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 Buses. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Buses. Show all posts
12 to 120
B”H
17 Sivan 5768
Erev Shabbos, Parashas Shelach
June 20, 2008
Dear Friends and Family,
This coming Shabbos we read the Torah portion Shelach, recalling the sin of the spies. These were the 12 men that Moshe sent to scout out the Land of Israel before entering. When they returned, their distorted and negative reports caused the b’nai Yisrael to despair. As a result of speaking and believing this slander about the land, Hashem decreed a 40 year delay before they could enter the Land.
Today we are witness to all that is good and special about living here and we have the ability, and perhaps the obligation, to tell our family, friends and neighbors abroad what those things are.
Nefesh B'Nefesh is again this year promoting their "12 to 12" project. They requested that every Oleh compose a list of 12 things we appreciate and love about living in Israel and email our message to 12 (or 120) friends abroad. Last year David and I sent out a letter called “12+1” (if you’d like it, let me know). Here are our 12 for this year:
1. The education-yes, you read correctly. The Jewish education here is excellent. Secular, too. Our graduates become Nobel Prize winners, develop companies that attract a disproportionate amount of foreign business investment and Israel is depended upon for the next great medical breakthrough. Educating children anywhere is difficult. Look in any bookstore in the states; there are shelves of guides to help both parent and child overcome obstacles and get the most out of their schooling. In what other place do Jewish parents have so many opportunities to educate their children al pi darko, according to their ways? Here, parents tell me they love that they can choose the school and educational system that most suits their child. They do struggle with the decisions, but they have a decision to make. (And notice, I did not even mention tuition.)
2. We are surrounded by enemies who want us wiped off the face of the earth, and the best thing is that we know exactly who, and often where, they are. Random acts of violence are rare. Terrorist attacks are devised and planned, but before they are executed, they are usually thwarted. Baruch Hashem.
3. Tourists are everywhere, crowding the alleyways and thoroughfares, littering and talking loudly in the streets. They fill up the restaurants, empty the shops, and give parnassa to the street cleaners. We wake up every morning in their once-in-a-lifetime destination.
4. The government of Israel wants us to be a nation like all other nations. Besrat Hashem it WILL be. --despite what we “see in the news,” we are witness to a Divine Plan that will end when we are deserving of a leadership that represents the highest of ethical standards. Those which emanate from our eternal constitution, the Torah. Then we will be the nation that all other nations want to be like.
5. The kids have to serve in the army. We recently had the zechus of having a Shabbat meal with 18, 19 and 20 year old chayalim, soldiers, from both observant and non-observant homes.
They exhibited more character, maturity, focus, dedication and wisdom than any young person to whom I have spoken in my life. Our children would do well to have these middos surrounding them.
6. Little kids run around without any supervision. And most of them are very well behaved. They look after younger siblings, they scoot out to the makolet to get milk for breakfast in the morning, and teens don’t spend hours on cellphones because they are always with their friends.
7. The buses rule the roads. They roar around, twisting, zooming, making impossible turns. They take us anywhere and everywhere. Those standing, stumble as the bus careens, and someone catches them. Mothers give their babies over to “strangers” as they fold their strollers and walk away to pay the driver. Young girls get up and tell not so young women to take their seat. Men move next to other men so women can sit together; this is so that everyone’s dignity is preserved. Simply put, the passengers on any bus in Israel are sharing the ride of their life.
8. Not knowing the language well is an opportunity to make someone’s day. I often find myself waiting for a bus with an elderly woman who knows not a syllable of English but wants a little connection to another Jewish woman. I try my hardest to tell her, using the 50 or so words I know, what I can about my life. When she helps me with my Ivrit, she feels needed, it’s the best. I met an ancient wrinkled beauty from Iraq, a sweet toothy woman from Russia and a 6th generation Israeli and her 88 year old younger sister that way. Plus, I picked up a few new words in the process.
9. The best jobs and special deals are discovered through the good ‘ol boy network and that is hard to get into. To break in, you have to be--an olah. We help each other find jobs, tutors, movers, doctors, ulpans, lawyers. We find a bargain or or hit upon a good idea and we share it on our local anglo yahoogroups. We promote olah business on http://www.nbnbusiness.co.il/ ,give recommendations on http://israeleasy.blogspot.com/ and list resources with maps on http://israelataclick.com/ All in English. It’s a great club, and no secret handshake.
10. I love that there are no long thin lines in Israel. If you expect to be waited on first come first serve, you are mistaken. Once we got here we realized it was best just to get over it. My take on it is that we are like a family; it really is not rudeness. It’s a cultural thing--like no personal space. Because we are family, there is no “alone space,” either. People care enough to tell us how to dress, how take care of our kids, our health and our relationship with our spouse. And if one is ever in need of help, lo aleinu, the shoving stops and our family is right there to take care of us.
11. Yes, there are indeed giants here. Giants of Torah. And we have the opportunity to gaze upon them every day.
12. Finally, the only best thing about living in Israel is that we are home, where every Jew belongs, where our Loving Father longs for our return.
Well, those are our 12 for this year. You might not agree that all of these are good reasons to live here, but please, as a tikkun for the spies don’t say anything. Life in Israel, like anywhere has its trials. Within our trials lies the opportunity for our greatness. Doing mitzvot with joy, being kind and merciful to one another and judging every Jew favorably will end this exile, the most difficult trial of all. Then the best thing about living in Israel will be that all of YOU will get to come home soon.
Love,
Renee and David ...
17 Sivan 5768
Erev Shabbos, Parashas Shelach
June 20, 2008
Dear Friends and Family,
This coming Shabbos we read the Torah portion Shelach, recalling the sin of the spies. These were the 12 men that Moshe sent to scout out the Land of Israel before entering. When they returned, their distorted and negative reports caused the b’nai Yisrael to despair. As a result of speaking and believing this slander about the land, Hashem decreed a 40 year delay before they could enter the Land.
Today we are witness to all that is good and special about living here and we have the ability, and perhaps the obligation, to tell our family, friends and neighbors abroad what those things are.
Nefesh B'Nefesh is again this year promoting their "12 to 12" project. They requested that every Oleh compose a list of 12 things we appreciate and love about living in Israel and email our message to 12 (or 120) friends abroad. Last year David and I sent out a letter called “12+1” (if you’d like it, let me know). Here are our 12 for this year:
1. The education-yes, you read correctly. The Jewish education here is excellent. Secular, too. Our graduates become Nobel Prize winners, develop companies that attract a disproportionate amount of foreign business investment and Israel is depended upon for the next great medical breakthrough. Educating children anywhere is difficult. Look in any bookstore in the states; there are shelves of guides to help both parent and child overcome obstacles and get the most out of their schooling. In what other place do Jewish parents have so many opportunities to educate their children al pi darko, according to their ways? Here, parents tell me they love that they can choose the school and educational system that most suits their child. They do struggle with the decisions, but they have a decision to make. (And notice, I did not even mention tuition.)
