.  Another successful Hebrew interaction!  Perhaps they didn't even suspect how anxious I feel when conducting the simplest interaction in Hebrew.

Later, I phoned the customer service department of our cell phone carrier to discuss some billing issues.  Seven times, I asked the representative who answered my call, "Do you speak English?" and seven times, I was told, רק רגע, which literally means "just a moment", but, in this context means, "No, but hold on and I'll get you someone who does."  Six representatives guessed the English fluency of their colleagues wrong, but finally, one got it right and I was able to take care of my business.

Still later, when my husband returned from Jerusalem, exhausted and in need of a nap, I took the car and drove to a neighbor about 2 kilometers away (Ha! Don't I sound so Israeli already?!).  I've driven twice before in Israel, but this was the first time ever, ever, that I drove completely by myself and I was, upon my safe arrival, inordinately pleased with myself.

Here's a secret I learned on this trip.  Being an immigrant is infantalizing.  Everything is completely new and you need help with every simple task.  I'm a grown woman, but I feel like an adolescent, figuring life out for the first time.

Here's the positive spin.  Accomplishing the simplest things by myself is such a pleasure.  As I write this, my newly installed washer is washing her maiden load.  In about 4 minutes, I'll know if I pressed all the right buttons.  It's a steep learning curve.  But even if I got it all wrong, the machines look great.

 And לאט לאט (slowly, slowly), we are settling in.

Two Simple Moments of Joy in Israel

MOMENT #1 - One of the many, many things I love about the location of our apartment in Israel is that there is a trash receptacle right outside our building (no more schlepping trash cans to the street!) and there are bins for recycling paper and plastic bottles just across the street (no more 2-week old trash sitting in our hallway waiting for recycling day!). Last week, I stepped outside our apartment to toss some plastic bottles into the recycling bin and I heard a familiar voice.  We had been in Israel just a few days and I had not yet seen the friend to whom the familiar voice belonged, so I called out her name while crossing the street to give her a hug.  As we were chatting, a neighbor from upstairs came down to the street for another happy reunion.  Then my neighbor from downstairs, one of the first people I met in Ma'ale Adumim five years ago, came up to the street level.  I laughed to myself at how, within moments of going out to recycle a few bottles, Hashem sent three women to the front of my building to reassure me that my future life here will include friendship.  

Not two minutes later, as we all stood chatting on the street, a rented car parked in front of our building and out popped some neighbors from Baltimore who were visiting our community to see if it was a good match for them.  The whole interaction took less than five minutes, but I felt Hashem's warmth and encouragement - a preview of my life here, filled with many people to enjoy.

MOMENT #2 - A few nights ago, we attend a Chanukat HaBayit - a building dedication for our daughter's Israeli seminary where she learned so much Torah and grew spiritually in such huge measure.  During the entire evening, but especially the four minutes when she presented a plaque to one of the founding families, my heart was proud.  As the building emptied out and only the staff, the students and a few sets of parents were left, the students began dancing, with tremendous earnestness of feeling, to live music in the dining hall.  As we sat in the hallway waiting for our daughter to finish enjoying the company of her friends, I wondered why it was okay for the performing musicians, especially the lead singer who I knew to be religious himself, were in the same room with 60 young, religious women, watching them dance.  I stepped into the room and a huge smile enveloped my face.

The singer was sitting in a corner behind a mechitza while the young women had free reign in the room. 

What a country!!

The Anguish is Gone

DATELINE: Ma'ale Adumim, Israel

I've been in Israel for about 66 hours now.  It's my first time back since we decided to make aliyah this coming summer.  And something feels very, very different.

The flight here was smooth, practically effortless, but it's so much more than that.  The transition to being in Israel this time has been totally seamless.  It feels completely natural to be here.  My Hebrew is still pathetic and I'm not even a citizen yet, but I belong to this Land in a way I never have before.  The tension is gone.  My soul is no longer split in two.  It's a most serene, centered, holistic state of being.

In the past, there was always joy in being here, but also a constant sense of deprivation, knowing that my time here was painfully limited.  I chaffed at the creeping deadline, aware that I was going to have to board a return flight much too soon.  And I had difficulty accepting that so many friends and acquaintances got to stay here but I didn't.  I'd like to think I wasn't petulant about it, but it did nick me every single time.  "Waah!  How come they get to live here and I don't?"  

You're right.  It does sound petulant.  But it was genuinely part of my experience.

I still have a return flight in a finite number of days, but the anguish is gone.  By the time we return to my alternate reality, there will be just a few months left before the big move and a thousand details demanding my attention.  I already sense that the remaining time is going to fly by.  My husband, the king of analogies, likens it to the end of a roll of toilet paper running out so much faster once there's not so much left.

This I know.  On this trip, when I cry, it won't be because my soul is being shred to bits. 

Those days, with Gd's great kindness, are behind me.

Clinging Tenaciously to Treif

Why would I want to give up eating non-kosher?  When kosher food is as accessible, tasty and affordable as McDonald's, then I'll start to keep kosher.  Until then, I'll be clinging tenaciously to treif.

This tongue-in-cheek argument reminds me of the tone of so many of the 150+ talkbacks to the recent article in the Jerusalem Post called American aliya - an exercise in futility

The essence of the article is that, since mass aliyah from America does not look like it's in the cards, the efforts of the Jewish Agency and Nefesh b'Nefesh are nothing more than an expensive waste of time. The talkbacks are full of comments about everything that's wrong with Israel and why life in America is so good for Jews.

Perhaps some people are just not meant to make aliyah.

No Need To Make Aliyah

Last week, someone stopped to speak to my husband and me as we were unloading our Shabbat groceries onto the belt at the local kosher supermarket.  He called my husband, "The much maligned rabbi," and told us that a close rabbinic colleague had quoted him, quite unfavorably, in a recent Thanksgiving sermon.  I knew, without reading the sermon and without question, that it was my words that had been quoted and commented upon unfavorably.

