BS"D
Erev Shabbat Parsha Shelach Lecha 5770
June 3. 2010
Last week we asked you to spy out the Land and return with a good report. (here's that post) I am happy to say the vote this time is united: The Land is indeed very, very good! You can still send us the results of your intelligence; we'll be happy to include it.
Now...for the Spies' Report:
When I think of Israel, I am reminded of so many friends who had the courage to pick up everything and leave the familiar surrounding of America and go home to a place that really feels like home...The common thread all these friends share, aside from living in Israel, is that they are content. When [one dear friend] moved, she was 100% confident that she would love her home - not just her house, but her home. When I speak with her now, she agrees that she is content. There is no other place she'd rather be.
I echo the sentiments of those who feel a connection to the earth of the Eretz. It is holy dirt, earth that our ancestors trod, dust that covers my shoes covered their shoes. The pride and unconditional love I feel for the land comes from knowing I carry on a tradition handed down from HaKadosh Baruch Hu to us, his children, to visit historical places in Jewish history, unearth Jewish antiquities and preserve them and keep His Torah alive. You cannot do all this anywhere else but Israel.
Here's my 12 reasons to love Israel:
1. What a pleasure it is to be majority religion.
2. What a pleasure it is for things to close down Friday afternoon and reopen Sunday morning, not Sunday at 12.
3. What a pleasure for place of business to be open Christmas day and be closed on Rosh Hashana.
4. What a pleasure it is be able to eat in any restaurant because the food is kosher.
5. What a pleasure it is to find so many hat shops!
6. What a pleasure it is to find modest clothing in women's clothing stores.
7. What a pleasure it is to be able to find a small shteibel on virtually every corner.
8. What a pleasure it is to see all walks of women (orthodox and non-orthodox) using the same mikvah.
9. What a pleasure it is to touch the smooth stones of the Kotel, knowing the tens of thousands of fingers have touched them for the same reasons you touch them - to get a millimeter closer to HaShem.
10. What a pleasure it is to feel so safe and protected in a place where many would argue is extremely unsafe.
11. What a pleasure it is to hear your neighbors singing the same Shabbos songs you're singing, every single week.
12. What pleasure I take in knowing that one day, Please G-d, I, too, will be able to live in Israel.
Love,
Pam
----
What a wonderful thought. Here is my list.
1) I find inner peace when I am in Israel and it gives me strength to
return to my life here in Canada to enjoy my friends and family.
2) I now have relatives living in Israel.
Regards
Marsha Krakowsky
---
I loved feeling that, no matter where I went in Israel, I felt I belonged, that I was home.
Judy
---
Hi, what a great idea! I can think of lots of things I loved about being in Israel. . .
I loved feeling like every minute I was accomplishing something, just because I was in Israel. If I rode the bus, it was major, just because I was in Israel. If I went to the grocery store, it was a big deal, just because I was in Israel. Nothing I could do felt like a waste of time.
And, of course I loved the sharing of taxis. Two people standing somewhere, maybe you were going in the same direction? From taxi rides, I received Shabbos invites and made new friends. I tried this in New York once. . . just didn’t' have the same feel.
Oh yes, and even the most secular of Israelis believes in G-d. “Baruch Hashem,” you hear people saying. Here, in America, it often feels like we intellectually believe in G-d, but we don't really. We don't feel it. We just rationalized it/justified it/logic-ed it out. But there -- you FEEL G-d.
There is a sense that we are all one big family, that G-d is with us, and there is meaning to every minute of our lives. Not a day passes that I don't think of moving back. . .
---
-Every family needs a home, and living in Eretz Yisroel is living in our family's true home.
-Every few steps we walk we are fulfilling the Mitzvah of Sechar Halicha
-Being around other Jews, you always have someone to learn from
-The history of our people is around every corner here
-The land is beautiful and Jerusalem in particular is Yafefiah - very beautiful.
---
Walking through the Machane Yehuda shuk you have a plethora of delicious fruits and vegetables, most were grown keeping laws of Truma, Maaser, Orlah, and Shmittah, that can only be done here!!!
On Shavuos, regardless of cultural differences, 100's of 1000's of Jews gather at the Kotel, where Hashem's Shechina is most revealed, and daven together.
When you donate blood here, you are giving directly to your brother.
The bus driver says, "Shalom."
You can buy food for years at the local grocery without having to pay your bill; isn't that a ridiculously high level of trust?
When you take a loan from the bank, they provide the Heter Iska! (a halachic contract for business transaction between lender and debtor)
There are no cars on the highway on Yom Kippur, so the very secular make bike races on that day - because even they won't drive a car on Yom Kippur!
---
From Faith Cohen
I always say that my role as madrica on these Birthright trips is just a facilitator. The real tour guide is the Almighty— and the land really inspires, captivates and leads the group. My job is to bring them safely to different locations, and let the majesty of the land and the kedusha of the air take over.
1. A silent night stroll in the desert under the stars creates a noise that is as loud as thunder when it reverberates with the soul. During the "Bedouin Experience" portion of the trips, we take the group for a quiet walk through the desert. It is on these walks and afterwards through reflection that participants realize that they are an integral part of the Jewish people. They look at the numerous stars in the sky, and learn that they too are a link and a part of the promise given to Avraham Avinu. Perhaps they would feel this anywhere in the world when faced with a sky lit up as bright as day with hundreds of sparkling stars, but when paired with the experience of meeting our homeland and learning about our heritage, and tracing the footsteps of our ancestors, they are awoken in a way that is indescribable.
2. Meeting a soldier who is your age, and realizing that you have more in common than you thought. "Mifgashim" is a part of the Birthright trips— where soldiers come to join the group as participants. Often, the American participants think they'll have nothing in common with the soldiers. That is until they meet them and realize that these soldiers are their age, their peer group, and support the weight of the state of Israel on their shoulders. The amount of love and support shown to the soldiers by the end of the trip is awesome. They become a part of the group, and the participants can really see and feel that these individuals are sacrificing not just for Jews in Israel, but for all of klal yisroel.
3. Seeing the Kotel for the first time, and crying even through you don't know why. There is something about Yerushalyim, and the Kotel in particular that really strikes a chord inside someone's soul. When I see those tears, I know that it is coming from deep within them— and something subconsciously draws them to the wall. There really is no other way to describe it. Ultimately, their neshamos are a part of something much larger, and just that atmosphere of kedusha at the Kotel brings them back to that realization.
---
I miss "crying" as an acceptable social activity. If you go to Kotel, kever Rachel, any of the graves of tzadikim, it's perfectly acceptable -- praiseworthy -- to cry out in pain, anguish, need of a refuah! In America, life must always be perfect -- "have a nice day" is a platitude that no one really means, and if anyone asks, "how are you" they really don't care. If I wanted hang out with a girlfriend and of these locales, where we would inevitably end up crying, would be an activity. A meaningful, worthwhile activity.
And, I miss feeling like you can get on a bus, and know "generally' where you're going, with full faith that someone on the bus will help you find exactly where you need to be. And where hitchhiking is an acceptable -- and safe -- form of transportation.
And of course the Kotel. Not just for the crying. But the feeling like there really is a center of the universe.
The positive aspects of this land are to numerous to even try to list. The sky is bluer, the air fresher, sweeter, the food tastier the people more real and alive. The day-to-day existence is so filled with reality that one comes to understand what is real and meaningful, and it’s not what you'd expect.
---
1. To be able to daven at the Kosel
2. To be among our own people, everywhere i.e. shopping, buses, just walking around
3. The siren on Erev Shabbos- no cars on Shabbos in the old city
4. To be able to daven at so many mekomos hakedoshim
5. To be in the land Hashem promised us
---
I never lived in Israel, but have dreamed about it since my 1st visit in 1968. My second visit was in 1988 and I felt my heart sink seeing the Old City for the first time in 20 years, realizing I wasn’t a part of the rebuilding by living there. So, in my 8 subsequent visits, I’ve only imagined what it would be like to live every day in Eretz Yisrael.
Here’s what I think the best part of living in Israel would be: I would feel a sense of gratitude every day for where I live instead of a deep seated longing that goes unfulfilled. I would breathe the holy air of the holy land every day. Remember that Hashem made each of us in His holy Image to choose wisely what we do with our lives and where we spend our time.
That’s my 2 cents for today.
Judi Kirk
---
The best for me is that everyone is Jewish and you don't feel different. Although my relatives there are 2nd and 3rd cousins, they feel much closer. We feel like one of them. Once I was very sick in Israel and wound up in the old hospital in Safed. Although scared, I felt that I was in good hands. When my doctor came in with a Kippah, I felt safe and it would be okay. The best is that feeling of being home.
---
Thanks for the invitation to contribute. Some things quickly came to mind. You should not attribute me: I do not wish to blow my cover since I may wish to spy for you in the future, too.
1) Living as an observant Jew in a pastoral setting (small town, village, farming community)
2) Being able to observe shmitta in all its manifestations
3) Living among Jews of all stripes and flavors, within a generation or two of arrival from >100 countries
4) Walking where my ancestors walked thousands of years ago
5) That radio program discussing this week's haftora, immediately following a pop hit by Lady GaGa... and targeted the same audience
6) The group (somewhat immodestly dressed) teens in a food court during Pesach, squinting as they read a ketchup package to see if it contained chometz
7) Not having to explain why you feel as you do....
8) Is it reishit tzmichat geulateinu (the first flowering of our Redemption) or not? Even if we do not know, living in Israel surely can’t hurt...
---
I've only been to Israel twice in my life: once when I was 18 with my parents and siblings, and right before I met my bashert; and the other time with my bashert and our four sons. I was conservative observant at age 18, and more orthodox observant when I went to Israel the second time. Both times, I had the same feelings when we arrived in Israel and when we left Israel. I was overcome with joy of returning home, and overcome with sadness of leaving Israel, our true home. A friend of ours calls Israel the "heart of the world.” It tears at our heartstrings when we are away from it.
Pam Williams
---
Thank you for this wonderful challenge - wonderful to think about all the things I love about living in Israel; challenging, because I have to pick and choose the one(s) most appropriate for this project. Feel free to visit my blog and take anything you like out of there. Here's my attempt at summing it all up:
Living in Israel means living MY calendar. My holidays are the country's holidays. My days off from work are my employer's days off from work, etc. This weekend is Memorial Day here in the U.S. It means little more to me than a bar-b-q. Ditto for Independence Day (July 4). New Year's Day (January 1) is when I start dating my checks with a new digit or two at the end. In Israel, I cry on Memorial Day, jump for joy on Independence Day and on Rosh Hashanah I stand before the King of Kings "ba'Makome asher yivchar" (in the place that He has chosen). Take me Home!