2. We are surrounded by enemies who want us wiped off the face of the earth, and the best thing is that we know exactly who, and often where, they are. Random acts of violence are rare. Terrorist attacks are devised and planned, but before they are executed, they are usually thwarted. Baruch Hashem.
3. Tourists are everywhere, crowding the alleyways and thoroughfares, littering and talking loudly in the streets. They fill up the restaurants, empty the shops, and give parnassa to the street cleaners. We wake up every morning in their once-in-a-lifetime destination.
4. The government of Israel wants us to be a nation like all other nations. Besrat Hashem it WILL be. --despite what we “see in the news,” we are witness to a Divine Plan that will end when we are deserving of a leadership that represents the highest of ethical standards. Those which emanate from our eternal constitution, the Torah. Then we will be the nation that all other nations want to be like.
5. The kids have to serve in the army. We recently had the zechus of having a Shabbat meal with 18, 19 and 20 year old chayalim, soldiers, from both observant and non-observant homes.
They exhibited more character, maturity, focus, dedication and wisdom than any young person to whom I have spoken in my life. Our children would do well to have these middos surrounding them.6. Little kids run around without any supervision. And most of them are very well behaved. They look after younger siblings, they scoot out to the makolet to get milk for breakfast in the morning, and teens don’t spend hours on cellphones because they are always with their friends.
7. The buses rule the roads. They roar around, twisting, zooming, making impossible turns. They take us anywhere and everywhere. Those standing, stumble as the bus careens, and someone catches them. Mothers give their babies over to “strangers” as they fold their strollers and walk away to pay the driver. Young girls get up and tell not so young women to take their seat. Men move next to other men so women can sit together; this is so that everyone’s dignity is preserved. Simply put, the passengers on any bus in Israel are sharing the ride of their life.8. Not knowing the language well is an opportunity to make someone’s day. I often find myself waiting for a bus with an elderly woman who knows not a syllable of English but wants a little connection to another Jewish woman. I try my hardest to tell her, using the 50 or so words I know, what I can about my life. When she helps me with my Ivrit, she feels needed, it’s the best. I met an ancient wrinkled beauty from Iraq, a sweet toothy woman from Russia and a 6th generation Israeli and her 88 year old younger sister that way. Plus, I picked up a few new words in the process.
9. The best jobs and special deals are discovered through the good ‘ol boy network and that is hard to get into. To break in, you have to be--an olah. We help each other find jobs, tutors, movers, doctors, ulpans, lawyers. We find a bargain or or hit upon a good idea and we share it on our local anglo yahoogroups. We promote olah business on http://www.nbnbusiness.co.il/ ,give recommendations on http://israeleasy.blogspot.com/ and list resources with maps on http://israelataclick.com/ All in English. It’s a great club, and no secret handshake.
10. I love that there are no long thin lines in Israel. If you expect to be waited on first come first serve, you are mistaken. Once we got here we realized it was best just to get over it. My take on it is that we are like a family; it really is not rudeness. It’s a cultural thing--like no personal space. Because we are family, there is no “alone space,” either. People care enough to tell us how to dress, how take care of our kids, our health and our relationship with our spouse. And if one is ever in need of help, lo aleinu, the shoving stops and our family is right there to take care of us.
11. Yes, there are indeed giants here. Giants of Torah. And we have the opportunity to gaze upon them every day.
12. Finally, the only best thing about living in Israel is that we are home, where every Jew belongs, where our Loving Father longs for our return.
Well, those are our 12 for this year. You might not agree that all of these are good reasons to live here, but please, as a tikkun for the spies don’t say anything. Life in Israel, like anywhere has its trials. Within our trials lies the opportunity for our greatness. Doing mitzvot with joy, being kind and merciful to one another and judging every Jew favorably will end this exile, the most difficult trial of all. Then the best thing about living in Israel will be that all of YOU will get to come home soon.
Love,
Renee and David ...
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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
...
A Mundane Day
B”H
Cheshvan 18, 5768
October 20, 2007
Dear Friends and Family,
The chaggim are over, we have reclaimed the routine of a six day work week and life is beginning to feel somewhat “normal,” whatever that means. Weeks without holidays to prepare for (and recover from) spread into a stream of days, one after the next filled with getting things done. I have time to finally unpack the last remaining boxes of books, winter clothing and rain gear. Where I will put them, I have no idea. I have time to plan a week of menus and shop more frugally. The laundry will all be done and now I have no excuse for a full ironing basket. With that in mind, I thought that in this letter I would answer a friend when she told me she really wanted to know what a mundane day in Jerusalem was like for me.
This letter will most likely appeal to the women among you. I can’t imagine men being interested in my lists and learning or my adventures procuring needed food items, etc. Hopefully, David will write the next letter, one that should interest the men: “How I Got My Israeli Driver’s License in 9 Easy Steps (give or take a few).” And we don’t even have a car.
As for me, on a mundane day I wake at about 6 in the morning. Above me there is the stone lintel from a Byznatine era column that was uncovered with much excitement in the renovation of this apartment. The column was probably built here before the 7th century, making the home we live in over 1400 years old!
By the time I am having my coffee in our 1400 year-old living room (usually Starbucks, one of the few things I ask people to bring me from America), I hear David coming up the stairs with his Rosh Yeshiva, Rabbi Shalom Gold. They are returning from neitz, sunrise, davening at the Kotel. David has been learning the Gemara in Brachos about how one should do no mundane activity before greeting the One who fashioned us. As a very early riser, he enjoyed his lone routine of exercise, reading the news and doing some office work before his 7 a.m. minyan. However, the more one learns, the more one does-and he just did not feel it was right to begin davening after immersing himself in those mundane activities. So, Rav Gold had the answer; although not the one my husband really wanted. However, now in to his second week of neitz, he says it enhances his entire day to begin by walking through the dark empty streets, dry off his shtender, moist with morning dew and say Shema just as the light permeates the Jerusalem sky with pinks and greys and golds.
He comes home quite hungry, so I make him breakfast, dress and now it’s my turn. The Kotel calls me, too. The streets are still quiet as I move down Misgav Ladach Street past a view of the
Mount of Olives. Last month, we watched one afternoon from a distance as former Chief Rabbi Avraham Shapira. zt’l, escorted by tens of thousands of mourners just hours before Simchat Torah, was laid to rest there. I whisper a prayer asking the holy rabbis buried on this mountain-- where the prophet Zachariah said the Redeemer’s feet will stand at the final war-- to petition the Heavenly Courts on our behalf to keep us safe and bring us all home in peace.
