Ki Yachol Nuchal!

The Right to Choose -- Without Undo Pressure

2012-01-29T19:17:00.000+02:00

Yom rishon, 6 Shevat 5772.

This post is dedicated to friends stranded in Chu"l who feel that people already in Israel "just don't get it" in the sensitivity department sometimes. Note to friends already blessed to be here: Let 'em breathe, okay? As our rav's rav used to say: "A decision is a lonely place."

My Mama used to quote a famous old Western bit of folk wisdom: "Never judge a man until you've walked a mile in his moccasins."

I am very grateful that Hashem finally (FINALLY!) said "yes" to my request to live in Israel. I hope, daily, that He will not retract this great gift. I pray, daily, that He will bring Home all of my holy brothers and sisters who want to be here.

When I first fell in love with Israel, back in 1991, I knew that this is where I wanted to spend the rest of my life. Sort of the way I felt when I fell in love with the Dearly Beloved.

He brought me here for my first visit. It was his third. Nowhere else had ever felt this much like home. I told him, "Go back and get the kids. I'll wait here for you."

Ruti at the Kotel, when it was a bit more open.

At Yaacov Agam's famous "Fire and Water" fountain in Dizengoff Square.

Of course, it didn't work out quite that way. It took 16 years for us to actually take up residence in Israel.

In the interim, I visited whenever I could. (I have a very tolerant husband.) Hashem engineered a job for me, with a boss who allowed me to make a business trip to Israel once a year. (It helps to find an employer who has made aliyah, or is at least sympathetic to the idea.)

The visits were wonderful. Leaving was increasingly painful each time. Almost no one could understand what it felt like to be in my shoes, because each of us has a different story.

I stayed with friends during those visits -- and, baruch Hashem, with an increasing number of friends as the years progressed. One early morning at the home of new friends, I davened quietly in the kitchen, as I waited for the household to awaken. I gazed out over the red rooftops, and prayed a fervent prayer that Hashem would one day allow me this view on a daily basis.

Thank You, G-d. He has!

A young woman joined me, and introduced herself as my hosts' eldest daughter. We had a very pleasant chat about life in Israel, about my desire to be here, about her plans for the future. Suddenly she asked me, "When are you making aliyah?"

Since I had shared a lot about my deep longing for the land, I knew that she could see that I was dedicated to getting here, if only...

"When Hashem says 'yes,' I'll be here," I sighed wistfully, knowing she would understand.

Instead, she looked at me with that gentle smirk that only the young can pull off convincingly. "Oh, if you really wanted to be here, you'd be here already."

What followed is what my husband would call a Cylon moment. Cylons (if you have not been glued to your TV set through the various iterations of Battlestar Galactica from 1978 until yesterday) are evil robots who, when they want to reduce you to dust with their laser weapons, first home in on you with a red beam from the region we call "eyes." Once you see that little red light begin to glow, it pays to be light years out of the area before it locks on target.

Uh-ohhhh...

When a teacher or parent or coach gets very, very quiet, but you know they are angry and may explode all over your simpering excuse, this is a Cylon moment.

Skkkkkkkrrrrrrcccccchhhhhhhh!!!

I got very, very quiet. The little light thingee behind my glasses started to warm up. My response was barely audible, if somewhat clipped. "Ah. I suppose it's okay with you if I walk away from my significant debt, and leave my indigent and ill mother as a ward of the State."

She also got very quiet and reflective. To her credit, she said, "Maybe I'll rethink my position."

(I really liked her a lot after that. It takes a lot of courage to say the right thing in the face of the Cylon eye.)

I desperately want all the Jews I love who want to be here to have the clarity and the freedom to come Home. But I also want you to know that I hear your pain, because I remember it.

Whether it is a commitment such as a large debt you feel the honorable need to repay, a parent or a child you cannot leave, or a handicap (real or imagined) you have not yet seen a way to overcome -- I will try my very best never to harass you. Because YOU are the only one (besides Hashem) who can know when you can come Home to Israel.

Instead, you have (and always have had) my heartfelt prayers that Hashem will clear your mind and your path.

I'll keep a light in the window, and the kettle on.

Follow your dreams.

2012-01-27T16:32:00.000+02:00

Yom shishi, 3 Shevat 5772.

This post is in honor of old friends about to make aliyah, and those who recently arrived Home: Joani and Avrum, Miri and Adina, Moshe Shaul (and his parents), Karen and Shlomo, Yael and Yosef, and all those who are on their way. Josh and Chana, we miss you. Come Home soon.

We were not sure how we would "make it" financially in Israel.

Our kids were not so sure they would find friends, or if they would figure out how to define themselves outside of the social safety and familiarity of their hometown in Baltimore.

Frankly, none of us knew what we were going to be when we grew up, because moving to a new country completely changed the playing field for each and every one of us.

We have chosen to live simply. That has helped with the finances. But self-definition is a critical thing, if one is to look in the mirror at himself each day and say, "Hey, good lookin'. You ARE a success!"

Little did we know that G-d was going to give each of us the chance to be his most true self here in Israel.

I am writing, and besides raising crops of boys, it's all I've ever wanted to do. I play harmonica and percussion in a band with my husband, adding music each week to our home and our hearts. I'm hosting soldiers and yeshiva bochrim in my home for Shabbat, surrounded by their love of life, of each other, and of G-d and His Holy Nation.

Stunt Man is "chai b'seret," living in a movie. Whether jumping from planes or busking with his guitar in Ben Yehuda, he's living dreams he wouldn't have encountered in the same way in the Old Country. And if you've known him most of his life, you know that his self-definition is getting kick-started in this first exciting reel.

Yeshiva Bochur has gone through changes in self-discovery he never could have encountered anywhere else. So far, we like what we see, whether he's soldiering, arguing Torah with anyone who'll listen, or making music. He is seeing in himself and the friends around him the potential to really matter, to make a real impact in his generation.

Sports Guy and his father, aka "Coach," are experiencing dreams they never would have imagined in the US.

The following film was made at then end of the last football season by Zevie Tannenbaum, one of the talented young people in this country who appears to be following his dream of making really well-put-together movies. Look for #20, aka "Golden Shoes," to see Sports Guy among his friends and peers, his fellow gridiron warriors. I'm just as proud of the Dearly Beloved, as he gives his boys loving guidance, and heart-felt kudos at the end of the game.

Ravens vs. Predators ~ Toilet Bowl from ZT Film on Vimeo.

Enjoy the new football season, boys. Sweet dreams are made of this...

“A little light dispels a lot of darkness.”

2012-01-16T11:10:00.000+02:00

Yom sheni, 21 Tevet 5772.

I have a new friend.

I don't know her name. I don't know her birthday. I don't know exactly where in the Middle East she lives. I don't know what she looks like. I don't exactly know her age -- though I think she is young enough to be my daughter.

All I know about her is that she hopes "to visit holy Israel one day," and that she is a secret refugee from Islam, who dares not give me more information about herself, lest she be murdered by the adherents to her former faith.

These loyal adherents may even include the family she is loathe to leave.

So she lives in a closet of lies.

Outwardly, she pretends to be a loyal Muslim, so that her beloved family will not disown her -- or worse -- in the name of Allah.

Inwardly, every fiber of her being struggles with a young, creative, passionate, naturally outspoken woman's desire to breathe freely, to sign her true name to what she knows to be true, to openly embrace ideas of others. Inwardly, her very organs crawl to try to escape pretending to accept the words of a prophet, not of peace and harmony and brotherhood, but a prophet of doom, domination and destruction.

She calls herself a Zionist, because she believes that the Jewish people have a right to their homeland in Israel. She offers detailed analyses with quotes and facts to back up her assertions. She helps me to understand that there is hope, that there are many young idealists among her people. All may not be lost.

My friend needs your help.

She doesn't need your money or representation to help her escape. She has very highly-placed help in that regard.

But she does need you to hear her voice, to give her the opportunity to fulfill her self-designated mission, for however much time she has. Please read her blog. Comment, because your comments give her strength. Let her strengthen your knowledge that what you suspect is true about Islam is actually written in the texts. Because if we are entering a time of world war, of a spiritual fight-to-the-death for what we know to be true, we had better be armed against disinformation and hopeful wishes that "it's not as bad as we think."

"Shakila's" blog is called Liberated One. It is an ironic name, for no one living a lie can be truly liberated; but she is definitely on the path to personal liberation. May she be blessed to disseminate much light to expel the darkness.

Do one more thing for her, won't you? As disaffected by religion as my friend Shakila understandably is, she needs one thing from you more than anything else. Please add her to your prayers, for safety and success.

I suspect the bad guys are looking for her... and against being found and murdered, the True G-d is her only defense.

Thanks, Mom! We needed that!

2012-01-09T15:24:00.002+02:00

Yom sheni, 14 Tevet 5772.

We are all about kiddush Hashem, honoring the name of G-d in this world. We are nothing if we are not living that goal. With all of the turmoil in the Jewish world today that causes me to have a vision of the Satan scoffing at our failure to fulfill that goal, Yarden's mother's letter gives me reason to hope. It's the little things, all strung together, that will save the world in the end.

Letter from Mom

by Yarden Frankl

January 9th, 2012

I didn’t feel any need to write an update today, since no words can match the picture below. But then my Mom (who had come with my Dad to help out) asked that I send her letter out to “Stella’s Army.”

Dear Stella’s Army:
On our flight and since getting home, I keep thinking about what you are doing for my family. To me, you are the meaning of true religion. Your support, kindness, and help to Stella and Yarden, my wonderful grandchildren and to Jerry and myself is beyond what ever the ancient sages could have imagined.
You are truly the interpretation of the Talmud as it should be. I have sat through many a college and graduate course in religion and philosophy and have never really understood what religion is all about until I saw you and your deeds.
The Rabbi who came to talk with Stella right before she left for her most challenging experience (if you don’t count being married to Yarden [HA! -Ed.]), the Rabbi who called from Maryland right after the operation, the unbelievable people who are staying with Stella so she should never be alone in the hospital, the people who kept bringing food so I shouldn’t have to cook, the super people who took me to get the things the children needed, and the ones who kept my husband company while I was gone, the children’s friends who came to keep my grandchildren company so they could get their minds away from what their mother was enduring, the countless other people who kept volunteering anything they could to make the time more palatable – you are truly the reason we have been put on this earth.
Thank you all from the bottom of my heart. I understand your support of Stella – she is one of the most amazingly good people I know.
But your support of Yarden is above and beyond – we all know he is slightly mezhuganah (don’t forget I have known him from birth), so as his mother, I truly thank you.
With much love and gratitude for your unending kindness,
Anthea Frankl

Whenever I was trying to accomplish something "impossible," a little pep-talk from my dear Mama, a"h, could carry me to the finish line. Thanks, Yarden's Mom. We needed that. May we share happy news beyond our greatest imaginings! Please keep davening for the complete and speedy recovery of Tzuriya Kochevet bat Sara. Thank you!

To sing or not to sing... is not the question.

2012-01-04T08:46:00.001+02:00

Yom revi'i, 9 Tevet 5772.

Photo credit: Dan Keinan in Haaretz

Before I became religious, I used to sing everywhere I went. Often, my feelings would be somewhat bruised when my singing seemed to trigger an impulse in people to turn on the nearest radio. I have been told that I have a nice voice; so this reaction wasn't a need to drown me out. Rather, I came to realize that without musical accompaniment -- say, from a piano or guitar -- the human voice is not taken seriously as a performance. Instead, it reminds the hearer that he or she would like some music. ("Oh, yeah. That sounds nice. How about a little Carly Simon!" Click.)

Of course I was insulted, especially if I had intended to perform for my companion. But I also understand the concept of "giving the benefit of the doubt." The insult wasn't intended, and nothing negative had been directed at me. I talked over my feelings with anyone dear enough to me, always to find out that my assumption was correct: the radio had been flipped on as a result of my voice reminding the listener that a little music would be nice. Once they were made aware, people were always effusive in their apologies, and practiced finer midot in the face of future outbursts of song.

I don't like the Jewish prohibition called "kol isha." Briefly, kol isha -- a reference to the singing voice of a woman -- means that observant Jewish men have certain restrictions placed on them about hearing women sing. (There are variations in how this law is interpreted: some men will avoid only live performances; some will avoid all female singing, even recorded. There are leniencies and strictures, all of which must be discussed with one's own personal rabbinic authority.)

I express myself in song. So feeling that I have to watch where I sing and when cramps my style. But I have to say to myself, "Tough. Being an observant Jew means I don't get to do everything I want to do, whenever and wherever I want to do it." I don't have to stop singing. But if I want to work in partnership with men in our work to live a Torah lifestyle, I have the obligation to avoid sabotaging their efforts. It doesn't matter if I love the law or not (any more than it matters if I love not eating lobster, or if I love covering my hair on beautiful, windy days, or if I love turning off my computer before Shabbat begins). It doesn't matter if my 21st Century American sensibilites argue against the reasonableness of the law. ("Oh, puh-leeze. Did the rabbis think that men have no self control, and are going to lose all sense of decorum, just because a woman sings in their vicinity? Get a grip! And why am I responsible for their thoughts?") Argue away, holy Jews! That is part of what we are about. But like it or not, approve of it or not, keeping the Law is our job.

What matters is that I keep the Law, to the best of my ability, and that I don't hamper someone else's ability to keep the Law. If I don't feel like keeping kosher at the highest possible level, and I can find a rabbi to support my position, fine. But if I throw a simcha at which even one invited attendee feels he must keep the highest level, I should be sure that the food provided will feed him as well as the rest of my guests. He is not trying to insult me by not eating food prepared at my level of observance. He simply cannot eat it, due to his level of observance. Keeping the highest standard for my most observant guest is not a halacha, a law, to the best of my knowledge. It is simply nice manners.

The idea that observant soldiers must be punished by being forced to pretend they are not listening to a woman singing, rather than being allowed to discreetly absent themselves for the duration of the performance, is beyond unfortunate. Such a rule says that the singer has more rights than the listener. It places potentially hurt feelings over religious obligation.

My sons are soldiers. I have been told that they are good at their jobs. Will they be punished if they choose not to remain in a room where women are singing? Will they be fined, or go to jail? How will removing my sons from their job of protecting the country affect a woman's right to sing one way or another?

It would be easy, if Israeli life weren't so politically-charged, to find a solution. Women could sing their hearts out for their adoring fans -- female and male -- and men who feel they must remove themselves from the performance could be given that privilege. Everyone could retain his or her dignity.

No female singer should be told to shut up. No man should be forced to listen.

Eight Candles Burning

2011-12-22T21:45:00.001+02:00

Yom chamishi, 26 Kislev, Third Candle of Chanukah.

There are so many cute/wonderful/informative videos available for Chanukah viewing this year. The following is one of our favorites, not just because it is pure fun -- and Heaven knows we need a little fun right about now -- but because it is produced and performed by friends of ours. Fellow musicians, Yoseph and Leah Urso, have put together a bit of down-home holiday entertainment, with a little personal history thrown in. Can you say "heimish," y'all?

Chag Urim Sameach!!!May we each find significance in those tiny lights, and add to the light in the world, culminating in bringing the Geula Shelaima!

"Cool it!"

2011-12-19T16:12:00.003+02:00

Yom sheni, 23 Kislev 5772.

I am an Orthodox Jewess.

I use the word "Jewess" purposefully, because it is under-used and accurate. As princess is to prince, it speaks of my unique role, which I find beautiful. I don't want to be marginalized by being lumped in with Jews as a group.

I don't believe that I have the right, nor do I gain anything, by telling other Jews how to dress and where to sit. (This excludes my own children, and certain young guests, who actually come to my table to hear me say "One more button, Shimon." I kid you not.)

While I am not part of the Israeli Hareidi scene, I have respect for their culture. I tend to dress just a little more modestly when I go into their neighborhoods, out of respect for their sensibilites. I do not see a need to upset them. While theirs is not my personal way of expressing my Orthodoxy, I do not find any value in offending them on their turf.

I find it offensive when I see a caption under a photo of shoppers willingly separated by a mechitza in a Hareidi store that intimates that they are extremists. Men and women have chosen this way to express their interpretation of G-d's demand for modesty within their own community. Having lived and visited in both the American and Israeli Hareidi communities, I know that most Hareidi women value this version of modesty as much as do the men. And these are not oppressed women. They are very strong proponents of their view of Orthodoxy.

That said, I am hurt and offended when non-adherents of these views are harassed, threatened, or even merely embarrassed.

Years ago, before I made aliyah, I experienced some of this maltreatment.