Yashar Koach on throwing the ball in our court, Rena. Can't wait to see what you compile.
Love, S.
http://www.rememberjerusalem.blogspot.com/
---
SO here are 12 things I love
1-The children are very self reliant on the one hand, and maintain their childishness too
2-The school and work calendar is built around the Jewish calendar -- no need to take vacation days for chaggim
3-Fresh bread is dropped off outside the local store in the morning, if the store is not yet open; I can take a loaf of bread and pay for it later
4-We are all family -- a deliveryman can yell you at one moment and be giving you brachot the next
5-Buying tzitzit and bedikat cloths at the grocery store
6-On erev Shabbat and erev Chag, the streets are lined with vendors selling flowers and fruit for Shabbat
7-The grocery clerks wishes you a Shabbat shalom and chag sameach
8-The tent in the parking lot sells Purim costumes
9-The pool has separate hours for men and women
10-It's more common to find big families in small homes than small families in big homes
11-Yom Hazikaron is truly a day to remember those that paid the ultimate sacrifice for this land
12-You can travel a short distance and be in a place relevant to Tanach
c
---
For us, now being back in America, we can see that during our time in Israel, although there were the gashmius "difficulties" and "adjustments" the spiritual clarity and day-to-day ruchnius was ever-present.
Of course now in America, and worldwide, most people are experiencing the gashmius "difficulties" and "adjustments" AND are TOTALLY lacking spiritual clarity and daily, or even monthly, ruchnius. So I guess that makes a very strong case for where we need to be...
Jennifer
---
Shopping in Machane Yehuda Thursday nights and Friday mornings to
prepare for Shabbos. it is great fun buying rugelach, salads, and
cheeses with thousands of other Jews, while eating a falafel and
shlepping all of your bags.
Celebrating Purim all week long. The stores are all loaded with silly
costumes, and shaloch manos baskets galore. The streets are filled with
happy children dressed up in costumes singing age-old Purim songs. the
joy lasts for days even when the parade is over.
Living in the old city and celebrating Yom Yerushalim with loads of other Jews while listening to a concert and watching fireworks.
Going cherry picking on a local kibbutz and being able to learn how to take your own truma and maaser on your fresh picked cherries.
Staying up all night on Shavuos hopping from one class to another, or one cheesecake party to another and meeting thousands of other Jews down at the Kotel for sunrise Shacharis.
Watching the yeshiva HaKotel boys dance and sing their way down to the Kotel for Kabbalat Shabbat.
This is a small sampling from josh and Jodi
---
& here's a final note from an insightful woman in America who, like many of you, is strengthening K'lal Yisrael in her own special way:
Things could change. At this time in our life, I feel we will be better off here (we are very blessed in so many ways).
As I walk in the neighborhood I say Berachas for all the people I see and all the homes we pass. Does I help them? I do not know but it helps me.
We are grateful you and David are happy living there and my constant prayer is for a political change, for a better world absorbed in study of Torah.
---
Well, I am crying, how about you??
Reading your reports really made me think about what it will take for everyone to see how amazingly good the Land is. Besides seeing the good and speak positively, I wonder... if we are also being negative (sad, complaining, jealous), are we dulling the good we've put out there? For example, I just don't understand when I hear my fellow olim say, "It's too hot to...(fill in the blank)," "I can't find decent mustard (...soy sauce, dry cleaners...) anywhere in this country," or " What's with all the sick cats?"
The sin of the spies was one of Loshen Hara, hearing and believing slander, true or not. We correct that damaging trait with an "ayin tova" focusing on the good in The Land of Israel.
B"H it's hot, that means fields and fields of sunflowers! The mustard is just fine here, maybe having 17 choices is not so important, anyway. And remember, you can now find decent tunafish and Heinz ketchup pretty much about anywhere. About the cats...we have virtually no rats, case closed.
And it's not only the Land, as our final spy reported. It's even more important, I think, when it comes to each other. Let's not talk about "them" : the groups of Jews we don't "get.” Let's not be distracted by our friend's/family member's/co-worker's shortcomings; we all have them, after all. Let's see the tzelem Elokim (the G-dliness) in every Jew!
With our "ayin tova" we can eradicate Loshen Hara and truly build each other up. Then we might actually see a K'lal Yisrael settled in Eretz Yisrael the way it's supposed to be, because Eretz Yisrael will only flourish with her People.
Thank you, all you spies among us. Like Calev and Yehoshua, the two spies who returned to the Land in the merit of their positive report, we hope that you continue seeing everything with your ayin tova and may Hashem bless you all to come home soon.
Love,
Renee and David
~Baruch haBah to our newest olim from Atlanta, Rabbi Kalman and Mrs. Malka Rosenbaum, who instilled in our children, and in everyone they meet, that each of us is a tzelem Elokim. Your arrival touches us all, may we merit to hear bsoros tovos together soon.~
...
Showing posts with label Shabbos. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Shabbos. Show all posts
12 Invitations
B”H
26 Sivan 5769
June 18, 2009
Dear Friends and Family,
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 ...
26 Sivan 5769
June 18, 2009
Dear Friends and Family,
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 ...
Why Lori Palatnik Doesn't Live Here Anymore
Last summer an adorable Nevey Yerushalyim student from Kentucky spent a Shabbos with us here in the Old City. I cannot remember her name but I doubt I'll ever forget her story. Over the Friday night meal she told us that she was learning here because one evening she agreed to join her cousin at an Aish haTorah event. There she heard a speaker who provoked a question in this bright young woman. Could there be more to life than finishing college, graduating at the top of her class, and beginning a promising career? This question kept cycling through her mind. So, she made a bargain with herself. In the unlikely event that she could not land a position in her chosen field, well...she'd just go to Israel and learn there for a while.
You guessed it, after 32 resumes, countless follow up conversations and a only a few unmemorable interviews, she couldn't believe it, but she had not even the prospect of a job.
So, she kept that promise to herself and enrolled in a seminary in Israel. With tears in her eyes, the young woman told us how failing to land a job --in the field she had invested years of her life struggling for and working towards-- was the greatest kindness of Hashem. If she could only see Lori Palatnik, the speaker she held responsible for the bargain she made, and thank her....
Shabbos day our guest ventured out of the Old City to visit a relative in town. On the way back, she saw a familiar woman walk out of a hotel and head in her same direction, towards the ancient stone walls. First, she caught her breath; then she heard her own voice (as if it belonged to someone else she later told us), shaking but loud enough, say to the woman, "Excuse me, but are you Lori Palatnik?"
"Yes, I am," the woman replied and revealed her trademark, inviting smile.
Hashem, it seems, places His angels exactly where He needs them to be. This young woman and countless like her are why Lori Palatnik -and just a handful like her-needs to be in America today. Watch her 4 minute video as she so poignantly explains:
There are many legitimate reasons people cite for not living here in Israel. Most of these reasons do not involve mesiras nefesh, sacrifice, but Lori's reason certainly does. May she and her family redeem the merits they have most certainly accrued-and come home soon. ...
You guessed it, after 32 resumes, countless follow up conversations and a only a few unmemorable interviews, she couldn't believe it, but she had not even the prospect of a job.
So, she kept that promise to herself and enrolled in a seminary in Israel. With tears in her eyes, the young woman told us how failing to land a job --in the field she had invested years of her life struggling for and working towards-- was the greatest kindness of Hashem. If she could only see Lori Palatnik, the speaker she held responsible for the bargain she made, and thank her....
Shabbos day our guest ventured out of the Old City to visit a relative in town. On the way back, she saw a familiar woman walk out of a hotel and head in her same direction, towards the ancient stone walls. First, she caught her breath; then she heard her own voice (as if it belonged to someone else she later told us), shaking but loud enough, say to the woman, "Excuse me, but are you Lori Palatnik?"
"Yes, I am," the woman replied and revealed her trademark, inviting smile.
Hashem, it seems, places His angels exactly where He needs them to be. This young woman and countless like her are why Lori Palatnik -and just a handful like her-needs to be in America today. Watch her 4 minute video as she so poignantly explains:
There are many legitimate reasons people cite for not living here in Israel. Most of these reasons do not involve mesiras nefesh, sacrifice, but Lori's reason certainly does. May she and her family redeem the merits they have most certainly accrued-and come home soon. ...
Buses & Flowers
B”H
29 Shevat 5768
Erev Rosh Chodesh Adar
March 5, 2008
I question if I should be writing you about this. I don’t want to worry my family or friends. I know I could scare off potential tourists and stir up doubt for potential olim. G-d forbid, I risk bolstering the case of those who have no desire to be here at all. It happened on the afternoon on March 4.
My bus was shot at and it was terrifying.
I was on the Number One, settled into a seat somewhere in the middle of the bus. As we trundled through Mea Shaarim, I leaned my head against the window and closed my eyes and rested. It’s been a busy week, lots of details, lots of running around and little sleep, so I took advantage of these quiet moments. I felt the bus slow down, making its left turn onto Rechov Sultan Suleiman through a distinctly arab shopping district alongside the Old City walls. There was, as usual, lots of traffic and I continued to relax as we inched along. Suddenly, screaming and yelling that shook me to the bones bolted me into consciousness.
The screams were from inside the bus. Loud pops pierced the air outside. A wave of panicked fellow passengers poured into the aisles, pushed toward me, then, at the command of the driver, fell to the floor. At first I panicked, too. I thought there was a bomber on the bus, so I ran to the door-which did not open, and crouched there. Then I realized there was a shooter outside. A woman, kneeling on the floor with Tehillim in her hand, told me to get away from the glass door. I realized I was an easy target. I crawled back toward the seats and folded myself into the flattest smallest target I could, my head to the floor. Like bowing on Yom Kippur during Aleinu, I thought. Eyes shut tight, I joined the cries to Hashem with pesukim from the only Tehillim I could think of, number 23-when I got to “lo’ira ra, ki ata imodi”-”I will not be afraid, for You are with me,” I said that over and over again.