My route continues past Aish HaTorah, down many sets of stairs and over the excavation of an ancient marketplace at the back of the Kotel plaza. Each week, they uncover more evidence of the mundane lives of those who lived in my neighborhood centuries before me, when Jews could actually go the to Holy Temple. Today, my avoda is offered meters below the Har HaBayit, in the tunnels of the Western Wall. I enter where the Tunnels Tour begins and wind my way through the cave like corridors and cavernous rooms under houses where Moslems live. My goal is a beautiful women’s section, the closest we can get to the Kedosh Kedoshim, as close to the center of the universe as one can stand; then I pray Shacharit.
I would like to say that my kavana is amazingly better there. But that’s just not always true. The lists I need to add to and the conversation I had yesterday creep into my prayer and often I wonder how it is that I ended up at Shema. However, I just look up at the wall with its grey stones hewn into rectangles as big as Chevy Suburbans, draw inspiration from the spiritual refinement of women praying around me, and look down at my feet in utter humility. Although prayer is still a struggle, my awe is greater, as is my gratitude.
When I return home, David goes off to Yeshiva Rabbi Akiva and for me, the lists are waiting. I add what I remember, check my email and gather up a load of wash. My breakfast is usually rice cakes and hummos with tomatoes, which, even near November and even in shmitta remain delicious.
This morning I had a yoga class. I have long benefited from this form of exercise, but in America I was bothered because (except for Tzipporah Metzel’s class) every instructor tainted her instruction with yoga’s avoda zara origins. Sara, our instructor, punctuates her instruction with diveri Torah. She and several of my co-students, have known each other since just after the 6 Day War when, as spiritual seekers, they found themselves living together on Har Tzion, learning at the Diaspora Yeshiva and marrying boys also becoming observant there. One of these women, Chaya Makla Abramson, still lives on Har Tzion. She is a living miracle, a woman who radiates warmth and emuna, whose courageous story is told in her book, Who By Fire (Feldheim). Each of them has an inspiring story that, in the weeks since I have joined them, slip out and reveal to me the special nature of these pioneers, whose very lives as mothers in Israel, have helped us reclaim our inheritance.
It’s 11 a.m and I have to get groceries. This week I am using a new online delivery service called Digital City. This is one of the ways I know Hashem loves me! In Atlanta, I was one of the few who mourned the demise of Webvan. Digital City is all that and more. They buy from the grocery, the shuk, SuperPharm, the butcher, a wine store, fish market and cheese shop. I haven’t figured out if the hechshers are all good, so I still have to shop myself some weeks, but for staples DCity is great! My order took about 30 minutes to complete and I chose to have them deliver tomorrow afternoon.
The brick and mortar store I go to is Super Deal. It’s the second stop on the 38 and a short walk, down an alley past a bar and behind the old train station. So much for location, location, location. It hasn’t hurt their business as they have been there for years, and it shows in their assortment of mismatched carts and rustic produce bins. Surprisingly, I find everything I need here. American products cost 3 to 4 times as much. We do buy Philadelphia cream cheese at 16 shekels and Ortega Taco Shells at 28. Pancake mix and syrup are still part of our pantry and they are ridiculously high. Other than those few items, Israeli products are of good quality and reasonably priced. The checkout people do not like to speak English, so I try my best to give them the address and phone number in Ivrit. Arab boys will deliver “b’erev,” meaning sometime between 2 and 9 pm. I have learned it is best to take my frozen and dairy items with me.
After this monthly grocery spree, I usually catch the bus up to King George and walk over to Chofetz Chaim, a butcher on Agrippas. I like them because they have a wide variety of meat, some fish and are English friendly. The woman who works there fondly remembers living in the same building as Rabbi Emanuel Feldman in Baltimore. She helps me to understand the mystery meat here: like what is a #5, a # 3? London Broil is not like at Steve’s, it is twice as thick with a stretch of gristle in the middle, making it a lot of trouble to eat. Steak is entrecote. Period. Cholent meat comes in uniform square chunks similar to large ice cubes. I often strike up a conversation with another shopper who tells me how she cooks the cut she pulls out of the case. Once I bought what I thought was a simple boneless rolled turkey breast, and when I sliced it, discovered it was stuffed with what we think was ground meat. In a happy accident, I discovered turkey shnitzel. This makes a moist and flavorful breaded cutlet for Shabbos day. For 20 shekels, Chofetz Chaim delivers, so I buy enough for several weeks and take my bubby cart full of cold dairy items in search of an iced coffee.
Anglo-Israelis like me, find iced coffee on a warm October day is essential. I know I should really be drinking water, but there is reward in this creamy, sweet, energizing formula that refreshes in a way that water cannot.
I like to walk with other Jews on Jerusalem streets named Hillel and Shammai, Rishonim and
Misilat Yesharim. Sometimes I will walk all the way home from town, and sometimes just wander until I think I better get my things to the fridge, so I catch the 38 down at the bottom of Ben Yehuda. I used to squeeze in a trip to the bank, but I finally figured out how to check my balance online, and that is all I need from that bank. They are not at all English friendly. After our klita payments are all deposited, we are closing the account and moving to one I hope will be more accommodating. When you get here, I will tell you where NOT to bank.
By the time I return home, put the groceries in the refrigerator, tend the laundry and check my email, America is waking up. I try to talk to Elise every day in between her work and school. She sometimes feels very alone over there, with her entire (all 3 of us) family here. So, I feel it is important to share my day and hear what she’s up to. I try to catch up and learn on the phone, thanks to VOIP, with one or two people in America each week. The days go by for me as well as you and the time frame is limited, so I don’t keep in touch as much as I like.
David comes home from yeshiva at 2 for lunch and has a couple of hours to run an errand or do some work. He really loves the learning, and although he is not working, just keeping up with a little business in America that helps us out, I feel he needs to do this now. Never has he been in a serious yeshiva that accommodates his lack of background and still challenges him. His years learning at the ASK Yesodei HaTorah in Atlanta laid the groundwork for this. One of these days, he’ll write a letter about Yeshiva Rabbi Akiva and many of you will want your husbands to learn there, too.
In the afternoons, I try do some of that unpacking I was talking about earlier or clean out a closet that has already accumulated things we do not need. Sometimes I have the opportunity to do something to help someone out, just like you often do. Sometimes I have an appointment at the doctor, or I have to wait for a repairman, just like you have to do. Once a month Rabbi Keleman gives an astonishingly life changing shiur in the Rova, and sometimes I’ll write. Like today.
And then it is time to make dinner, on a mundane day, it’s just the two of us. We eat together and David talks about his day; that means I usually get a taste of what he learned over our meal. Delicious. Today Rabbi Aba Wagensberg taught for an hour on tefilla. Tefilla, he said is taking our shopping list of wants and desires to Hashem, Who certainly knows –and gives us—exactly what we need to accomplish our mission on this earth. Why do we have to ask when He will always give us everything we require? Because prayer is for us. To take it into our heart that our mission is not to serve to procure our needs (the shopping list), but to serve Him-by taking what He gives us, and using it to bring ourselves to shelimut. Perfection, completion.
