~After making aliya in May 2007, many of our friends and family whom we love and miss asked me to let them know how our lives unfold as we settle in here. Here are the letters they received. I hope every one of you will be here someday and I want it to go well for you. Maybe if you can experience the ins and out with us, it will make your entry a little easier. It’s hard sometimes, but moving to Israel is truly the best decision we have ever made.
This morning there were changes in the air. I noticed it crossing through the Kotel plaza as the sleepy sunlight filtered pinks, blues and purples through some of Cheshvan's first clouds. The days of crisp sapphire skies are softening now. Wednesday morning hung with low grey thunderheads that dropped only enough rain to get us scampering for cover and then once we found a dry spot to stand, she gathered up her gifts and strode away. Yesterday on Rechov King George, a little sprinkling sent me into the tachana (covered bus stand) as I stood on the street for the 38. Almost everyone inside whipped out their cellphones to tell their next of kin that it was raining. But not for long.
Today was a very different story. I spent the morning cooking for Shabbos with the door to our courtyard wide open so I could enjoy the cooling autumn air. It began with a rustling sound, something made me thing an animal was scurrying around in the potted plants...and then I realized it was GESHEM!
It rained all afternoon, a long refreshing soaking, exactly the kind we pray for. And it's predicted to rain for another four days.
This Yom Tov season marks our third in Eretz Yisrael. At the end of this third year, we will no longer be “olim chadashim,” new immigrants. Our benefits will be mostly over and we will be counted among the “vatikim,” or old-timers. They say thatyou are ready to be vatikim when you can help the olim chadashim become more settled. This summer we had the awesome opportunity to see 500 families make aliya and help just a few of them.
As we begin this third time around the cycle of Holidays here, we notice that we no longer have to make mistakes in order to figure out the nuances of what to do, and what to avoid at this time of year. Three times in Judaism means a “chazaka,” a strengthening, or an acceptance of the status quo. Our roots are taking hold and we do feel stronger. We are finally beginning to feel that life here is normal; we are feeling settled. And that in and of itself, is a bit unsettling.
It’s been a long time since we have had this settled feeling so it’s a strange one for us.
Six years ago we set/announced our aliya date and change became our constant buddy. Changes in ourselves and changes in others. After the initial flurry of excitement from our friends and premature requests for lift space, the weight of the decision altered the way we perceived just about everything.
We stopped buying anything we could not use up or bring to Israel. Dry clean clothing was no longer attractive, electronics would need adapters before their usefulness was up, decorative items were surplus, and useful items were ones that served more than one purpose. We hung on to our cars way past their prime. And we hung on to our dearest friends for their support and love as we felt ourselves move from the center of community life.
Our move from Breezy Lane involved divestiture of massive amounts of the familiar items from decades of our shared lives:dishes, plants, art, books, tools, toys, clothes, furniture, knick-knaks, memorabilia, private letters, notes, preschooler drawings and other treasures.
It was traumatic to rid ourselves of the perceived permanence of our lives.And that is exactly why feeling settled again feels so unsettling.
All those “things” we got rid of do not mean a thing when we look up at the crystal blue sky on a weekday morning or watch it turn a majestic sapphire as the Shabbos melts away at dusk. We feel very small, and yet because we sit on a bench in Jerusalem in the year 5770, somehow we also feel mightily significant in the eternal play of history.
It is not that we are living in the most disputed piece of real estate on the planet or that constant awareness of the hovering threat of our decimation by Iran. Most of us are more concerned that we will have rain this year. With good reason.We need an substantial rainy season that will put an end to the drought we are suffering.
Now that Sukkos is knocking at the door to our safe, protected homes, we’ll move out under that crystal sky. When we leave the sukkah, we’ll pray for the rain to fall at the most beneficial times. And in the most beneficial places. And in the most beneficial amounts.
Geshem, rain, means the physical world, the “things” that make us feel safe and secure. We need these things in order to eat, dress, sleep and live in dignity. But sometimes, when things fool us into believing the status quo will endure, it can be too much. Like too much rain, we drown in our stuff.
Last week the news, facebook and twitter-talk was all of ark-building, newly acquired basement swimming pools and impromptu dangerous dips in neighborhood creeks. There were terrible tragedies, too. Unsettling to say the least. Ruby arrived home on Wednesday via Atlanta and gave us a first hand report of the muddy roof-high water she saw flying over the city we called home for 30 years.
Now, our home in Jerusalem is a comfortable rented apartment with a few water problems that our landlords work diligently to protect us from. We recently signed our lease for a third year which again includes a “Moshiach Clause.” This means we’ll iy”H soon be reclaiming a Jewish home in the newly abandoned Muslim Quarter as the owners of our apartment will surely want to settle into their home as our people’s destiny unfolds here.