Terrified screaming and yells from the passengers to move the bus, and from the driver for us to stay down continued. There were more shots. The bus honked franticly. One tall chassid remained upright while everyone I could see stayed close to the floor. Dressed immaculately with perfectly curled reddish peyos, the chassid in his long coat and stockings kept weaving up and down the aisle, bobbing back and forth between seats, monitoring the scene outside the windows while speaking on his cellphone like a commander in battle, obviously calling for help. Eventually, the bus driver, bless him, picked up speed and rambled past the action, speedily turning to safety along the southern wall.
Shaken, we climbed back into our seats, looking around into each others eyes in relief. A elderly woman needed mayim and a large bottle was passed to her from several rows back. Young people whipped out cellphones to call home and say they were ok in case their loved ones had heard about the pigua, but they had not... this incident never made it into the news. In fact, my search of stories the Jerusalem Post stated just the opposite scene: “on the streets of east Jerusalem on Tuesday, there were no reports of major violence in the city. ...Vendors sold their wares on streets packed tight with shoppers and several tourist groups heading to the Old City's Damascus Gate...”
There were dozens of underreported provocations early this week, my bus was simply one of them. In truth, we may not have been a target; if one really wants to shoot a bus, one could probably hit it. However, from the reactions of the driver and passengers, there was enough reason to believe danger was eminent.
The doors finally flung open at the Dung Gate, crowded with trinket kiosks, tourists and armed guards. Our commander-chassid spotted a police jeep and without bothering to get out, yelled through a window the details of the attack to the two inside. As the rest of us got off the bus, we looked around at one another, eyes often locked. We seemed both anxious to get away and reluctant to leave each other. It was only then that I noticed everyone was a Jew.
Odd, because, there are always arab men on that bus. They invariably find a way to be subtly offensive. It's the only reason I do not like to take the Number One. Once a young man played obnoxious music on his cellphone and turned up the volume when a Jew gave a disapproving look. Sometimes they talk too loudly or leer at modest girls. Once I saw an arab man purposefully take up two seats so a Jew had to stand. They always get off the bus at exactly the place by Damascus Gate where we were shot at. But no arab was on the bus that day.
Since we went into Gaza last week to damage the infrastructure that has lobbed katushas every day into Sderot and, as the Orange People correctly warned they would, hit near several sensitive areas in Ashkelon, the PR Machine has been twisting the story against us. One method is, like the schoolyard bully, to taunt us to react, then ride high on the wave of anti Israel press. Condeleeza Rice is in town making peace and publicly buying into this. The day before my bus was shot at, two city workers driving through a major Jerusalem thoroughfare in an Arab neighborhood were attacked by a mob with metal bars and glass bottles, barely avoiding getting dragged from their truck and beaten, or worse. There have been more unreported “little” incidents like mine. The attacks are planned-- and their goal is to terrorize us and incite us to retaliate.
Yes, we were terrified. But we were all G-d fearing Jews on that bus, most on their way to pray at the Kotel. After we scraped ourselves off the floor, humbled by that momentary fear, “Baruch Hashem,” were the first words we all said. We were afraid for the moment, but there is a greater fear we share. Fear of the Almighty who loves us and does only good. We know there is a greater plan at work.
Yes, I was incited, too. My retaliation? Gratitude for my life-with all its trial and all its joy-He continues to give me. I am alive, no one was hurt. I am grateful that only words Hashem put on my lips: “I will not be afraid for You are with me,” were the most comforting words I could have said. I knew we were in danger, but He was there with with me, my head on the dirty bus floor, and I felt calmed.
I’ve not been so calm since then, though. I jump at loud sounds and misread at children's happy screams, I did not sleep that night, and I worry too much. The people of Sderot go through this every day, all day, for years. We left Gaza, it was not enough. We supply energy, food and humanitarian needs, but it is not enough. So, they attack our sovereign towns full of unarmed citizens and we retaliate, but then we are told: that is too much.
It's hard to keep my head (in la-la land some will say) focused on the big picture and go on with my day, build my life, set goals for the future-while katushas and falsehood fly around us. But that is my retaliation. To live in Israel if Hashem wills it, feeling gratitude, even if my first pigua is not my last.
Yesterday I found myself in a dilemma. Once again in town, the quickest way home was the Number One. Of course I was going to take it. I was, after all, one of the few mothers who gave my seminary daughter permission to ride the busses several years ago after a wave of bus bombings. Its my right to go wherever, right?
So, I came out of Center One, approached the light to cross the street to the bus stop. The light was red. Before it turned green though, I continued down Jaffa. Past the bus station, past Machane Yehuda, past Café Neeman, Ben Yehuda and Sbarro. I did not stop walking until I reached the light to cross Rechov Shlomo haMelech and home was in sight. Sirens blared in the oncoming traffic. It was not an ambulance, thank G-d. It was Condeleeza Rice’s entourage, back from a day of peacemaking.
Come home soon, we need you here.
-Renee & David
P.S. Thursday, Rosh Chodesh Adar 10 P.M.
I finished this letter just a few hours ago. Tonight a terrorist walked into Yeshiva Merkaz haRav, hatefully gunned down eight pure souls and seriously wounded another eight. While the news changes the count every minute, we hang on to every update hoping the toll will fall. Arabs celebrate in the streets tonight, passing out candy to their children and shooting the guns supplied by Peres, just as we supplied the shooter tonight with a lethal weapon to kill our children.
Erev Shabbos, Rosh Chodesh Adar 12 noon
What is the Jewish response? Chief Sephardic Rabbi Shlomo Amar, ended his heart wrenching eulogy today with this, “Let us arouse to distance ourselves from all hatred and disunity, and let us increase love, brotherhood and Torah study...”
It’s our only recourse.
One victim lived here in the Rova, he was a friend of Mr. Cahan (who helped us in our erev Shabbos flood). Mr. Cahan said Yohai Lifschutz was a budding tamid chacham, a brilliant life with a sweet love of learning. Yohai’s father followed the Mishna Brura and refrained from eulogizing his precious lost son on Rosh Chodesh Adar, a day of simcha. Instead he praised his son for giving them close to Chai-18 years, and praised the Jewish people for doing the will of Hashem, “When the Jewish People sit and involve themselves in the simcha of Torah, Hashem says to His Heavenly entourage "Look, look at my beloved children who forget about their own distress and involve themselves in My simcha." We trust in the Big Picture, even when we are in too much darkness to see it-and we rejoice. That is the retaliation of the Jew.
The oldest, Doron Meherete was 26. Lazer Brody knew him and tells his story: An Ethiopian immigrant, Doron’s background was not solid enough to land him in the caliber of yeshiva he sought. After being rejected from Mercaz HaRav, Doron said, "If you won't let me learn Torah, will you let me wash the dishes in the mess hall?" For a year and a half, Doron washed dishes. But, he spent every spare minute in the study hall. He inquired what the yeshiva boys were learning, and spent most of the nights and all of his Shabbatot with his head in the Gemara learning what they learned. One day, the "dish washer" asked the Rosh Yeshiva to test him, the next day he became a bochur at Yeshiva Mercaz HaRav. We channel our energies to rise above our limitations. That is the greatness of a Jew.
And finally a last story, that can happen only in Israel told by Sharon Milendorf: The number 35 bus from Givat Shaul to Jerusalem passes by the yeshiva Mercaz HaRav. On Sunday morning after the attack, the bus stopped in front of the yeshiva and the driver shut off the engine and stood. With tears in his eyes, he told everyone on the bus that one of the boys killed on Thursday night was his nephew. He asked if we would mind if he spoke for a few minutes in memory of his nephew and the other boys who were killed. After seeing head nods all over the bus he began to speak.
With a clear and proud voice, he spoke beautifully about his nephew and said that he was a person who was constantly on the lookout for how to help out anyone in need. He was always searching for a way to make things better. He loved learning, and had a passion for working out the intricacies of the Gemara. He was excited to join the army in a few years, and wanted to eventually work in informal education.
As he continued to speak, I noticed that the elderly woman sitting next to me was crying. I looked into my bag, reached for a tissue and passed it to her. She looked at me and told me that she too had lost someone she knew in the attack. Her neighbors' child was another one of the boys killed. As she held my hand tightly, she stood up and asked if she too could say a few words in memory of her neighbor. She spoke of a young man filled with a zest for life. Every Friday he would visit her with a few flowers for Shabbat and a short dvar torah [Torah thought] that he had learned that week in Yeshiva. This past Shabbat, she had no flowers...
Eight boys- eight flowers.
may they remain a fragrant reminder of who we are
...
29 Shevat 5768
Erev Rosh Chodesh Adar
March 5, 2008
I question if I should be writing you about this. I don’t want to worry my family or friends. I know I could scare off potential tourists and stir up doubt for potential olim. G-d forbid, I risk bolstering the case of those who have no desire to be here at all. It happened on the afternoon on March 4.
My bus was shot at and it was terrifying.
I was on the Number One, settled into a seat somewhere in the middle of the bus. As we trundled through Mea Shaarim, I leaned my head against the window and closed my eyes and rested. It’s been a busy week, lots of details, lots of running around and little sleep, so I took advantage of these quiet moments. I felt the bus slow down, making its left turn onto Rechov Sultan Suleiman through a distinctly arab shopping district alongside the Old City walls. There was, as usual, lots of traffic and I continued to relax as we inched along. Suddenly, screaming and yelling that shook me to the bones bolted me into consciousness.
The screams were from inside the bus. Loud pops pierced the air outside. A wave of panicked fellow passengers poured into the aisles, pushed toward me, then, at the command of the driver, fell to the floor. At first I panicked, too. I thought there was a bomber on the bus, so I ran to the door-which did not open, and crouched there. Then I realized there was a shooter outside. A woman, kneeling on the floor with Tehillim in her hand, told me to get away from the glass door. I realized I was an easy target. I crawled back toward the seats and folded myself into the flattest smallest target I could, my head to the floor. Like bowing on Yom Kippur during Aleinu, I thought. Eyes shut tight, I joined the cries to Hashem with pesukim from the only Tehillim I could think of, number 23-when I got to “lo’ira ra, ki ata imodi”-”I will not be afraid, for You are with me,” I said that over and over again.