I boarded a bus for a neighborhood unfamiliar to me, on my way to request a blessing from a great Torah luminary. A man in his thirties began to berate me loudly in Yiddish. I had no clue what I had done wrong. Eager to end this embarrassing situation, I explained to him that I could not understand what he was saying. I tried in my meager Hebrew, and then resorted to English. Finally, a woman a seat or two behind me explained that I was sitting too far toward the front of the bus. As I looked around me, I acknowledged the separate nature of the bus. I got up and sat behind the woman. But before I left my seat, I explained to the man, in English, that his approach was terrible, and was surely more offensive to Torah than where I unintentionally sat.

I am not a woman who needs to make a point of sitting in the front of the bus to prove a point. I have lived among normal, healthy Hareidim long enough to know that most Hareidi men don't think of woman as second-class citizens. (You have only to be inside their homes to know this first-hand.) So there is no reason to go all Rosa Parks. She did have something to prove, as blacks in those days in America were indeed relegated to using separate facilities due to discrimination.

But I am highly offended when someone teaches through intimidation, rather than through patiently explaining. Whether the young man was correct or not -- and since the bus was a public rather than private bus, and therefore he was not correct -- is beside the point. The Torah forbids embarrassing a fellow Jew. Had he given me the benefit of the doubt and assumed that I did not know this cultural convention, he could have said his words gently. Or, better yet, he could have rolled his eyes to his male seatmate and endured my presence.

There is an old Japanese kōan about a couple of monks walking through the village, talking of philosophical concepts. They approach a giant puddle in the road, before which is standing a geisha, who cannot cross without soiling her beautiful garments. Without pausing in his dialogue, one of the monks breaks tradition, and picks up the geisha, carrying her across the puddle. He sets her down, and continues speaking with his fellow monk. After some time, he realizes that his companion has been silent since the puddle. "What is going on in your mind, my friend?" he asks.

"I cannot believe that my friend and colleague broke our tradition by touching the woman," the second monk responded.

His friend looked at him, astonished. "Oh -- are you still carrying her?"

For all of the avowed modesty of these loud, rude and sometimes violent Hareidi individuals, methinks they protest too much to be truly following the laws of modesty.

If Orthodox Jews feel a mission to bring our fellow Jews closer to our interpretation of a Torah life, we certainly do not bring them closer by berating them, by putting up offensive signs, by threatening those who do not keep whatever level of religiosity we deem appropriate. (And, in fact, my friends in the Hareidi community also disagree with the intimidation approach.)

We are enjoined by most normal, healthy rabbis to set an example by how we live our lives. And we still have a lot to do in the realm of exhibiting acceptable Torah behavior with our own bodies, minds and actions. We should display the highest standards of ahavat Yisrael, honesty in business, politeness and purity of speech, among other character traits demanded by the Torah, rather than wasting our time and G-d's time by demanding that others live as we see fit.

Professor Alan Dershowitz and I have virtually nothing in common politically. But I have to agree with a statement he made in a recent interview. "The debates in Israel have become so extreme, with Israelis calling each other facists, and predicting that Israel will become a facist country, and will eliminate all democracy... My suggestion to Israelis is: cool it. Calm down. Stop calling each other names."

We will most successfully bring the harmony we seek by respecting rather than condemning each other.

"...where everybody knows your name..." #5 -- A Plea for Small-Town Israel

2011-12-11T09:38:00.001+02:00

Yom rishon, 15 Kislev 5772.

Moshe with satisfied customer, famous all-night cyclist, Mr. Stella Frankl.

For Mishpachat Mizrachi, one of the great benefits of moving to Israel has been the ability to live a Jewish life and to live in a small town.

That means most people know us, and are to one degree or another personally invested in our success and happiness.

It means that we know what's up with each other's kids, and can help each other to raise them. "It takes a village" only works when people in that village know each other. Small towns allow for that familiarity, more than do big cities.

It also means small-town service, where we can walk to the library and the post office, to the bakery and the hardware store and the local market, and where the people who run these places care about giving us the best service possible. Not just because they want to beat their competitors -- but because they are able to form a relationship with us, to learn what we like, and to try their best to provide it.

But like any relationship, it's a two-way street.

Moshe, always ready to listen to his customers.

Gilo resident Moshe Turgeman returned to Israel 30 years ago with his Chicago-born bride. He brought with him from America a wonderful command of the English language, and a knowledge of some of the products and service concepts that matter to American olim. He and his brother Avi have had other successful stores, in Kiryat Yovel for three years, and in Bayit Vegan for twenty-one years. Now they have decided to put all of their effort into the makolet in Neve Daniel.

Avi stops his usual hyperactivity for a quick photo.

We were apprehensive about the change in store ownership. We were used to the makolet the way it was. It was the nicest small-town market we had seen in our travels around Israel. And we loved Shulamit. How would we manage with change?

As it happens -- though how could we not still miss our dear Shulamit? -- the store is even better than before. The service is excellent, as Moshe and Avi and their long-time employee Sasha, as well as the familiar face of Yoram, work very hard at keepin' the customer satisfied.

Yoram gives a lesson in chicken hechsherim and Hebrew. No extra charge.

Sasha always has a kind word, and an eye out for that special product I was seeking.

They have enlarged the produce department, and have added a meat counter. The store is always adapting and growing within its confines. New displays are always popping up, giving a feeling of order and abundance, with an almost American feel. Ask for a product, and they will do their very best to acquire it. (And if there is something you don't care for -- such as the short-lived cigarette display -- the Turgemans are equally prepared to be responsive to comments.)

Who says you can't have it all?

They are trying very hard to keep their prices competitive, not an easy task when the competition is against big markets just a few kilometers down the road.

Rav Auerbach chicken, and Beit Yosef chalak beef. Both excellent!

"We have good people who are anxious to serve the residents of Neve Daniel," Moshe says. Implicit in that statement is that those good people and that good service can only remain in Neve Daniel if we support it. If we just come in once in a while to buy a carton of milk, the store will not survive.

So this is a personal plea to my automobile-endowed neighbors. I certainly don't mind you helping to support that other worthy gentleman in his huge store down the road. But think about breaking up your shopping and doing a third or a half of it locally. The Dearly Beloved and I are among your neighbors who will probably never have a car; so we do almost a hundred per cent of our shopping at our local "mom-and-pop" store. As much as I know you would be willing to do the mitzvah of shlepping me to the store once or twice a week -- it would mean so much more to me if you could help to maintain my local makolet, just a short walk and lots of independence and warm, friendly service from my door.

"Aich at margisha hayom, Rabanit?" A spiritual promotion, and genuine concern.

"Sometimes you want to go

Where everybody knows your name,

And they're always glad you came..."

-- from the "Cheers" theme, by Judy Hart Angelo and Gary Portnoy

Breakfast at Chez Mizrachi

2011-11-29T20:00:00.000+02:00

Yom revi'i, 4 Kislev 5772.

This is a departure from the "I love Israel!" nature of this blog. But my friend Batya has been asking me, gently but consistently, to involve myself in the Kosher Cooking Carnival. And today I came up with a recipe that made me so happy, I had to share it.

Let's say you came up with half a kilo of Welt Family Freedom Farm organic kale (three lovely varieties, completely bug-free, b"H). You've soaked and salted 'em; laid 'em out lovingly on towels to dry; divided the leaves into different piles for different purposes.

Now let's assume you've steamed some of your kale to eat with a plate of excellent beef, and the rest you've made into kale chips. (Preheat the oven to 180 degrees Centigrade -- around 350 degrees Fahrenheit -- sprinkle washed and dried and chip-sized leaves of kale with olive oil and seasoned salt; bake for about ten minutes, until the edges are brown but not burned. Delicious snack!) Now you've got all these stems and tiny leaves left. Not quite enough for -- anything. But wait...

You're on this great low-carb, virtually no sugar (except for Shabbat) diet, which is working miraculously: you are never hungry; you are eating foods you enjoy; and you are consistently losing weight. (Oh, how I wish they'd told me decades ago that meat and eggs and butter are health foods!) Oh, yeah -- and the stomach problems you've had for years have vanished.

So... you take some eggs and Parmesan, a little onion and garlic and those bits of kale, and you come up with

Kale, Garlic and Parmesan Omelet

1/2 T. butter
1 small onion, chopped
1/2 cup kale, chopped
1 large clove garlic, chopped
3 large eggs, beaten
1 oz. Parmesan cheese, grated
salt and pepper, to taste

Sauté onion, kale and garlic in butter at medium heat. Remove vegetable mixture from pan. Add eggs to pan; turn down heat to medium low. When eggs are nearly set, season and add Parmesan. Top with vegetable mixture.

Allow to set for a minute or two more; then, fold omelet gently before transferring to plate. Sprinkle with a little of the slightly-too-brown kale that is the inevitable result of a phone call during the last batch of kale chips; add a few tiny cherry tomatoes for garnish.

Voilà! A breakfast to kick-start your day. Accompanied by an excellent cup of coffee, of course.

Check here at Batya's blog Me-Ander to see a collection of Kosher Cooking Carnival blog posts. And, if you have a kosher recipe or post about food you would care to share, please feel free to add your contribution here.

B'tayavon!

Guest Post: JobKatif in Baltimore

2011-11-23T06:55:00.001+02:00

Yom revi'i, 26 Cheshvan 5772.

I come from a remarkable community in Baltimore. No matter how long I live in Israel, this community "in the Old Country" will always have a special place in my heart. In a letter from a dear friend, you can get a small glimpse into why the Baltimore Jewish community is a diamond in the crown of Ahavat Yisrael:

My Dear Ruth,

I would like to tell you about a very special event thatoccurred in Baltimorethis past motzei Shabbat.

In a wonderful display of love for the people of EretzYisrael, the Baltimore Community came together to celebrate and support theaccomplishments of JobKatif and to honor Rav Yosef Tzvi Rimon at a benefitconcert. This evening was a labor oflove for Mike Lowenstein, who chaired the event, and for Avraham Rosenblum whoconceived of the idea and brought it to fruition.

Photo of Rav Rimon from the JobKatif website

Rav Rimon is a resident of Alon Shvut South, a facultymember of Yeshivat Har Etzion and Midreshet Migdal Oz, and the author of a bookon halacha for soldiers. He conceived ofJobKatif, and he made it happen. RavRimon and the miracle of JobKatif is not that they get jobs for people, butthat they treat the entire person. Theexpulsion produced people who were depressed, demoralized, unable to take onresponsibility, who lost their homes, lost their businesses, lost theirneighborhood, lost their social network, everything gone. His chiddush was that the whole person neededto be treated; otherwise they wouldn’t be able to work. He recognized that without all the help tothe person’s mind and soul, they would not succeed in business. And their success rate is astounding. In the general population, about 50% ofbusinesses fail after three years. ForJobKatif, it’s only 10%. Pretty amazing! And so the Baltimore Community honored RavRimon for his efforts and worked to raise funds that were matched 3 to 1 by theIsraeli government.

The Beth Tfiloh Mintzes Theater was full and enthusiastic;the two-hour program just flew by as the audience was engaged at eachsegment. There were musical sets by Baltimore bands Zemer Orchestra and Kol Chayim Orchestra, with a few other independentmusicians, all organized and directed by Avraham Rosenblum of the Diaspora YeshivaBand (guitar and harmonica, sometimes at the same time) with Nossi Gross (sax,flute, and percussion) assisting. Themusical sets were interspersed with storytelling by four Baltimore rabbis – Rabbis Shmuel Silber,Binyamin Marwick, Menachem Goldberger, and Moshe Hauer. The audience was enthralled by thestorytelling, and energized by the music.

Each of the rabbis sat on a stool with a microphone to talkto the crowd and tell their story. Eachone started with words of chizuk that related to the mitzvah of giving to helpthis cause. Then each one told astory. Every story was very warm andspecial, and every rabbi had a tremendous rapport with the audience with their obviouslove for Eretz Yisrael and their support for this fundraising effort.

Photo of Rav Goldberger taken by Frank Storch

Our Rav, Rabbi Menachem Goldberger, unique in this group with his longwhite beard, streimel, and black satin bekeshe with gold trefoils, put theaudience in the palm of his hands with his first words, which were that heremembered when he was once the young rabbi in the group. He gave a beautiful talk on giving, and then hetold a very moving Chassidic story of how a secular Jew held onto the hand ofthe Bluzhever Rebbe as they were forced by the Nazis, yemach shemam, to jump over a pit to save their lives. The Rebbe was in his 50s, and the pit wasenormous, the task, impossible, but somehow, the two managed to make it overwith the secular Jew stating he sailed over on the Rebbe’s coattails. Rabbi Goldberger related this to how JobKatif pulls people to reach beyond their current state.

As Rabbi Goldberger talked about the expulsion from GushKatif, there were tears in his eyes and a choke in his voice; this ChassidicRabbi’s love of Eretz Yisrael and her people was palpable. He cited a verse from L’Cha Dodi to connectto the work of JobKatif --

	Shake yourself free, rise from the dust,	Hitna’ari me'afar qumi	התנערי מעפר קומי
	Dress in your garments of splendor, my people	Livshi bigdei tifartekh ami	לבשי בגדי תפארתך עמי

That led to the band’s segue into the next musical set ofthe Rabbi Goldberger’s famous L’Cha Dodi niggun with the Rabbi singing and leadingthe tempo. He soon pulled in Rav Rimon,Mike Lowenstein, and each of the Rabbis, forming a circle, with everyonedancing with fervor, some with closed eyes and faces gazing upward. What an amazing sight to see a Chassidicrabbi, three Yeshivish rabbis, and two kippah seruga religious Zionists all upthere dancing, all brought together by our Rabbi whose heart is in the East. This picture will last in my memory. The audience loved it, and so did theband. It was an unforgettable eveningthat raised $40,000, which translated to $160,000 for JobKatif.

I just had to share with you this example of the wonder ofJewish people.

Your friend from the Old Country,

Glenna

For additional comments on this beautiful event, plus photographs and a short video synopsis, please take a look at the beautiful article in the Baltimore Jewish Life by Margie Pensak.

The Dawn of a New Day

2011-11-14T15:00:00.000+02:00

Yom sheni, 17 Cheshvan 5772.

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess whose people were from a far-away land. She climbed mountains and crossed seas to marry her handsome prince. At last, after scaling unbelievable heights and spanning unimaginable depths, they married and had children and were happy. They moved to a mountain in a Wondrous Kingdom, and they were happier still.

One day, the princess got very, very sick.

And now it was the prince's turn to scale unbelievable heights and span unimaginable depths in order to fight against the terrible sickness, which seemed very much like a great, coiled dragon. The prince put on his armor, and prepared to do battle with the forces of darkness.

The people of the village on the mountain gathered to see the prince off.

Weavers and dyers made beautiful garments for the occasion.

The youth of the village adorned the trees and flowers with lavender balloons to remind the prince that he was not alone. The village sage gave a speech of encouragement. And then the prince departed.

He rode his trusty steed for hours and hours and hours, over hills and up mountains, covering miles and miles and miles in an attempt to slay the dragons that terrorized the nights, and to bring hope to himself and his princess and their children.

In the process, he brought hope to his community. But not just to his community. As the prince traveled those many miles, he brought hope to his people, those who were scattered across the globe, and those who were just around the corner. There were knights with trusty steeds who joined the prince on his travels. There were builders and bakers and memory stick makers. There were minstrels and carriage drivers. There were even court jesters.

As he rode, spreading his message of hope, the prince discovered time and again that he was not riding alone. There were runners and riders. There were people walking dogs, and dogs walking people.

There were those who traveled through space and time to share in the prince's struggle, among those longing for the dawn, longing for the dawn. All along his route, the prince and the princess were reminded that many, many people had been longing to give a hand in the fight against the dragons and on behalf of goodness and kindness.

The people completed the ride together. The prince and the princess and their children shared weary but joyful smiles. The war was not over. Not yet. But they had won this battle. And they knew that they would never, ever be alone. Together, and with the help of the Mighty King, they knew that they could make it to the bright light of morning.

"Behold, how good and how pleasant is the dwelling of brothers in unity!... May there be life forever!"

Please continue to daven for Tzuriya Kochevet bat Sara, among the other precious cholim of Am Yisrael.

Additional photos borrowed (ehhhhhhhh...) from Laura Ben-David.

One small kindness. And another. And another...

2011-11-09T10:07:00.000+02:00

Yom revi'i, 12 Cheshvan 5772.

I have often thought about the human need for acceptance, and our reticence to give acceptance to others.

Since we all need it, you would think we'd be sensitized to the same need in our fellow man. Right?

Yet we gather in our little groups and decry other groups. We let slip careless and hurtful remarks behind each other's backs. We make assumptions that an accusation we hear is true, even without first-hand experience of the evidence. We fail to acknowledge those around us, totally oblivious to cries for help or the simple need for a smile.