This clause keeps us from feeling fooled into believing the status quo will endure. And it keeps us aware that it’s not yet time for a Jew to feel settled.
I think living in a sukkah is a bit like living in Israel. Small space, delicious, simple foods, useful furniture, less dependence on material things and much, much more on the benevolence of Hashem. Like the sukkah, none of us will remain in our homes forever, but we can look forward to joining together in the great sukkah when our Moshiach Clause takes effect.
This year you can think of moving into your sukkahas a virtual aliya. Throughout the world, we Jews will all be in our sukkahs, but because we are one people--we’ll be together. And when we move back into our storm-worthy houses, please pray for rain. The good kind, the kind that will make us all able to come home soon.
In a couple of hours I will be catching the bus to meet David after his ulpan class. I have to go to have “our foot” x-rayed to see how it is healing. You see, I was walking out of the Old City three weeks ago to meet my Partner in Torah (so exciting, hopefully more about that later) and I turned my ankle, or so I thought.
But over the next couple of days the swelling got worse and my foot was quite the sight, black and blue with a little yellow thrown in for a disgusting touch of color. David went to the medical equipment gemach here in the Rova where we got to use a bit of our newly acquired Ivrit skills to communicate with the gracious non English speakers who run it. Tell them what you need, “gabaim”, leave a check for 18NIS and when we return them, they tear up the check. Keep for as long as you need them, but “refuah shelima.”
I have not spoken about the medical care here, because, B”H we have not needed so much of it. It’s such a timely topic nowadays with Obama’s Health Bill dominating the news. Here in Israel, we have found the medical care here to be thorough, efficient and provided with a capital C for care.
We signed up for Meuchedet, one of the four national insurance providers. They deduct about 450NIS per month from our bank account for the premium. My first encounter included some heart tests ordered because I had an erratic heart rate in America just before I left-I am sure it was stress and nerves about the big move. The tests all turned out normal, B”H.
Navigating the medical system was daunting then because it was unfamiliar and in a language we did not understand. First, I went to my local Meuchedet office, no appointment needed, and waited 15 minutes for the two people in front of me to see the doctor. I walked into her tiny office-consisting of a desk, examining table and small sink-separated from the main hall by only a curtain, to show her my EKG grids from the US. The doctor spoke no English but responded by printing out three papers with directions in Hebrew. I almost burst into tears. She was Russian-no patience with tears. So she took the papers, called the number on one of them and found an English speaker at the main Meuchedet clinic in Jerusalem who walked me through what I needed to do, including directions to get there.
So, the next day I showed up at what we call “Meuchedet HaTurim” on the corner of Jaffa Road and HaTurim for my EKG, pronounced “eh-keh-geh” here, and Holter monitor. I took the elevator to the directed floor and when the door opened I was facing a main desk. I handed my papers to the non-smiling attendant who asked me for –hold on folks-24 shekel, about $8.50 at the time. I was instructed to heder shemona, room 8, where I simply signed my name on a list on the door. The last time I did that was at the gym waiting for the treadmill.
The Meuchedet clinic and rooms have not been touched by the talents of any interior designer. The walls are bare, the floors industrial and black plastic chairs line the walls and halls. I sat for just a few minutes an Anglo woman called me into the small examining room. We told each other our 1-minute aliya stories then she told to lie down and take off my shoes. She efficiently hooked me up and soon sent me on my way, results in hand. Next was the Holter experience, much the same procedure, except I left the offices taped to a meter the size of a small Tehillim that would be my closest buddy for the next 24 hours. I also left with a pass for the metal detectors which as you know hover in front of every restaurant and mall, a genuine smile and a “good luck” from the doctor. Which kind of scared me, did she know something I did not know?
I had to go back two days later to return the monitor and get my results. The results were also entered into the Meuchedet system so that any doctor I visit will have access to the records. I got a recommendation for a wonderful South African physician in Har Nof. It a 20 minute cab ride or 45 minutes on the bus (50NIS vs. 5 on for the bus) each way. I’ll take the bus, thank you. He is worth the scenic trip.
To see Dr. N I needed an appointment. When I showed up, I was directed to the waiting room , also sparse, industrial but friendly feeling, with several people seated in those same black plastic chairs. When the next person entered, she asked us each the time of our appointment in Hebrew, which I though was odd. But everyone announced their time, and I went along-in English. Someone soon came out of the doctor’s door, leaving it ajar and one of my co-patients got up and entered. I soon realized the reason that the woman asked our appointment times was to know her spot in the line-up. No nurse calls you in to take your vitals and escort you to a room where you can wait alone for tens of minutes before seeing the doc.