Terrified screaming and yells from the passengers to move the bus, and from the driver for us to stay down continued. There were more shots. The bus honked franticly. One tall chassid remained upright while everyone I could see stayed close to the floor. Dressed immaculately with perfectly curled reddish peyos, the chassid in his long coat and stockings kept weaving up and down the aisle, bobbing back and forth between seats, monitoring the scene outside the windows while speaking on his cellphone like a commander in battle, obviously calling for help. Eventually, the bus driver, bless him, picked up speed and rambled past the action, speedily turning to safety along the southern wall.
Shaken, we climbed back into our seats, looking around into each others eyes in relief. A elderly woman needed mayim and a large bottle was passed to her from several rows back. Young people whipped out cellphones to call home and say they were ok in case their loved ones had heard about the pigua, but they had not... this incident never made it into the news. In fact, my search of stories the Jerusalem Post stated just the opposite scene: “on the streets of east Jerusalem on Tuesday, there were no reports of major violence in the city. ...Vendors sold their wares on streets packed tight with shoppers and several tourist groups heading to the Old City's Damascus Gate...”
There were dozens of underreported provocations early this week, my bus was simply one of them. In truth, we may not have been a target; if one really wants to shoot a bus, one could probably hit it. However, from the reactions of the driver and passengers, there was enough reason to believe danger was eminent.
The doors finally flung open at the Dung Gate, crowded with trinket kiosks, tourists and armed guards. Our commander-chassid spotted a police jeep and without bothering to get out, yelled through a window the details of the attack to the two inside. As the rest of us got off the bus, we looked around at one another, eyes often locked. We seemed both anxious to get away and reluctant to leave each other. It was only then that I noticed everyone was a Jew.
Odd, because, there are always arab men on that bus. They invariably find a way to be subtly offensive. It's the only reason I do not like to take the Number One. Once a young man played obnoxious music on his cellphone and turned up the volume when a Jew gave a disapproving look. Sometimes they talk too loudly or leer at modest girls. Once I saw an arab man purposefully take up two seats so a Jew had to stand. They always get off the bus at exactly the place by Damascus Gate where we were shot at. But no arab was on the bus that day.
Since we went into Gaza last week to damage the infrastructure that has lobbed katushas every day into Sderot and, as the Orange People correctly warned they would, hit near several sensitive areas in Ashkelon, the PR Machine has been twisting the story against us. One method is, like the schoolyard bully, to taunt us to react, then ride high on the wave of anti Israel press. Condeleeza Rice is in town making peace and publicly buying into this. The day before my bus was shot at, two city workers driving through a major Jerusalem thoroughfare in an Arab neighborhood were attacked by a mob with metal bars and glass bottles, barely avoiding getting dragged from their truck and beaten, or worse. There have been more unreported “little” incidents like mine. The attacks are planned-- and their goal is to terrorize us and incite us to retaliate.
Yes, we were terrified. But we were all G-d fearing Jews on that bus, most on their way to pray at the Kotel. After we scraped ourselves off the floor, humbled by that momentary fear, “Baruch Hashem,” were the first words we all said. We were afraid for the moment, but there is a greater fear we share. Fear of the Almighty who loves us and does only good. We know there is a greater plan at work.
Yes, I was incited, too. My retaliation? Gratitude for my life-with all its trial and all its joy-He continues to give me. I am alive, no one was hurt. I am grateful that only words Hashem put on my lips: “I will not be afraid for You are with me,” were the most comforting words I could have said. I knew we were in danger, but He was there with with me, my head on the dirty bus floor, and I felt calmed.
I’ve not been so calm since then, though. I jump at loud sounds and misread at children's happy screams, I did not sleep that night, and I worry too much. The people of Sderot go through this every day, all day, for years. We left Gaza, it was not enough. We supply energy, food and humanitarian needs, but it is not enough. So, they attack our sovereign towns full of unarmed citizens and we retaliate, but then we are told: that is too much.
It's hard to keep my head (in la-la land some will say) focused on the big picture and go on with my day, build my life, set goals for the future-while katushas and falsehood fly around us. But that is my retaliation. To live in Israel if Hashem wills it, feeling gratitude, even if my first pigua is not my last.
Yesterday I found myself in a dilemma. Once again in town, the quickest way home was the Number One. Of course I was going to take it. I was, after all, one of the few mothers who gave my seminary daughter permission to ride the busses several years ago after a wave of bus bombings. Its my right to go wherever, right?
So, I came out of Center One, approached the light to cross the street to the bus stop. The light was red. Before it turned green though, I continued down Jaffa. Past the bus station, past Machane Yehuda, past Café Neeman, Ben Yehuda and Sbarro. I did not stop walking until I reached the light to cross Rechov Shlomo haMelech and home was in sight. Sirens blared in the oncoming traffic. It was not an ambulance, thank G-d. It was Condeleeza Rice’s entourage, back from a day of peacemaking.
Come home soon, we need you here.
-Renee & David
P.S. Thursday, Rosh Chodesh Adar 10 P.M.
I finished this letter just a few hours ago. Tonight a terrorist walked into Yeshiva Merkaz haRav, hatefully gunned down eight pure souls and seriously wounded another eight. While the news changes the count every minute, we hang on to every update hoping the toll will fall. Arabs celebrate in the streets tonight, passing out candy to their children and shooting the guns supplied by Peres, just as we supplied the shooter tonight with a lethal weapon to kill our children.
Erev Shabbos, Rosh Chodesh Adar 12 noon
What is the Jewish response? Chief Sephardic Rabbi Shlomo Amar, ended his heart wrenching eulogy today with this, “Let us arouse to distance ourselves from all hatred and disunity, and let us increase love, brotherhood and Torah study...”
It’s our only recourse.
One victim lived here in the Rova, he was a friend of Mr. Cahan (who helped us in our erev Shabbos flood). Mr. Cahan said Yohai Lifschutz was a budding tamid chacham, a brilliant life with a sweet love of learning. Yohai’s father followed the Mishna Brura and refrained from eulogizing his precious lost son on Rosh Chodesh Adar, a day of simcha. Instead he praised his son for giving them close to Chai-18 years, and praised the Jewish people for doing the will of Hashem, “When the Jewish People sit and involve themselves in the simcha of Torah, Hashem says to His Heavenly entourage "Look, look at my beloved children who forget about their own distress and involve themselves in My simcha." We trust in the Big Picture, even when we are in too much darkness to see it-and we rejoice. That is the retaliation of the Jew.
The oldest, Doron Meherete was 26. Lazer Brody knew him and tells his story: An Ethiopian immigrant, Doron’s background was not solid enough to land him in the caliber of yeshiva he sought. After being rejected from Mercaz HaRav, Doron said, "If you won't let me learn Torah, will you let me wash the dishes in the mess hall?" For a year and a half, Doron washed dishes. But, he spent every spare minute in the study hall. He inquired what the yeshiva boys were learning, and spent most of the nights and all of his Shabbatot with his head in the Gemara learning what they learned. One day, the "dish washer" asked the Rosh Yeshiva to test him, the next day he became a bochur at Yeshiva Mercaz HaRav. We channel our energies to rise above our limitations. That is the greatness of a Jew.
And finally a last story, that can happen only in Israel told by Sharon Milendorf: The number 35 bus from Givat Shaul to Jerusalem passes by the yeshiva Mercaz HaRav. On Sunday morning after the attack, the bus stopped in front of the yeshiva and the driver shut off the engine and stood. With tears in his eyes, he told everyone on the bus that one of the boys killed on Thursday night was his nephew. He asked if we would mind if he spoke for a few minutes in memory of his nephew and the other boys who were killed. After seeing head nods all over the bus he began to speak.
With a clear and proud voice, he spoke beautifully about his nephew and said that he was a person who was constantly on the lookout for how to help out anyone in need. He was always searching for a way to make things better. He loved learning, and had a passion for working out the intricacies of the Gemara. He was excited to join the army in a few years, and wanted to eventually work in informal education.
As he continued to speak, I noticed that the elderly woman sitting next to me was crying. I looked into my bag, reached for a tissue and passed it to her. She looked at me and told me that she too had lost someone she knew in the attack. Her neighbors' child was another one of the boys killed. As she held my hand tightly, she stood up and asked if she too could say a few words in memory of her neighbor. She spoke of a young man filled with a zest for life. Every Friday he would visit her with a few flowers for Shabbat and a short dvar torah [Torah thought] that he had learned that week in Yeshiva. This past Shabbat, she had no flowers...
Eight boys- eight flowers.
may they remain a fragrant reminder of who we are
...
The Best Shabbos Ever
B”H
25 Tevet 5768
January 3, 2008
Dear Friends and Family,
Last Friday seemed like a typical frantic erev Shabbos in the winter when there is never enough day. I did not organize myself to cook efficiently on Thursday. To make matters worse, since I let my household chores slide so I that could enjoy the most wonderful visitors that we had here last week, the laundry competed for my attention when I needed to be in the kitchen. I was tired, and although I tried to pull myself out of the mire, I still sank deep into complaining mode. Unsuccessful were my efforts to censure the negative, worrisome thoughts that seeped in between the bright moments of anticipation for the relaxing and radiant Shabbos we had planned. Yet, the day sped on and finally the table was set, the house sparkling and an end was in sight. I just had to shower and dress, then I could sit for a bit before lighting the candles.
As I pulled the last two fragrant challos out of the oven and turned to put them on the counter to cool, I noticed a that a curious puddle of water was seeping into our entryway from under the door to our courtyard. “Uhhhh David, I think we have a problem.” David came into the room as the puddle spread itself past the staircase. All he had time to say before the mass of sludgy water lunged towards the kitchen was, “OH YES WE DO!” We rushed to open the door and find the source, where we saw that the drain, meant only to collect rainwater, was bubbling up raw sewage, and because of the construction of the entry, had only one way to go—inside our house!
You cannot even imagine how awful this was. We did not know when it would ever cease. I started grabbing towels to stop it from traveling down the hall into our bedroom. David grabbed a board to cover the drain and set a heavy piece of an old column (that we just happened to have lying around in our courtyard) on top of the board to hopefully keep the steady stinky flow in check. It sort of worked, but our house was still filling up like an overflowing toilet. I knew we needed a plumber but didn’t have the wits about me to make the call. I fled the house and ran to the door of a neighbor who had helped us out once before when we blew the electricity-also a couple of hours before Shabbos.