Anyone who risks rejection by saying "Good morning" to a neighbor ought to always be greeted in return -- because the object of his greeting would also hate to feel rejected. Instead, day after day, he must exercise the muscle called Benefit of the Doubt, until it wears out, or until it is the strongest muscle in his body. Of course, there are plenty of reasons Ploni didn't smile at our brave soul. He may not have heard or seen him. His mind may have been on his own troubles, as small as a missing key or as great as catastrophic loss. But what if we all went out of our way, every day, to put out the smile welcome mat for people we pass on the street? (And no, o ye single minded straw man attackers: Of course I don't mean that six-year-old girls should smile at scary mugger types. Consider your cautious tone already acknowledged, and attend to my main point.)

I always told my boys: "There is no pareve encounter with another human being possible. You have the opportunity to do a kiddush Hashem or -- chas v'chalila -- a chilul Hashem." Translation: No encounter with another human being is meaningless. You can either advertise G-d in a positive way through your actions, or -- G-d forbid -- you indicate that people in skull caps and ritual fringes don't care about other people.

Please enjoy the following short video. It is a celebration of the concept of "pay it forward," how one small kindness begets another small kindness, and another, and another... (Hat tip to Mare Newcome-Beill. This is my kind of movie, Mare. Thank you!)

I don't care what my children and my grandchildren choose to do for a living. But I will feel that the Mizrachi Family Mission is accomplished if they string together lifetimes filled with small acts of kindness.

Reason to Rejoice, Permission to Participate

2011-11-01T08:40:00.001+02:00

Yom shlishi, 4 Cheshvan 5772.

To all of our excellent friends who have been davening with us over the months for the refua shelaima of Stella (Tzuriya Kochevet bat Sarah), please read Yarden's latest blog post, and share our hope and happiness. (The short version: against all odds, Stella's situation has improved dramatically. The Frankls thank you for your prayers, and say "Keep 'em comin'!")

Those who can attend this crazy all-night ride-a-thon, details are available in this post. (The Dearly Beloved and I will be sitting in lawn chairs on the sidelines at some unspecified ridiculous hour of the morning to shake pompoms and yell "Go, Team Frankl!" We will try to drink beer to rub in the fact that we are NOT exercising. And we'll be there at the finish line at 6:15 AM to accept our share of the accolades.)

Those who cannot attend, due to being unfortunately delayed with business overseas, please join us in donating to the cause, which is bigger than all of us. The need to "do something" is strong in all caring human beings... and straddling a bike for 12 hours is more difficult for me than pushing a "donate" button. And I'll feel just as involved as Yarden will, without the need for mass quantities of diaper rash ointment. (Heh-heh, Yarden. You go, boy.)

And finally, add Stella's dream to your prayers. "B'ezrat Hashem, we will stay on track, and we'll surprise my doctor again after the next scan! I really want to be written up in a medical journal (egoist that I am) about the miraculous case of Stella Frankl!"

There is no limit to the number of people who can be on Team Frankl. Dust off your bike. Make a pledge. Or just pray with all your heart that this fine young mother gets her dream. May we share joyful news!

Glossary:
Refua shelaima: complete recovery

4 years. 22 years. 1,941 days.

2011-10-19T07:17:00.002+02:00

"To all of the House of Israel: Happy Sukkot!"

Yom revi'i, 21 Tishrei 5772, Hoshana Raba.

In a few days, we will have lived in Israel for four years.

In a few days, we will have been Jewish for 22 years.

Yesterday, our nation welcomed home a native son who has been in captivity for more than five years.

Is it any wonder that life has not stood still long enough to be written about lately?

It's time for an "aliyaversary" retrospective. I have more pictures than words -- but let me share them with you as they come to mind. The bottom line: We have made a place for ourselves here, a place that makes more sense for us than anywhere, of all the fine and interesting places we've ever been. But we miss you -- and can't wait to see you here!

Our credit card company sends Rosh Hashana greetings.

So does the army!

A banker who has befriended us offers us something sweet for Rosh Hashana.

The ads on the buses advertise sukkah decorations.

My friend Ami got an automated message from Bezeq (the phone company) offering to give him free wake-up calls for Slichot. I love this country!

Even Neve Daniel has a shuk for Sukkot. All the quality, none of the travel.

Mishpachat Mizrachi adds a "Parents' Room" wing to the sukkah, decorated with flags from our States of origin.

Would anybody but my Dearly Beloved think of military guidons as sukkah decorations? (Where's yours, Soldier Boy? We looked for that Golani "Gdud 12" flag everywhere!)

The view through the "blue glass picture window" is still breathtaking. (This one's for you, Bubbe. Thanks for showing up every year, to help your son-in-law with those final construction details.)

History, politics, shellfish -- we've got it all.

Ahhhh... my leichter. The sense of home is complete.

I love the Sukkot table setting best of all.

I never liked honey. But silan -- date honey -- ahhhhhhh!

A "Davening for Stella" excursion to the Kotel...

...is delightfully augmented by a group of Chareidi school girls. "Oiveenee Malkainee..."

With Standing Together, we visit a group of miliumnikim -- reservists. I have two questions for them: "Do you have kids? Do you have pictures?" You should have seen the joy with which the cell phone cameras came out!

The Strung-Out Quartet performed American blues and rock with other musicians at the Neve Daniel Jam Session during Chol Hamoed. It ain't Hershey Park -- but it was a lot of fun nonetheless!

Yaakov and Leah Urso regaled us with an authentic Nashville sound.

Eliezer Barnet playing his homemade cigar box guitar.

We shared our fiddle player Uzi Volman to turn Eliezer into a bluegrass band.

One of the guests in the audience was a mother of a Neve Daniel resident. Commenting on the concert, she said to her daughter-in-law: "I love incongruous things and this is one hell of an example!"

Tzvi Zelevski added a sweet Russian soulfulness to his Hebrew tunes.

As the seasons change, we switch from iced coffee to cafe hafuch -- with artwork!

Finally learned the art of the braided round loaf!

Grilled veggies are so ON this time of year, am I right?

Fall and football, right? Coach gets together for a chol hamoed strategy session with some of his prime gridiron warriors.

The Dearly Beloved took me out for a birthday meal or two, of course...

All of my boys are in uniform these days.

Stunt Man is in an elite Paratroopers unit; and Sports Guy is in an elite football team.

Yes, Doctors Leventhal -- they still leap backwards off of walls. But thanks to your wisdom, I can mostly duct tape and superglue them back together...

When Robert Kraft's wife left this world, he asked the guys who play for Israel to wear her name on their uniforms as they played in the international competition. It was their honor and privilege.

In the IDF, you are permitted to say "shehekhiyanu" when you receive your uniform and your weapon. Why? Because defending the Jewish people is holy work.

Far from giving up their Yiddishkeit due to army service, as we were so often warned, the boys find opportunities to talk about the beauty of faith in Hashem with fellow soldiers who ask GREAT questions, and show much interest.

Yeshiva Bochur earns the "soldier of the week" award. And I thought those "My son is on the TA Honor Role" bumper stickers would make me proud...

Visiting Stunt Man outside his base late one chol hamoed evening. Okay, I know I look a bit "ufgarecht." I spent most of the visit plucking ants out of my clothing. Now I fully understand the concept of "shpilkes."

Gilad Shalit returns to the arms of his parents after one thousand, nine hundred and forty-one days in captivity. We tear our hair over the cost. We embrace him with our full hearts. Huge emotional conflicts. This is what it is to be an Israeli. This is what it has always been to be a Jew.

Photo credit: Kalman Feldman, the talented mechutan

We miss our family in the Old Country, and cannot wait until they return Home! (This includes ALL of you.)

Glossary:
Hoshana Raba: The seventh day of the holiday of Sukkot (Feast of Tabernacles).
Slichot: penitential prayers said during the time leading up to the High Holy Days
Leichter [Yiddish]: area let up for lighting the Sabbath and holy day candles
Davening: praying
"Oiveenee Malainee": the way the Chareidi Yiddish for the Avinu Malkeinu (Our Father, Our King) prayers sounded to my ears
Chol Hamoed: the intermediate days of Jewish holidays -- spent by Israelis in wonderful fun family trips around the country, and musical festivals
Cafe Hafuch: the national drink of Israel, cappuccino -- "hafuch" means upside-down, and we certainly are!
Shehekhiyanu: a special prayer recited over any momentous event thanking G-d for bringing one to this place in time
Ufegerecht: discombobulated
Shpilkes: unable to sit still; ants in the pants -- Don't ask.

A time to mourn, and a time to dance

2011-09-12T11:04:00.001+03:00

Yom sheni, 13 Elul 5771.

A time to weep, and a time to laugh. A time to mourn, and a time to dance.

I had finally accepted the inevitable. We had made the decision to refinance our home mortgage. I don't want to overstate it: but for me, that decision had behind it the ever-so-distant clang of the cell door closing. It meant we weren't going anywhere, that we were staying in our lives in America. But I was accepting it. The clang was there, but it was far away. I could do this.

After all, we lived in one of the finest Jewish communities in America. We had wonderful neighbors, a loving congregation, friendships we had built over sixteen years. We had jobs; we knew the language. We knew what to expect day to day. We were planning our life and aging and death in the land of our birth.

The lady at the mortgage office was very sweet. She had explained everything to me, to us, very clearly. I hung up the phone to discuss the details with the Dearly Beloved.

We had only shared a few tentative words on the subject when the phone rang again. I assumed it was the mortgage company lady with some new detail.

It was the voice of my dear Rebbetzin Bracha, who was also my neighbor. "A plane has just crashed into the World Trade Center," she said, softly and terrifyingly.

I know she said a few other words, though the shock of that few moments keeps me from remembering what they were. I think I responded with my usual genius "Okay." (This is my favored insightful response in times of crisis. I had used exactly this remark when my husband had gotten off the phone with the US Army captain who had informed him that American troops were entering Iraq. The Gulf War had begun... and that announcement unleashed all the coiled fear of anticipated poison gas attacks against Israel.)

I turned on the radio at the same time the announcer was incredulously sharing news that the second plane had just hit the World Trade Center. It felt like War of the Worlds -- except that this was no hoax. The next two weeks were out of a novel or a movie or a dream. The tectonic plates of our American lives shifted.

They never again returned to the same place.

We never called the mortgage company lady back. (When things resembled sanity again, we joked that the reason was that hugely bad things seem to happen when we talk with mortgage companies...) We hadn't expressed it at the time, but one of the excuses for staying in America had been the taken-for-granted safety of our sons. In Israel, it was a given that they would put on uniforms, that they might have to fight for their and our survival. But in America... Well, there were no guarantees anymore, were there?

@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%

At about 4:30 PM yesterday, the Dearly Beloved and I left our apartment in Neve Daniel to catch a bus to Jerusalem. It occurred to me as we walked that it was 9:30 AM in Baltimore on September 11, 2011. I started to think of what had been happening that morning, ten years ago... and how much our lives had changed as a result.

We were on our way to a wedding. We were privileged to attend the wedding of the daughter of Laura Ben-David, a woman who had been very instrumental in our aliyah to Israel nearly four years earlier.

Sports Guy was on his way to Jerusalem as well. His destination was Kraft Stadium, where he and his fellow Israel National Flag Football team members would gather before going to watch on someone's over-sized TV screen his beloved Baltimore Ravens against their arch-rival, the Pittsburgh Steelers.

Yeshiva Bochur and Stunt Man were in training with the IDF, becoming the guys who help to keep Israel safe.

Soldier Boy, now retired from the IDF, was in Baltimore with his wife and children, planning to introduce his wife to a concert of our favorite family band, Gaelic Storm.

Later, as we moved among our Neve Daniel neighbors in the wedding hall, we felt that old familiar feeling of being with a huge group of family members. Only now we were celebrating the building of a brand-new bayit ne'eman in Israel, with our Israeli branch of the family, instead of with our dear Baltimore mishpacha.

In other words, the terrorists lost. We as Jews, as Americans, and as Israelis, have much life still in us, and much to celebrate.

Wedding photos by Lisa Sturman Melamed

@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%

"A time to weep, and a time to laugh. A time to mourn, and a time to dance."

Mazal tov, Shyra and Gidon! Mazal tov to all good and decent life-loving people. May there be no more weeping, no more mourning, and much dancing.

Glossary:

Aliyah: Jewish immigration to Israel

Bayit Ne'eman: lit. faithful home, this refers to the building of a new marriage, a new microcosm of the greater Jewish family and inherent mission

Mishpacha: family

Welcome to the Covenant, Yonatan Shmuel ben Yehoshua Adam!

2011-08-24T18:19:00.008+03:00

Yom revi'i, 24 Av 5771.

I never looked this beautiful after giving birth!

This was a special day for the folks in Mishpachat Mizrachi. And it unfolded sort of the way most things do in this brave new cyber-world.

I was waiting for my Yeshiva Bochur's mefaked (commander) to call to tell me his arrival was imminent. In Israel, commanders make a point of visiting the home and parents of their soldiers, to get to know them a little better. (I love this army!)

The day was wearing on, and I hadn't heard from him. I could see "Chok Murphee" (Murphy's Law) getting itself all set up to make the day interesting. I had to be at work at 3. I work on the computer and phone at home; so while not what I would have wanted, we could still have our visit.

I was finally at work, knowing that I had telephone meetings with students at various times throughout the day. But I had to leave the home phone turned on. I was waiting for the aforementioned commander's call... and I was waiting to hear from the Dearly Beloved in the States, who might call me at any moment with the name of our new grandson.

A few minutes after the brit milah would have started, but too soon for the name, the phone rang. Commander? Nope. A dear friend from Baltimore, asking me where was the bris. (Only in Cyberspace.) She was disappointed. "I went to the wrong shul," she said glumly.

"Don't worry!" I reassured her. "Nothing ever starts on time!" I gave her the correct location; and we wished each other mazel tov.

No call from the commander... a very long session with a student... Now I had a ten-minute gap to give a quick call to the States. Surely by now the results would be in...

I called my son, Soldier Boy, father of the newest grandchild.

Photos courtesy of the amazing mechutan. It pays to marry into talent.

"Yonatan Shmuel," he said. He then proceeded to give me the Reader's Digest condensed version of his speech. "Shmuel" is for Shmuel HaNavi, who had a very close connection with Hashem, and for my daughter-in-law's grandfather, whom my son never had the privilege to meet. He was a man who cared very much about family; and he was also a person steeped in kindness. My children are hoping that these fine character traits will be passed to their son. "Yonatan" is for Yoni Netanyahu, who like this baby was born in the States, of Israeli parents. "Yoni was the hero of Entebbe," said Soldier Boy, with some emotion. The 1976 "Operation Thunderbolt" (later referred to as "Operation Yonatan"), during which IDF special forces soldiers rescued hostages in a daring raid, gave us many heroes, but only one soldier-martyr, the commander of the operation. Naming his son for Yonatan Netanyahu also represents to Soldier Boy his hope to very soon return to their Home in Israel.

Five minutes into our call, my cell phone went off. Well, I reasoned, if it's the commander, I can always call him back in just a moment. Soldier Boy told me about how well his father spoke, and that he was honored with the job of being the sandek. The house phone rang, and I hung it up. (Rude, I know; but one doesn't get to visit one's grandchild's brit milah three thousand miles away every day.) We exchanged a few more hurried words -- I still had this meeting with the student in a couple of minutes, after all -- and the house phone went off again.

As we'd exchanged most of the critical information, with the "I love you's" and the "I'm proud of you both, and happy for you!" thrown in for good measure, I told my son I had to go and answer it.

With as much charity as I could muster, I answered the phone, prepared to tell the commander that he'd have to wait through my meeting with the student, if he'd care to...

"I'm Ms. Ploni, and I represent Such-And-Such organization, and we want to know if your husband can perform for us some Sunday or Thursday."

After responding incoherently to the lovely lady and gently unplugging the house phone, I prepared quickly for my meeting with the student, who also lives in America.

Still no word from the commander.

Chok Murphee rides again.

But I have a new grandson, with a very beautiful name, filled with spirituality, kindness, and hope for the future.

Welcome to the world, Yonatan Shmuel.

Glossary:
Mishpachat: family of
Brit milah, bris: ceremony of bringing a new son into the special relationship with the Creator of the world
Shul: synagogue
Mechutan: the father of one's child's spouse
Sandek: the person honored at a Jewish brit milah with the task of holding the baby. (I hope the Dearly Beloved enjoys his sin-free status for as long as possible. I love the percs to these honors!)

"Simple pleasures are the best."