On Sunday nights, I attend a shiur Rebbetzin Heller has been giving for 18 years at Sara Rigler’s house. Now we are learning from Path of the Just on fighting the Yetzer Hara. I like her class because she, like Rabbi Keleman gives us “homework,” something concrete to do or notice to actualize the concepts she presented. This week, she talked about how the Yetzer Hara distracts us, keeps us busy with the mundane and overwhelms us and robs us of our inner space. The Yetzer Hara knows that if we focus on that inner space, there won’t be any room for him. This week our homework is to focus on our inner space for 15 minutes throughout the day: review our actions, examine our mistakes and plan what to do different the next time --- while we are doing something mundane.
On a mundane day, I do just about the same things any woman does. I wake, daven, do chores, shop and cook. It almost never feels mundane. Mundane days are not for Israel. Mundane days are not for Jews.
A mundane day does not start at the Kotel haMaaravi. On a mundane day, one does not do yoga with a woman who staked her claim in the land of our forefathers when it was far from fashionable, far from easy. Walking on streets named for holy books and holy men doesn’t ever happen on mundane days. However, I make them mundane by going through the motions of tefilla, riding on the bus with mindless thoughts or attending a shiur expecting what I hear to change me-without my doing the work to grow.
You can feel you are davening at the center of the world even if you are standing in your living room in Atlanta, Ga. That is not mundane. When you drive into the Kroger parking lot and pray that Hashem will open a spot not too far up the hill and that the vegetables will be fresh and the things on your shopping list will be in stock, that’s not mundane. As you drive to work or carpool and think about where it is that you really need to go in life—and open a spot inside to hear what Hashem answers; when we do this, there is never a mundane day.
Have an extraordinary day, and come home soon.
Love,
Renee ...
Cheshvan 18, 5768
October 20, 2007
Dear Friends and Family,
The chaggim are over, we have reclaimed the routine of a six day work week and life is beginning to feel somewhat “normal,” whatever that means. Weeks without holidays to prepare for (and recover from) spread into a stream of days, one after the next filled with getting things done. I have time to finally unpack the last remaining boxes of books, winter clothing and rain gear. Where I will put them, I have no idea. I have time to plan a week of menus and shop more frugally. The laundry will all be done and now I have no excuse for a full ironing basket. With that in mind, I thought that in this letter I would answer a friend when she told me she really wanted to know what a mundane day in Jerusalem was like for me.
This letter will most likely appeal to the women among you. I can’t imagine men being interested in my lists and learning or my adventures procuring needed food items, etc. Hopefully, David will write the next letter, one that should interest the men: “How I Got My Israeli Driver’s License in 9 Easy Steps (give or take a few).” And we don’t even have a car.
As for me, on a mundane day I wake at about 6 in the morning. Above me there is the stone lintel from a Byznatine era column that was uncovered with much excitement in the renovation of this apartment. The column was probably built here before the 7th century, making the home we live in over 1400 years old!
By the time I am having my coffee in our 1400 year-old living room (usually Starbucks, one of the few things I ask people to bring me from America), I hear David coming up the stairs with his Rosh Yeshiva, Rabbi Shalom Gold. They are returning from neitz, sunrise, davening at the Kotel. David has been learning the Gemara in Brachos about how one should do no mundane activity before greeting the One who fashioned us. As a very early riser, he enjoyed his lone routine of exercise, reading the news and doing some office work before his 7 a.m. minyan. However, the more one learns, the more one does-and he just did not feel it was right to begin davening after immersing himself in those mundane activities. So, Rav Gold had the answer; although not the one my husband really wanted. However, now in to his second week of neitz, he says it enhances his entire day to begin by walking through the dark empty streets, dry off his shtender, moist with morning dew and say Shema just as the light permeates the Jerusalem sky with pinks and greys and golds.
He comes home quite hungry, so I make him breakfast, dress and now it’s my turn. The Kotel calls me, too. The streets are still quiet as I move down Misgav Ladach Street past a view of the
Mount of Olives. Last month, we watched one afternoon from a distance as former Chief Rabbi Avraham Shapira. zt’l, escorted by tens of thousands of mourners just hours before Simchat Torah, was laid to rest there. I whisper a prayer asking the holy rabbis buried on this mountain-- where the prophet Zachariah said the Redeemer’s feet will stand at the final war-- to petition the Heavenly Courts on our behalf to keep us safe and bring us all home in peace.My route continues past Aish HaTorah, down many sets of stairs and over the excavation of an ancient marketplace at the back of the Kotel plaza. Each week, they uncover more evidence of the mundane lives of those who lived in my neighborhood centuries before me, when Jews could actually go the to Holy Temple. Today, my avoda is offered meters below the Har HaBayit, in the tunnels of the Western Wall. I enter where the Tunnels Tour begins and wind my way through the cave like corridors and cavernous rooms under houses where Moslems live. My goal is a beautiful women’s section, the closest we can get to the Kedosh Kedoshim, as close to the center of the universe as one can stand; then I pray Shacharit.
I would like to say that my kavana is amazingly better there. But that’s just not always true. The lists I need to add to and the conversation I had yesterday creep into my prayer and often I wonder how it is that I ended up at Shema. However, I just look up at the wall with its grey stones hewn into rectangles as big as Chevy Suburbans, draw inspiration from the spiritual refinement of women praying around me, and look down at my feet in utter humility. Although prayer is still a struggle, my awe is greater, as is my gratitude.
When I return home, David goes off to Yeshiva Rabbi Akiva and for me, the lists are waiting. I add what I remember, check my email and gather up a load of wash. My breakfast is usually rice cakes and hummos with tomatoes, which, even near November and even in shmitta remain delicious.
This morning I had a yoga class. I have long benefited from this form of exercise, but in America I was bothered because (except for Tzipporah Metzel’s class) every instructor tainted her instruction with yoga’s avoda zara origins. Sara, our instructor, punctuates her instruction with diveri Torah. She and several of my co-students, have known each other since just after the 6 Day War when, as spiritual seekers, they found themselves living together on Har Tzion, learning at the Diaspora Yeshiva and marrying boys also becoming observant there. One of these women, Chaya Makla Abramson, still lives on Har Tzion. She is a living miracle, a woman who radiates warmth and emuna, whose courageous story is told in her book, Who By Fire (Feldheim). Each of them has an inspiring story that, in the weeks since I have joined them, slip out and reveal to me the special nature of these pioneers, whose very lives as mothers in Israel, have helped us reclaim our inheritance.