This neighbor, Yechezchel Cahan is gabbi at the Ramban Synagogue where David often goes to pray. He is a modest, serious and very kind man who is sort of the ambassador/mayor of the little street we live on. He knows everyone and their stories, not because he is nosy, but because he cares so much. Mr. Cahan’s English is not great, but it’s much better than my Hebrew. Since I was almost hysterical when he answered the door cellphone to his ear, he could not understand what in the world I was jabbering about. He briefly spoke in Hebrew to the person on the cellphone and then handed it to me with instructions that I tell the person on the other end what was wrong. I blurted that the sewer was overflowing into our home and we needed a plumber ASAP, then handed the cellphone back to Mr Cahan. “OK,” he calmly assured me after hearing from our translator, “I know what to do.”
I ran back to our apartment to find David squeegee-ing the mess out the door towards the drain, which by now had subsided in its overflow. It was a slow process, the stench was unbearable and we were so afraid it would start to back up again at any moment. Yechezchel Cahan came over and told us a plumber was on the way. Chezchi, as David calls him, spent quite an amount of time assuring me that this plumber was a good, honest, reliable man who had done a lot of work on his house, so I should not worry. At some point, I realized the reason he spent so much time praising the plumber, was that it was an Arab. After all, who else could come so close to Shabbos?
Within 20 minutes there was the plumber from Yericho and his young son working on the backup. Lo and behold, they had it cleared in about 15 minutes!
Now we had to contend with the clean up. We did not know when we’d be able to live in our house again, it seemed we’d have to call a professional cleaning company. It was an hour and a half until candle lighting; we were expecting 10 for dinner and another 10 for lunch, all out-of-towners who were counting on us to feed them. We had really been looking forward to these guests. Weeks ago, Dovid Solomon, an extraordinary tour guide and dear friend, asked us to host some of his tour group of American secular high school students. We love having kids like that here, kids who are getting their first taste of Shabbos and first exposure to the air of Yerushalyim. Ron, Yehuda Avraham, Max and Joel Ezoory were also joining us; Ron’s enthusiasm for Eretz Yisrael is always energizing. For lunch, I had been looking forward to visiting with Sydney Rubin Lewis, Rachael, Abby and Josh. Darling Fayge Grossblatt was coming with friends; I know they had to do some juggling to arrange to be with us for the meal. Where were they all going to go?
As David and I tried to decide what we should do about our guests, we poured disinfectant all over the floors, squeegee-ed it out the door and down the now accepting drain. Maybe we’d move the Friday night meal to our generous friends, the Millers’ since they offered. But lunch was going to be a problem. The Millers were having 12 men and yeshiva students and our ten would be just too much. Meanwhile, bad news from the plumber. He went into our neighbor’s courtyard and found their boor was about to overflow as well so he unclogged it. But the source of our clogs was a clog down the line. Way down, about 50 meters; and who knew exactly where, and who was responsible? Everyone (by now, several neighbors were heatedly discussing this, all in Hebrew, of course-and we had no clue...) decided it was the “Iriya’s” -the city’s-responsibility.
By this time the disinfectant bottle was empty, the windows were open and dehumidifiers at full blast. It was now an hour until candle lighting. The stench in the air was beginning to clear. I poured bottles of white and cider vinegar all over the floors, thinking that might help. We squeegeed it into every corner and crevice, and out the door into the drain.
The plumber left, convinced he could do nothing else. When David asked how much money he wanted, he gave the most unbelievable response: he said he could not charge us anything, not a shekel. He said since he did not fix the problem, he could not take money!! Mr. Cahan and David insisted he at least charge for his time and gas, and he only asked for 200 shekel, about $50.00. Amazing. A plumber comes in 20 minutes, works for an hour and refuses to take money.
Mr. Cahan called “the Iriya.” All of the drains in our line in the Old City were certainly going to back up in the next few hours, ours first, if they did not come to unclog the primary source of the problem. Would they come before Shabbos? David & I did not think that was probable.
Even after two liters of disinfectant and four liters of vinegar, we still felt we had to clean more. David said we should pour boiling water on the floors. So I boiled up some pots and made use of the kum-kum (hot pot). We poured many many bucketfuls of steaming water over every square centimeter of the floor, into every crevice, behind the washing machine, and under the refrigerator then squeegeed it out to the drain. Then we did it again. And again. I’d say we ended up kashering our floors about three times.
Still, we were worried that even with our boor and our neighbor’s also being clear, normal plumbing use could cause another overflow, so we resigned ourselves to the horror of a potential repeat, set up dams of towels and with less than an half an hour to Shabbos, we loaded our food into the bubby cart, grabbed some clothing and headed to the Millers. We did not know how we were going to host all our guests or where we were going to sleep, but we had to go into Shabbos b’simcha; that was the ONLY thing we were sure of.
At the Millers, we quickly showered (with lots of soap) and dressed. David ran out to minyan; in our rush he’d forgotten his hat, coat and siddur-and I ran upstairs just in time to light. A moment later we heard a knock at the door. It was Yechezchel Cahan on his way to mincha....with news that the Iriya had miraculously come and cleared the line!!
With trepidation I went home and peeked in the house. It had never sparkled more, it had never smelled cleaner. Our guests came to us after all, and never knew (until now) the utter chaos that had overrun our serene home just a few hours earlier.
That Shabbos turned out to be the best Shabbos ever.
In the city of Jerusalem it is clear that nothing happens without a reason. There is always something to learn from any “random” happenstance. What did I learn?
I cannot know the ways of Hashem, but certainly, He sent this as a test. I think we passed. We thanked Hashem as we poured disinfectant, vinegar, boiling water and squeegee-ed it all away. We said, “I’m so glad this did not happen last week,” (when our guests arrived at 2:00 PM to spend all of Shabbos with us). “It’s a good thing this did not happen when we were sleeping at night, or out for an hour, or away on a trip.” “What bracha that there was a squeegee we could borrow.” “The chesed of Hashem to have placed such a kind Yechezchel Cahan available to help on an erev Shabbos --and on the phone with an English speaker at the very moment I knocked on his door.” And more: how did I happen to purchase, during our first week here, a disinfectant that smelled so bad I almost threw it away several times, but thought...you never know? How did I make a mistake and end up with four bottles of vinegar-all of which we used on the floor? Who would have thought that an Arab and the Iriya would expend such effort? After all, neither are known for their willingness to help a few swamped Shabbos loving Jews.
As David & I worked together to rid our home of the grossest kind of physical impurity, I thought about the spiritual impurity I brought into our home that day. Instead of asking Hashem to carry my worries, I sank deeper into them. I allowed negative thoughts to bubble into my day and did not ask for the koach, the strength, to fight them. I complained under my breath—so that only Hashem could hear-- and did not praise Him: the One Who invited us to live here in Yerushalayim and be His neighbors, so near to His holy home. I did not have simcha, even though I certainly have every reason to overflow with it.
As I finish this letter, it is again a Thursday night, and I still have much to do to get ready. So I’d better go, because I have to prepare my home, and my thoughts, for the next best Shabbos ever.
Come Home Soon,
Rena & David ...
25 Tevet 5768
January 3, 2008
Dear Friends and Family,
Last Friday seemed like a typical frantic erev Shabbos in the winter when there is never enough day. I did not organize myself to cook efficiently on Thursday. To make matters worse, since I let my household chores slide so I that could enjoy the most wonderful visitors that we had here last week, the laundry competed for my attention when I needed to be in the kitchen. I was tired, and although I tried to pull myself out of the mire, I still sank deep into complaining mode. Unsuccessful were my efforts to censure the negative, worrisome thoughts that seeped in between the bright moments of anticipation for the relaxing and radiant Shabbos we had planned. Yet, the day sped on and finally the table was set, the house sparkling and an end was in sight. I just had to shower and dress, then I could sit for a bit before lighting the candles.
As I pulled the last two fragrant challos out of the oven and turned to put them on the counter to cool, I noticed a that a curious puddle of water was seeping into our entryway from under the door to our courtyard. “Uhhhh David, I think we have a problem.” David came into the room as the puddle spread itself past the staircase. All he had time to say before the mass of sludgy water lunged towards the kitchen was, “OH YES WE DO!” We rushed to open the door and find the source, where we saw that the drain, meant only to collect rainwater, was bubbling up raw sewage, and because of the construction of the entry, had only one way to go—inside our house!
You cannot even imagine how awful this was. We did not know when it would ever cease. I started grabbing towels to stop it from traveling down the hall into our bedroom. David grabbed a board to cover the drain and set a heavy piece of an old column (that we just happened to have lying around in our courtyard) on top of the board to hopefully keep the steady stinky flow in check. It sort of worked, but our house was still filling up like an overflowing toilet. I knew we needed a plumber but didn’t have the wits about me to make the call. I fled the house and ran to the door of a neighbor who had helped us out once before when we blew the electricity-also a couple of hours before Shabbos.
This neighbor, Yechezchel Cahan is gabbi at the Ramban Synagogue where David often goes to pray. He is a modest, serious and very kind man who is sort of the ambassador/mayor of the little street we live on. He knows everyone and their stories, not because he is nosy, but because he cares so much. Mr. Cahan’s English is not great, but it’s much better than my Hebrew. Since I was almost hysterical when he answered the door cellphone to his ear, he could not understand what in the world I was jabbering about. He briefly spoke in Hebrew to the person on the cellphone and then handed it to me with instructions that I tell the person on the other end what was wrong. I blurted that the sewer was overflowing into our home and we needed a plumber ASAP, then handed the cellphone back to Mr Cahan. “OK,” he calmly assured me after hearing from our translator, “I know what to do.”
I ran back to our apartment to find David squeegee-ing the mess out the door towards the drain, which by now had subsided in its overflow. It was a slow process, the stench was unbearable and we were so afraid it would start to back up again at any moment. Yechezchel Cahan came over and told us a plumber was on the way. Chezchi, as David calls him, spent quite an amount of time assuring me that this plumber was a good, honest, reliable man who had done a lot of work on his house, so I should not worry. At some point, I realized the reason he spent so much time praising the plumber, was that it was an Arab. After all, who else could come so close to Shabbos?
Within 20 minutes there was the plumber from Yericho and his young son working on the backup. Lo and behold, they had it cleared in about 15 minutes!