2011-08-10T11:55:00.004+03:00

Yom revi'i, 10 Av 5771.

For most people I know, the last three weeks have been more hellish than usual.

By "usual," I mean that during the Three Weeks, Jews all over the world immerse deeper and deeper into the sense of loss that has existed since the Churban, the destruction of our Holy Temple. We did not merely lose a building. Due to our participation in its destruction, we lost something much more dear: our close connection with the Creator of the Universe was stretched to near-breaking. We were at this point in history as far from our Beloved Father in Heaven as He will allow us to stray, for He will never entirely allow the connection to be broken. In spite of our "best efforts."

We are enjoined to be b'simcha -- filled with happiness and gratitude -- during most of the year. But during this time, we are commanded to remember that Destruction and, as with every other major commemoration in the Jewish calendar, to feel it as if it were happening to us now.

That has been very easy to do with the Three Weeks this year.

The news has been beyond awful.

Every other day, a new name is added to our overstocked Tehillim lists, as we are asked to pray for more and more and more people affected by dread diseases.

The Arab world is awash in the blood of not only combatants but ordinary men, women and children.

Many brave and heroic American fighters have lost their lives, more tragically than usual, if only in the level of their heroism, and the density of the national loss.

As the chaotic stock markets tumble in Asia and Europe and the US, the UK is in flames. An example: a furniture store that has survived in a London neighborhood for a hundred years -- that survived two world wars -- was burned to the ground by rioters, as looters trashed the shops nearby. Five days of this. And even if the police get it under control, where will the fissures of the "Arab spring" erupt next?

We religious Jews have suffered humiliating tragedies at the hands of our own, even as the heartbreak that used to grab national headlines continues on unabated. As I thought I could not bring up any more tears over the loss of the Beit HaMikdash, I read the story of a three-year-old girl forgotten in a van in Netanya... You know how the story ends. It ends with the driver -- a normal fellow, just like you and me -- screaming to the Heavens: "How could I have forgotten her???" As her parents mourn with shock their only child...

It is the morning of the Tenth of Av. In the impossible-to-comprehend sense of Jewish time, the Temple is still burning from yesterday's destruction. In fact, today the flames actually may be at their worst, according to our Sages.

But those same Sages had rachmanut (compassion) for the Jewish people; so we only are asked to live in the pain of the Destruction for one day, and for a bit of the next, albeit less intensely.

Practically, this means that we can begin to climb out of the abyss created by the Destruction and its consequent spiritual nadir.

We can enjoy again. We can feel overwhelming gratitude again.

I've been "off caffeine" for a couple of weeks, in preparation for the 26-hour fast of Tisha b'Av. (If I didn't wean myself off of coffee, I would have a headache that can only be described as "bodacious.") So you can imagine how special is that first sip of coffee.

I once said to The Dearly Beloved that coffee should have its own special bracha (blessing). He taught me something very beautiful.

As you know, we say blessings over the food we eat, to show our gratitude to Hashem. Over beverages other than wine (which does rate its own bracha), we say "Blessed are You, L-rd our G-d, by Whose word all things came to be."

When you say that bracha, taught my Dearly Beloved, you can have in mind all of the things you might encounter throughout the day for which you can't make a blessing.

Amazing, special things that swell the heart, that we might think ought to have a bracha.

Like a beautiful flower.

captured in New Zealand by my friend Sparrow

Like the first cool fog on a summer morning.

Like the smile on the face of a child.

Photo courtesy of KFProductions

Photo courtesy of KF Productions

After that bracha-enhanced cup of coffee, I say the after-blessing: "Blessed are You, L-rd our G-d, King of the Universe, who creates the many forms of life and their needs..." One can infer from those last few words that Hashem has left a few needs for us to fill. May we have the merit and the wisdom to take the gifts that He has given us, and use them to repair and complete the world, and to help to bring the time of the Third Beit HaMikdash, a time when there will be no more suffering, and only revealed good.

Choices Made

2011-07-28T10:24:00.004+03:00

Yom chamishi, 26 Tamuz 5771.

“The end result of your life here on earth will always be the sum total of the choices you made while you were here.” ~ Dr. Shad Helmstetter

Since I didn't leave my chair, this is someone else's photo.

Last night, I sat with the Dearly Beloved on our patio, and watched the fog give us a peek-a-boo show of the stars, as angels sang. I know -- you think I'm being poetic here -- but angels really were singing. The young ladies in the landlord's house upstairs use their home for choir practice on Wednesday nights; and the girls are getting really good together! We don't know how many voices are in this choir... but they truly sound angelic, especially as their blended voices float down to us from above, keeping perfect time with the drifting clouds. The wind was strong enough that I needed a blanket. It was cool and perfect.

This morning, I am gazing in awe as the clouds above the Mediterranean Sea pile themselves up like distant mountains. The coffee is good; the air is cool and slightly breezy. Light plays on the fields beyond our small town.

Later today, it will get hot, of course. The air will become still; and these lovely Jerusalem stone walls will absorb more and more heat, until the afternoon is ~~unbearably sweltering~~ somewhat challenging.

I grew up in small towns. People knew each other well, borrowed easily from one another, watched each other's kids in the streets.

I always wanted to return to that life, to raise my kids with that simple lack of city sophistication.

This was not to be, as to be an observant Jew in America usually requires trappings found only in big cities. I say "usually" because I have known rare individuals who had the learning and strength to bring their children up in the Torah in small towns in America. But they all had "Rabbi" in front of their names. I know we could not have done that. We needed Jewish day schools and kosher butchers and lots of people who were "on the same page." For the most part, that and small town life don't happen outside Israel.

Stunt Man

Even though this was my dream for the 16 formative years of my sons' lives, we couldn't make it happen. And I have to trust that Hashem wanted my boys to get the life lessons they acquired in the mean streets of the city. They grew tough fighting gangs who wanted to take their bikes, their money, their candy, and at one point, even a life. (Thank G-d they were stopped by other good and decent city dwellers!) My boys have a ~~jadedness~~ level of sophistication that wrestles with the insular Torah image I had set in my mind when we started this journey into religion.

Yeshiva Bochur

But I trust in Hashem's wisdom; so I look for the good in what has transpired against my will. My sons are strong and fierce warriors, which makes them good soldiers. The Torah they learned teaches them justice tempered with sweetness. They are exactly the sort that Israel needs defending her from destruction. I long for the day when all of that worldliness is reserved only for the football field and computer games. But in the meantime, I can see purpose to our lives spent in an American city.

Soldier Boy

Later today, I might hop a bus to the holiest City in the world to purchase a few items for Shabbat. I might walk over to the makolet, our little "corner grocery" a few blocks away. I'll joke with Shulamit about air conditioning as she smiles behind the cash register, telling us she's counting the hours until Shabbat. Someone on the local "chat list" will ask for a cup of sugar, a baseball mitt for a small boy (his was left in a tremp, and we won't get it back for a few days), directions to Har Homa. I'll race along with several other citizens of Cyberspace to try to be the first to help. I'll listen to the kids playing in the streets; and when I pass them, a few of them will greet me first. A couple of them will give me a message for "Coach."

Sports Guy

I'll go to work and kvetch about the heat. I'll lament that I never ~~get~~ make time to clean my apartment. I'll wish the bank balance had a little more muscle. The news will bother me just as much as it bothers you.

And tonight, I'll sit on my patio in the open air, watching the clouds with my husband.

May we share good news, and happy times. Come and visit. There's room on the patio for more chairs.

This post produced and bottled by Eastman©, inspired by Treppenwitz.

A Food Network star, just waiting to be discovered

2011-07-27T20:30:00.003+03:00

Yom chamishi, 26 Tamuz 5771.

I finally had the privilege of meeting Miryummy at a recent food-bloggers event here in Gush Etzion. How does a non-food-blogger get invited to a gig like this, you may ask? Protexia, my friend. Vitamin P. The most important tool for survival in Israel. (Write that down. There will be a quiz later.) Stay tuned for more about this delightful event, after I finish looking over the notes of the real food bloggers.

Miryummy and I "met" some time ago in Cyberspace, and enjoyed each other's stories and writing styles. As much as I enjoyed the event, meeting my "old friend" was one of my favorite parts. Please let me share her, the very interesting story of who she is, and her wonderful blog with you.

Introduce yourself. Who are you, what are you, why are you?

I don't know who I was when I was born, but one cold November afternoon in Mount Sinai Hospital on Fifth Avenue I was given to my parents, childless Holocaust survivors. My father had lost his children to the Final Solution, my mother had her childbearing opportunities literally ripped from her, and on that day I became Mirjam, pronounced MirYAM. My father called me Miroosh, my mother called me Miraleh. My friends' nickname for me is Mirj (merge) and my husband, when he's not busy calling me "My sweet, my love, my cherub," calls me Miriyummy. I am a second generation Holocaust survivor who has been put on this world to boost my husband's ego, to embarrass my children and to make people feel good by feeding them.

Where do you live, and why?

I live in Ra'anana, a city that claims (probably rightly so) to have the highest quality of life in Israel. I don't live here by choice. My choice would be to live somewhere in the area of Jerusalem, enjoying dry summer days and brisk summer nights. Instead, I live in the sauna that is Ra'anana because that is where my husband lives. He lived in Ra'anana and I lived in Givat Ze'ev, one of those mountaintop settlements surrounding Jerusalem. He couldn't move to my mountain, so I moved to his sauna.

What is your family like?

We're a blended family. My husband has 4 children, I have 4 children. Ever see The Brady Bunch? We're nothing like that. I have a blog called Miriyummy (www.miriyummy.wordpress.com) where I discuss the family, and even have a page that explains the entire tribe, my own Guide to the Perplexed (http://miriyummy.wordpress.com/about/).

What is your relationship with food? Do you like to cook?

I have a love/love relationship with food. My mother taught me that cooking and eating (and feeding) is an enjoyable experience. I love to cook, it relaxes me, makes me feel creative. The only time I don't enjoy it is when I'm rushed, usually on Friday afternoon right before Shabbat. I do not do well in Headless Chicken mode.

Miriyummy in headless chicken mode?

What is your first food-related memory?

My first memories are an amalgam of smells and sounds coming from the kitchen where I played while my mother cooked. I remember lying over coloring books on the kitchen floor listening to an accompaniment of my mother chopping liver in a wooden bowl while the aroma of shmaltz rendering on the stove filled the air.

How would you describe yourself in the kitchen? As a hostess?

My mother had two descriptions for me as a cook. She always marveled at the fact that I am a fast cook. I move about the kitchen quickly, close to the speed of light, rummaging in my spice drawer one moment, rinsing some tomatoes an instant later, grabbing eggs out of the refrigerator so quickly I drop one and the dog gets a treat as he licks up the yolk from the floor. The other way my mother described how I cook is that I cook for the six million. If there are ten of us sitting down to dinner I will cook enough for 24. This drives my husband insane. He's a wonderful cook in his own right, but he prides himself on cooking enough for everyone, and just enough. My cooking for the masses spills over into my hostessing, I love to entertain, love to have people sitting around my table rolling their eyes in ecstacy (or sarcasm) over my food. I would rather inundate you, stuff you, overwhelm you with food than leave you wanting more. This is something I inherited from my mother. In the Holocaust she had to do without, so she made sure that we never had the chance to be hungry, ever.

What is your favorite comfort food and why?

Macaroni and cheese, in all its permutations. I love the Eastern European flat egg noodles with cottage cheese and sugar and cinnamon just as much as I love the elbow macaroni smothered in a cheddar cheese sauce. Why? Carbs, cheese, gooeyness, all the ingredients to make me feel good (at least for the moment).

Desert island picks, name three foods you could not live without:

Coffee, chocolate and sushi, my drugs of choice. [Oh, I can't wait to make sushi for/with you, Mirj!]

Now I know how to lure you here for a visit! (Besides: dry mountain air, no humidity, cool breezes from the Med...)

Is there any food you hate? Why?

I hate, despise and loathe passion fruit. [One of my favorite fruits, and absolutely my favorite flower.] As far as I'm concerned it looks, smells and tastes like alien vomit. Don't ask me how I know what alien vomit tastes like. [Ooo-KAAAAY. Guess we won't be serving my favorite fruit. Fine. Thanks for sharing.]

What is your favorite Miriyummy post and why?

My all-time favorite (so far) is I Am Not Everybody (http://miriyummy.wordpress.com/2010/05/09/i-am-not-everybody/). [I love this post.] I may not be the genetic production of my parents, but I am who they made me. A close second is Barge Pole (http://miriyummy.wordpress.com/2010/07/14/barge-pole/). My motto in life is Man plans, God laughs, and that post shows just how much this philosphy follows me throughout life.

Do you have a food-related story you would like to share?

I have so many of these stories that I started blogging them in Miriyummy (http://miriyummy.wordpress.com/). Little did my husband know that when he gave me my nickname it was going to brand me.

Recommendation: When you want a recipe, check Miriyummy before you go to Google. You'll get more than a recipe. You'll get a story, a slice of life, a laugh or a good cry. And you just may make a friend.

"See me, feel me, touch me, heal me!"

2011-07-21T22:43:00.004+03:00

Yom shishi, 20 Tamuz 5771.

I mentioned on Shiv'a Asar b'Tamuz that I had a friend who was feeling literally rejected by the people around her, simply because they would not smile at her, nor respond to her greeting of "Shabbat shalom."

Since then, I have heard other stories that cause me much pain, from around Israel and outside Israel.

A young newlywed I know tells me she will never become religious. "I went to an Orthodox shul a few times, to try to learn about Judaism. I had stopped wearing pants; but I couldn't get used to the idea of covering my hair. I asked the way to the women's section. A man in a big black velvet yarmulke looked at my hair, and said 'You're probably the type who is more comfortable sitting next to her husband in shul.'" Clearly, he judged her by what was not on her head, just as I find myself judging him by what was on his.
A rabbi gives a shiur on a controversial subject. Only a handful of people bother to show up. As they are all Anglos, and one elderly woman has trouble understanding Hebrew, the rabbi chooses to break his usual pattern, and give the lesson in English. Fifteen minutes into his lecture, a native Israeli (who is fluent in both languages, and who also disagrees with the rabbi's stand on the issue under discussion), walks in, and demands that the shiur be given in Hebrew, since we're all in Israel.
A boy asks a philosophical question in class; and his rebbi -- followed by the students -- laughs at him. The boy resolves never again to ask another question, because his questions are stupid. It takes him years to develop self-confidence. He still lacks confidence in the Torah educational system -- because of one moment and one rabbi.

There are many more stories like these; but my objective in writing them here is not to tell titillating tales about my people's failings. The stories are meant to shake us up, to shake me up! To remind us to listen to ourselves, to look at ourselves.

Do I get so wrapped up in my own thoughts and worries, or in a call on a cell phone, that I fail to notice the Jew passing by long enough to smile?

Do I decide that someone is "less Jewish" because of how she is dressed? Is she somehow less worthy of dan l'chaf zechut, or at least of me guarding my tongue, than someone who has mastered wearing "the uniform"?

Do I sometimes forget that I represent Torah, and must think before I speak, lest I cause a Jew to think badly of people who "know more Torah"?

Do I show rabbis the respect that they are due? Am I careful to criticize an opinion with respect, and never the person?

Do I remember to look around me at all of the people in the room, and think of what their needs might be? Or do I only concentrate on my own needs?

Do I remember to make bridges between Jews? Or do I carelessly, flippantly, put stones in the walls between us?

Do I encourage people to speak? Or do I spend too much time filling the airwaves with my own words?

Do I pursue truth? Or do I only spout platitudes or verses that others have stated before me, without thoughtful analysis?

Do I listen to the searching question of a child or a ba'al tshuva or a friend with my whole self, or only with my ears, waiting for an opportunity to show them how much more I know than they (chas v'shalom)?

The world is in a terrible crisis right now. We are all lost, alone, frightened, desperately needful of acceptance from each other.

I cannot say that by smiling at every random Jew I meet on the street I will save the lives of my friends who are suffering life-threatening illnesses, or that the answer will come from listening patiently or doing a kindness or living in Israel (for anyone who thinks that is the answer) or doing more mitzvot more diligently (for anyone who thinks G-d is mad at us for lacking attentiveness to His laws).

But Torah and our Sages -- both ancient and modern -- stress the need for kindness to each other. We cannot know the mind of G-d. I have a hard time relating to G-d as a King, or as something fear-inspiring. (I'm working on it...) But I can begin to relate to G-d Our Father, from my standpoint as a parent.

When my children are mean to one another, it enrages me. I come as close as possible to "losing it," when they are hurtful to each other.