Dr. N was running about 20 minutes late and when my turn came, I was greeted by a genteel slight man about my age who engaged in the friendly welcome-to-Israel-where-are-you-from-and-a bit-of Jewish-geography before proceeding to swipe my Meuchedet card and enter my entire medical history into the computer. He ordered an array of basic tests which would keep me busy for months. Each doctor I went to was much the same, Anglo, refined, kind and genuinely caring. Not that that is so different from my doctors in the US. Clearly they were less pressured here. I saw one world renowned doctor; it took months to get that appointment. As I was standing at the elevator to leave, I realized I had left my coat in his office. When I turned to go back I saw him running toward me, my coat in hand. Blew me away. Another doctor’s daughter lived in Atlanta for a year, teaching with Torah MiTzion.
My foot is getting better but it’s not a way to spend a summer sitting inside all day. When I am out, every Israeli feels he needs to know what's wrong with my foot. The bus driver makes people get out of the front seat for me. People offer their arm, ask if I need help and say “margisha tova,” feel better, all the time. I was waiting in line at a pharmacy when the customers made me sit and handled my entire transaction, then escorted me out with a roomfull of "refuah shelima”s. This mishap has forced me to converse in Hebrew with well meaning Israelis. And thanks to David, I am getting better at it.
David's summer revolves around Ulpan Morasha: he goes 5 hours a day 5 days a week and has hours of homework and review every day. I've learned a lot by reviewing with him, but he is really learning to speak this language.
Before I enrolled in my easy-going ulpan program, I went for 2 weeks to Ulpan Morasha. It felt like uplan boot camp. I kept asking myself, “I volunteered for this abuse?” The teachers are demanding and expect total submission. They do not explain, they just give over the material and refuse to answer questions. But this system is truly successful for many. You cannot miss a day; you cannot even daydream for one minute. Most can’t maintain the pace and the class is dwindling in size, David says its kind of like “Survivor Island.”
There are many non-Jews in the class, some who want to convert to Judaism and some missionaries who want to convert Jews. Most of the Jews are not observant. Needless to say, David in his black and white and growing beard gets lots of questions. One gentile man wore tzitzis and a baseball cap and kissed the mezuzah but wanted to pick and choose his mitzvos and didn’t care about the Noahide Laws. One girl considering conversion wanted to know where she could "buy a Talmud" so she could look all up those laws. A woman from Finland is in dance school here because she loves Israelis; she lives and volunteers at a Christian youth hostel near Jaffa Gate in the Old City. Another is a young olah learning at Nevey who ended up at our table one Friday night last spring.
As the class gets smaller, the committed students are forming close bonds. In fact we’ll be having an ulpan Shabbos dinner in a few weeks here when my foot is better.
Which I am happy to tell you since I went to the doctor today is on the road to recovery. I no longer am confined to crutches. Who knows, maybe I’ll even get into a real shoe soon, or a even a boot…no, I guess not.
L'habria v' t'vo-u habaiyta bkarov, (Be well and come home soon) Rena and David...
Today was a yom iyun at Neve Yerushalayim. I heard the most powerful speakers, and now I don't think I can ever speak LH (loshen hara-gossip, slander, malicious or not) again (yeah, right..oops, is that LH?)
A capsule of what I learned:
1-If you want to know whom you have decided to be, listen to the words you decide to say.
2-The key to not speaking LH is being an anav, a humble person. Anava doesn't come from seeing how small we are. Anava comes from seeing H's greatness, His greatness in others and His greatness in ourselves.
3-Every Jewish neshama comes from the Kesei haKavod because our purpose is to reveal the greatness of Hashem. We do this by honoring what is important to Him. What is important to Hashem? The greatness of every single Jew, including ourselves.
4-Abusing our speech, abuses our humanity. Learn the glory of the power of speech. Use it to reveal our greatness. Say kind words, use soft speech, make a sincere apology, and create bonds with powerful, building statements.
We have a lot of work to do, but the good news is, we can do it!
I can be nothing less than incredibly grateful that learning on such a level in the Place where we have clearer insights is available to ME-it can only be zechus avos, that I am here.
Something to live up to. Please read Unburying & Rebuilding. Go with your greatness. May we merit to have Tisha B'Av become a Yom Tov this year....
Hi, this is Fran. I was at your Kumah meeting in NY last year when you talked about the "aliyah boat". I have another idea for your listeners: I call it Fantasy Aliyah!
In the Jewish newspapers in NY they are advertising a Glatt Kosher, Shomer Shabbat Fantasy *baseball *camp with one of the NY major league teams. I root for the OTHER NY team, but in any case I would not spend ridiculous sums of money to go do such a thing since being a baseball player is not my fantasy.
However, I really wish I could make aliyah, but for personal family reasons I am not yet in a position to do so. My husband and I are working on a longer term plan, but meanwhile we
are bringing the family to Israel this summer.