This rabbinic colleague often posts his sermons on the Internet, so it was not difficult for me to locate the full text.  Here's what he said about my comments:

Recently our own Jewish Times quoted someone from our community who is going on Aliyah to Israel, explaining the decision in these words: “Our current President embodies the lineage of Esau and Ishmael. I’m not saying he’s an evil person … but that is symbolic.” There are certainly a lot of good reasons for going on Aliyah, but to say one of the reasons is because our President is a descendant of Esau and Ishmael is absolutely, positively, a disgraceful statement about the President and of our country. You all know I’m not crazy about President Obama’s approach to the Arab/Israeli conflict but that does not blind me to the fact that his government – our government – gives $3 billion a year to aid to Israel. That’s more money than Israel  Bonds and United Jewish Appeal combined send to Israel! Is there no room for gratitude and appreciation?

Before I continue, I would like to publicly express my appreciation for the fact that he was kind enough not to mention my name while accusing my words of being, "absolutely, positively, a disgraceful statement" and before he accused me (geez, this is starting to sound familiar) of ingratitude.

Were you to read the entire sermon, you would see that there is no need to make aliyah because, as this rabbi quotes Dennis Prager, "Nowhere in Jewish history have we had it as good for so long as we have had it in America."

He goes on to ask:

The person going on Aliyah [ahem... that would be me] said, “I’ve been feeling an increasing level of discomfort about the future of American Jewry.” Have you been feeling uncomfortable? Does Ivanka [Trump, who recently married a Jew] understand what she's gotten herself into? In France, a Jewish student cannot cover his head in a public school. In England a court just ruled that it is illegal for a Jewish school to define a Jew as being “one who has a Jewish mother.” Can you imagine anything like that ever happening in our country?


He goes on to reassure all American Jews that:


...we all should understand: we live in a great country … a country where the acceptance of Jews are unparalleled in history … How sweet it is!


So there you have it.  No need to make aliyah from America because American Jews have never had it so good and, implied in the good rabbi's words, there is no reason to assume that anything will change. 

With all due respect, he's living in past.  Despite the anecdotal evidence with which he peppered his sermon, things are in flux in America.  I've already written about it here and here and here.  The Torah teaches that everything has its ketz - its end point.  And the most cursory review of Jewish history teaches the same thing about life in the Diaspora.  What he asserts, that America is a great place to be a Jew, was true in the relatively recent past. No question about it.

But how can we, living among the last survivors of the Holocaust, forget our recent history?  By 1871, most German Jews were middle-class.  Jews had been accepted in Germany as full citizens for six decades before the Nazi Party came to power.  There was a high degree of assimilation and intermarriage among German Jews at that time. Even prominent non-Jewish men had Jewish wives. It's not at all difficult to imagine how smugly German and absolutely secure German Jews must have been feeling back then.

By 1938, that had all changed. By 1945, six million Jews were dead.

I am endlessly fascinated with the question of how and when it dawned on Germany's Jews that something had shifted, because that exact same thing is playing out in my daily life.  I suspect I have just as many colleagues and friends who sense something here is shifting as who don't.  And, predictably enough, most of the people who sense the change live in the Land of Israel, where the air makes one wise. (Baba Metzia 158b)

Who is a wise man?  One who sees what will be born. (Tamid 32a)

I am no prophet.  I am a simple Jew who senses, deep in my kishkes, that the haven that America has been for the Jewish people is ending.  The doors are closing and our time here is finite. And yes, Barak Hussein Obama's unnatural ascendancy to the Presidency absolutely plays a partial (though far from exclusive) role in the conclusions I have drawn.  

I don't know if we have 10 days, 10 months or 10 comfortable years left in America.  I don't have access to any secret government plots.  I don't know anything that the average Jew can't easily find out.  I don't have supernatural powers.  But I can connect the dots.  I can think.

And I think that anyone claiming that Jewish life in America has never been better and that there is nothing to be concerned about...

...is just plain wrong.

Misplaced and Displaced

When I was a student at Memorial Junior High School, we stood each morning, put our hands over our hearts and recited The Pledge of Allegiance.  On one particular morning, while the Vietnam war was in its final years, I did not feel like standing.  I was 13 years old.  I was not taking a political stand.  I didn't even know what taking a political stand meant. I just did not feel like getting up from my seat that morning.

One of the Home Ec teachers, a rough woman whose name is lost to time, pulled me up by the scruff of my neck and castigated me publicly.  How dare I not stand for The Pledge of Allegiance when she had a son fighting for America's freedom in Vietnam?

Now it's September 11, 2001 and all of a sudden, it dawns on me that America is the latest in a long series of host countries for the Jewish people.  In trying to reconstruct how the events of that day led me to such a conclusion, I can draw only the fuzziest of lines. The line starts with the thought that, if such a thing can happen in America, then America is not intrinsically safer than Israel.  If America is not intrinsically safer than Israel, then why am I not living in Israel?

In retrospect, it wasn't logic that opened the door to understanding.  It was a gift from Hashem, Who cleared my vision.

In June of 2002, while the Second Intifada raged in Israel, my husband and I traveled to Israel.  Our decision to do so was a puzzlement to many American Jews, so I spoke about it publicly.  What I most remember was that, right after my talk, a man in his 70s came up to me to castigate me.  He was less hostile than the Home Ec teacher from 30 years before, but his message was similar.  How dare I speak against America?  Don't I know how dangerous it is for American Jews to speak like that?

What did I say that so riled up this elderly man?  I said:

Make no mistake. America, for all its love for religious tolerance, is hosting the Jews who live in her borders. This country is not ours.
And it never will be.

Right now, Jews live in relative safety and security in America. But for how long will that be the case? As great as this country is, don’t allow yourself to get so comfortable that you can’t imagine America vomiting out its Jews. Remember the lesson of history. It’s happened in every other country where Jews have ever lived. Our sense of security in America is deceptive. It’s a mistake to rely on it. 

I said that in 2002 and, seven years later, I still mean every word of it.  And it still causes a tremendous ripple of hostility.  Recently, my husband and I were interviewed by the Baltimore Jewish Times about our decision to make aliyah.  In that interview, I talked about some of the political and theological reasons for our decision.