Now we had to contend with the clean up. We did not know when we’d be able to live in our house again, it seemed we’d have to call a professional cleaning company. It was an hour and a half until candle lighting; we were expecting 10 for dinner and another 10 for lunch, all out-of-towners who were counting on us to feed them. We had really been looking forward to these guests. Weeks ago, Dovid Solomon, an extraordinary tour guide and dear friend, asked us to host some of his tour group of American secular high school students. We love having kids like that here, kids who are getting their first taste of Shabbos and first exposure to the air of Yerushalyim. Ron, Yehuda Avraham, Max and Joel Ezoory were also joining us; Ron’s enthusiasm for Eretz Yisrael is always energizing. For lunch, I had been looking forward to visiting with Sydney Rubin Lewis, Rachael, Abby and Josh. Darling Fayge Grossblatt was coming with friends; I know they had to do some juggling to arrange to be with us for the meal. Where were they all going to go?
As David and I tried to decide what we should do about our guests, we poured disinfectant all over the floors, squeegee-ed it out the door and down the now accepting drain. Maybe we’d move the Friday night meal to our generous friends, the Millers’ since they offered. But lunch was going to be a problem. The Millers were having 12 men and yeshiva students and our ten would be just too much. Meanwhile, bad news from the plumber. He went into our neighbor’s courtyard and found their boor was about to overflow as well so he unclogged it. But the source of our clogs was a clog down the line. Way down, about 50 meters; and who knew exactly where, and who was responsible? Everyone (by now, several neighbors were heatedly discussing this, all in Hebrew, of course-and we had no clue...) decided it was the “Iriya’s” -the city’s-responsibility.
By this time the disinfectant bottle was empty, the windows were open and dehumidifiers at full blast. It was now an hour until candle lighting. The stench in the air was beginning to clear. I poured bottles of white and cider vinegar all over the floors, thinking that might help. We squeegeed it into every corner and crevice, and out the door into the drain.
The plumber left, convinced he could do nothing else. When David asked how much money he wanted, he gave the most unbelievable response: he said he could not charge us anything, not a shekel. He said since he did not fix the problem, he could not take money!! Mr. Cahan and David insisted he at least charge for his time and gas, and he only asked for 200 shekel, about $50.00. Amazing. A plumber comes in 20 minutes, works for an hour and refuses to take money.
Mr. Cahan called “the Iriya.” All of the drains in our line in the Old City were certainly going to back up in the next few hours, ours first, if they did not come to unclog the primary source of the problem. Would they come before Shabbos? David & I did not think that was probable.
Even after two liters of disinfectant and four liters of vinegar, we still felt we had to clean more. David said we should pour boiling water on the floors. So I boiled up some pots and made use of the kum-kum (hot pot). We poured many many bucketfuls of steaming water over every square centimeter of the floor, into every crevice, behind the washing machine, and under the refrigerator then squeegeed it out to the drain. Then we did it again. And again. I’d say we ended up kashering our floors about three times.
Still, we were worried that even with our boor and our neighbor’s also being clear, normal plumbing use could cause another overflow, so we resigned ourselves to the horror of a potential repeat, set up dams of towels and with less than an half an hour to Shabbos, we loaded our food into the bubby cart, grabbed some clothing and headed to the Millers. We did not know how we were going to host all our guests or where we were going to sleep, but we had to go into Shabbos b’simcha; that was the ONLY thing we were sure of.
At the Millers, we quickly showered (with lots of soap) and dressed. David ran out to minyan; in our rush he’d forgotten his hat, coat and siddur-and I ran upstairs just in time to light. A moment later we heard a knock at the door. It was Yechezchel Cahan on his way to mincha....with news that the Iriya had miraculously come and cleared the line!!
With trepidation I went home and peeked in the house. It had never sparkled more, it had never smelled cleaner. Our guests came to us after all, and never knew (until now) the utter chaos that had overrun our serene home just a few hours earlier.
That Shabbos turned out to be the best Shabbos ever.
In the city of Jerusalem it is clear that nothing happens without a reason. There is always something to learn from any “random” happenstance. What did I learn?
I cannot know the ways of Hashem, but certainly, He sent this as a test. I think we passed. We thanked Hashem as we poured disinfectant, vinegar, boiling water and squeegee-ed it all away. We said, “I’m so glad this did not happen last week,” (when our guests arrived at 2:00 PM to spend all of Shabbos with us). “It’s a good thing this did not happen when we were sleeping at night, or out for an hour, or away on a trip.” “What bracha that there was a squeegee we could borrow.” “The chesed of Hashem to have placed such a kind Yechezchel Cahan available to help on an erev Shabbos --and on the phone with an English speaker at the very moment I knocked on his door.” And more: how did I happen to purchase, during our first week here, a disinfectant that smelled so bad I almost threw it away several times, but thought...you never know? How did I make a mistake and end up with four bottles of vinegar-all of which we used on the floor? Who would have thought that an Arab and the Iriya would expend such effort? After all, neither are known for their willingness to help a few swamped Shabbos loving Jews.
As David & I worked together to rid our home of the grossest kind of physical impurity, I thought about the spiritual impurity I brought into our home that day. Instead of asking Hashem to carry my worries, I sank deeper into them. I allowed negative thoughts to bubble into my day and did not ask for the koach, the strength, to fight them. I complained under my breath—so that only Hashem could hear-- and did not praise Him: the One Who invited us to live here in Yerushalayim and be His neighbors, so near to His holy home. I did not have simcha, even though I certainly have every reason to overflow with it.
As I finish this letter, it is again a Thursday night, and I still have much to do to get ready. So I’d better go, because I have to prepare my home, and my thoughts, for the next best Shabbos ever.
Come Home Soon,
Rena & David ...
Unburying and Rebuilding
B”H
15 Av, 5767
July 30, 2007
Intense. Gentle. That is my Israel.
I feel like I fit into living here when I balance myself somewhere in between the intense and the gentle.
The bare headed driver may not speak at all or he may yell, but I am not surprised when he wishes me a warm and gentle Shabbat Shalom as I leave the cab.
The crowds impatiently push from behind and rudely cut in front of me, then one or another will stop to help someone struggling with their bags; to gently comfort a lost child and wait until aba or ima comes to claim him; or to give tzedeka to one (or all) of the dozens of collectors holding out a weary hand, whom we pass by every day.
This seems contradictory to the western mind. But, maybe it is we who have it wrong. Maybe this is what achdus is. Realizing-despite my drive to have it my way, get things done, judge the situation-there is something greater than me: We all struggle with our baggage and need help carrying our burdens, we are all lost children, needing someone to hold on to while we wait for our Father’s answer, we are all dependent on kindness, mercy, acknowledgement-we all have our hand out for something.
Living here means: peeling back my western facade, unburying my Jewish soul, digging deep and getting dirty, sifting through and making discoveries about myself, the Jewish people and our role here on this earth.
There is lots of inspiration for this self excavation: the unburying process is in action all around. My route to the Kotel takes me past a huge project at the back of the plaza where a Roman era road with stalls and arches has been uncovered. A jackhammer pounding at the Mugrahbi Gate excavation clashes with the sound of the sephardi women’s jubilant “yodel” on the women’s side every Bar Mitzvah morning. Ir David, just outside the Dung Gate, reveals a city once alive with the holy purpose of providing shelter and livelihood to residents of Yerushalayim. This unburying all dates back to one day in our history-Tisha B’Av.
The 9th of Av here is not gentle. It entered with heavy trepidation. On the afternoon before, everyone on the bus, in the café, makolet, on the street was subdued, all of us aware of its impending entry.
At the Kotel for mincha, Tisha b’Av loomed large above the few of us there, like the sense of impending doom. Even the birds were still. The air actually felt “empty.” Empty of that sweetness I always notice the moment I step outside. Empty of the joy that accompanies prayer and empty of the shmira, protection, we count on from our loving Father. Empty of the Bait HaMikdash that should be crowning the Har HaBayit just above our heads.
Evening descended, the air cooled, but remained still. It was eerily quiet walking back from Eicha on the Old City streets. I could actually hear the anguished screams of agony from our people who lost everything that day, on the very paths and in the remains of homes that lay below our feet.
One of those homes, the Burnt House, was open on Tisha b’Av afternoon. Down many meters of stairs one may enter the scene of a grand home in Jerusalem where a family of Kohanim lived until the time of the churban. Although only part of walls of the basement area still stand, archeologists found the remains of a kitchen, work rooms, and a mikveh buried under a layer of ash and soot, indicating that the house had been burned down at that horrific time.
A short movie set the scene of how integral the Beit HaMikdash was to us, told the story of the brutality of the Roman conquerors and left us wondering: what is it that we still need to do, Hashem? What is it can we not see about ourselves? What is it that we have not been able to change in ourselves in all the centuries that have passed?
On my first Tisha B’Av living in Jerusalem, I felt more in galus than ever. Surrounded by the potential to be present in the glory of a rebuilt Yerushalayim, we stand face to face with our failure.
But it is only the failure to see what greatness lies within us.
That is what we have to build upon. The greatness-the holiness we find in one another will bring the geula. The greatness-the holiness we yearn for in Eretz Yisrael-will bring the geula. This is how the Beit HaMikdash will be rebuilt, I am sure of it.
Rebuilding the Jewish people can happen one cab ride at a time. The driver’s essence is the “shalom,” in his “Shabbat Shalom.” One pushy person may be running late because he stopped to help someone with their bags. If she rudely cuts in line, remember she will probably loose her turn if she can help a crying child. It is not for us to judge the one with his hand out-we all have ours out, too.
Rebuilding also means helping Jews find their way out of the ashes of Rome. Western values meters thick obliterate still today-how great it is to be a Jew. We can help Jews who never knew a warm Shabbos table and a loving G-d who takes an interest in every nuance of His world. Rebuilding them rebuilds the Beit HaMikdash.
There is lots of inspiration for rebuilding going on here. As I walk out of Jaffa Gate towards Rechov Yaffo, I turn count maybe 15 cranes, their long arms stretching to erect new apartments for the streams of people making Jerusalem home. Schools for their children, buildings for them to pray in, work in, shop in. Roads, parks, tunnels. In our own “front Yard,” the magnificent Churva Synagogue-destroyed by the Jordanians in 1948, has reclaimed its place in the skyline, as it rises once again above the Rova Square.
All this in preparation, I am sure, for the return of the true Glory of Yerushalayim, may we all merit to see it soon.
...