Instead of vacationing in the expensive tourist bubble of four or five star Hotels and fancy tours, I planned a trip where we are renting a house for three weeks in a community we would consider living in where we have some friends. We will be attending an unveiling ceremony, and also a wedding. We will visit friends,do some fun things for sure. Most important is that I want to learn to ride the buses, the train, shop in the supermarket, shop at the mall, visit the community pool, the library and practice my Hebrew. I may even rent a car and try driving in Israel (scary thought!)
At first I was calling this my pre pre pilot trip, but now I am calling it Fantasy Aliyah! For three weeks I'm going to imagine that I'm really an olah chadasha! My daughter even picked up an NBN hat for me at the salute to Israel parade!
I'm hoping that this will be a good experience, and make the idea of aliyah less scary. I'm hoping that I will get more comfortable with being in Israel, and that one day G-d willing we can make aliyah for real.
Meanwhile "Fantasy Camp" in Israel, is better than not coming at all! We hope to turn our Fantasy into reality some day soon.
You may read this email on air as an idea for your listeners, and I hope to visit Beit El and all my radio friends at INR.
It’s that time again, for the annual “12 to 12.” Nefesh B'Nefesh requested that every Oleh compose a list of 12 things we appreciate and love about living in Israel and email our message to 12 friends abroad. It’s a tikkun for the sin of the spies we read in Parsha Shelach. In the past, we sent out “12+1” and “12 to 120” and this year, “12 Invitations.” Let’s make an extra effort this week not to say anything that could possibly be construed as negative about the Land. (there’s a lot of Hebrew in this one, so I put a glossary at the end)
In Israel, we read parsha Shelach last Shabbos because your 2nd day Shavous was a “regular” Shabbos for us. Which of course brings me to one of the nicest things people tout for living here:
1) No 2-day Yom tov. I had no idea how special that could be until
we lived it. All the energy of the yom tov condensed and distilled into one 25-hour oasis, crystallizes the magnificence of the holy day.
And so it is with all the holidays- 2) The entire country regardless of custom or level of observance shares the chag. For secular Israelis Shavuos may be a day off --for basking in the sun, and for Chassidim a day on-- for dressing in the most regal of clothing and basking in the countenance of their Rebbe. For those in our realm, it’s like Shabbos with a different aroma. I don’t mean cheese and butter; there is richness to the very air. We hear singing all day in the Old City alleyways. The yeshivas are spending their last chag together; the boys hang on to every sweet morsel of the experience. The seminary girls who come to us in droves, B”H talk about all they learned and David and I comment on how they have matured into fine young women ready to begin a new generation of Kl’al Yisrael, b’esras Hashem. We bless them that the will return soon with their husbands and establish their homes here. (amen)
3) Tourist Season. The kids are mostly gone now, and every week in the summer months friends and acquaintances from Atlanta and kiruv group participants are booked for meals at our Shabbos table. It’s really something to look forward to as these visitors always energize us. They readily share their week of life changing experiences and insights over the meal. It’s delicious.
4) Days of simcha and days of mourning express themselves fully here. Beginning soon with the fast of the 17th of Tammuz, the Jerusalem air each day will feel emptier and emptier until by the 9th of Av there will seem be no air at all to breathe. The stones seem harder, the sun harsher, the loss even greater.
And then-- it is Shabbos Nachamu- last year at the Kotel on Shabbos Nachamu morning just after the Torah reading, I heard the voice of a frightened little boy. He pierced the cool morning air with a longing wail, “ aba-aba!” I turned to see the almost 3-year-old in his tiny vest and Shabbos pants, shiny shoes and un-cut hair tied into a flowing pony tail, looking utterly lost and alone. Just then, his mother scooped him into her arms and held him close until his sobbing subsided. And the haftorah began: Nachamu, nachamu ami----
5) Then, the country goes on vacation together and there is an astounding abundance of natural beauty to visit during the weeks of comfort called “chufsha, ” “bein hazmanim,” a.k.a., vacation. Israelis go to zimmers (cottages) in the cool mountains and valleys of the North, camping along the sapphire Mediterranean and on tiyuim (trips) to the craters in the sparse dessert or to lush wineries throughout the country, or on adventures like caving, rappelling, biking, rafting and hiking. Yeshivas close, run a less rigorous program and some move out of the city for a refreshing change of pace in preparation for Elul.
6) Elul is very, very serious here. Shiurim take on an urgent tone and pop up everywhere, every day, every night. We work in earnest to prepare for the awesome days soon upon us. Slichos begins at dawn for Sephardim and the shofar blows all morning throughout the Land. Buses to Rachel’s Tomb and Hevron are full, we give tzedeka to the collectors a bit more freely and we bite our tongue a bit more often. It’s also a sweet time. The kids are back. Israeli teachers fill the Kotel Elul mornings with hundreds of young students in identical pastel shirts and dark pleated skirts, or children capped in brightly colored kippot, wearing shorts and flying tzitzit. Yeshiva boys announce themselves in great song on Friday nights. Throughout the week, new American seminary students giggle in groups in the plaza in and shed sincere tears in solitary prayer at the wall.