But when my children are kind to each other, when they "cover" for each other or help each other -- I can forgive them any slight against me.

I think Hashem must be like this toward us. While we must certainly do His mitzvot to the very best of our ability, while it is a shandeh if we ignore His gift of this holy and amazing Land, I cannot help but think that wherever we are in the world, treating each other much, much better than we do now might cause Him to change how nature and nations are treating us.

I don't know about you, but I'm tired of fasting for the Churban. I'm tired of watching the world crumbling around me. Most of all, I'm tired of saying goodbye to friends, and fearing more goodbyes.

I'm going to smile more, listen more closely, think about the wisdom of my words before I say them. Please help me.

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Stella's Sunrise (taken on an early walk with my friend)

I have found that it's easier to daven with kavana for people when I know them. Please feel free to get to know my friend Tzuriya Kochevet bat Sara in this lovely interview, posted at her husband Yarden's blog Crossing the Yarden. I think you will love her as much as I do. And that can only help your davening, and help to save the world.

Glossary:

Shiv'a Asar b'Tamuz: the 17th of Tamuz: a fast day commemorating the Destruction of the Temple

Shiur: lesson (esp. in Torah studies)

Dan l'chaf zechut: the commandment to judge favorably

Ba'al tshuva: individual becoming more religious

Chas v'shalom: Heaven forbid

Mitzvot: commandments, good deeds

Shandeh: a shame [Yiddish]

Churban: destruction of the Holy Temple in 586 BCE

"May the death of this boy mark the end of all anguish..."

2011-07-19T15:58:00.004+03:00

Yom shlishi, 17 Tamuz 5771, the fast 17th of Tamuz.

At Leiby Kletzky's funeral - photo credit: Reuters

So we had the usual pre-fast discussion.

"I dunno," my friend said. "I just can't feel it. The Churban is so long ago... even the Holocaust is so far away in history. It's hard to get into the spirit of Shiv'a Asar b'Tamuz and Tisha b'Av."

I thought about what Rebbetzin Malky Friedman had said on Sunday morning, at her Derech Hashem shiur, when one young lady brought up that same point.

"Rebbetzin, I need your help," she said. She was very sweet, expecting her first child in a few weeks. Incredibly young. "I just don't understand how we are supposed to mourn the destruction of the Temple. I can't feel sad. I just feel hungry, and annoyed about having to fast."

The rebbetzin answered her sensitively but straightforwardly. "We don't have to go back to the Temple, or even to the Holocaust. We only have to go back to last week." After a discreet silence, during which we all "touched base" with that part of ourselves that could deal with Leiby Kletzky's murder, Rebbetzin Malky continued softly.

"We have reached the very lowest level of the Churban," she said. "The Churban [the destruction of the Holy Temple in 586 BCE] has manifested throughout history, every time there was a destruction of Jewish lives. But they were all done by other people to Jews. This is the first time that Jews have had to be afraid of Jews."

I didn't think it was politic or necessary in that setting to bring up Gush Katif. And thank G-d and Jewish nature, no one was killed there, in spite of a world press that sat licking its collective lips, waiting for that very event. Besides, as bad as Gush Katif was, this was infinitely worse. We can make the excuse that the murderer is deranged. But he is a Jew. He wears a kipa. He was part of an insular, trusting community.

And they can no longer trust their own, because of him, because of this one incident.

"We need to feel the pain of this, because this IS the Churban," the rebbetzin reiterated. And she is right. Every terrible thing we experience -- terrorism, wanton murder, terrible diseases -- all of these horrors would not be possible if our Temple were standing.

(I think of events close to home, and my heart screams. "End the Galut now! Right NOW!")

Rebbetzin Malky left us not without hope, but with responsibility.

"Now people in that community tell me that they have changed the guidance they give to their children. It used to be 'If you're lost, ask a Yid for directions.' Now the parents tell their children, 'If you're lost, don't ask a man. Not even a Tatty. Ask a Mommy.' We women have the same responsibility we have always had throughout Jewish history. We have to bring the Geula. We can and will bring the Moshiach, bimheira v'ameinu [speedily and in our days]."

The rebbetzin then explained what we already knew. Love your fellow Jew. (As I looked around the table at the mix of women -- Chareidi, Dati-Leumi, very discreet about religious preference -- I saw that a microcosm of the Jewish family was listening to her words, and looking around the table with me.) Choose a mitzvah. (She recommended the Grace After Meals.) Be present when you do it. But mostly -- love your fellow Jew.

There are women right in my yishuv (and in your community, as well) who feel great pain at feeling a lack of acceptance from their fellow Jews. Each woman is sure that it is because the other sees something lacking in her. I am sure that it is because -- though each and every one of us desperately needs validation by our fellow human beings -- they are too caught up in their own dramas to even see the poor woman and her pain. No one is truly trying to hurt his or her fellow Jew. But our task is to not merely avoid causing hurt. We have to seek out opportunities to validate, to give a compliment or a smile. Even a smile.

Or we can take the path of the "familiar rut," the practices and habits of a lifetime, our smiles reserved for family and dear friends, our compliments reserved for "special" moments and people. And there will be more and more tragedies, until we get it.

Feel the pain. It will fuel us for the work we have to do.

Glossary:
"May the death of this boy mark the end of all anguish...": taken from a prayer that may be said in the house of mourning
Churban: Destruction of the First Temple (but also referring to the Second Temple's destruction)
Shiv'a Asara b'Tamuz; Tisha b'Av: fasts commemorating the Churban
Derech Hashem: The Way of G-d; Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzatto's book on basic principles of Jewish belief
Galut: Exile, both in physical and spiritual terms
Geula: Redemption
Yishuv: community

Powerful articles that helped me to focus on turning from this evil by doing good can be found here and here.

Do you want the good news or the bad news first?

2011-07-12T15:57:00.000+03:00

Yom shlishi, 10 Tamuz 5771.

A couple of weeks ago, one of my spinning buddies and I started swapping information about our visits to the doctor. She was having stomach trouble. I was having headaches.

We had a few tests. She had PT scans. I had CT scans. We joked when we met on our bikes that we had to be sure she had no pets running around in her stomach, and that I had no cats running around in my head.

Every morning we have a chat over a virtual cup of coffee. (Yes, I know we just live down the street from each other. But we never got into the habit of meeting for a cup of coffee -- and starting because of our health concerns would have seemed like artificial sweetener.)

This morning we sent each other off to get results from our respective physicians. We "tough biker broads," as we've started calling ourselves, planned to reconnoiter later to share good news.

Our husbands have been waiting nervously on the sidelines.

I have some sort of "jumpy vein" thing which is not a big deal, apparently. We'll have to figure out what the cause is. Do I need to take some sort of muscle relaxant to finally get a good night's sleep again, after two months without? Or should I buy an expensive, specially-contoured pillow? Do I need dental work? Who knows. All I know is that my husband can stop worrying about aneurysms and other scarier stuff. I was feeling pretty cheerful, until I got home to read my friend's husband's blog, where he has been posting to their many anxious friends about her status.

My friend has inoperable stomach cancer.

Who took all the air out of the world all of a sudden?

First come the questions. Some are existential. Some are silly. Some are practical. Why do really mean people hang around the planet sucking Tums to ease their justifiably cranky tummies, and nice, sweet people filled with light and goodness struggle for their very lives? Do I have the right for my morning shmoozes with my friend, now that I'm not in the club anymore? What of substance can we do?

The first question is unanswerable until the Moshiach comes. The second is just the yetzer hara, trying to make it all about me. I'll have to cope with my own survivor guilt, as I have had to many times as friends I love had struggled. The third is answered by our tradition, by common sense, and by the family themselves.

Our tradition teaches us that G-d does listen. We will pray for her complete recovery, for the new advances in cancer research to be in place in time for her, for her family's strength.

We will listen when they choose to talk, not treating them like lepers, but not driving them crazy with our need for solace. We will use the avenues that they have offered for coordinating assistance that they may need as we fight this fight together.

I will keep "dinging" my friend once in a while in the morning to talk about LIFE. Because no matter how afraid cancer makes all of us, my friend is very much in life, and living, and loving. When I see her, we'll talk about the kids and make jokes about exercise and discuss the myriad other things we both care about.

A good friend struggling with this disease once said to her friends: "Don't give me the 'sad, droopy eyes look.' I don't need you to bury me yet. Let's share our lives together!"

Please daven for a refua shelaima for Tzuriya Kochevet bat Sara. May we share good news!

Eine Kleine Book Burning

2011-07-11T07:22:00.002+03:00

Yom sheni, 9 Tamuz 5771.

Photo taken from Wikiality post on book burning

Almost everyone who had a TV growing up can remember an episode of a program that profoundly affected his life.

When I was a kid, there was a Hall of Fame or something like that about a town that went a little crazy over book burning. The climactic scene took place in the local church or the town hall. As everyone gathered for a final Blitzkrieg against freedom of the press, one man stood and read passages from a book to his frenzied audience. The events he read out of context were so terrible -- passages that detailed violent murder, rape and horrific treatment of captured enemies -- that people in the meeting place were crying out, covering their children's ears, and in general getting worked up to burn. that. book.

Book burning in Nazi Germany - photo from Wikipedia

The book was the Bible.

Of course, the story ends with the upstanding Christians in the town coming back to their senses, and deciding to put the home fires out before it was too late.

I am not one of those who will defend the guy who cries "Fire!" in a crowded theater. I think purveyors of child porn should have things done to them that should not appear in a family-friendly blog. In other words, my boundaries for freedom of speech and freedom of the press are the same as they are for most normal people.

But that program ingrained in me the need to read before I freak. It is very important to me to try not to take what is said in a news interview at face value, as I know that Mister Editor can cut and splice his way to making the interviewee state clearly and with full conviction that he daily eats bits of his grandmother on toast, and has done for years. This is not to say that I don't occasionally have fun with what appears on the news. But making true judgment takes more information than one thirty-second sound byte.

This is even more necessary in the case of passages taken out of context from a book. Not only is it important to know who is quoting from the text and to try to think about what his motivations might be. It is also important before jumping on an "anti" bandwagon to read the book.

Book burning in Pakistan - photo from Reuters

I am not going to read Torat Hamelech. I am assuming it is in Hebrew (which is not my language of clear judgment). It is a scholarly tome, meant to be studied in yeshiva by earnest young men who discuss and argue passionately every passage. Because I will not read it, I do not think that I am qualified to judge it based on a passage quoted here and there in the press, by people who may not have the Torah's interests at heart.

It seems from several stories I have heard and read, trying to collect enough data to have an opinion on the matter, that most of the people pontificating on this book have not read it either, and are basing their judgments on the time honored journalist method of "he said she said," flavored with a predisposition toward wanting to stone those radical "settler" rabbis. (For a little more detail on this viewpoint, see David Bedein's op-ed piece here: http://www.israelnationalnews.com/Articles/Article.aspx/10397.) Sadly, several Torah Jews seem to care more about showing the world how rational they are than about finding out what the text actually has to say before they speak out against it.

Hello, people! It's Tamuz.

With all of the fire Israel and the Jewish people must constantly take these days, perhaps at least among ourselves we could read the text inside before we burn the rabbis with the book.

Unity: The Peace of Strength and Valor, Take Two

2011-07-06T22:36:00.001+03:00

Yom chamishi, 5 Tamuz 5771.

Someone reminded me that sometimes a repost is appropriate. As we move into the difficult days of Tamuz and Av, I am reminded that there is only one way out alive. "Veahavta l'reicha kamocha."

Who started the silicone bracelet craze?

Gel or rubber or silicone bracelets have been popular since the 1980s. Lance Armstrong was probably the most powerful force for the "charity bracelet" movement, when he used the medium to promote cancer awareness with his "Livestrong" campaign. Since then, enterprising companies and individuals have used a variety of colors with or without molded slogans as interesting personal billboards.

In zechut of Stella's war against that C monster.

Never one to pass up a good idea, I decided to make my own statement. Since late August of 2005, I have been wearing a bracelet combination in an effort to cause conversations about achdut (unity).

It seems to be working. People of various ages and religious affiliations ask me about my bracelets. For the most part, the discussions have been interesting and civil -- even when certain aspects of "the bracelets' story" bring up controversial opinions.

Here's the story. I was part of the "orange camp" in the year leading up to the expulsion from Gush Katif. From my safe little perch on my kitchen stool in Baltimore, I used to watch the internet news daily, following the unbelievable and heart-rending story of my people in our Land. This is not the forum to rehash the history of those dark days -- and I don't want to depress myself. Suffice it to say that Kleenex made a lot of money off of me that year, and the color orange became more than a fashion statement. Meanwhile, the color blue -- which had always stood for Israel -- was ~~adopted~~ usurped by the pro-Disengagement crowd.

History lesson: we lost. We lost Gush Katif. We lost another piece of Jewish and Israeli self-esteem. Our humiliating sacrifice brought us not one step closer to peace in the Middle East. And we took a big hit in the achdut department.

Immediately after Gush Katif, very loving people would no longer give rides to soldiers. The "orange camp" and the "blue camp" were at each others' throats, even more than before. There was a lot of pain, and a lot of blame. However correct those in pain were about their stand, the rage and hurt didn't fix anything. I was of the somewhat unpopular opinion that G-d said no. Not because Gush Katif wasn't part of our yerusha (inheritance). But for reasons of His own, that would take pages and pages to guess at -- and like questions about the Holocaust and dinosaurs, the guesses won't have any satisfactory answers till the End of Days.

After a family trauma, one has several behavioral options. Blaming each other is a perennial favorite. "If you had worked harder/prayed harder/fought harder..." "If they or he or she would have done the right thing, this wouldn't have happened." Diving to the bottom of the abyss, and refusing to rejoin humanity, is a good hiding place in the short term. ("We will never forget -- and we will never forgive.") But it has its obvious limitations in the long term.

Another choice is to pull more closely together.

I'm of the opinion (and I didn't invent it) that the single most important job of our generation of holy Yidden is to somehow give up our devotion to our differences, and instead to focus on the fact that we are family. Hashem will not give us our Holy Temple -- no matter how many mitzvot we do, no matter how many marches or rallies we attend, perhaps no matter how many prayers we pray -- until we make nice with each other.

So I wear my orange bracelet, to remind myself "Eretz Yisrael l'Am Yisrael," that the Land of Israel belongs to the Nation of Israel. I do not want to waver in that commitment. The color orange also reminds me of the "Gush Katif refugees," who six years later are still suffering. I have added a blue bracelet, to remind myself that my heart should remain firmly in the East (Israel), no matter how much pressure there is from the West -- and to love my fellow Jews who disagree with me or are uninformed about our heritage. I wear a green bracelet as well, in support of all of our children who fight to defend this people in this land -- and as a reminder to myself that those young soldiers were given an unfair and untenable burden. I don't blame them. And I pray that they will never be so ill-used again.

I tie this trio together with a red bindle. As it comes from a red thread that was wound seven times around Kever Rachel, it ties my heart to all things holy and Chasidic. It reminds me to love the Chareidim, who are also my brothers. Attached to the red thread is a bead of Sephardic derivation, for these holy Yidden are also my brothers. I look forward to finding something to add from the Ethiopian and Bnei Menashe branches of my dear family...

An Israeli woman in slacks and a designer scarf began screaming at us in a crosswalk one day. "What's so good about being a Jew? What's so great about holding onto the whole land?" (Apparently we were wearing a uniform that triggered something in her.) I tried to think of how one responds to that much anger in the length of a crosswalk. "I really love that scarf," was all I could think to say. We parted with kind words and smiles. I didn't change her mind, or fix her problems. But I didn't make them worse.

Rav Mordechai Eliyahu, zt"l, said that to bring Moshiach, everyone should do teshuva (repentance) in the area of "veahavta l'reicha kamocha (and love your fellow as you love yourself)."

"The exalted peace we long for, the peace of strength and valor, is the peace where the seemingly opposing powers within our nation are united, where all forces and ideologies are recognized as being the words of the Living G-d." -- Rav Avraham Yitzchak HaKohen Kook

To make a contribution toward ending the lingering pain of Gush Katif, please visit Rabbi Yosef Tzvi Rimon's worthy JobKatif project, which is working to assist the many remaining refugees to get back up on their feet.

Baltimore mishpacha: Here is a very good article to refresh your memories and to update you by our own Kenneth Lasson, written last year: Five Years Later: Gaza's Former Jewish Settlers.

How much can you buy with a hundred shek?

2011-07-04T14:35:00.001+03:00

Yom sheni, 2 Tamuz 5771.

As it was the first Sunday of summer vacation, the bus was typically very full. Soldiers, giggling girls, mothers shlepping several little ones. I sat down next to a young female soldier who was busy texting. (I wish I could type that fast with just my thumbs!)