“I’ve been feeling an increasing level of discomfort about the future of American Jewry and that our collective time in this Diaspora community is coming to an end,” she said. “I want to get my family out while we can still leave comfortably. I think assimilation is killing us off.”

In addition, Dr. Adler said she believes such recent developments as the economic downturn and President Obama’s election demonstrate that “God is closing the doors for Jewish life in America, to bring on the redemption and bring us home.

“Our current president embodies the lineage of Esau and Ishmael. I’m not saying he’s an evil person, but that’s symbolic,” she said. “He’s no friend of Israel and he’s changing the historical friendship between Israel and America. … Everything about his presidency reminds me of God’s plan.”

In the few weeks since the article appeared, my comments have been the source of seemingly endless castigation.  I have been accused, in Letters to the Editor, in private conversations, in online comments, in sermons by rabbis of liberal congregations and in private emails of the very same thing that my 8th grade Home Ec teacher accused me of.

Ingratitude.

How dare I criticize this great country of ours after all it has done for me?  How dare I suggest that the door is closing on America's Jews?  How dare I declare America a diaspora community?  Didn't I notice that the President appointed Jews to two very senior positions?  And, most potent of all, don't I know what bad will my comments will generate among non-Jews?

Bad, bad Rivkah! You are a disloyal American!

I have clearly made a lot of people uncomfortable.  And I have never felt as misplaced and displaced in America as I do today.

My critics keep reminding me that 80% of American Jews voted for Obama.  That's the same percentage of newly-freed Hebrew slaves who chose not leave Egypt.  Is it also the percentage of American Jews who will cling to America even as the threats against us mount?

The Golden Age of Spain, when Jews thrived religiously, culturally and economically on the Iberian Peninsula, lasted for 400 years.  Power changed hands, history moved on and Jews were painfully expelled from Spain in 1492 and from Portugal in 1497.

Jews lived in Germany as early as the 4th century.  For 200 years, from the early 18th century until the early 20th century, Jews achieved political emancipation and prospered in Germany.  Power changed hands, history moved on and 6,000,000 Jews were killed by Nazis.

This exact same scenario has played out in dozens and dozens of other countries since the destruction of the Second Temple.

I will say it again.  One hundred years ago, America took in my great-grandparents when pogroms in Russia threatened their lives.  My children are 4th generation American-born.  There is no doubt that, since 1654, America has been a haven for the Jewish people.  There is much to appreciate about America's role in Jewish history. 

But power changes hands.  History moves on.

If my awareness of Jewish history and my desire to keep my family safe in the face of the growing Muslim influence in America makes me evil in the eyes of other American Jews, so be it.

At least I know my place.

You're Clinging To A Withering Vine

For months now, I've been having an ongoing conversation about the viability of aliyah with a family member who I love very much.  Drawn to the spiritual potential that he knows exists in a life lived in Israel, he has all the same concerns that you might expect.  How will he make a living?  How will the transition impact his family, especially his young teen?  If living in Israel is so important, why are some of his rabbis actively discouraging him from making aliyah?

I've been sharing concrete information, brainstorming communities where his family would fit in, encouraging him to attend aliyah meetings, referring him to job leads and resource people who can help answer his most pressing questions.

But what I can't seem to communicate as clearly as I wish to is this thought. Once upon a time, a Jew could decide where she or he wanted to live.  Israel was a fine choice, but so was Monsey.  Or Lakewood.  Or Toronto.  Or Baltimore.  Today, I feel so strongly that we no longer have that luxury.

Things in the world are changing dramatically and time is running out for American Jews. The balance of power in the world is demonstrably changing from the good guys to the bad guys.  For myself, my response is to get my Jewish family out of America to Israel where I believe Gd will protect us from what's coming this way.  Though I wish that every Jew I love would come with us, I understand this may not be their response. But what I really want to say is, "Folks! Wake up! You're clinging to a withering vine!"

Geert Wilders, a controversial Member of Parliament of The Netherlands, recently gave a speech to the Florida Security Council about the Islamic threat to which Europe is already succumbing and to which America is exceedingly vulnerable.  I am not, by nature, a political animal, but I do believe his speech is of urgent importance for Americans, and especially American Jews, to watch.  Please take the time to watch these two 10-minute clips so that at least you understand better the enemy that Europe and America is facing because, in time, Gd-forbid, this knowledge could radically change your life.

And if you get it, if you feel in your kishkes that the clock is running out on the lives we have enjoyed in America, I'm sure there's still room on our aliyah flight.

What I Didn't Know To Expect

I knew my first labor experience would be painful, but I didn't know it would be so painful that I would feel as if I had transcended my own body and entered a different dimension.  When my oldest daughter was finally born, I remember thinking, "Why didn't anyone tell me it would feel like this?"

As the founding coordinator of the Baltimore Chug Aliyah, I have watched many people make aliyah over the past four years.  I thought I knew, more or less, what to expect from start to finish. Now that the news of our impending aliyah is out, I find myself experiencing emotions that I didn't know to anticipate.

It started when we began talking about paring down our not-insubstantial collection of books.  With a rabbi, an educator and a few voracious readers in the house, we have a LOT of books.  So we told each other we would start by separating out those books that "didn't hurt."  If you love books, you know exactly what I mean. We started the process, but as each book is transferred from our hands to the hands of another reader, I get a funny feeling, like I'm not quite ready to let it go, even if I haven't cracked the book open in a decade or more.

Then we had to take a hard look at our furniture, some of which was part of my childhood home and some of which I bought when I was a teenager with a JCPenney employee discount.  As I examined each piece in the decision-making process, it seemingly took on a mystique of its own, one I hadn't been aware of all those years it sat in the basement, unused.

Thirty five years ago, my father, A"H, bought me a beautiful, feminine writing desk.  I loved the desk, but as I got older, it played a smaller and smaller role in my home.  Alas, it was one of the pieces I was called upon to sacrifice in the quest to fit five decades worth of life into a small Israeli apartment.  A few prospective buyers came to see it.  One immediately rejected it because of a shallow scratch on the writing surface.  One offered me a pitifully low bid which I quickly declined.  Money being money, I did so more from sentiment than anything else.  Then a mother and her 7 year-old daughter came to see it, gushed over its beauty and specialness and I knew they were the right buyers. So even though, knowing the desk will no longer be mine, I have a twinge of something I cannot name, I am happy that another young girl will appreciate it, as I have over the years.