7) Even the gashmius side of life here takes on a yom tov aura. In America, Labor day sales are emptying the stores of summer clothing, but in Israel we will wear white into October. Hat store windows display 17 different styles; only white in Elul. All along Jaffa Road you can buy flowing skirts and men’s three piece suits in pure white. Deep into usually “black” Geula, women shop for tailored outfits and children’s dresses as white as clouds.
And on the streets and in the malls and at the shuk you have no doubt that any yom tov is on her way. Sefarim stores fill their shelves with recent publications and reliable classics written to inspire deeper insights into the holiday at hand. Relevant machzorim pile on tables in front of the stores on crowded sidewalks. In Elul, honey bottles, bears and jars are everywhere. Tablecloths fly out the doors of linen shops. The silver stores clean their windows--just as we work to clean our souls, so their polished wares gleam in the sun.
8) Every Jew directs their prayer towards Israel and Jerusalem. When the Awesome Days finally arrive, we find ourselves standing on the front lines of prayer. Do we feel fully worthy? Not at all. However, we know that we are backed by you, holy Jews around the globe begging for mercy, heeding the shofar, honoring the King, longing to come home.
9) The Yom Kippur fast ends early and the hammering begins… Our fast is over somewhere around 6:30 and immediately after a light meal, we begin to hear hammer on nails, planks banging and metal bars clanging. Store fronts turn into lulav and esrog stands overnight, sidewalks and mall kiosks overflow with sukkah decorations and Simchas Torah flags. Before we know it we’ve moved outside for a week of delight in the cool fall air, sleeping near our snoring neighbors under a blanket of Jerusalem stars.
10) With the chill of winter comes donut season! Beginning on the 1st of Cheshvan, it lasts all the way until the 8th night of Chanukah. After that, you’ll rarely see (or want to see) another fried pastry until the next Cheshvan. During Chanukah schools get off early and work understands that you’ll be leaving by 3. Everyone, and I mean everyone, lights menorahs. We walk around different neighborhoods to enjoy the simple flames outside the doors or twinkling in the windows in every apartment on every story. Everywhere.
11) The almond trees blossom to announce that Tu b’Shevat is here-- and then on 1 Adar Purim “begins.” Kids pile off the buses in costume and hamentashen pop up in places which just a few months ago hawked varieties of doughnuts, and before that sold esrogim and lulavim. The Breslovers drive around in Adar with huge speakers attached to the roofs of cars with bungee cords. You just can’t help but smile and put a little bounce in your step when you hear their music and see their joy. This national simcha escalates for 2 weeks and then, the party begins! And for those who didn’t get enough to drink on Purim day-you can always head to Jerusalem for Shushan Purim. Now that’s a 2-day holiday many people go for!
12) Pesach: While it’s great that entire stores go kosher for Passover, it’s even better that any number of rabbis are available 24/7 for the multitude of shailas that come up several times each day. We love how once it is Chol Hamoed, everyone is finally relaxed and ready for the concerts each evening and fireworks after sunset. Every town and moshav has its festival, some with magicians, musicians or clowns or balloon sculptors, maybe art displays, special tours and tiyulim.
But I think the very best part of Pesach is that one pure Seder. The one that ends just like yours does: “Next year in Yerushalayim.”
So come home soon.
Love, David & Rena
We are so excited IY”H to welcome our dear friends, Moshe, Caryn, Tova, Chaim, Yael, Shira, Shalom Tzvi and Gila Oberman as olim chadashim (new arrivals on aliya) next week! May they have only an ayin tova (see good) about the Land and may their yishuv (settling in) be easy.
Aba-father b’esras Hashem, G-d willing chag, yom tov-holiday Chol Hamoed- interim days of Passover and Sukkos Gashmius-material Haftorah-a section of the Book of Prophets read after the Torah portion on Shabbos Kiruv-outreach Kl’al Yisrael-the Jewish people Lulav, esrog, sukkah-used on the holiday of Sukkos Machzorim-holiday prayer books Moshav-village Parsha-Torah portion Sefarim-books Sephardim-Jews of Middle Eastern and Spanish descent Shiurim-Torah classes Shabbos Nachamu-the Sabbath of comfort following our day of national mourning Shailas-questions about Jewish law Shushan Purim-the day Purim is observed in walled cities such as Jerusalem Simcha-happiness Simchas Torah-last day of Sukkos Slichos-prayers of repentance Tammuz, Av, Elul, Cheshvan, Shevat, Adar-Hebrew Months Tikkun-rectification Tzedeka-charity Yeshiva-boys’ school...