It’s 11 a.m and I have to get groceries. This week I am using a new online delivery service called Digital City. This is one of the ways I know Hashem loves me! In Atlanta, I was one of the few who mourned the demise of Webvan. Digital City is all that and more. They buy from the grocery, the shuk, SuperPharm, the butcher, a wine store, fish market and cheese shop. I haven’t figured out if the hechshers are all good, so I still have to shop myself some weeks, but for staples DCity is great! My order took about 30 minutes to complete and I chose to have them deliver tomorrow afternoon.
The brick and mortar store I go to is Super Deal. It’s the second stop on the 38 and a short walk, down an alley past a bar and behind the old train station. So much for location, location, location. It hasn’t hurt their business as they have been there for years, and it shows in their assortment of mismatched carts and rustic produce bins. Surprisingly, I find everything I need here. American products cost 3 to 4 times as much. We do buy Philadelphia cream cheese at 16 shekels and Ortega Taco Shells at 28. Pancake mix and syrup are still part of our pantry and they are ridiculously high. Other than those few items, Israeli products are of good quality and reasonably priced. The checkout people do not like to speak English, so I try my best to give them the address and phone number in Ivrit. Arab boys will deliver “b’erev,” meaning sometime between 2 and 9 pm. I have learned it is best to take my frozen and dairy items with me.
After this monthly grocery spree, I usually catch the bus up to King George and walk over to Chofetz Chaim, a butcher on Agrippas. I like them because they have a wide variety of meat, some fish and are English friendly. The woman who works there fondly remembers living in the same building as Rabbi Emanuel Feldman in Baltimore. She helps me to understand the mystery meat here: like what is a #5, a # 3? London Broil is not like at Steve’s, it is twice as thick with a stretch of gristle in the middle, making it a lot of trouble to eat. Steak is entrecote. Period. Cholent meat comes in uniform square chunks similar to large ice cubes. I often strike up a conversation with another shopper who tells me how she cooks the cut she pulls out of the case. Once I bought what I thought was a simple boneless rolled turkey breast, and when I sliced it, discovered it was stuffed with what we think was ground meat. In a happy accident, I discovered turkey shnitzel. This makes a moist and flavorful breaded cutlet for Shabbos day. For 20 shekels, Chofetz Chaim delivers, so I buy enough for several weeks and take my bubby cart full of cold dairy items in search of an iced coffee.
Anglo-Israelis like me, find iced coffee on a warm October day is essential. I know I should really be drinking water, but there is reward in this creamy, sweet, energizing formula that refreshes in a way that water cannot.
I like to walk with other Jews on Jerusalem streets named Hillel and Shammai, Rishonim and
Misilat Yesharim. Sometimes I will walk all the way home from town, and sometimes just wander until I think I better get my things to the fridge, so I catch the 38 down at the bottom of Ben Yehuda. I used to squeeze in a trip to the bank, but I finally figured out how to check my balance online, and that is all I need from that bank. They are not at all English friendly. After our klita payments are all deposited, we are closing the account and moving to one I hope will be more accommodating. When you get here, I will tell you where NOT to bank.By the time I return home, put the groceries in the refrigerator, tend the laundry and check my email, America is waking up. I try to talk to Elise every day in between her work and school. She sometimes feels very alone over there, with her entire (all 3 of us) family here. So, I feel it is important to share my day and hear what she’s up to. I try to catch up and learn on the phone, thanks to VOIP, with one or two people in America each week. The days go by for me as well as you and the time frame is limited, so I don’t keep in touch as much as I like.
David comes home from yeshiva at 2 for lunch and has a couple of hours to run an errand or do some work. He really loves the learning, and although he is not working, just keeping up with a little business in America that helps us out, I feel he needs to do this now. Never has he been in a serious yeshiva that accommodates his lack of background and still challenges him. His years learning at the ASK Yesodei HaTorah in Atlanta laid the groundwork for this. One of these days, he’ll write a letter about Yeshiva Rabbi Akiva and many of you will want your husbands to learn there, too.
In the afternoons, I try do some of that unpacking I was talking about earlier or clean out a closet that has already accumulated things we do not need. Sometimes I have the opportunity to do something to help someone out, just like you often do. Sometimes I have an appointment at the doctor, or I have to wait for a repairman, just like you have to do. Once a month Rabbi Keleman gives an astonishingly life changing shiur in the Rova, and sometimes I’ll write. Like today.
And then it is time to make dinner, on a mundane day, it’s just the two of us. We eat together and David talks about his day; that means I usually get a taste of what he learned over our meal. Delicious. Today Rabbi Aba Wagensberg taught for an hour on tefilla. Tefilla, he said is taking our shopping list of wants and desires to Hashem, Who certainly knows –and gives us—exactly what we need to accomplish our mission on this earth. Why do we have to ask when He will always give us everything we require? Because prayer is for us. To take it into our heart that our mission is not to serve to procure our needs (the shopping list), but to serve Him-by taking what He gives us, and using it to bring ourselves to shelimut. Perfection, completion.
On Sunday nights, I attend a shiur Rebbetzin Heller has been giving for 18 years at Sara Rigler’s house. Now we are learning from Path of the Just on fighting the Yetzer Hara. I like her class because she, like Rabbi Keleman gives us “homework,” something concrete to do or notice to actualize the concepts she presented. This week, she talked about how the Yetzer Hara distracts us, keeps us busy with the mundane and overwhelms us and robs us of our inner space. The Yetzer Hara knows that if we focus on that inner space, there won’t be any room for him. This week our homework is to focus on our inner space for 15 minutes throughout the day: review our actions, examine our mistakes and plan what to do different the next time --- while we are doing something mundane.
On a mundane day, I do just about the same things any woman does. I wake, daven, do chores, shop and cook. It almost never feels mundane. Mundane days are not for Israel. Mundane days are not for Jews.
A mundane day does not start at the Kotel haMaaravi. On a mundane day, one does not do yoga with a woman who staked her claim in the land of our forefathers when it was far from fashionable, far from easy. Walking on streets named for holy books and holy men doesn’t ever happen on mundane days. However, I make them mundane by going through the motions of tefilla, riding on the bus with mindless thoughts or attending a shiur expecting what I hear to change me-without my doing the work to grow.
You can feel you are davening at the center of the world even if you are standing in your living room in Atlanta, Ga. That is not mundane. When you drive into the Kroger parking lot and pray that Hashem will open a spot not too far up the hill and that the vegetables will be fresh and the things on your shopping list will be in stock, that’s not mundane. As you drive to work or carpool and think about where it is that you really need to go in life—and open a spot inside to hear what Hashem answers; when we do this, there is never a mundane day.
Have an extraordinary day, and come home soon.
Love,
Renee ...