7 Shvut, it's Home
B”H
25 Tammuz, 5767
July 11, 2007
Dear Family and Friends,
Finally, after 6 1/2 weeks of living out of suitcases and 7 different places to unpack them: one hotel, 5 gracious hosts in 5 different cities, and a clean and simple studio apartment for 10 days of the journey and long wait; finally... the lift arrived. The lift. That is the 20’ container and a few extra feet of palettes with almost all of our earthly belongings. On May 3 the items left our apartment in Atlanta and arrived completely intact in the Old City of Jerusalem on June 18. A miracle.
Lots of people have asked in detail about the logistics and pitfalls of this operation. So, I thought that is what I’d devote this update to. Maybe its a dry subject, but so many of you want to know...
The honest truth is that we expected disaster at every turn, but only had to endure some high stress moments and were surprised by a few miracles.
How did you choose a shipper?
Back in March, I started combing the Nefesh b’Nefesh yahoogroup for shipping agent recommendations. I made a chart, a pro and con list and decided to contact two agents. My first choice got back to me, but the second, even after I tried again, never called. Mike from .... Movers showed up exactly on time to give me an estimate. It seemed reasonable, given the vast amounts of information I’d culled. This undertaking of shipping precious items 7000 miles is awesome for one who does not do this everyday, and Mike was patient, thorough and confident. He explained that there are four companies involved it the project (in other words, making money off our move):
1-the moving company in Atlanta who are responsible for packing to take up the least amount of container space and getting the shipment to the port.
2-the shipping line who oversees everything from port to port
3-the movers in Israel who pick up the goods from the port, deliver and reassemble in our apartment in Israel
4-All this is coordinated by the shipping agent. The shipping agent gathers all the information, what is going, where it is picked up, decides which shipping line, which moving companies, coordinates insurance, and covers of all the logistics including customs -as they act as our agent at the port. We could also purchase 220v appliances through them in the U.S., have them placed on the lift and delivered to our apartment with our shipment. Our shipper’s office is in the Talpiot neighborhood of Jerusalem.
Is it better to buy appliances and furniture in the U.S. Or purchase it in Israel?
Honestly, I don’t know. We bought our refrigerator through the shipper because, after doing the math, it seemed like a wash and we wanted to have a fridge up and running the day we moved in. We purchased a dryer here in Israel because we did not know if the washer in the apartment was working and wanted to get the w/d at the same time if we had to. The washer is fine. I thought the dryer was a little pricey for a basic appliance, but it works great, the delivery guys were delightfully funny and prompt.
Did you hire packers or pack yourself? Why?
We packed all the unbreakable items, but the insurance would not cover any breakables that we packed. In addition to the estimate Mike gave me, we had to pay an extra $450 for which 4 women spent 8 hours and reams upon reams of newsprint packing our few precious heirlooms and many inexpensive drinking glasses in sturdy boxes.
Were you happy with your movers?
We were very happy with the crew that Peachtree Movers sent. They arrived at 8 am and by 11 pm, all of our furniture was dismantled and well wrapped, catalogued and numbered. We had about 160 boxes. Mike thought we’d fill a 20’ container and then some, he was right but I think it was quite a bit more than just “some.” The 20’ container costs about $7,000 and the “then some” 1.65 per cubic foot door to door.
That night, exhausted beyond belief, we bid goodbye to the crew, followed them across LaVista and down Sheffield. Ever so slowly and gently they drove, even over the speed bumps on Sheffield, giving us great security that our home would be in good hands, at least until the port.
The next day we had to deal with insuring all that stuff. It’s kind of a cart before the horse proposition. We had to list everything in all those boxes and every item of furniture with an estimated value customs and a replacement value for insurance with corresponding box numbers. We did not want to insure everything (i.e. boxes of office supplies, the kids’ stuffed animals and ceramics they made at camp) How do you list the box number before it is packed? This was a quandary because the shipping agent wanted the list before the movers took the load. I worked on it all moving day and got it in the next morning. Insurance costs 2% of covered items. In our case, $1500 that was not in the original estimate.
I should add here, that we were also charged an extra fee because the movers could not bring a container into the apartment complex. This meant they had to unload the truck they brought to us onto the container, entailing an extra move. I am not sure how much that was, because we were also charged a great amount because they could not bring a container into the Jewish Quarter to deliver. The total was another $1830 that was not in the original estimate.
That original estimate was beginning to seem not so reasonable.
Now begins the Suitcase Era. Or Eon. It was nice to be with our gracious hosts and we are just so grateful for their kindness and hospitality. But living in other peoples’ homes, our life in 6 oversized suitcases competing with us for space in guest rooms, became tiresome. And confusing. What bag was that skirt, important file, medicine, shoe in? Plus, I was really lonely for the familiar. Thank G-d for VOIP. The ability to make a “local call” during that time to continue keeping in touch with family and friends was more than miraculous to me. It was my lifeline.
What is VOIP, how does it work, how do you get it and does it really work?
Voice Over Internet Protocol works by connecting a box from the VOIP provider to any analog phone. We signed up with Broadvoice before we left. They sent the box to our address in Atlanta and we brought it to Israel. Our first day here, it was up and running. I spent several hours on the phone that day, I missed my friends so much! It usually sounds very clear, however, sometimes the call drops and sometimes it sounds garbled, but most of the time, it sounds like we are next door.
How did you find an apartment?
I am told that it was a miracle. We wanted to live in the Old City, so I contacted everyone I knew here, posted on yahoogroups for the Rova and yeshivot in the Rova, flathunting.com, luach.com and jangalo.com. I also emailed every agent I could find who had properties here. But it really was a miracle. One day, I saw the almost perfect place posted on luach.com. I talked to the agent, David “happened” to be here that week, took a look and knew it was for us. It has three bedrooms and a storage room, nice courtyard, a/c, renovated kitchen and bath...but only one bath. It has some problems, but that’s what’s nice about renting. They aren’t our problems. Number 7 Shvut is in a convenient, quiet part of the Rova and we really like it. Hope to have you as visitors soon!
Now comes the fun.
What happens when the ship arrives?
We were given an ETA of June 5 for the Zim Shangahi v17 to arrive at Ashdod. On June 4, I called the shipping agent to see that everything was in order. On June 6, they called needing documents -which we had already sent- and a signature on a document –which we had never received. And they needed it...yesterday, of course. The ship was not due in now until the 10th so we had time, but we still had to act fast.
June 7. Our documents did not arrive via the emails we sent yesterday to the shipping agent. We drop everything and take a cab with the documents they need to Talpiot where the shipping agent has an office in what was designed to be his living room. He had two employees there and at some point his daughter walked in from school. With a quick kiss for her dad she kicked off her little lavender crocs and crossed the office to go home. Very cute. The agent took a lot of time to quell David’s concerns. When will the move happen? Where is the truck parking? How are they going to deliver from there? What about the narrow stairway to our apartment? And did he mention the 90 degree turn in this narrow stairway? The shipper also expressed a concern. How are you going to make the final payment? Due before the move. Well, ok.
June 8: We took the cash to the shipper’s bank. It was open. (not always a given here) We stood in line a long time, got a teller who spoke no English, but we had the account number written down. She took the money, then surprisingly asked for more. The bank charged us 28 shekels for making a deposit!
June 9: Shabbos kodesh in Jerusalem. We have not a care in the world today.
June 10: no word.
June 11 Shipper: Where is the customs document? I need it NOW.
Us: We mailed it as per your instruction.
Shipper: We never got it. Who told you to mail it! I have to have it to get your lift released.
Us: Why didn’t you say something on Thursday?
We drop everything and cab it back to Talpiot. Sign the document.
June 12 Bad news. One in every 15 shipments is “randomly selected” by customs for a thorough examination. We are lucky number 15. We get to pay an extra $500 for this privilege.
June 13: We cleared customs without any taxes to pay. Now that, my friends is a true miracle. Not that we had anything to claim, but we have heard stories. Customs could have made us pay just about anything they wanted to charge us. They had all our money and all our stuff.
Now we hear our move will take place on Monday. But... there are more fees we have to pay. It seems there is a “congestion charge.” The day the ship arrived, the port was congested. It took more time to unload, and we get to pay for their inconvenience.
And um, also. There is a storage fee. It seems the ship really did arrive on the ETA of June 5 and not the 10, as we were told. And since we did not have our documents in...which we had mailed/emailed...which the shipping agent say did not arrive...we get to pay the rental on the storage for two weeks. Two weeks. We could have had our lift two weeks earlier and now we get to pay because no one told us it was here. See what fun? At least, after some tense haggling, the shipping agent agreed to split that charge with us.
June 14: Back to the bank to pay for the privilege of selection, congestion and storage in Israel. Another miracle, it was open again, and we were not charged for this deposit.
June 18: Moving day was sort of anticlimactic. It went without much of a hitch. We had to cajole the movers a bit to get the furniture into the proper rooms. There was a hamsin that week. So So HOT. Even the breeze was hot. The couch did not fit down the stairs, and the movers, hearing we were going to store it in a friend’s machsan, storage room, in Ramat Beit Shemesh, elected to leave about 20 of our boxes on the moving van rather than schlepping another load or two to our apartment. It was infinitely easier for them to pull the truck up to the machsan, unload the couch and “oops” look what we forgot. Now we have to figure out a way to get those boxes here ourselves.
June 19, 20, 21: I spent all day unpacking. Every box held a treasure. I have dreamed for so long of unpacking our belongings here, that I found myself savoring this chore. Each carefully wrapped heirloom and inexpensive drinking glass felt like a gift from Hashem- created, chosen and delivered especially for our home in Jerusalem.
June 22: Shabbat, our first night in our home in Yerushalyim. Now this is what I really call a miracle.
July 11: We’ve been here ar Sheva Shvut for about 2 1/2 weeks. We are developing a rhythm to our days again and learning how negotiate the necessities of life. Almost everything we need can be delivered to the Rova. I take the bus to the grocer, the butcher, the dry cleaners and they deliver for a few shekels. Fresh juice is dropped off once a week. And one of the highlights of my week is going to Machane Yehuda with my agala (cart) on Thursday morning to buy fresh produce and pastries for Shabbat. The summer visitors are dropping by, some for a short visit and a glass of lemonade, some for a liesurly summer meal. We truly hope you will be among them.
Come Home Soon,
Love,
Renee and David ...