Last week, I went to close a bank account that I opened 25 years ago, just as my career began. The account had been more-or-less dormant for well over a decade, but there was a little cash there to add to our Aliyah Savings Fund.  Was I really feeling sentimental about a checking account?

I was.

Ahead of me in these next months lie dozens, if not hundreds, of these sorts of experiences.  I am extricating myself from five decades of life in America.  Unraveling decades-long business connections.  Sorting out the detritus of a lifetime.  Freeing myself from the tentacles of materialism and preparing myself to be open to my future.

Even though I have been dreaming of boarding that aliyah flight and living my life in Gd's Holy Land for years and years and years, ahead of me are any number of twinges and gut punches as I disentangle myself from a lifetime lived elsewhere.

I didn't know to expect that.

And yet, I know that even this is a bracha.  How many millions of Jews over the span of Jewish history have had the luxury of such a gradual parting from their sojourn outside the Land of Israel?

Hashem has truly blessed me.

Hashem Said Yes

You turned my mourning to dancing. You removed my sackcloth and clothed me in joy. (Tehillim 30:12)

This is the post I've been waiting eight years to write. What seemed utterly impossible just a short time ago suddenly, and I mean suddenly, became absolutely possible. In the end, the whole story is one giant Kiddush Hashem (sanctification of G'd's Name).

G'd, through His great goodness, finally said, "Yes. Yes, Rivkah, you can now make plans to come and live in my Land, live among My people. Come soon and grow yet closer to Me."

I can hardly believe it.

Every single boulder that was in our way on the road between Baltimore and Ma'ale Adumim is gone. It's as if G'd said, "Oh, is that in your way? No problem. Here, let Me get rid of that pesky boulder for you." And He did. With such elegance, with such ease, that it could only be G'd's handiwork.

There have been miracles in this process of getting to yes. Outright miracles. Jaw-dropping miracles. Out of respect for the privacy of others, I can't share everything that happened in a public blog, but I can recount this.

On the day I left Ariella in her new life in Israel, I stood on our mirpeset, facing Jerusalem, and prayed an inchoate, "Please Hashem. Please. Please." I wept quietly on the sherut from Ma'ale Adumim, all the way through picking up nine more passengers in various neighborhoods in Jerusalem and I didn't stop until Modi'in, 15 minutes before reaching the airport. Although I sat all the way in the dark back corner and tried to be discreet, the sherut driver twice tried to comfort me in Hebrew, "Yihyeh b'seder, Giveret. It will be okay."

Despite the fact that this was the most difficult parting to date, I eventually dried my tears and made my way back to Baltimore. Once back at the house, I started to unpack. I was alone in the house when something I can't quite define sent me into my daughter's room. The room that she left behind when she made aliyah. The room that held an essence of her, a memory of her, but will no longer ever be hers.

I sat on the bed and I had a meltdown. I don't know how else to define it. The grief that I held quietly on the sherut surfaced in that empty house and I yowled and keened, a wailing lament, as if for the dead.

In my head, I reminded myself that my situation was far from grievous. No one I love had died. No one I love was even sick. I was not Gilad Shalit's mother. My children were healthy and well and I knew where they were.

But I simply could not stop crying.

Years ago, my husband made me promise that when I couldn't take it anymore, I had to let him know.  He recognized, before I did, that we were now at that point.

And suddenly, in the exact place where there had been three absolutely impenetrable obstacles, there were five really potent reasons why we should make aliyah.  Why we must go soon.

My husband agreed. The words came out of his mouth, but I knew it was Hashem talking. And just like that, the agony over being displaced was over.

To me, it was no less a miracle than the splitting of the Red Sea. Whether I finally cried enough, or accumulated enough merit or, more likely, the combined strength of the prayers of others reached its fulfillment, something shifted in the universe and Hashem said yes.

But then it was Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, and, in a rabbinic household, there was no time to talk about or act on what we had just agreed to.

We told our families that, with G'd's help, we will be coming Home in Tammuz 5770. Some of these conversations were very painful and full of tears of another kind. But, in the end, we were blessed, even by family members who wish we weren't going.

With the chagim coming soon, it was a priority to tell our family members. Beyond that, we only had enough time to tell a few close friends. So many people clearly demonstrated that they appreciated how precious this news was. Some sang in response. Some shouted praises to Hashem. Some cried with joy for us. That was monumentally affecting, that our news brought others to tears.

A particularly memorable reaction came from someone I have known for 20 years, an old friend who plans to remain in America. "Of course," he said, "I will miss being in your physical presence. But it has been so hard for me to watch you in pain, to watch you feeling profoundly displaced all these years. I am so happy for you."

To have friends who love us and who truly, selflessly, wish us joy in this decision is a blessing beyond measure.

Hodu lashem, ki tov. Ki l'olam chasdo. Give thanks to Hashem, because He is Good. His kindness lasts forever.

Moving Jewish History Forward

Nine months into his first presidential term, the preternaturally powerful President of the United States just won the Nobel Peace Prize for, "creating a new climate in international politics." Said another way, he was awarded the prize for what he said in Cairo, rather than for anything he's actually accomplished. Some political commentators believe that he won merely for not being George W. Bush.

I am not a political animal. I tend to see things in terms of what's going on in the spiritual realm. And here we have a man who rockets to one of the most powerful, if not the most powerful political positions in the world on the basis of virtually no track record and verbal promises of change. This man is part Christian (Edom) and part Muslim (Yishmael). He literally embodies both of the historical enemies of the Jewish people.

So, Barak Obama comes out of nowhere. Shoots to the top of the world stage, reflecting the legacies of the two peoples who have caused the most anguish for Am Yisrael throughout history. And now, nine months on the job, the international community recognizes him as having done more to bring peace to the world than any other human being on the face of the earth.