Rose Colored Glasses
B”H
Rosh Chodesh Elul
30 Av 5767
August 14, 2007
Dear Family and Friends,
I admit it. I came to Israel wearing rose colored glasses. When someone tells me their “issues” with Israel, I just don’t get it. So, when I hear things like beggars probably make fortunes, and people complain that everything is so expensive here, and the warning I recently read that pickpockets stroll the shuk at Machene Yehuda, I just don’t agree. In fact, I just heard someone say that we should all be as persistent in our goals as the people jingling their cups. And yes, American goods and meat are very expensive, but Israeli goods and produce are reasonably priced, especially if you know where to shop. Like the shuk, where I have never had a bad experience.
A few weeks ago, I met up with 10 year aliya veteran, Star Miller and soon to be olah, Leslie Lowenstien, for an outing to one of my favorite Jerusalem excursions: the shuk. This is an amazing place on a Thursday morning. The aisles are jammed with shoppers of every stripe pulling bubbe carts, old men collecting tzedeka, suppliers yelling as they navigate pallets on wheels trying to fill up the vegetable stands as fast as customers can load up with tomatoes, peppers of every color, eggplant, cucumbers, zucchini, melons, squashes, onions, garlic, red and white potatoes, crimson beets,
enormous grapes, nuts and dates, luscious figs, overflowing herbs, pillars of aromatic spices, fish, pickles, olives, cheeses...and this is just the main aisle. Jostling is the norm, and forget about shomer negiah-shoving and shuffling men and women bump together as we move in and out of minuscule booths and delight in the cheapest prices on the freshest fruits and vegies.
The three of us entered the shuk and ogled the scene, discussing what we were cooking for Shabbos. I headed for the first place that looked enticing. Within about 7 minutes I had filled up and paid the proprietor for the overflowing contents of my cart: the makings of so many salads and side dishes-recipes that would keep me on my feet in the kitchen for several hours, but I couldn’t resist. It all just looked so good. The best food starts with the best ingredients. And this farmers’ market of the holy city is the source for the best beginnings I have ever encountered.
I met Leslie just out side the booth as Star eyed some exquisite tomatoes across the aisle. Leslie commented that she couldn’t find her American Express card this morning, no matter they don’t take credit here anyway-this is cash commerce only. But, she wondered, maybe she should cancel it. Star went for the tomatoes, they had golden-yellow ones, too-when she tried to buy a few figs from a basket, the salesperson scolded her and said she’d have to take the whole basket or nothing. Forget that. We bumped down the aisle together when a tzedeka collector approached. I always set aside a few coins every day because this is inevitable. Once I have given those 6-8 shekels,
I can say “no” to the others this time and perhaps catch them the next time. Its a strategy I learned from Rebbetzin Tzipporah Heller: decide what to give ahead of time and give it graciously.
So, I reached in my open pouch for the smaller purse containing my money..which was not there! I left Leslie standing with the beggar and my vegetables to weave and push my way against traffic to the stand where I had just made my purchase. I asked the proprietor if I left my purse there. He only spoke Hebrew...so I looked frantically at all the bins, and then under them. No purse. Meanwhile, Star and Leslie were going through my cart and all the bags inside. No purse.
I went back to the shopkeeper and tried again. “Did you see my wallet? I just paid here!” Did I expect that he would magically have learned even a smattering of English in 3 minutes? Thankfully, There were two sturdy Chassidic women-wearing sensible shoes, dark suits, and shaitels with little black hats on top; one waiting in line and one paying. They translated for me-well, mis-translated. The owner thought I did not have my wallet and could not pay. He told me, via the two ladies, --something that can only happen here-- that I could take whatever I wanted and come back to pay him later. Well, I guess they do take credit here.
As kind as that was, it did not help. He did not have my purse. It was beginning to dawn on me that I had been pick pocketed. But just of my money and credit cards. Not my rose colored glasses.
Star suggested I say the prayer for finding a lost object. Since none of us knew it, we called her daughter, Rivka, who had me repeat after her and then told me to give tzedeka. Ironic, isn’t it? Trying to give tzedeka was just how I discovered my loss...and of course, now I had no money. So, Star gave me 20 shekels and, since I decided to go home and call the credit card companies, bus fare, too. As I was saying good-bye to my friends, we spotted a pretty bedraggled, lethargic man shuffling past us holding an old plastic cup containing only a few agarot (less than a shekel). From behind, I dropped the 20 shekel bill in his cup. He stopped in his tracks to stare at it, then look around in disbelief. Maybe his day was beginning to go better than mine.
I found my rose colored glasses and went out into the sun. The bus stop was all downhill and the way was shady. I passed one of the Chassidic translators on the way and she wished me bracha and hatzlacha (blessing and that things should go well). The 38 bus to the Rova pulled up as soon as I got to the stand. The bus driver looked confused when I paid for my fare. He recognized me, knew I had a chofshi, monthly bus pass, and looked mildly sympathetic when I told him what happened. That was the most emotion I had ever seen from him. Can you imagine driving the same 30 minute route through some of the most congested traffic in the world for 8 hours a day? But the zechus of driving all day in Jerusalem, Ir haKodesh!
Canceling credit cards is a breeze with internet and a VOIP line. I had already spent a lot of the cash in the purse for the vegetables I needed. I did loose my chofshi for July and had to buy a punch card called cartisia. May the loss be for a kappara. The new credit cards came in the mail to our US address and kind people will bring them when they come. It was a inconvenience, and it was annoying. But I was careless. I was warned that pickpockets stroll the shuk ,and I wore a bag that was a temptation to someone so inclined.
Israel is what it is, the good and the not so good. But there is so much good. Our cup is not just half full, it overflows with the bracha that our generation is zoche, merits, to be the one in which Jews can come home to Yerushalyim.
Today is Rosh Chodesh Elul and the streets overflow with Jews coming to pray at the Kotel as they begin to do tshuva in anticipation of the coming Days of Awe. K’lal Yisrael overflows with so many good people who care about each other, that we-as Rabbi Kalman Rosenbaum says-”can’t let the perfect ruin the good.”
So, come home soon. And we will meet you in Yerushalyim with a dozen rose-colored glasses. You are going to need them.
Love,
David & Renee ...
Rosh Chodesh Elul
30 Av 5767
August 14, 2007
Dear Family and Friends,
I admit it. I came to Israel wearing rose colored glasses. When someone tells me their “issues” with Israel, I just don’t get it. So, when I hear things like beggars probably make fortunes, and people complain that everything is so expensive here, and the warning I recently read that pickpockets stroll the shuk at Machene Yehuda, I just don’t agree. In fact, I just heard someone say that we should all be as persistent in our goals as the people jingling their cups. And yes, American goods and meat are very expensive, but Israeli goods and produce are reasonably priced, especially if you know where to shop. Like the shuk, where I have never had a bad experience.