25 Tammuz, 5767
July 11, 2007
Dear Family and Friends,
Finally, after 6 1/2 weeks of living out of suitcases and 7 different places to unpack them: one hotel, 5 gracious hosts in 5 different cities, and a clean and simple studio apartment for 10 days of the journey and long wait; finally... the lift arrived. The lift. That is the 20’ container and a few extra feet of palettes with almost all of our earthly belongings. On May 3 the items left our apartment in Atlanta and arrived completely intact in the Old City of Jerusalem on June 18. A miracle.
Lots of people have asked in detail about the logistics and pitfalls of this operation. So, I thought that is what I’d devote this update to. Maybe its a dry subject, but so many of you want to know...
The honest truth is that we expected disaster at every turn, but only had to endure some high stress moments and were surprised by a few miracles.
How did you choose a shipper?
Back in March, I started combing the Nefesh b’Nefesh yahoogroup for shipping agent recommendations. I made a chart, a pro and con list and decided to contact two agents. My first choice got back to me, but the second, even after I tried again, never called. Mike from .... Movers showed up exactly on time to give me an estimate. It seemed reasonable, given the vast amounts of information I’d culled. This undertaking of shipping precious items 7000 miles is awesome for one who does not do this everyday, and Mike was patient, thorough and confident. He explained that there are four companies involved it the project (in other words, making money off our move):
1-the moving company in Atlanta who are responsible for packing to take up the least amount of container space and getting the shipment to the port.
2-the shipping line who oversees everything from port to port
3-the movers in Israel who pick up the goods from the port, deliver and reassemble in our apartment in Israel
4-All this is coordinated by the shipping agent. The shipping agent gathers all the information, what is going, where it is picked up, decides which shipping line, which moving companies, coordinates insurance, and covers of all the logistics including customs -as they act as our agent at the port. We could also purchase 220v appliances through them in the U.S., have them placed on the lift and delivered to our apartment with our shipment. Our shipper’s office is in the Talpiot neighborhood of Jerusalem.
Is it better to buy appliances and furniture in the U.S. Or purchase it in Israel?
Honestly, I don’t know. We bought our refrigerator through the shipper because, after doing the math, it seemed like a wash and we wanted to have a fridge up and running the day we moved in. We purchased a dryer here in Israel because we did not know if the washer in the apartment was working and wanted to get the w/d at the same time if we had to. The washer is fine. I thought the dryer was a little pricey for a basic appliance, but it works great, the delivery guys were delightfully funny and prompt.
Did you hire packers or pack yourself? Why?
We packed all the unbreakable items, but the insurance would not cover any breakables that we packed. In addition to the estimate Mike gave me, we had to pay an extra $450 for which 4 women spent 8 hours and reams upon reams of newsprint packing our few precious heirlooms and many inexpensive drinking glasses in sturdy boxes.
Were you happy with your movers?
We were very happy with the crew that Peachtree Movers sent. They arrived at 8 am and by 11 pm, all of our furniture was dismantled and well wrapped, catalogued and numbered. We had about 160 boxes. Mike thought we’d fill a 20’ container and then some, he was right but I think it was quite a bit more than just “some.” The 20’ container costs about $7,000 and the “then some” 1.65 per cubic foot door to door.
That night, exhausted beyond belief, we bid goodbye to the crew, followed them across LaVista and down Sheffield. Ever so slowly and gently they drove, even over the speed bumps on Sheffield, giving us great security that our home would be in good hands, at least until the port.
The next day we had to deal with insuring all that stuff. It’s kind of a cart before the horse proposition. We had to list everything in all those boxes and every item of furniture with an estimated value customs and a replacement value for insurance with corresponding box numbers. We did not want to insure everything (i.e. boxes of office supplies, the kids’ stuffed animals and ceramics they made at camp) How do you list the box number before it is packed? This was a quandary because the shipping agent wanted the list before the movers took the load. I worked on it all moving day and got it in the next morning. Insurance costs 2% of covered items. In our case, $1500 that was not in the original estimate.
I should add here, that we were also charged an extra fee because the movers could not bring a container into the apartment complex. This meant they had to unload the truck they brought to us onto the container, entailing an extra move. I am not sure how much that was, because we were also charged a great amount because they could not bring a container into the Jewish Quarter to deliver. The total was another $1830 that was not in the original estimate.
That original estimate was beginning to seem not so reasonable.
Now begins the Suitcase Era. Or Eon. It was nice to be with our gracious hosts and we are just so grateful for their kindness and hospitality. But living in other peoples’ homes, our life in 6 oversized suitcases competing with us for space in guest rooms, became tiresome. And confusing. What bag was that skirt, important file, medicine, shoe in? Plus, I was really lonely for the familiar. Thank G-d for VOIP. The ability to make a “local call” during that time to continue keeping in touch with family and friends was more than miraculous to me. It was my lifeline.
What is VOIP, how does it work, how do you get it and does it really work?
Voice Over Internet Protocol works by connecting a box from the VOIP provider to any analog phone. We signed up with Broadvoice before we left. They sent the box to our address in Atlanta and we brought it to Israel. Our first day here, it was up and running. I spent several hours on the phone that day, I missed my friends so much! It usually sounds very clear, however, sometimes the call drops and sometimes it sounds garbled, but most of the time, it sounds like we are next door.
How did you find an apartment?
I am told that it was a miracle. We wanted to live in the Old City, so I contacted everyone I knew here, posted on yahoogroups for the Rova and yeshivot in the Rova, flathunting.com, luach.com and jangalo.com. I also emailed every agent I could find who had properties here. But it really was a miracle. One day, I saw the almost perfect place posted on luach.com. I talked to the agent, David “happened” to be here that week, took a look and knew it was for us. It has three bedrooms and a storage room, nice courtyard, a/c, renovated kitchen and bath...but only one bath. It has some problems, but that’s what’s nice about renting. They aren’t our problems. Number 7 Shvut is in a convenient, quiet part of the Rova and we really like it. Hope to have you as visitors soon!
Now comes the fun.
What happens when the ship arrives?
We were given an ETA of June 5 for the Zim Shangahi v17 to arrive at Ashdod. On June 4, I called the shipping agent to see that everything was in order. On June 6, they called needing documents -which we had already sent- and a signature on a document –which we had never received. And they needed it...yesterday, of course. The ship was not due in now until the 10th so we had time, but we still had to act fast.
June 7. Our documents did not arrive via the emails we sent yesterday to the shipping agent. We drop everything and take a cab with the documents they need to Talpiot where the shipping agent has an office in what was designed to be his living room. He had two employees there and at some point his daughter walked in from school. With a quick kiss for her dad she kicked off her little lavender crocs and crossed the office to go home. Very cute. The agent took a lot of time to quell David’s concerns. When will the move happen? Where is the truck parking? How are they going to deliver from there? What about the narrow stairway to our apartment? And did he mention the 90 degree turn in this narrow stairway? The shipper also expressed a concern. How are you going to make the final payment? Due before the move. Well, ok.
June 8: We took the cash to the shipper’s bank. It was open. (not always a given here) We stood in line a long time, got a teller who spoke no English, but we had the account number written down. She took the money, then surprisingly asked for more. The bank charged us 28 shekels for making a deposit!
June 9: Shabbos kodesh in Jerusalem. We have not a care in the world today.
June 10: no word.
June 11 Shipper: Where is the customs document? I need it NOW.
Us: We mailed it as per your instruction.
Shipper: We never got it. Who told you to mail it! I have to have it to get your lift released.
Us: Why didn’t you say something on Thursday?
We drop everything and cab it back to Talpiot. Sign the document.
June 12 Bad news. One in every 15 shipments is “randomly selected” by customs for a thorough examination. We are lucky number 15. We get to pay an extra $500 for this privilege.
June 13: We cleared customs without any taxes to pay. Now that, my friends is a true miracle. Not that we had anything to claim, but we have heard stories. Customs could have made us pay just about anything they wanted to charge us. They had all our money and all our stuff.
Now we hear our move will take place on Monday. But... there are more fees we have to pay. It seems there is a “congestion charge.” The day the ship arrived, the port was congested. It took more time to unload, and we get to pay for their inconvenience.
And um, also. There is a storage fee. It seems the ship really did arrive on the ETA of June 5 and not the 10, as we were told. And since we did not have our documents in...which we had mailed/emailed...which the shipping agent say did not arrive...we get to pay the rental on the storage for two weeks. Two weeks. We could have had our lift two weeks earlier and now we get to pay because no one told us it was here. See what fun? At least, after some tense haggling, the shipping agent agreed to split that charge with us.
June 14: Back to the bank to pay for the privilege of selection, congestion and storage in Israel. Another miracle, it was open again, and we were not charged for this deposit.
June 18: Moving day was sort of anticlimactic. It went without much of a hitch. We had to cajole the movers a bit to get the furniture into the proper rooms. There was a hamsin that week. So So HOT. Even the breeze was hot. The couch did not fit down the stairs, and the movers, hearing we were going to store it in a friend’s machsan, storage room, in Ramat Beit Shemesh, elected to leave about 20 of our boxes on the moving van rather than schlepping another load or two to our apartment. It was infinitely easier for them to pull the truck up to the machsan, unload the couch and “oops” look what we forgot. Now we have to figure out a way to get those boxes here ourselves.
June 19, 20, 21: I spent all day unpacking. Every box held a treasure. I have dreamed for so long of unpacking our belongings here, that I found myself savoring this chore. Each carefully wrapped heirloom and inexpensive drinking glass felt like a gift from Hashem- created, chosen and delivered especially for our home in Jerusalem.
June 22: Shabbat, our first night in our home in Yerushalyim. Now this is what I really call a miracle.
July 11: We’ve been here ar Sheva Shvut for about 2 1/2 weeks. We are developing a rhythm to our days again and learning how negotiate the necessities of life. Almost everything we need can be delivered to the Rova. I take the bus to the grocer, the butcher, the dry cleaners and they deliver for a few shekels. Fresh juice is dropped off once a week. And one of the highlights of my week is going to Machane Yehuda with my agala (cart) on Thursday morning to buy fresh produce and pastries for Shabbat. The summer visitors are dropping by, some for a short visit and a glass of lemonade, some for a liesurly summer meal. We truly hope you will be among them.
Come Home Soon,
Love,
Renee and David ...
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