You're kidding, right? On the face of it, it's just too bizarre to believe.

That's why I believe that this can only be the hand of Gd, moving Jewish history forward. And that gives me great, great comfort.

Existential Whiplash

Time Magazine published an article two months ago celebrating the 40th anniversary of Apollo 11. The article's writer, Jeffrey Kluger, posed this question to some of the men who walked on the moon.

"What about the existential whiplash that comes from being on the moon one week and in your living room the next - and having to find your own way to process the vast gulf between these two worlds?"

And that, I thought, is a remarkably accurate sense of what it's like to make the transition from Israel back to America. I have made this transition more than 20 times and existential whiplash (not to be confused with Snidely Whiplash) is exactly what I feel each time.

Yesterday, I went to the Second International Jewish Bloggers Convention in Jerusalem where I realized, with a start, how many of my friends here are also bloggers. I knew, of course, but it wasn't until I saw them all in one room that it crystallized for me. I have yet another thing in common with so many friends on this side of the world.

From 2-10 PM, I sat in multiple sessions where people talked for hours about Israel. In my mother tongue. Oy, joy! Eight hours of talk about promoting Israel, in this case through the use of blogs and other social media with 300 people who not only don't roll their eyes when I say the word "Israel", but who, in many cases, actually know way more about the topic than I do. And even though quality varied across sessions, the most astonishing thing was simply that I was attending a conference with 300 other (mostly) Israeli bloggers in Jerusalem. Yesterday, I occupied a space in an Israeli sanctum sanctorium.

Today, Ariella and I took yet more bus rides, shopped and waited our turn at the post office, the bank and the health fund office, taking care of her aliyah business. I'm not actually an Israeli citizen, but I play one on TV.

In less than 24 hours, I enter the existential whiplash zone of returning to America. My life in Israel is an altered state of consciousness.

Scratch that.

It's my life in America that's the altered state of consciousness.

Here in Israel, I am most fully alive.

Departures and Arrivals

NOTE: This departure narrative was written by my amazing husband, Elan. Some months ago, we decided to split the job of launching our daughter, Ariella, into her new life in Israel. Elan agreed to take on the task of bidding her farewell and I got to receive her here in the Holy Land. For those who don't know our family, Elan, who was born in Israel, is Ariella's step-father (but only in the most technical sense). Shani is her sister. The rest is, I think, self-explanatory.

DEPARTURE

Hi everyone,

Just an update from our home in Baltimore.

Yesterday I drove Rivkah to Newark airport so she could arrive a day before Ariella's aliyah flight. After a 5 hour delay, Rivkah finally took off and arrived safely today in Israel. Rivkah and her brother Herschel will be joined by several friends at the arrival ceremony at Ben Gurion in just a couple of hours.

Shani and I and her Uncle Brian joined Ariella on the drive to JFK today, as Ariella joined over 200 others on their aliyah flight this afternoon, the last Nefesh b'Nefesh flight of the summer of 2009. We were joined at the airport by Ariella's cousins Sara Nechama, Nochum and their 5-month old baby, Baruch Binyamin.

There is a farewell ceremony, with several speakers, followed by cake and soda, and then came the time no one was looking forward to, saying goodbye to Ariella.

Man, was that tough. Was that ever hard.

It was exactly a year ago when, the night before Ariella was leaving for her year of study in Israel, I told her what will be playing in my head when we bid farewell....it was the Muppets movie, I think they were in NY, and at the end, when time for departure comes, the characters sing, "It's time for saying goodbye." And then, a year ago, minutes before the last hugs prior to
her passing through security, it was, indeed, time for saying goodbye.

But this was very different. Her closet is empty of clothes, her room is mostly bare and devoid of her special touches, and with duffles and backpacks stuffed with what makes her Ariella, she was ready to check in at the El Al counter, seconds away from receiving a boarding pass to the rest
of her life 6000 miles away.

Hugging her and crying, I blessed her and wished her every success and happiness, hesitating to let her go, squeezing her one more time before she belonged to everyone else waiting their turn.
I told her that even though we don't share the same genetic material, in less than twelve hours, only she and I will share something special that she shares with no one else in the family- citizenship in Israel.

A few more waves, and blown kisses, and mouthed "I love you"s, and it was....time....for saying........goodbye.

We met when she was 6. I left Israel when I was 6. Now, she is going to my home, to make a home for herself.

L'hitraot, Ariella, may Hashem bless every step you take in your new home.

And may our steps not be far behind.

Love to you, dear friends,
Shalom,
Elan


ARRIVAL

I wasn't sure what to expect from my heart this morning as I waited for the arrival of the plane that brought my daughter Home.

When we first entered the welcoming ceremony, images from the departure ceremony at JFK the day before were rotating on the huge screens in the airport. I got to see pictures of my family, including one shot of the three people I love the most in the whole universe, standing together, larger than life.

As the plane touched down, we were able to watch it live on these same screens. When I saw my daughter, my first-born child, step out of the plane, landing in Israel for the first time as an Israeli citizen, I screamed with joy. Then, with the support of some loving friends who are all Israeli citizens themselves, sharing this miraculous morning with me, I rushed outside to greet her in person.

I didn't have to wait long. Ariella was practically the very first person to get off Tram #1 and walk through the crowds of greeters. Considering how long I waited to greet her at birth (31.5 hours of labor), this was fine compensation indeed.

Trying to catch her eye, I started jumping up and down with excitement and anticipation (not a common emotional response in my middle-aged life). I had kissed her goodbye in Baltimore just two days before, but I could not wait to hug her now.

Today, 25% of my enduring, unrelenting, unshakable aliyah dream came true. And I am a very proud, grateful and jubilant Mom.

Thank You God for bringing my daughter Home.

Ain od milvado. There is truly none besides Him.

So It Begins

Right now, my oldest daughter, the one who is making aliyah in 3 days, is in her bedroom, taking down the massive photo collection that has graced her walls for the last few years. In a sense, this collection defines her and her rapidly growing social circle (at least as much as her Facebook profile.)

I can't bear to watch her, so I'm in the dining room trying to sort out what I'm feeling.