At every stop, the seats filled up, until eventually a young mother sat down on the steps with two small children. I looked back to where they sat behind me, and noticed a hundred shekel bill on the floor near them.

I picked it up, and offered it to the mother. She said it was not hers. No one near her claimed it either. As it was folded the way I fold my own, I checked my purse to be sure that it was not mine. My bill was folded right where I had left it. So, I got up and walked to the back of the bus, trying to remember who had boarded after me.

I offered the bill to everyone as I made my way through the bus. A young solider in the back row of seats turned to his seat mate and said with exaggerated surprise, "Ohhhhhh, you remember that hundred shek bill I dropped earlier?" Even though I knew he was playing, I held the bill out to him; but he laughingly refused it. "Staaaam! Just kidding."

I went back to my seat. I asked the soldier next to me to remind me of the grammar: "How do I say "dropped" in Hebrew?" She quickly went through a short lesson in Hebrew grammar, working out with me if I wanted a passive verb, or an active past tense verb. (Everyone in Israel seems ready to be a teacher, if I ask.)

I walked up and gave the bill to the bus driver, explaining that someone had dropped it. Thanks to my soldier-teacher, he understood me, and took the bill. Of course I cannot know what became of it after that. Did someone come forward, grateful that money was not lost after all? Did the bus driver pocket it, turn it into lost and found, drop it into a pushke? I don't know, and I don't especially care.

Right now, the value of a hundred shekel bill is close to $30. If the behavior on the bus is not something you are accustomed to in your part of the world, you will understand why I never tire of "only in Israel" stories. If it is something you are used to, then you are very blessed.

I would like to dedicate as much of that busload of honesty as possible to a refua shelaima for my dear friend Tzuriya Kochevet bat Sara Imeinu. May we do as many acts of kindness and honesty as possible, and may they help us to pay for a healthy, whole, completely-repaired world.

Haveil Havalim #320, the Summertime Edition, is up at Frume Sarah's World. Yeshiva Bochur, writing as "Exiled Warrior," has an excellent post published there. Please shep nachas with me!

"What can I bring back to the States with me?"

2011-06-29T08:08:00.003+03:00

Yom revi'i, 27 Sivan 5771.

This post in honor of 45 successful years of the Alan-Leslie merger. May you share many more healthy, happy years; and may we be friends for all of them!

Leslie Itskowitz and I have been friends since our excellent mutual friend, Rebbetzin Sara Sachs, first introduced us during one of our Eastman family visits to Pittsburgh. Leslie has a lovely sense of humor. (When she walked in my door earlier this week, she quoted a line from the movie Pretty Woman: "Just in case I forget to tell you later, we had a wonderful time.") She also has a deep love for the Jewish people. And she reads my blog. So, being friends with her has been easy, even though I see her less often than I would like.

On this trip to Israel, Leslie brought her husband Alan to meet us, and informed us that they were spending their 45th wedding anniversary with us. (I was sure glad I'd brought out the nice tablecloth!)

There was the expected banter between brothers-in-arms. ("I'm sorry, Honey. He's Navy." "Oh, well then. Alan, it's been a pleasure meeting you; but now you will have to eat outside.") Leslie and I were very happy that our husbands got along so famously. They were chatting away about politics within five minutes of meeting, and didn't stop conversing on many topics for several hours. (Not much makes a woman happier than discovering that she and her very good friend have husbands who like each other.)

At a certain point in our conversation, Alan interjected a seemingly incongruous remark. "So, tell me. What can I bring back to the States with me when I return?" It soon became apparent that he wasn't talking about shopping. (The boys left that to Leslie and me, hanging out in the Elazar beit knesset when they drove us there for a wild clothes-shopping spree at the home of the delightful Shelley Bloom.) He explained that his community in Pittsburgh expects to hear from him what is going on in Israel. What's the "real story"?

Alan explained that although most of his friends see the world the way he does, getting good honest news from the pro-Israel perspective isn't always easy.

The MSM (mainstream media) have a field day with anything negative about Israel; but it seems they often gloss over stories that might show Israel in a positive light, or stories that tell of the abuse of Jews at the hands of Arabs. And much of the problem comes from an Israeli emphasis on anti-Jewish news, as many of our own MSM sources seem to be pro-Arab and anti-Jewish (even though this may not be their intention. Like leftist press the world over, they truly may believe that this slant is in the interest of world peace).

An acquaitance of mine has lived in Jerusalem for 30 years, but has not traveled "over the Green Line" since the 90s, because she thinks its wrong for us to encroach on "Palestinian land." "What I can't understand," she said to me, "is why you settlers won't let the Palestinians drive on Highway 60 with you. Why won't you let them use the same roads you do?" It does little good to show her photos of late-model vehicles with Palestinian license plates traveling on Highway 60, in equal numbers to cars with Israeli plates. She believes her favorite "news" sources; and they have informed her that what I see every day isn't happening.

I don't begrudge this Palestinian contractor his success. I just resent the people who say he isn't having it.

FYI: The Palestinian plates are white and green, and the Israeli plates are yellow. No segregated parking lots here.

Full disclosure: not every Arab in Israel drives a late-model vehicle. There are poor Jews and poor Arabs in Israel.

I enjoy the support of commentators such as Melanie Phillips, though it rankles to have even Israel's friends intimate that a good portion of the bad press is somehow Israel's fault. According to Melanie, Israel has ignored what she calls "the battleground of the mind." "Israeli hasbara [PR] is a joke," she says. "Israel is completely outclassed and outmaneuvered on a battleground it doesn't even understand it's on."

The bottom line is that Melanie is only partly right. Israel could perhaps be more present on the battleground of the mind. This would be helped if this tiny nation could be a little more "on the same page" regarding our own right to exist. But I differ with her opinion that "nobody" is addressing the problem, "nobody" is speaking on behalf of the truth. There are wonderful sources of information available. (Please feel free to ask for my favorites.) But one must pick and choose (and occasionally dodge) as the meteor shower of information zooms past over the morning coffee.

Perhaps the best wisdom came in a conversation with a dear friend in America. "It is an issue far too large and complicated for me. Is it ideology or money that is the root of the problems? Is it really a matter of property? Is it a question of religious freedom? In either case, in the holiest place on the planet for three major religions, why doesn't everyone walk around in awe of their similarities; their connectedness and the three separate but equal children of Abraham?"

My friend continued to illustrate what I see as one of the most important hurdles Israeli hasbara has to overcome: "I have grown ... resigned to issues that are so complex and unmanageable that I am left helpless. I have given [my focus] to minding very carefully those things I may be able to personally affect. I trust your depth of knowledge on Israel. You know internally and authentically what is happening and why..." My friend is a musician and teacher who plays "music with babies and old people so they can find their sweet place in the song that is this life." She truly doesn't have the time or filtering process to decide about Israel. That is my job: and she is willing to listen.

The fact is that we are living in a time of sensory overload, a virtual nuclear holocaust of information. Every end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it movie I ever saw as a kid ended with a handful of stalwarts communicating post-destruction with the equivalent of cans and string technology. That translates as one person to one person. Remember the old shampoo commercial? "You'll tell two friends, and they"ll tell two friends, and so on, and so on, and so on..."

My answer to our friends who feel confused by a lack of answers is to find one friend who is "a fact on the ground," who is actually present on the battleground whom you trust, and ask your questions, just as my friend in America asks me.

And to our friend Alan, who asks "What can I bring back to the States with me?," I would answer as my husband did: Take back the truth that you see with your own eyes. Talk about what you know to be true based on what you hear and see and discern during your visits. Obviously, there is responsibility here: but you have been aware of that all of your adult life. Your friends, overwhelmed by too much news, will be happy to have you as their eyes and ears on the topic, as they go on with their very busy lives.

Alan left us with a very heartwarming farewell remark: "As I look at you here, I know one thing I can tell them. I can tell them that we are in very good hands."

You're welcome back any time, Alan. And bring your excellent bride with you, too! After Leslie and I finish shopping, you'll have lots more than hasbara to carry back to the States with you. And in case I forget to mention it, we enjoyed your anniversary dinner at Ma'alot very much. Ask us about it...

Dear Locals: Shelley Bloom does all kinds of clothing repair, and will pick up from the Gush and Efrat if you write to her email: shellfashions@gmail.com. Support local business!

"You shall strengthen yourselves and take from the fruit of the land."

2011-06-15T08:31:00.001+03:00

Rabbi and Rebbetzin Goldberger in Israel - photo by Ezra Leventhal

Yom revi'i, 13 Sivan 5771.

I always think of my Rav and Rebbetzin when Parashat Shelach rolls around.

There are a few reasons for this; but a primary reason is that Rabbi Menachem and Rebbetzin Bracha Goldberger refuse to fit any stereotypes. A typical stereotype, for instance, is that American Chasidic rabbis do not traditionally support aliyah to Israel. And yet, a very large percentage of Rabbi Goldberger's congregation either lives in Israel or is in the process of making aliyah; and a disproportionate number of Congregation Tiferes Yisroel's young people has served in the IDF. Of course, there are also a number of our young people who have attended yeshiva in Israel for a year or two; but, again, a surprising number of those return and settle in the Holy Land. This is due in large measure to the unabashed love the Goldbergers have for Eretz Yisrael, a love they share happily with their congregants.

This blog is named for my favorite pasuk in the Chumash, which can be found in this parasha, a pasuk I believe to be a favorite of Rabbi Goldberger's as well: "!עלה נעלה וירשנו אתה כי-יכול נוכל לה" -- "We shall surely ascend and conquer it, for we can surely do it!" (Bamidbar, 13:30)

There are many beautiful and inspirational p'sukim in the Chumash. So what is it about Calev's rallying cry to the Jewish people, in the face of the spies who were trying to dissuade them from entering the Promised Land, that resonates for me so much more than all those other bits of Torah wisdom?

Besides the fact that it is all about aliyah to the holiest place in the world, this pasuk also reminds us not to "go along to get along." If G-d thinks we can accomplish something with His help, who are all of those naysayers to tell us that it is not possible, that there are too many obstacles between us and success?

A Jew must remember that he works for The Front Office. He doesn't just work for himself; and he certainly doesn't work for all those who tell him he can't succeed. If G-d tells us (as He seems to, many times throughout the Torah) that He wants His people in His land, why should we let anyone tell us that it is not where we belong? And why should we believe that surviving here is beyond our poor abilities? (I mean -- it IS. But it isn't our project. Our job, to paraphrase a favorite military expression, is as follows: "When G-d says jump, we say 'How high?'")

How high, indeed.

Rabbi and Rebbetzin Goldberger have helped us to become ourselves, and not some cookie-cutter version of themselves. They have helped us to love every kind of Jew, no matter how different from us. They have taught us such a sense of kehilla-as-family that all "TYers" feel connected, no matter how long it's been since we davened together or how far apart we live on the globe. They have shared with us their version of Chasidut, which includes the injunction to use the tools G-d gives us to make our own decisions -- and to live by them.

They made it okay to leave their shul to come to live in Israel. Not easy, but okay.

Thank you, Rabbi and Rebbetzin, for taking us higher. Rebbetzin, I wish I could be there for your Coffee House Concert. I know that it will be wonderful, and will inspire the ladies of our community to even greater closeness, and to the fun of being spiritual -- another instance of a stereotype you sidestep. Thank you both for being our teachers, our friends, our family.

Glossary:
Pasuk, p'sukim: verse, verses
Parasha: chapter
Kehilla: community, especially the tight-knit community in a synagogue or small town
Davened: prayed
Shul: synagogue

G-d chooses the time and place.

2011-06-12T13:07:00.002+03:00

Yom rishon, 10 Sivan 5771.

We think we make our own decisions. My suspicion is that -- at best -- we get to help. But many of our most crucial decisions are made for us by Hashem.

Ask any ger (convert to Judaism). Everyone has a fascinating story about how and why he became Jewish. But to a person, each one I have met and listened to has shared that he or she didn't so much choose as was chosen.

So it was for our aliyah.

I had fallen in love with Israel the first time my husband brought me for a visit in 1991. But it would be 16 years before my dream would become our life.

After years of visiting for a few weeks each year, due to a job with a remarkable employer, I found myself literally lovesick over this country. But there were very logical arguments against making the move. (Even today, as anxious as I am for all Jews to "come Home," my experience keeps me sympathetic to the very individual hurdles there are to overcome before one makes that final leap of faith.)

My boss allowed me an end-of-year bonus of a ticket to Israel for myself and one child each year. It was a great way to reconnect with Israel, to spend time with a child, and even to brainwash him just a little to my way of thinking. ("Yes, son, the most beautiful girls in the world do live in Israel." The Talmud promotes bribery in a good cause. A mother has to know her audience.)

In 5765 (early 2005), my bonus was so large, I was able to take the younger two boys and the Dearly Beloved to Israel for a couple of weeks. I had been telling my husband that we had reached a critical stage in my continued emotional health: we needed to finally make up our minds. I couldn't keep the dream alive anymore: I was going to need to put down real roots in one country or the other.

Before we left, I had a little chat with the Creator of the Universe. "Tatte B'Shemayim," I said, hoping to remind The All Powerful of our Father/daughter relationship, "I accept Your will. Whatever You want for my dear husband to choose, please help him to choose once and for all."

The day before our flight, I checked the weather report. We were planning to visit our Soldier Boy at his mechina in the Golan Heights. The weather report promised that it would be cold, rainy and muddy. Smiling resignedly Heavenward, I said (and meant), "Hashem, if You have decided to use really lousy weather to convince my Dearly Beloved to choose America as our home, I accept Your decision. Just help him to choose, please."

From the time we landed in Israel, everyone who met us thanked us for bringing the unseasonably beautiful weather. The air was fresh and clean as only mountain air can be. The calanit was in bloom, dotting the green fields and purple hills with electric bursts of red. There were other flora and fauna caressing the landscape, as if Israel wanted to show herself at her best.

The yishuv of Avnei Eitan went out of its way to make us welcome. They offered us a luxury mountain cabin free of charge for the three days we were there. And Soldier Boy -- though only 17 at the time -- exhibited grown-up genius by offering to take his brothers Stunt Man and Sports Guy to live in his dorm for the duration. So they got the thrill of sleeping on mats on the floor amid dirty socks and underwear and pizza boxes, a kind of boy-heaven, and we got a second honeymoon.

The guys dropped by for meals, but otherwise enjoyed more freedom than we could ever give them in Baltimore. (All part of my evil plan.) I enjoyed watching my men toss the football around on great open fields, with no worry of hurling the pigskin through some apartment window. The Dearly Beloved and I had time to think and plan and to fall in love yet again. Most important of all: my guys fell in love with Israel in general, and the Golan in particular. We knew where we were going to live. And we knew it was going to be very soon. We were "ish echad b'lev echad" -- one person with one heart.

("Thank you, Ribono Shel Olam!" I said it many times during that trip, and many times since then. How often do we truly get to feel that Our Father in Heaven is holding us in the palm of His hand???)

When we came to Israel on our pilot trip the following year with Tehilla, we visited something like 23 communities in less than two weeks. But we only paid cursory attention, enjoying the tour and the company of Israeli wannabe friends, because we knew where we were going to live.

Of course, man plans and G-d laughs, as the expression goes.

Just before our actual aliyah, we heard about a teenager ulpan -- the only one dedicated to teen olim in the country -- located in Baka, a section of Jerusalem. My husband and I grew up in small towns in America; and the idea of taking our boisterous, loud, gigantic boys to live in the wondrous albeit crowded Holy City seemed a bit overwhelming. I wrote to everyone I knew or vaguely knew, saying that we would like to spend the first few months near but not in Jerusalem, and did anyone have ideas or suggestions?

Gush Etzion lit up like a neon sign in Times Square. Friends and people we barely knew offered connections, offered to take photos of apartments, offered advice...

Throughout our career as Jews, we have learned one thing very clearly. If one listens very closely, not to his own desires and plans, but to the messages that seem to be coming from Hashem, one reaps great rewards. There is a saying: If you are very happy in a place in Eretz Yisrael, it is because when Avraham Avinu walked the Land, he met your neshama there.

We never made it to the Golan, except for the occasional memorable visit. We are too happy in Neve Daniel to ever leave -- unless Hashem needs us somewhere else in Israel. And having lived this way for so many years, we trust His judgment, and will listen to His messages.

Thank You, Hashem, and a special thank you to all of Your emissaries and messengers who have helped us to make our Home in Holy Israel.