A few weeks ago, I met up with 10 year aliya veteran, Star Miller and soon to be olah, Leslie Lowenstien, for an outing to one of my favorite Jerusalem excursions: the shuk. This is an amazing place on a Thursday morning. The aisles are jammed with shoppers of every stripe pulling bubbe carts, old men collecting tzedeka, suppliers yelling as they navigate pallets on wheels trying to fill up the vegetable stands as fast as customers can load up with tomatoes, peppers of every color, eggplant, cucumbers, zucchini, melons, squashes, onions, garlic, red and white potatoes, crimson beets,
enormous grapes, nuts and dates, luscious figs, overflowing herbs, pillars of aromatic spices, fish, pickles, olives, cheeses...and this is just the main aisle. Jostling is the norm, and forget about shomer negiah-shoving and shuffling men and women bump together as we move in and out of minuscule booths and delight in the cheapest prices on the freshest fruits and vegies.The three of us entered the shuk and ogled the scene, discussing what we were cooking for Shabbos. I headed for the first place that looked enticing. Within about 7 minutes I had filled up and paid the proprietor for the overflowing contents of my cart: the makings of so many salads and side dishes-recipes that would keep me on my feet in the kitchen for several hours, but I couldn’t resist. It all just looked so good. The best food starts with the best ingredients. And this farmers’ market of the holy city is the source for the best beginnings I have ever encountered.
I met Leslie just out side the booth as Star eyed some exquisite tomatoes across the aisle. Leslie commented that she couldn’t find her American Express card this morning, no matter they don’t take credit here anyway-this is cash commerce only. But, she wondered, maybe she should cancel it. Star went for the tomatoes, they had golden-yellow ones, too-when she tried to buy a few figs from a basket, the salesperson scolded her and said she’d have to take the whole basket or nothing. Forget that. We bumped down the aisle together when a tzedeka collector approached. I always set aside a few coins every day because this is inevitable. Once I have given those 6-8 shekels,
I can say “no” to the others this time and perhaps catch them the next time. Its a strategy I learned from Rebbetzin Tzipporah Heller: decide what to give ahead of time and give it graciously.So, I reached in my open pouch for the smaller purse containing my money..which was not there! I left Leslie standing with the beggar and my vegetables to weave and push my way against traffic to the stand where I had just made my purchase. I asked the proprietor if I left my purse there. He only spoke Hebrew...so I looked frantically at all the bins, and then under them. No purse. Meanwhile, Star and Leslie were going through my cart and all the bags inside. No purse.
I went back to the shopkeeper and tried again. “Did you see my wallet? I just paid here!” Did I expect that he would magically have learned even a smattering of English in 3 minutes? Thankfully, There were two sturdy Chassidic women-wearing sensible shoes, dark suits, and shaitels with little black hats on top; one waiting in line and one paying. They translated for me-well, mis-translated. The owner thought I did not have my wallet and could not pay. He told me, via the two ladies, --something that can only happen here-- that I could take whatever I wanted and come back to pay him later. Well, I guess they do take credit here.
As kind as that was, it did not help. He did not have my purse. It was beginning to dawn on me that I had been pick pocketed. But just of my money and credit cards. Not my rose colored glasses.
Star suggested I say the prayer for finding a lost object. Since none of us knew it, we called her daughter, Rivka, who had me repeat after her and then told me to give tzedeka. Ironic, isn’t it? Trying to give tzedeka was just how I discovered my loss...and of course, now I had no money. So, Star gave me 20 shekels and, since I decided to go home and call the credit card companies, bus fare, too. As I was saying good-bye to my friends, we spotted a pretty bedraggled, lethargic man shuffling past us holding an old plastic cup containing only a few agarot (less than a shekel). From behind, I dropped the 20 shekel bill in his cup. He stopped in his tracks to stare at it, then look around in disbelief. Maybe his day was beginning to go better than mine.
I found my rose colored glasses and went out into the sun. The bus stop was all downhill and the way was shady. I passed one of the Chassidic translators on the way and she wished me bracha and hatzlacha (blessing and that things should go well). The 38 bus to the Rova pulled up as soon as I got to the stand. The bus driver looked confused when I paid for my fare. He recognized me, knew I had a chofshi, monthly bus pass, and looked mildly sympathetic when I told him what happened. That was the most emotion I had ever seen from him. Can you imagine driving the same 30 minute route through some of the most congested traffic in the world for 8 hours a day? But the zechus of driving all day in Jerusalem, Ir haKodesh!
Canceling credit cards is a breeze with internet and a VOIP line. I had already spent a lot of the cash in the purse for the vegetables I needed. I did loose my chofshi for July and had to buy a punch card called cartisia. May the loss be for a kappara. The new credit cards came in the mail to our US address and kind people will bring them when they come. It was a inconvenience, and it was annoying. But I was careless. I was warned that pickpockets stroll the shuk ,and I wore a bag that was a temptation to someone so inclined.
Israel is what it is, the good and the not so good. But there is so much good. Our cup is not just half full, it overflows with the bracha that our generation is zoche, merits, to be the one in which Jews can come home to Yerushalyim.
Today is Rosh Chodesh Elul and the streets overflow with Jews coming to pray at the Kotel as they begin to do tshuva in anticipation of the coming Days of Awe. K’lal Yisrael overflows with so many good people who care about each other, that we-as Rabbi Kalman Rosenbaum says-”can’t let the perfect ruin the good.”So, come home soon. And we will meet you in Yerushalyim with a dozen rose-colored glasses. You are going to need them.
Love,
David & Renee ...
12+1
B”H
June 7, 2007
21 Sivan 5767
Parshat Shelach 5767
Dear Friends and Family,
This coming Shabbat, the Torah portion Shelach that recalls the sin of the spies, is read. These were the 12 men that Moshe sent to scout out the Land of Israel before entering. When they returned, their reports were distorted and negative and caused a 40 year delay before the Children of Israel could enter.
Today despite the challenges that come with living in Israel, we are witness to all that is good and special about living here and it is in our ability to tell our family, friends and neighbors abroad what those things are.
Nefesh B'Nefesh is initiating a simple project this week called "12 to 12". They requested that every Oleh to compose a list of 12 great things you appreciate and love about living in Israel and email our message to 12 (or more) friends abroad.
As the Torah portion recalling the sin of the 12 spies is being read this week, I'm writing to share with you 12 things that are special about living in Israel. And in case any of my previous emails shed a negative light on living here, I include one more reason, just to cover my bases.
-Love, Renee & David
1. The FedEx guy, the mailman, the pharmacist, the checkout girl at the Supersol, the garden shop guy where I went to buy plants for David’s garden, the used bookstore owner, the bus driver, the guard at the restaurant, the mall, the bus station, any office building —every one of them is Jewish, some are even tzaddikkim.