I'm leaving America the day before she does so that I can be in Israel to meet her flight. Just as I was there to hold her in her first moments of life, I will be there to hug her when she steps off that flight and steps into her first moments of life as a citizen of the Land of Israel.

Usually, this close to a trip to Israel, I am giddy and high-spirited. This time, I'm thinking of the day, coming very, very soon, when I am going to have to say goodbye to my first-born child and to the Land at the same time.

Can you say Kleenex Jumbo Pack?

The Blessings Of Aliyah

Traditionally, the set of blessings we say in the morning are understood as thanking God for meeting our basic, daily needs.

When I was pregnant with my second child, I noticed that all the blessings reminded me of some aspect of pregnancy and childbirth. The child that was born from that inspired pregnancy is nearly 15 today, but I remember that, at her naming ceremony, I gave a dvar Torah in which I related each of the Birchot Hashachar, each of the morning blessings, to the experience of pregnancy and childbirth.

Recently, with aliyah and geula on the brain as much as pregnancy and childbirth was 15 years ago, I see new things in those same morning blessings.

Blessed are you, Hashem our God, King of the universe Who gave the heart understanding to distinguish between the day of geula and the night of galut.

Blessed are you, Hashem our God, King of the universe, for not having made me a gentile who doesn't get to have a totally unique relationship with the Land of Israel.

Blessed are you, Hashem our God, King of the universe, Who releases the bound from the hold their lives in the diaspora have on them.

Blessed are you, Hashem our God, King of the universe, Who straightens the bent who have been carrying the weight of exile on their shoulders all these centuries.

Blessed are you, Hashem our God, King of the universe, Who has provided me my every need and demonstrated to me that I simply don't need as many material possessions as I thought I did.

Blessed are you, Hashem our God, King of the universe, Who firms man's footsteps and who makes every fourth footstep in the Land another mitzvah.

Blessed are you, Hashem our God, King of the universe, Who girds Israel with strength to thrive in the face of ubiquitous threats from our enemies.

Blessed are you, Hashem our God, King of the universe, Who crowns Israel with splendor very soon, please God, when the Moshiach arrives and clarifies the true spiritual role of the Jewish people.

Blessed are you, Hashem our God, King of the universe, Who gives strength to the weary who must work a while longer before accumulating sufficient merit to ascend to the Land.

Blessed are you, Hashem our God, King of the universe, Who bestows beneficent kindnesses upon His people Israel and brings us Home.

Special Things I Notice in Israel

NOTE: CLICK ON ANY PHOTO TO GET A LARGER VERSION.

I've been privileged to be visiting Israel

for close to a month now. Each day, I see and experience small things that remind me how much I love this county. Three observations came in rapid succession today, reminding me of the specialness of being a Jew in Israel.

As we were driving back to Jerusalem from Kfar Saba, it was just about dusk and the time for davening mincha, the afternoon prayer service, was rapidly coming to a close. Traffic was quite heavy, leaving people without sufficient time to get to their destinations before the mincha service could no longer be said. All along the side of the road, at least a dozen cars were pulled over and Jews were standing by the side of Route 1 to Jerusalem praying the afternoon service.I think this must make God feel very proud, like a parent whose children behave appropriately without being reminded.

Upon arriving in Ma'ale Adumim
we went to pick up a few things in the grocery store. On our way in, I spotted an older woman, not outwardly religious, wearing shorts and a sleeveless top. She reached her hand up to the mezuzah

and kissed her fingers so naturally, anyone watching would know she has made this gesture thousands of times before.

We picked up some fruit, milk and gum and, on our way out, a man crossed into the store as we were leaving. He caught my eye and said, "Chodesh tov," wishing us a good month in the earliest hours of Rosh Chodesh Elul.

These are small, everyday things here. These things I cherish because they are so consistent with my Jewish soul.

Most of the pictures I took on this trip have been of views that delight me because they are only to be seen here in God's Land:

A sign that warns us not to enter this street on Shabbat and Jewish holidays


Haredi children climbing and playing like children anywhere else in the universe


Modern Hebrew words that make me smile because they are so darn clever. (Afarshazif is a combination of the Hebrew words for peach and plum... nectarines!)


Really personal street signs


An old friend making challah on Friday morning


Special sensitivity to religious needs


Being part of a people who remembers our past


And being part of a people who holds fast to dreams of our future

Aliyah Season

It's July and aliyah season is upon us. All around me, people are clearing out the detritus of their American lives, sending lifts, talking about their upcoming flights and where they'll be living, ulpan and schools for their kids. At the same time, hundreds of teens from my community are leaving soon for their year in Israel or for their Shana Bet. Some days, it seems that everyone I know is going to be living in Israel next year.

But not me.

In July of 2002, my husband and I went on a pilot trip together. A year later, as a gesture of shalom bayit (because I wanted to move to Israel and my husband didn't), we bought an apartment. On that trip, we hardly knew anyone in the country. Now, seven years later, as we're about the leave for my 21st trip, it seems we have more friends in Israel than here in America.

Of course, my perspective is a bit skewed. But I definitely inhabit two worlds and belong fully in neither.

One is the world of olim, both chadashim and vatikim. The ones who, season after season, leave Baltimore and start lives in Israel. Friends who, year after year, write beautiful prose about their lives in the Holy Land on their aliyah anniversaries. These are the friends who see what I see. Who don't think I'm crazy for seeing big change coming. Who believe what I believe about where God wants us to live. And some of these are even more strident than I am about getting their friends and family out of America. The ones who see evil intentions in the White House. The ones who quake with fear for the safety of their loved ones in America.

The other is the world of friends and family whose roots are deeply embedded in American soil. The ones who are redoing their kitchens. The ones who might visit Israel this year, but look forward to seeing Hawaii next year and Australia the year after. The ones who tell me I talk about Israel too much. The ones who find things I say offensive and, doggone it, unAmerican.

I love both sets of friends. There are things to value and appreciate about each person in my world. But there is no escaping the reality that it is as if they inhabit different planets. And I can't fully inhabit either.