Glossary:
Aliyah: Jewish immigration to Israel
Tatte B'Shemayim, Ribono Shel Olam, Hashem: names for G-d
Mechina: Jewish army preparatory school
Calanit: anemone flower
Yishuv: community
Ulpan: Hebrew-language learning program
Olim: Jewish immigrants to Israel
Avraham Avinu: Abraham our father
Neshama: soul

LOCAL x-rays can be a reality.

2011-06-05T15:31:00.001+03:00

Yom rishon, 3 Sivan 5771.

This is a PSA for folks in the Gush; but anyone anywhere in the world who wants to donate to the cause is more than welcome to participate!

Are you tired of shlepping to Jerusalem every time you or a family member needs an x-ray? Very soon you'll be able to have them taken right here in the Gush. But a little help is needed to make this a reality.

If you've spent any time outside the yishuv lately, you may have seen a friend of ours riding around the Gush on a red Vespa. His name is David Bogner, and he actually rides from Efrat to Beer Sheva and back every day on his scooter.

To mark his 50th birthday (this month), David has decided to take a 1,000 mile (approx. 1,600 km) ride around our beautiful country on his Vespa. He's calling it the "Midsummer Night's Dream Ride," and he is inviting residents of the Gush to sponsor the ride to the benefit of the Efrat Emergency Medical Center's nearly completed Radiology Suite.

All of us stand to benefit from being able to get X-rays taken locally; but there is only a short time left to participate.

So we're writing to ask you to sponsor the "Dream Ride" and the Radiology Center. If enough of us make really modest donations, this project can be up and running in a matter of days.
You can read more about the ride on David's blog (http://www.treppenwitz.com/2011/05/a-midsummer-nights-dream-ride.html) or go directly to the EEMC site (http://efratemergencymedical.org/mndr.html) and click on one of the yellow "Dream Ride" buttons to submit your donation through their secure server.

Our kids, who maim themselves routinely (puh-puh-puh), thank you for participating in this important project!

Dear Bogner: The Major says to watch out for rocks, and to remember to wear your Air Defense Equipment, aka "helmet." Ruti just reminds you to drink lots of water. Pit stops aren't just for tires. Happy birthday. You're almost an adult.

Politically Correct Hebrew Ulpan

2011-06-03T18:21:00.006+03:00

Yom shishi, 1 Sivan 5771, Rosh Chodesh Sivan.

I love efficiency. It delights me when I can accomplish two things in one shopping trip. Three practically gets me dancing. I feel the same way about objects. I have no use for pointless dustables, however lovely. (It took the Dearly Beloved nearly half our marriage to figure this out.) Ah! But give me a thing of beauty that is a functional joy forever... and I am ecstatic.

An objet d'art that is merely lovely is very nice to look at in a gallery, in other people's houses, or in a store. (They can keep it, as it's usually too expensive. I'll just enjoy it when I pop by. That's why they call it a "store.") Like everybody else who lives in our apartment, a piece of art will be more greatly appreciated if it earns its keep.

What follows, before I get to the point (yes, actually, there is a point) is a short visual excursion through Ruti's favorite functional art.

Art from the Armenian Quarter of the Old City.

Function. This one can stay.

Art from an artist formerly-from-Gush-Katif.

After this challah is sliced, it will be so happy being passed around the table on this beautiful platter.

One of my few family heirlooms. Quite a story. Russian prince; sunken ship; Pekingese dog. I'll tell it to you sometime.

Its functionality as a Shabbat salt cellar keeps it from being stored in the cellar.

Even technology and office supplies needn't be ugly.

Beautiful!

And spiritually functional.

Such fine lines!

AND she works for a living. Definitely NOT stuck in a drawer.

Even cute is acceptable...

...when it has a purpose.

My favorite functional art. Lovely, and made in Israel...

As I said, it took the Dearly Beloved a while to figure me out. But he finally got it.

...and it guards my precious rings. What more could a girl want?

Okay. What does this have to do with ulpan? Or political correctness?

There is a group I am going to research a little more later. (It is Erev Shabbat, after all.) The group is called "Artists 4 Israel." These days, that is so much more than a refreshing group name, as an increasing number of the "creative enlightened" decide to share their political opinion that Israel is the greatest evil on the face of the Earth. Artists 4 Israel will come to Israel, will perform or paint for people over the Green Line, will stand with Israel as she does her best to survive, while all about her are losing their heads.

So Artists 4 Israel led me to this very clever video, which explains in careful Hebrew (with Hebrew subtitles as well as English translation) exactly what "the territories" are, and to whom they belong. Fancy that! Entertainment, history, and ulpan. And it's all politically correct. (Or politically corrected.) Art meets function. And Ruti is very, very happy.

Chodesh tov, and Shabbat shalom!

Reunited and it feels so good...

2011-05-31T19:00:00.007+03:00

Yom revi'i, 28 Iyar 5771, Yom Yerushalayim.

Kol isha alert: Ofra Haza sings "Jerusalem of Gold." Besides its beauty, this version is especially nice, as it gives translation and Hebrew subtitles; so it makes a good learning tool.

What else needs to be said than is stated so clearly and poignantly by the great Naomi Shemer?

יום ירושלים שמח לכולם

When G-d gave out the vocal gifts, He gave an extra portion to the Leviim (Levites), I am told. I would not be surprised to learn that Ofra Haza, a"h, is a descendant of the family of Levi.

Glossary:
Kol isha: Various interpretations exist regarding the subject of men listening to the singing of women. Check with your own posek (rabbi who answers questions of Jewish Law).

Barry, we hardly knew ye.

2011-05-25T14:07:00.006+03:00

Yom revi'i, 21 Iyar 5771.

Barry's final resting place looks out over these beautiful hills.

As a friend of mine said today at the levaya: "It's a bad day when you wake up in the Gush and have to decide which funeral to go to."

Yesterday was a tough day in Israel, and specifically heavy for Gush Etzion. There were a number of vehicle accidents that resulted in deaths, three of whom were from our communities; and a friend here in Neve Daniel lost his battle with cancer.

Forty-three is just too young. Especially when there are three little kids left behind with their mother to try to figure out what is going on. There are so many sad ironies here: Barry seemed to have won his battle, more-or-less, and was on a pilot trip with his family to determine where they would live when they made aliyah. He was suddenly stricken ill; and during his long stay in the hospital, much around him changed, as a result of his circumstances.

His dear friend and brother-in-law had summed it up with his usual off-beat humor (that he says he learned from Barry): "When he wakes up, he's going to have to deal with some pretty big changes. He and his family are olim [new immigrants to Israel]. He's got a new country, a new language to learn; his kids are all enrolled in Israeli schools... I think the first thing I'll tell him is that Bin Laden is dead. He'll be able to handle that."

He never got to put a smile on Barry's face by sharing that news.

This difficult couple of days strangely reminds me again about the good of being a Jew, and the good of living in Israel.

In my personal olden days, I was spared the pain of knowing too deeply the pain of others, or the great joy of being constantly apprised of their moments of joy. I was unaccustomed to being intertwined at the Jewish level in the lives of others.

But as we got involved with the Jewish experience, we were joyfully and painfully aware of the life cycle events, from birth to death, of our adopted extended family. And since we moved to Israel, this collective sensation has only deepened. Clearly, this is bad and good.

In the famous words of fellow blogger, RivkA, a"h, "I choose to focus on the good."

When you hear about the traffic accidents in Israel, you know that most of the country will be pasted to computers, trying to find out who were the victims, and if they were, in fact, accidents. (At this writing, that last detail is still being investigated.)
When you hear the names at last, you know that you know them, or at least something about them, or at least someone who knows them, because we are such a small and intimate country.
When you need a ride to the levaya, you know that five to ten people will come through with offers.
Some people at the levaya will be from places across the country, even though they are not related to the family, because the whole country is the size of New Jersey.
Because it's Israel, we can all cry together and say Tehillim anywhere, and no one will look at us funny.
Because we are family, we will visit the mourners for seven days, and listen to whatever they have to share -- even silence, or stories, or tears, or laughter.
Because we are family, I know those little children and their mother will eat and have shelter, even as they try to figure out what they are going to do with their lives.

As we were leaving the cemetery, one of his daughters said, with the sweetness of a young becoming-aware child: "Most of these people only met my daddy once or twice. They don't even know him."

I said to her, "You will tell stories, and then they will know him. And if you tell them a lot, then you will remember them. I'm coming to see you later. Think of a really great story, okay?"

She gave me that shy smile/shrug that she's already picked up from the Israeli kids she goes to school with.

Eliezer Baruch Chaim ben Gedalia, I have to take you off my refua shelaima davening list. But you will stay in my heart, even though I am one of those people who will have to rely on stories to get to know you. Like many other people, in our community and beyond, I took on a small mitzvah in your merit. Each week when I learn that little extra on your behalf, you will be there.

Thank you for making me a better Jew.

May Amy and her children Miri, Eliana, and Binyamin, along with the rest of Barry's family, be comforted among the mourners of Tzion and Yerushalayim.

To learn more about Barry, and to help in any way you can with the care of widow and his orphans, please visit The Barry Shuter Family Trust.

Glossary:

Barry, we hardly knew ye: a play on the title a famous Irish anti-war song. We are at war with cancer; so it seemed fitting.

Levaya: funeral

Gush Etzion: a "settlement bloc" in the southern foothills of Jerusalem, in the hills of Judea

Refua shelaima davening list: too many names of sick people who need a speedy and total recovery, for whom we pray

"All of that was not our affair."

2011-05-22T16:57:00.004+03:00

Yom rishon, 18 Iyar 5771, Lag B"Omer.

One of the beautiful communities of Gush Katif, before the "Disengagement"

For friends and acquaintances in Karnei Shomron, Elon Morei, Beit El, Givat Ze'ev, Kochav Shachar, Kochav Ya'akov, Ofra, Shiloh, Eli, Almog, Hevron, Susiya, Otniel, Kiryat Arba, Karmei Tzur, Ma'ale Amos, Nokdim, Tekoa, Itamar (haven't they suffered enough???), I offer the following quote.

First they came for the communists,
and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a communist.

Then they came for the trade unionists,
and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Jews,
and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a Jew.

Then they came for me
and there was no one left to speak out for me.

Martin Niemöller (1892-1984)

Before the uprooting of the Gush Katif communities, I never would have thought I would need to employ Niemöller's quote for Jews about Jews. But now, seeing my community on the list of those that will allegedly survive this proposed cut, I can only think that I must not be silent. Because in the end, they will come for me. And there will be no one left to speak for me.

destroyed "for peace," 2005

As far as I know, this list of potential sacrifices is still only at the level of rumor; and I sincerely hope that the events and speeches of recent days have reminded those in power that these communities must never be uprooted. Especially for hollow promises. The list is in Hebrew; so if this is not your strong language, read instead the language of numbers. Each community's name is followed by its number of citizens. "Citizens" means people like you and me, who go to work, who work the land, who send their kids to the best schools possible, who put on uniforms to defend their families from enemies, who want to live in peace and harmony with their neighbors.

Katif, destroyed "for peace," 2005

Please bear in mind that many of these communities are not "settlements" the way you and I envision settlements, because of the way the media like to portray them. They are not shabby little tent villages, or clapboard construction, thrown up to "steal" land from harmless Palestinians. They are communities that have existed in some cases for generations. They have Biblical history. Many were uninhabited when their present occupants nurtured them from barren sand. Just like Gush Katif was.

Netzer Hazani, destroyed "for peace," 2005

We cannot know what is coming, dear fellow citizens of Eretz Yisrael. But I want you to know that I will not look at you as expendable, for some illusion of safety and comfort. As our Prime Minister told the American President yesterday: “A peace based on illusions will crash eventually on the rocks of Middle Eastern reality.”

Neve Deqalim, destroyed "for peace," 2005

Communities rumored to be "on the chopping block" should Israel negotiate more "land for peace":

גוש צ. שומרון

חיננית 906

חרמש 225

מבוא דותן 356

ריחן 196

שקד 653

סה"כ 2,336

גוש שומרון

איתמר 939

אלון מורה 1,520

ברכה 1,672

יצהר 1,053

מגדלים 140

שבי שומרון 803

אבני חפץ 1,547

יקיר 1,411

כפר תפוח 1,073

מעלה שומרון 767

נופים 471

סלעית 536

עמנואל 3,464

ענב 688

צופים 1,290

קדומים 3,918

קרני שומרון 7,002

סה"כ 28,294

גוש בנימין

בית אל 5,867

בית אריה 4,105

בית חורון 1,190

גבע בנימין 4,242

גבעון החדשה 1,307

גבעת זאב 12,643

דולב 1,308

הר אדר 3,752

חלמיש 1,150

טלמון 2,994

כוכב השחר 1,880

כוכב יעקב 6,453

כפר האורנים 2,332

מבוא חורון 1,677

מעלה לבונה 595

מעלה מכמש 1,363

נחליאל 454

ניל"י 906

נעלה 930

עופרה 3,039

עטרת 510

עלמון 1,002

פסגות 1,793

רימונים 654

שילה 2,466

עלי 3,005

סה"כ 67,617

גוש בקעת הירדן

אבנת 64

אלמוג 210

ארגמן 172

בית הערבה 113

בקעות 199

גיתית 316

גלגל 160

ורד יריחו 232

חמדת 155

חמרה 150

ייט"ב 251

יפית 174

מחולה 456

מכורה 166

מעלה אפרים 1,604

מצפה שלם 205

משואה 187

משכיות 60

נירן 65

נעמ"ה 130

נתיב הגדוד 181

פצאל 272

קליה 328

רועי 159

רותם 90

שדמות מחולה 540

תומר 310

סה"כ 6,949

גוש הר חברון

אדורה 253

אשכולות 611

חברון 606

חגי 555

טנא 679

כרמל 469

מעון 424

מצדות יהודה 419

נגוהות 243

סוסיא 945

עתניאל 717

פני חבר 370

קרית ארבע 6,904

שמעה 388

תלם 221

כרמי צור 804

סה"כ 14,608

גוש מזרח עציון

מעלה עמוס 388

נוקדים 1,124

תקוע 2,074

אספר-מיצד 377

סה"כ 3,963

סה"כ 123,767 יהודים

Elei Sinai, destroyed "for peace," 2005

When Niemöller was interviewed late in his life about his famous quote, he said, "We let that happen. All of that was not our affair." He clearly regretted holding that opinion.

Once again, with feeling!

2011-05-18T15:30:00.000+03:00

Yom revi'i, 14 Iyar 5771.

Today is Pesach Sheni. I ask the Dearly Beloved for ideas to share with my Ahavat Yisrael group this evening. He's getting ready to give a guitar class; so I tell him that I just need an idea or two. I see the little gray cells starting to work, as he scoots his big office chair over to the bookshelf. "It would be good if it could focus on how ahavat Yisrael and Pesach Sheni might be related," I say to him.

His face brightens. "It's all about ahavat Yisrael!" he responds enthusiastically. And then he sets about explaining to me the two very special features of this "second chance" mitzvah that Hashem revealed to our forefathers in the Midbar.

In order to participate in the Pesach offering, it was necessary for the desert generation to be ritually pure. Coming into contact with the dead rendered one impure; and the process of purification was long enough to preclude them from being able to participate in the sacrificial ritual. But let me tell you how precious were the people who were our forebears.

There are a few different versions given for what was the mitzvah these people were involved with that prevented them from being able to participate in the Pesach offering. Perhaps they were carrying the coffin of Yosef. Perhaps they came across the remains of an unidentified corpse, and took upon themselves the mitzvah of burying it. Perhaps they were involved with the burial of Nadav and Avihu, the sons of Aaron HaKohen. In any case, they were fulfilling the mitzvah of burying the dead, which is the purest form of ahavat Yisrael a human being can achieve. This mitzvah is so dear, because one performs it knowing that the recipient cannot pay him back, cannot reciprocate. It is the highest form of ahavat Yisrael.

Of course, these great men could have said, "Since we were involved in this mitzvah, we will just wait until next year to offer a Pesach sacrifice. After all, one is exempt from a mitzvah when in the performance of another mitzvah."

But they not only loved their fellow Jew. They loved Hashem, and couldn't bear to be left out of the opportunity to serve Him in this great mitzvah of bringing the Pesach sacrifice.

Hashem "made an exception," and gave them a second chance to bring the offering. Of course, we learn many things from this act of Hashem. One comes first to mind, as I think of the special group of women I meet with on Wednesday nights, who leave their homes and families for an hour seriously to discuss how we can help to repair the world.

Second chances are not just in the realm of G-d. Who has let me down, who could stand a second chance? After all, how many "second" chances has Hashem given me?