Yesterday afternoon I left the Old City at one to meet David for the a slice of what I think is absolutely the world’s best pizza at Big Apple on Jaffa Road before running a few errands. This left me plenty of time to get to ulpan by four. Or so I thought.
By 3:30 I was walking up Keren haYesod when the city suddenly came to a standstill. Giant empty tour buses parked sideways across the main streets to block traffic. A barricade manned by half a dozen police officers stopped me and a dozen pedestrians in front of the King’s Hotel. Some of us siphoned off to side streets. I joined scores of others and tried a back way to my destination but the end of every street single street I tried was blocked and when I tried to backtrack, they had sealed those streets too.
I was late, lost, hot and thirsty in Rehavia and had no where to go. But it was worse for others who could not leave their homes for miles and parents who could not get home to their families for hours. Police manned barriers at hundreds of intersections and tiny cross streets all around the center of town. An alive Jerusalem of the early afternoon, in just a few moments transformed into a ghost town, not a civilian in sight.
Police and soldiers stood every 20 meters in the sunshine. Cafes emptied. Helicopters hovered, their oppressive guttural “whop-whop-whop” obliterating the sounds of daily life. Sirens asserted loud whines. Sounds like a siege, doesn’t it? It certainly felt like it, too.
Today is Lag b’Omer; it’s supposed to be one very happy day-of song in the golden air, of holiday of picnics, weddings and joyful prayer. But we in Yerushalyim will be under siege again. Buses to Meron will be shy of passengers who cannot get to the terminals. Guests will miss attending the wedding of friends and family, disappointing many a chosson and kallah on their happiest day. Thousands of Jerusalem residents will not be able leave their homes with the simple comfort that they will be able to return at an appointed time. Children will be stuck at school, planes will be missed, G-d forbid everyday emergency care could be hindered.
This morning Jews cannot even go to our holiest site, as the Kotel is shut down for the visit of “his holiness” and we cannot even get a glimpse because every visual access is blocked too. All those people trying to have the segula (“treasure” that brings a salvation) to pray 40 consecutive days at the Kotel may have to begin again. Regular minyanim and tehillim groups will be disrupted, too. I just spoke with a woman who said she waited 30 years to pray at the Kotel today. Rabbi Gold said that in 28 years he has never seen this kind of clamp on our freedom.
What would it be if we Jews could have a religious figure (l’havdil) that we so universally respect. Maybe this is why Hashem is allowing the Pope to steal Lag B’Omer.
My friend Feigel pointed out that today is the day we remember Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai who was forbidden to teach Torah-- by whom? Rome. Who sentenced him to death? Rome. How did most of Rabbi Akiva’s 24,000 talmidim die? In the rebellion against Rome. Who tortured and killed Rabbi Akiva? Rome.
Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Shimon bar Yocahi made no secret of their abhorrence for the Roman occupation of Eretz Yisrael and put themselves in grave danger by their refusal to buckle to the demands of the world power at the time. Today in 2009, Rome has taken over Jerusalem. Frightening.
If only we also could learn to say “No” to Rome, its influence, its immorality, its selfishness and say “Yes” to Torah. “No” to their demand to take our Land. “Yes” to our people’s desire to live in peace on our Land.
When the Jewish world united around one leader and Rabbi Akiva’s 24,000 scholar-warriors. Rome was threatened. We held Jerusalem in our hands, it looked like Bar Kochba was bringing the final geula. But we erred in our mission and the result was devastating beyond belief. Neither we nor Rome have recovered.
Rabbi Akiva lost his students because they did not observe the mitzvah of “loving your neighbor like yourself “to the highest of their capability. Rabbi Akiva stated this was a major tenet in the Torah because without unity, we cannot learn or disseminate its truth, let alone live it.
Even though we have the first fighting force in 2000 years to protect us-our leadership does not know their Torah. Even though the West, with its roots in the ancient Roman empire, are today’s world leaders-our growing physical strength threatens them. They tighten the clamp and we have no backbone of Torah to resist.
Like everything Jewish, there is another extreme. In the darkness of those times there was a spark of hope. One of the Rabbi’s students, Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai not only survived, but revealed a great light of the future redemption hidden in the Zohar. Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai teaches us that there is always, always hope.
The day of Lag B’Omer is just beginning for you. So many of us in Yerushalyim cannot get out and be among our people in the same way you can today. So, please do it for us. Love each other, play with each other and learn with each other. Give tzedeka. Eat and dance and pray. Together.
May we soon celebrate our release from the suffocating clamp of Rome -and from our own limitations -which hide our greatness.
The excitement built all day yesterday in Jerusalem...”where will you be tomorrow?” “do you know of a good rooftop?” “ I heard Rabbi Eliyashav, shilta, will be at the Kotel.” “ 28 years ago I was.../I heard.../I couldn’t imagine ever being this old....” “What time are you getting up?” “I hope it won’t be cloudy.”