I recently watched the 2003 film Out of the Ashes, a movie about the life of Dr. Gisella Perl, a Hungarian survivor who wrote the book I Was a Doctor in Auschwitz. The most extraordinary scene plays out as the Nazis have already entered Hungary. There is a heated family discussion. Dr. Perl wants her family to leave for Palestine while the family still has enough money, connections and time to get out of Sighet, Hungary. Her father absolutely refuses to believe that the people of Hungary, that his fellow citizens of Sighet, will allow the Nazis to harm the Jews. As a stern patriarch, he insists that the family stay together in Sighet.

Of all her family, because she was a doctor, only Gisella Perl survived Auschwitz.

Although a film is not real life, the discussion was truthful. It happened in hundreds of thousands of home all across Europe as the Nazi threat spread. To stay or to go?

God-forbid anything like that should ever fall upon the remaining Jews in America! But there are changes in the air and they require vigilance. Minimally. Today, numbers of American olim are measured in the thousands. But how swiftly that could change if, unlike Gisella Perl's historically blind father, tens of thousands would only wake from the poppy field in their pursuit of the Emerald City.

Political Correctness

A few years ago, I bought a book in Jerusalem's Old City. When I got it home, I realized that the book was part of a 2-volume set. I had, unwittingly, bought the first volume and all the chapters I most wanted to read were in the second volume. So I returned to the store, only to find that the second volume was out-of-print.

These past few years, I have tried every means at my disposal to locate a copy of the second volume of this work. I coveted it on the shelves of friends, one of whom told me he bought both volumes at a used book sale for laughably few shekels. I researched every used book site on the Internet. On a subsequent trip to Israel, we even drove to a used bookseller in Beit El who listed the set on his website, but, alas, the book was ultimately unavailable.

Two weeks ago, I got an email that an ex-library copy had been found and was available for $35. Without making a conscious decision, I flew over to the Amazon.com site and, miraculously, the book was now available there. Amazon had a tiny number of copies in stock and they were selling for less money than the used copy. I ordered one right away.

The book is Or Hara'ayon by Rabbi Meir Kahane. In English translation, it is titled The Jewish Idea.

This book sings my song. The Torah in this book speaks right to my soul.

And it cheeses off my friends and neighbors.

Recently, we had a Shabbat meal with religious neighbors. The conversation turned, as it often does, to Israel. Because I had recently begun reading The Jewish Idea, Volume 2, I shared some of the thoughts of Rabbi Kahane as I understood them. Today, I have the benefit of having the text before me, so I can quote him more precisely:

"Eretz Yisrael was given to the Jewish People not as a privilege that they could forgo by saying, 'we do not wish it,' but as a duty that cannot be dispensed with." (p. 553)

"What a Chilul Hashem is this refusal to leave the servitude of exile and enter the Holy Land!" (p. 555)

"For this sin [refusal to ascend to Eretz Yisrael] which recurs in every generation, Israel are still suffering, G-d's wrath is poured out on us, and His hand remains raised high." (p. 557)

"Mitzvat Yishuv Ha'aretz, the mitzvah incumbent upon every Jew to live in Eretz Yisrael and not in the exile," is a, "Divine foundation of supreme importance." (p. 557)

"So terribly has the cursed exile warped our nation, that they not only see no personal duty to leave the exile but they do not at all consider it a punishment! What a perversion that is!" (p. 572)

These are some of the ideas I communicated in our Shabbat table conversation about Israel and aliyah. I also said, "I don't know why, but I know very clearly that Hashem calls me, shouts in my ear, making it absolutely imperative that I come Home as soon as possible. And I am doing everything I can to get my family there."

And my friend said, "That's clear. But that doesn't mean that He doesn't send different messages to other people."

I well understand that the politically correct thing to say would have been, "Of course. You choose your path and I choose mine." In reality, it seems that only one of us can be correct here. Either Hashem truly wants all of us to leave the exile, to stop volitionally living under non-Jewish rule and to move to the Land he set aside for us, or He's fine with each of us deciding as we see fit.

How can it be both?

What She Brought Back With Her

Like a lot of religious Zionist families in the Diaspora, we sent our daughter to spend the year after her high school graduation learning Torah in Israel. A few months into her year in Israel, she let us know that she saw no future for herself in America and wanted to move to Israel permanently.

This exact conclusion, which makes so much sense in the context of a yeshiva or seminary lifestyle, strikes fear into the hearts of most American Jewish parents who, more often than not, insist that their child return to America to "finish their education". Some children, inspired by their year or two in Israel, do make it back after they graduate from college.

But most get sucked into the vortex of Jewish life in the Diaspora.

I didn't want that to happen to my daughter. We supported her decision and proceeded to spend the next six months trying to find a viable framework in which a 19 year-old religious girl making aliyah without her family, could spend the next year.

A few days ago, our daughter returned to America for the summer - her last American summer before she makes aliyah and possibly her last American summer ever. And with her, she brought the essence of Israel.

In the six days she's been back, I already see the essence of Israel diminishing in her, a gradual puffing out, like a flame that cannot sustain itself in the absence of oxygen.

I miss Israel.

I miss the spiritual intensity that she lived in for the past nine months, the culture that supported her in reaching out to God and reaching in to understand her own neshama better. I miss the emphasis on growing as a Jew that her life had. I miss her commitment to regular prayer and Torah learning, which is already dwindling in the spiritually-thin American atmosphere.

It's not all gone, not yet. She'll say something that will remind me that, of course the world looks like that to her. She just spend a year in a rarefied, protected environment where everything was carefully crafted to help her grow.

But I know that, like soil lacking sufficient nutrients to sustain a particular kind of plant, America cannot sustain that level of spiritual achievement. It just can't. And I feel like a parent who cannot provide the proper nutrition for her child.

I don't want to live 6,000 miles away from my first-born child. But I don't want her to become spiritually dry and sapless in America either. It's bad enough I'm withering away here.

So all this monitoring of our relative spiritual strengths leaves me pining for Israel. I want to plug myself in to the Main Transformer.