2. This may seem shallow, but the restaurants. Not eating out per se, but feeling like company more than customers. We went to a place called Grill Bar because it had been highly recommended but they were closed for a private party. The guard in his black velvet kippa and long peyot saw my disappointment and graciously invited us to sit next to him at an outside table. We were served by a delightful young woman who taught me some Ivrit (selek is beets) in exchange for my English (bamia is okra). The food was fresh and almost as delicious as the air. By the way, the private party inside was for a group of secular French tourists who danced and sang the night away. The band began with lounge music and quickly, at the groups demand, changed to “Am Yisrael Chai,” “hava negila,” and other USY favorites!
3. They sell everything from drills and nails, to sheets and silicone baking pans, funky ice cube trays, Shabbat accessories and even vodka (right next to the chewing gum at the checkout line) at the local version of Target. The merchandise displays are...let’s say-random, never pretentious.
4. The fruits-especially watermelon- and vegetables-especially tomatoes- taste absolutely wonderful. Olive oil comes from local farmers and the fresh herbs are bug free.
5. Your bag gets checked going into the mall rather than upon leaving.
6. Everyone asks for directions...even men.
7. The buses. With a chofshi-monthly bus pass-I can criss-cross the city for 26 days for only 216NIS. Young girls get up for old women (sadly, I qualified as one for whom a girl relinquished a seat yesterday). If you don’t know where you are going, the bus driver tells you where to get off and the woman behind you tells you which bus would have been better to get you to your destination.
8. The views bring tears to my eyes. I was at the Customs office today in Givat Shaul. The vista of hills upon hills from the wall of windows in the lobby was breathtaking. A couple of weeks ago, we ate lunch at the mall when we went to get the first step of Driving License testing done. The panorama from the food court was actually holy.
9. Apricot trees with bright orange egg shaped bundles of fruit dangling. Bougainvillea.
10. The Old City: walking in the quiet streets to the Kotel for shacharis (sometimes at dawn), running down for mincha through tour groups (including the Weber School on tour led by my childhood friend Rachael Zebrak), David davening maariv in the sweet evening air with hundreds of men including Chaim Neuberger. In the Old City: Gedolim walk through the streets everyday. A woman at the 38 bus stop asked me what it was like to go to sleep every night so close to G-d.
11. The air lends a clarity that is uniquely available to the Jew who seeks it.
12. The sapphire sky reminds us that we walk at the footstool of the Kisey HaKavod, the Throne of Hashem.
13. To have our dream realized. We live in the Land that our doros v’doros (generations) before us prayed for, wrote, sang and spoke lovingly about. It was their dream, too. Today it’s so easy to get on a plane, visit, then return to the comfort of America, that many say they do not yearn to live here, but certainly their neshama does. ...
June 7, 2007
21 Sivan 5767
Parshat Shelach 5767
Dear Friends and Family,
This coming Shabbat, the Torah portion Shelach that recalls the sin of the spies, is read. These were the 12 men that Moshe sent to scout out the Land of Israel before entering. When they returned, their reports were distorted and negative and caused a 40 year delay before the Children of Israel could enter.
Today despite the challenges that come with living in Israel, we are witness to all that is good and special about living here and it is in our ability to tell our family, friends and neighbors abroad what those things are.
Nefesh B'Nefesh is initiating a simple project this week called "12 to 12". They requested that every Oleh to compose a list of 12 great things you appreciate and love about living in Israel and email our message to 12 (or more) friends abroad.
As the Torah portion recalling the sin of the 12 spies is being read this week, I'm writing to share with you 12 things that are special about living in Israel. And in case any of my previous emails shed a negative light on living here, I include one more reason, just to cover my bases.
-Love, Renee & David
1. The FedEx guy, the mailman, the pharmacist, the checkout girl at the Supersol, the garden shop guy where I went to buy plants for David’s garden, the used bookstore owner, the bus driver, the guard at the restaurant, the mall, the bus station, any office building —every one of them is Jewish, some are even tzaddikkim.
2. This may seem shallow, but the restaurants. Not eating out per se, but feeling like company more than customers. We went to a place called Grill Bar because it had been highly recommended but they were closed for a private party. The guard in his black velvet kippa and long peyot saw my disappointment and graciously invited us to sit next to him at an outside table. We were served by a delightful young woman who taught me some Ivrit (selek is beets) in exchange for my English (bamia is okra). The food was fresh and almost as delicious as the air. By the way, the private party inside was for a group of secular French tourists who danced and sang the night away. The band began with lounge music and quickly, at the groups demand, changed to “Am Yisrael Chai,” “hava negila,” and other USY favorites!
3. They sell everything from drills and nails, to sheets and silicone baking pans, funky ice cube trays, Shabbat accessories and even vodka (right next to the chewing gum at the checkout line) at the local version of Target. The merchandise displays are...let’s say-random, never pretentious.
4. The fruits-especially watermelon- and vegetables-especially tomatoes- taste absolutely wonderful. Olive oil comes from local farmers and the fresh herbs are bug free.
5. Your bag gets checked going into the mall rather than upon leaving.
6. Everyone asks for directions...even men.
7. The buses. With a chofshi-monthly bus pass-I can criss-cross the city for 26 days for only 216NIS. Young girls get up for old women (sadly, I qualified as one for whom a girl relinquished a seat yesterday). If you don’t know where you are going, the bus driver tells you where to get off and the woman behind you tells you which bus would have been better to get you to your destination.
8. The views bring tears to my eyes. I was at the Customs office today in Givat Shaul. The vista of hills upon hills from the wall of windows in the lobby was breathtaking. A couple of weeks ago, we ate lunch at the mall when we went to get the first step of Driving License testing done. The panorama from the food court was actually holy.
9. Apricot trees with bright orange egg shaped bundles of fruit dangling. Bougainvillea.
10. The Old City: walking in the quiet streets to the Kotel for shacharis (sometimes at dawn), running down for mincha through tour groups (including the Weber School on tour led by my childhood friend Rachael Zebrak), David davening maariv in the sweet evening air with hundreds of men including Chaim Neuberger. In the Old City: Gedolim walk through the streets everyday. A woman at the 38 bus stop asked me what it was like to go to sleep every night so close to G-d.
11. The air lends a clarity that is uniquely available to the Jew who seeks it.
12. The sapphire sky reminds us that we walk at the footstool of the Kisey HaKavod, the Throne of Hashem.
13. To have our dream realized. We live in the Land that our doros v’doros (generations) before us prayed for, wrote, sang and spoke lovingly about. It was their dream, too. Today it’s so easy to get on a plane, visit, then return to the comfort of America, that many say they do not yearn to live here, but certainly their neshama does. ...
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