Birchat haChama. It brought a smile of anticipation and gratitude to all our faces.
Late last night kids began arriving at our apartment to sleep so that they could get up early and be at the Kotel for the first in their lifetime (and may there be several more) opportunity for this mitzvah. At 5 a.m. we gathered in the kitchen for coffee before joining the streams of fellow Jews softly filling the Jewish Quarter streets-sharing excitement, yet each going our separate ways to find our own perfect place from where we would eventually all praise our Creator in the best possible way we could-together.
By the time I joined my friend Star on her rooftop in the chilly dark morning, the davening had begun. We said “amen” and “y’hey..” to the minyan on a balcony behind us and to the loudspeaker from the Kotel in front of us. To the right Rabbi Aaron of Israelight led his services and guitars strummed sweetly. Above on the left several minyanim stood and swayed, some Breslovers danced a few steps down as they prayed.
The skies lightened, becoming a golden rose. ~Shema~ The cold stones responded with a warm glow. ~Shemona Esrei~ And our hearts rose with the sun ~Kedusha~as she peered from her hiding place behind Har haZeytzim –lining up with the exact same Yom Revii of five thousand seven hundred and sixty nine years ago—the very first morning. Ever.
Loudly, clearly from behind and before us: ~Baruch ata...osay maasay bereshit (s) ;)~
I prayed a fervent prayer that on the next Birkat HaChama we will-every single one of us-say it from Jerusalem’s rooftops, stairways and balconies and from her hilltops, valleys and fields. From Haifa, Sederot and Neve Dekalim. From our kibbutzim, moshavim and our cities. Each from our own perfect place, here in our own Land where we will praise our Creator in the best possible way-together.
We wish you all a wonderful Pesach, a Chag kasher v’samayech. Let this be the last time we say “Next year in Yerushalayim.”(translation: Come home soon)
We did not plan on coming home this way, but we were glad it worked out that we landed in Eretz Yisrael last night on an El Al flight, instead of on Delta as we had booked. Tuesday night we arrived at Hartsfield Atlanta and learned that our direct flight was extremely oversold. We could each receive a $400 voucher if we volunteered to be routed through London and arrive home 4 hours later than we’d planned. So I thought about it as David made the tenth man for a waiting maariv minyan. Hmmm, a bit of a hassle, but with family in America and budgets tighter than ever, this offer could be a gift; when I met back up with David, he agreed. And soon we boarded the Delta to London to spend the night with some of the most well behaved passengers I have ever seen. Those Brits stayed buckled when the sign was lit, made way for flight attendants in the aisles, cooed over quiet smiling babies, and conversed with one another in delightful accents.
After our three hour layover at Heathrow, we cleared security and found ourselves huddled en masse at the ElAl gate with hundreds of Israelis headed home for Pesach. The crowd was merging towards just 2 agents taking boarding passes, and funneling into one walkway toward the 747’s door. No “zone” boarding, no long thin lines, but no pushing or jostling either. And while babies cried throughout the trip and the “fasten seat belt sign” was largely ignored; the poor flight attendants were cheerful in spite of passengers blocking the aisles and the accents were, mamash, the best in the world. As we approached Ben Gurion, I peered past a young man with tears in his eyes to see the glow of lights marking the shoreline of our Eretz Yisrael.
The landing was like a kiss. And of course, because it was ElAl, we clapped.
I cannot tell you how good it is to be home. The purpose of our trip was the marriage of our precious daughter to her true bashert. We are so grateful that we merited this simcha, that her new family is so gracious, and that many of our friends and family were in attendance. I can tell you that in our entire lives, we have felt no greater happiness than this.
But days have rivaled it. Like the glorious day of our own wedding, and each of the sweet transcendent days our daughters were born, and the day we, with tears in our eyes, peered out the window of another ElAl jet to see the approaching shoreline of our Eretz Yisrael. The day we made aliya.
I can honestly say our aliya has impacted our lives and changed us for the better as much as our marriage and parenthood have. These are the milestones in life we Jews are designed for. These are what we yearn for, prepare for, pray for and cry over. And yes, we yearned to be here, prepared and prayed and cried for it. Just as we knew the Almighty preordained that David and Renee would marry and chose just these two perfect daughters for us, we knew He was also inviting us, beckoning us, yearning for us to come home.
He beckons us all. I’ve heard it said that it is a mitzvah to live here just as much as it is a mitzvah to wear tzitzit. Surely tzitzit doesn’t involve the complications that the upheaval of aliya does. So I cannot help but wonder, why this analogy? It is because tzitzit, detached from a four cornered garment, are just knots and strings? And what are we--when detached from Eretz Yisrael?