But its more than that. I'm watching what's going on politically and I'm starting to feel a bit more chafing. Every day, I wait for the other shoe to drop. Will we American Jews see anything resembling anti-Jewish legislation? Something like Kristallnacht? And if we see it, will we recognize it? I know there are many who believe that America is different and that nothing like that could ever happen here.

The one thing that is certainly true is that, as the last large extant Jewish diaspora community, America has a major role to play in Yemot haMoshiach. Whether it is as ultimately as friend or foe to the Jews that remain in her borders remains to be seen.

But not by my first daughter.

With God's help, she'll already be living b'aretz.

Does God Care Where We Live?

Parshat Beha’alotcha 5769

This week’s Torah reading comes just before the famous incident of the Biblical spies. The Jewish people have already received the Torah and our journey to the Promised Land continues. In next week’s parsha, the Biblical spies will return with an evil report about Israel and, as a result, the journey that was supposed to be completed in days will be delayed by 40 years.

But none of that has happened yet when we enter the story in Parshat Beha’alotcha. In anticipation of entering the Promised Land very soon, God explained to Moshe what needs to be done when God will indicate that He wants the Jewish people to journey to their next destination. At this point, the Jewish people are three days’ distance away from Israel.
“They traveled from the Mountain of Hashem a distance of three days ...” (10:33)

According to Rashi’s comment on this verse, the Holy One Blessed Be He desired to bring them into the Land immediately. God was so anxious to bring the Jewish people to Israel that the whole of the Jewish people covered three days’ distance in a single day.

A huge group of people covering physical distance three times faster than usual is certainly a miracle. Since the Talmud teaches that God performs miracles only when absolutely necessary, we can reasonably conclude that it was very important for God to get the Jewish people to Israel as quickly as possible. It was important enough that God altered natural law to make it possible to cover three times the normal distance in a single day.

This is one of the many miracles we see, both in the Torah and in everyday life, that argue in support of God having a very definite preference about where Jews should live. Where else do we see these miracles express themselves?

The entire Sefer Yehoshua (Book of Joshua) details many miracles that God did for the Jewish people at the time of our actual entry into the Promised Land, 40 years later. For example, just as God parted the sea when the Israelite slaves were freed from Egypt, so God parted the Yarden (Jordan River) when the Jewish people finally crossed into the Land of Israel. Once we were already across the Yarden and in the Land of Israel, we had to face the 70 nations who lived in the Land. In Sefer Yehoshua, there are countless examples of miracles and victories in battle that we experienced because God was with us.

The history of the modern State of Israel is replete with military miracles. The restoration of Jewish dominion over the Land of Israel in 1948 and the Jewish victory in the War of Independence, for example, are widely considered miracles, particularly when we consider their proximity to the end of the Holocaust.

The Six Day War in 1967 is another famous example. The Israeli Defense Forces were outnumbered by four combined Arab armies nearly 2-to-1. According to all the military analysts at the time, the battle was wildly lopsided and the Israelis were expected to be decimated. Yet, at the end of the war six days later, Israel controlled three times the territory it had controlled before the war, including ancient Jewish sites that had been closed to Jews under Arab authority. There’s plenty more. Google “miracles Israel” and you’ll get close to 3,000,000 results.

Today, travel to Israel from virtually anywhere in the world is possible in less than a day’s time. The State of Israel offers free airfare and many other financial incentives to Jews who wish to return Home. Despite being surrounded by many hostile Arab nations, the modern State of Israel thrives and grows.

God is clearly protecting the Promised Land. He’s protecting it for us. So we always have a place to call Home.

Am I Crazy?

It seems I'm having "the aliyah conversation" with more and more people lately. Sometimes, I remark that this must be what was going on in thousands of Jewish homes in Russia beginning in the 1880s:

"Maybe it's not that bad. Our people have been here for so long. Maybe we should we stay and ride out the persecution."

"We've been saving for years and can only afford one steerage-class steamship ticket. Should we send our oldest child first?"

"How can I leave my elderly mother?"

"We don't speak any English. How will we put food on the table?"

I may be having the aliyah conversation with 10 families at a time, but, at the same time, so many others, the vast majority, are unable to imagine a future anywhere but here in America.

Here's something a lot of America Jews have forgotten. We are an immigrant people. There are millions of Jews in America today whose grandparents or great-grandparents were immigrants to this country not much more than 100 years ago. And yet, we have a bad case of generational amnesia.

We forget that, since the Exodus from Egypt, we have been a people on the move. God commanded that we move 42 times in the 40 years we wandered in the desert. At some time in history, we have lived in virtually every county on the face of the earth. And we were expelled from a goodly number of them. Sometimes more than once.

Why, then, do American Jews persist in thinking that they are here to stay, despite world events, despite the ever-increasing call to return Home? I am among a small group of people who can hear the call... and it is getting louder. Sometimes, I think I'm crazy.

But I know I'm not.

In this week's Baltimore Jewish Times, there are three articles that point to the diminished influence of Jewish life in Baltimore. The cover story is about opening one of the JCC buildings on Shabbat so the non-Shabbat observers (and non-Jews) who belong to the JCC can exercise on Saturdays. There is also a story about a local Jewish nursing home dropping its Jewish affiliation and phasing out its kosher food service. A third story is about the 90 year-old Baltimore Hebrew University merging with Towson University, a large, secular university.

I see in these stories, which all hit in the same issue, yet more evidence that the American Jewish experience is coming to a close.

There is more evidence, much more compelling evidence, all around us, but many people are oblivious to it. Books are being published about how we are living in a time of biblical prophecies coming true. The economic crisis. the chaos in world politics, the existence of a new Amalek/Haman/Hitler on the world scene. Watching as God really has begun gathering the exiles from the four corners of the earth. It all adds up to the conclusion that we are in a new era.

In 2004, on the 350th anniversary of Jewish life in America, a colleague asked me to participate in a discussion on what Jewish life will be like in America in 350 years. I declined to participate because, as I told her, there will be no Jewish life in America in 350 years. I have only become more certain of that statement in the past five years. I'm not even sure there will be Jewish life in America in the next three years.

No. I'm not crazy.

Just awake.

And paying attention.