In these letters, I’ve tried to relate how spiritually enhancing living here can be-where every mundane day, adventure and mishap, detour and encounter can feel Divinely crafted just for each of us on a level that cannot be compared to when living in America. And on top of that, the geula (world upheaval leading to Moshiach, rebuilding of the Temple, the ingathering of the Exiles, World Peace...) feels imminent here. We are excited but worried. There are still Jews, our friends and family, living in the four corners of the world-and time is running out.
I’ve heard that if you yearn, really yearn with your whole heart, then you can be counted among those who are here. For the first time in 2000 years, 3,000,000 Jews have the option to come. But most do not, nor do they even yearn to live here or to visit or have their children live here. Even among “Torah Jews” like us. Why is that? I cannot judge, it is not possible for many, I know. But for so many others, it is possible and possibly even comfortable. Goodness knows, we have decent tuna fish, VOIP and wholesome neighborhoods. We do have less money, less affluence, and less crime, and more freedom.
Freedom will be the prevailing topic in two weeks when we will iy”H sit at the Pesach seder and read the Haggadah. Don’t you often wonder why 4/5ths of our people did not merit freedom? Why they did not see the signs of the imminent destruction of Egypt as they knew it? Signs so clearly from the hand of G-d-- did they explain them away as natural disasters? Did they just get used to the immorality, the violence and the loss of personal autonomy? We descend from those who did see, who could no longer bear the burdens. They cried out to Hashem and He was waiting. He brought a yearning remnant to receive His Torah and to be His holy nation. This was a nation ready to inherit the Land.
Living here has it’s challenges. I cried all morning after we saw the new couple off to Baltimore following sheva brachos in Atlanta. I do not know when we will see them again. I will miss sharing an occasional Shabbos with them and a common time zone to make calling easier. It’s true, we chose to leave our family and friends, the familiar and easy. Even though it was our choice, I still ache each and every time someone innocently asks if all of our children will be with us for Pesach.
Of course I want our children here, but they have to want it, too. I confess that I write because I hope everyone who reads this will hunger for home. And if these letters serve to feed your innate yearning, then they have also served their purpose. Yearn they way a mother yearns for her child. Yearn until tears fill your eyes and you cry out to your Father. Because if your heart is really, really here, then- when the blink of an eye moment that has been building for all of eternity finally does come, then- Hashem will count you among the ones He already brought out. And besrat H” He will bring you out, too. Maybe even sooner.
At the end of our single seder, footsteps from the waiting Temple Mount, we will still say “Next Year in Yerushalayim,” even here. Because without you, our family is not complete. So I will continue to yearn that you-every single one of you- will also yearn to come home soon.
I have felt weakness. I have felt my supposedly mighty muscles shudder, felt my devastatingly powerful weapon shake in my hands, felt my heart hammer against my armor, felt my soul and mind search for some way to avoid pain and the nightmares that were becoming real.
I felt strength. I would have been lost, but for the words of my Rebbe. "Ein od Milvado" There is no one but Him. The mere utterance strengthened limbs, and a surge of faith and hope carried me through the invasion, through the detonations and whistling of ricocheting rounds and falling bombs. For I knew, for once KNEW and understood absolutely that I was in the hands of the greatest general on earth....
My strength lay in the thousands of people who prayed for me, who prayed for the wellbeing of the army, who cried for the return of the fragile and precious Jewish youth who fought like lions where men twice there age would have fled. You are the reason we returned. You are the reason I am alive. You, the people who pray and cry and feel you are not the front lines, are truly the army of Hashem. The IDF, as people should see, is merely the physical arm of what your prayers accomplish. You are the ones in the battle. We are the holding action, delaying the physical evil while you battle to clear the path for Moshiach. Never again will I feel a yeshiva student who learns all day is not brave for not being with us on this field. Because I watched the words and letters that he learned and prayed march ahead of us, thousands deep, and millions strong, absorbing the bullets and metal meant for me. I thank you, humbly, warriors of my heart and faith. You let me come home to my wife....
I have seen this people, my people, at its best and at its worst. I can see why Redemption will come soon. As a nation, we drew together. Disunity, differences in Kippot or sects fell away, and everyone reached out to help as best they could. No one said, "I have no part" or "This isn't my war". May Hashem see the greatness of His holy, beautiful people, and allow me to sing that old song to my child, with absolute truth and great joy: "I promise, my little one, that this is the last war."
Joshua Eastman made aliyah from Baltimore in 2005. He met his wife, Chana, on a trip back to Baltimore; and the two of them live in Givat Ze'ev. Joshua is currently a full-time soldier in the Golani Brigade of the Israel Defense Forces. When he can get near a computer, he blogs about his life in Israel at "Through Josh-Colored Glasses," http://hashkeofthedevonshire.blogspot.com/.
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