I am honored to be part of a family that cares so much about the mitzvot as to have asked for a second chance to honor our Creator. And I am humbled and honored to be on the giving end of a second chance, just like my Father in Heaven.

Glossary:
Pesach Sheni: a second chance to offer the Passover offering, exactly one month after Passover
Ahavat Yisrael: love of a fellow Jew
Mitzvah: commandment from G-d; also refers to a good deed
Midbar: desert; Biblically refers to the generation of the giving of the Torah
Aaron HaKohen: Aaron the Priest, brother of Moses

War & Peace: the short illustrated version

2011-05-11T09:09:00.003+03:00

Yom revi'i, 7 Iyar 5771.

Romi Sussman took this photo of us. Thanks, Romi and Josh!

The Dearly Beloved and Yeshiva Bochur were bonding over beer and barbecue on Yom Ha'atzma'ut, Israel's celebration of her sixty-third year as a modern State.

During the discussion of such important topics as poisoned fish, Johnny Cash, and the importance of being a poor black man to making great music (I kid you not), they decided that the reason Memorial Day in America has become marginalized is all about timing.

Memorial Day evolved from a day to honor the Civil War dead in early May to part of a long weekend at the end of May for shopping and trips to the beach. While there are still patriotic stalwarts who visit graves of American war dead, the number of citizens who truly appreciate the power of the day is dwindling.

My guys surmised that if Memorial Day were observed on July 3, more people would continue to recognize how significant was the sacrifice of young American lives to the building and maintenance of the United States.

They came to this realization as they discussed the emotional juxtaposition of Yom HaZikaron (Israel's national Day of Remembrance of our fallen heroes and martyrs) with Yom Ha'atzma'ut (modern Israel's Independence Day). It is impossible not to appreciate those 22,867 service men and women who gave their lives that we may celebrate our freedom after the sun goes down on the day marking their sacrifice.

On our way to visit the military cemetery at Har Hertzl, we stop with everyone else at the sounding of the siren, signalling a national moment of silent contemplation.

Beautifully maintained, the military cemetery at Har Hertzl witnesses thousands of visitors of all backgrounds coming to pay their respects to our fallen soldiers.

We are painfully aware that these losses are not remote and isolated. Everyone has lost someone, or knows someone who has lost someone, in the defense of our tiny country.

Everywhere we walked, classes and talks were being given to the youth about the importance of this day.

Flowers were in abundance. Some graves even looked like gardens. A few graves were still marked in the more traditional Jewish manner with stones left by visitors.

We were overcome by the sight of this woman, tenderly brushing dust from the surface of the grave stone, as one might brush crumbs or tears from a beloved child's face.

There were many beautiful memorials. Note the Magen David cut into the stone above.

Our Tehillim seemed so important here, as we did our small part to participate in the process of holding our precious Land.

"I will praise you, O L-rd. Although You were angry with me, Your anger has turned away and You have comforted me." ~ from the Haftara read after the morning service in Israel on Yom Ha'atzma'ut

Family time in Israel. What a great way to celebrate the privilege of living here!

Neve Daniel is very good at displaying national pride.

There are 3.5 mangalim (small barbecue grills) per capita in Neve Daniel, and they are all being fired up today. (I made that figure up. The number is probably much higher, and doesn't include fancy-shmancy "American" grills.)

There is no better town for crashing parties.

See? The natives actually greet you with a smile, and offers of food.

This sturdy shirt is 38 years old. His dad wore it. May the sturdy fellow wearing it put it on his great grandkid someday, and tell its history at his own Yom Ha'atzma'ut barbecue.

The work of local artists is proudly on display, honoring modern Israel's 63rd year of existence.

What is Independence Day without football?

The mark of a good boy is not that he doesn't knock the door off the utility box during the game. The mark of a good boy is that he stops the game to replace the door. Good on ya!

The Dearly Beloved and I get in a few games of catch while we walk the Land.

Taking patriotism to heart (and head): Yaelle reminded us of a WWII army nurse with this lovely mitpachat.

There were many moments with good friends.

"Swifter than eagles, stronger than lions, they fought for the liberation of their people and homeland, sacrificing their lives for Israel's rebirth in its holy land." ~ from the Memorial Prayer for Fallen Israeli Soldiers

May their sacrifice never be for nothing.

Another great reason to celebrate Israel: Haveil Havalim

2011-05-08T19:12:00.007+03:00

Yom rishon, 4 Iyar 5771.

The first couple of weeks in May (late Nisan, early Iyar) in Israel typify the roller-coaster life of the Jew.

Yom Hashoah has been designated as the day to remember the Heroes and Martyrs of the Holocaust. The anniversary of the Warsaw Ghetto uprising was chosen by the secular Jews who initially settled the land of Israel after WWII. I have heard that they chose this day out of that evil thirteen years because it was a moment in time when Jews fought back -- and these new Israelis wanted to put as much distance as possible between their new State and the cauldron from which they had escaped.

While I understand the Chareidi viewpoint of expressing the link between the Shoah and the Destruction of the Temple, I can also appreciate the standpoint of these escapees from Hell.

As I stand for the siren that signals the national moment of commemorative silence, I pray for the Geula; I mourn the members of my father's family who didn't make it out; and I am grateful that my entire nation is standing quietly together for this moment.

Tonight, on Yom Hazikaron, we will remember those who fought and died to defend our tiny nation. In recent years, this day has also been designated to remember all of those who "defended" Israel just by living here, and by dying here: those who were blown to bits while sharing a bite of pizza with a dear school friend, or while buying an ice cream cone for a doting grandchild.

Again, we will fly flags at half-mast, and stand for a moment of silence when the siren sounds throughout our land. A dear friend asked us to accompany her to the memorial service to remember our fallen tomorrow on Har Hertzl. We struggled with this.

We are not keen on crowds, even for worthy causes. I left the decision to the Dearly Beloved, who would be responsible for logistics, such as "getting us there."

Finally, he said, "Tell her we'll be there. We have soldier sons now." May they never need be remembered by us. May they serve their country, and come home healthy and whole, with amazing stories to tell their great grandchildren.

And before we catch our breath, we will drag out our mangalim (barbecue grills) to set the country on fire with barbecue events in honor of the birth of our small nation. The entire country will celebrate, regardless of political affiliation, the fact that we are indeed a free people in our Land.

A frightening amount of beef must be purchased and prepared. The fire that fills the land will only be rivaled by the bonfires built by children on the Thirty-third day of the Omer... but that's another story.

In the meantime, let's enjoy one of the benefits of being one people in our Land. Haveil Havelim #315, the One Wedding and a Funeral Edition, has hit the stands, and is available at Esser Agaroth.

Ulpan Drama: Playing's the thing.

2011-05-04T16:08:00.008+03:00

Yom chamishi, 1 Iyar 5771.

Two of my Raise Your Spirits heroines, Avital Macales and Yael Valier, are the talented Ulpan Drama instructors.

Let's see now... A chance to work closely with two of my "stage idols"... An opportunity to learn Hebrew in the form of play... A once-a-week requirement to hang out with ladies I like. That sounded like a great plan. So I signed up for eight weeks of Ulpan Drama, yet another brainchild of Dena Lehrman of Efrat.

Dena opened her home for our Ulpan Drama session.

Dena is an occupational therapist who for the past five years has worked with teachers, students and their parents to improve organizational and learning skills.

I was privileged to encounter Dena shortly after my family's aliyah. She arranged for the talented Yaron Shane to teach our children a thing or two about film-making. It was a great introduction for then-15-year-old Stunt Man to the world of Hebrew, and a pretty good outlet for his creative talents.

I asked Dena what inspired her to come up with the Ulpan Drama concept.

"The past two years I've been running a workshop getting students ready for high school," she said. "We noticed that even [many of] the kids who had been in Israel for a while and 'spoke Hebrew'...had a weak vocabulary and had a hard time expressing themselves."

I asked her how she came up with the idea. "I try to be an out-of-the-box thinker and approach students with my 'hands on' style as an OT. Ulpan Drama seemed like a natural offshoot.

"We started brainstorming about how we could use drama and role playing to facilitate Hebrew development. I thought of 'playback theater,' which really forces the participants to reinact real life situations. From all the research on language development, it seems that there is a greater chance to remember and file away new words more efficiently if they are learned in a real, experiential way. It also helps to decrease some of the stress and tension when learning by acting, as opposed to more traditional frontal learning."

This sounded like a perfect venue for me to try to improve my Hebrew. Even though I am terrified to be "on stage," I found this technique to be much more fun than it was threatening, mostly due to the small group size, the warmth and patience of the instructors, and the support of my fellow players.

Did we have fun, or what?! Avital and Yael gave us many and varied opportunities to practice thinking on our feet in Hebrew during each session.

They would give us a tzena -- a scene -- to play out, with some key word or phrase that must be incorporated. For example, two of us played trainees to a third's surgeon. We learned many new words, and practiced inserting those we already knew into unlikely moments. (How many times could one say "I've never done that before" in an inappropriate place during an autopsy to elicit laughter, especially when her partner kept asking "When do we eat?")

Another scene should have been perfectly ordinary: how to ask an exterminator to help rid the house of cockroaches and ants. We learned many useful words -- but we also learned of a creative approach to natural extermination, as Heather had us doing a "La Kukarača" tap-dance to help her crush the little buggers...

Our teachers would give us objects to describe -- and none of us could resist offering completely new uses for household items.

Try describing your unique use for disposable plastic gloves in Hebrew.

Some of the ideas for using a towel were pretty creative -- and funny.

What you see as a rug beater became a fly-swatter for mutant flies, or a piece of jewelry, or...

If we didn't know the word for "fly-swatter" in Hebrew, our fearless leaders did, and taught us. They gave us characters to portray, sometimes in scenes with others, sometimes with secret character traits for the others to guess at.

I didn't get pictures, but one of my favorite exercises caused me to end up doing a Broadway musical with Sandra. We were quite smashing. And ridiculous. :-)

What an actress! When Hannah Sara is sad, the whole world cries with her.

One of my deepest and most annoying roles was as "kinim" -- lice -- which were invited (?) to a Pesach Seder. "Yecch!" was the classic review of my performance. Score!!!

The body language delighted me as much as the dialog.

Yael and Avital asked us to describe objects or events so that the supportive audience -- hey, they were going to be "on stage" next! -- could guess.

Each time we learned new words, Avital or Yael would dutifully mark them on a whiteboard; and we would get an email with all of our new words, and their translations.

My pile of flashcards grew...

...and GREW...

...and GREW! By the time the eight weeks ended, I really had learned a lot of words... because I lived them.

These ladies were so talented, it did not surprise me to learn that most of them involve themselves in Raise Your Spirits, or in Dames of the Dance. By the time our classes ended, I wanted everyone's autograph!

Dena sums up Ulpan Drama: "Baruch Hashem it's been a wonderful experience both for the participants as well as for the three of us running the project. It's been great to see how the participants gained confidence and started to integrate new words into their everyday lives. As you know, it was also a lot of fun!"

Thanks Dena, Yael, and Avital. Thanks Sandra and Heather and Meira and Hannah Sara and Shimona and Zahava. I had a great time!

More sessions of Ulpan Drama are coming up or are in progress. Contact Dena at 054 942 5600 or at tfosdena@gmail.com for more information about classes with Yael and Avital for women and girls, or to register.

Yael Valier received her BA in Psychology from YU, and her MSW from Bryn Mawr's Clinical Social Work program. She has further professional training in grief counseling through Nechama Counseling. Yael has experience teaching stage skills, interview skills and public speaking to teenagers and adults. She acts with the Raise Your Spirits Theater, for whom she has also written, and has also acted with two Playback theater companies – the Hebrew-speaking Dance-Playback group Na'na for women, and the English-speaking Playback Hamra. Yael has enjoyed the challenge of translating songs from Hebrew to English for bilingual movies. She currently works in voice-overs and sells her educational science album on her website Tremendous Earth when she isn't working at her day-job doing background searches in patents. Yael has six sons who keep her amused.

Avital Macales studied Hebrew Language at Bar Ilan University and is currently completing an advanced editing course at Efrata College. She is an experienced actress and singer, including playing the lead role in Sandcastles, a feature film which was screened all over Israel in 2009. A resident of Efrat, Avital recently appeared in her third Raise Your Spirits production, Judge!, as the bold heroine Yael. Avital did her national service in Tehilla, the aliyah organization, helping English-speaking children acquire Hebrew in fun and creative ways. Avital made aliya from California when she was two years old. She has six sisters and therefore has a soft-spot for young girls, enjoying having fun with them and teaching them important skills painlessly through the things she does best.

Rachel's Daughters

2011-05-02T07:42:00.004+03:00

Yom sheni, 28 Nisan 5771.

It seems fitting that on the date the Israeli government designated "Holocaust Heroes and Martyrs Remembrance Day" that ~~Osama bin Laden~~ (may his name be erased) has been declared dead. But this post is not about the enemies of the Jews. It is about friends, and how they can be balm for the soul.

Last week, Baltimore and Israel converged at Kever Rachel, and then again in a little cafe in Efrat. Two ladies from my former kehilla came to visit those of us who have already made aliyah. Baruch Hashem, one is on her way to aliyah very soon... and the other will follow shortly, I am sure. Four of us went to daven at Kever Rachel, each with her own prayers. I was davening for all of those who need a refua or a yeshua of any kind, with specific energy pointed toward Eliezer Baruch Chaim ben Rachel Leah, the beloved brother, husband and father of members of my Neve Daniel community. (May he have a refua shelaima mehaira!)

Soon we'll all be Home, G-d willing!

At Kever Rachel, we met a lovely Iraqi lady who gave us heartfelt brachot.

After our deeply meaningful stop at Kever Rachel, we picked up another friend in Efrat, and headed for a small cafe called The Bagel Place, where yet another friend joined us. A lovely young waitress not only gave us extraordinary service (running out to purchase a product the cafe was out of!), but willingly took photos of our happy little reunion.

Nothing like good friends to lift the spirits!

Our sweet waitress made her first hafuch bunny just for us.

After our visit, I was so happy, I went on a flower hunting spree. These flowers are my thank you to Karen, Miriam, Sandra, Shoshana and Yehudis, as well as to Eliora.

"You think when we grow up we'll be as big as that guy?"

Frume Sarah has done an exceptionally sensitive job with this week's Haveil Havalim #314, "The Post-Pesach Edition."

Glossary:
Kever Rachel: the tomb of our Matriarch, Rachel
Kehilla: community
Daven: pray
Refua or yeshua: healing or salvation
Refua shelaima mehaira: a speedy and complete recovery
Brachot: blessings
Hafuch: literally "upside down," the Israeli name for Cappuccino

Guest Post: Such Is My Land

2011-04-28T07:48:00.004+03:00

Yom chamishi, 24 Nisan 5771.

It took my son Dovid (aka "Yeshiva Bochur") a few years to leave America and join us here on aliyah. When we were preparing to leave, he alone was ambivalent. Steeped in the American yeshiva world and it's teachings, he wasn't sure we Jews belong in Israel before Moshiach brings us. We said to him, "Son, you are eighteen years old. Make your own decision. YOU have to be happy with the decisions you make." So he stayed, but visited us each year during the month of Pesach.

Little by little, he studied and examined, and made his own decision again. And when he made aliyah, Dovid knew that it was the right choice for him. Now he writes a beautiful blog called Exiled Warrior, in which he explores his continuing growth and love of this holy Land, this Home of his choosing. The following piece is in some ways difficult, as no parent wants her child to experience fear. But it is also filled with self-exploration and triumph.

Such Is My Land

by Exiled Warrior

It’s 11:30 in the morning. I am standing on the sunny streets of Jerusalem in a crowd of Jews. We all have a similar goal; we want to enter or at least pass the Central Bus Station in Jerusalem. But we are blocked. Police have fenced off the area. I have lived here for a while and so instantly I know what’s going on. There has been a call to the police of a “Chafetz Chashud” or literally suspicious item. In most cases it’s a deserted bag that at least in this country, is very possibly a bomb.

So there I am, surrounded by curious tourists, slightly annoyed taxi drivers and nearly another hundred people. We stand waiting, hoping to soon be able to continue our day. We watch the man with the helmet walk courageously towards the bag. He is covered in some type of protective gear that I imagine would do very little in a close proximity explosion. Yet he alone, walks confidently over to the suspicious bag, ready to defuse the deadly weapon if needed. We all wait, wondering. Is it bomb? Will it go off? Is the man with the helmet going to be alive in the next few minutes? I watch as some Israelis, who clearly have wondered enough, try sneaking past the police in order to get on with what they were doing. They are stopped, and still we wait.

Thankfully, it is a false alarm, and just like that, the “hustle and bustle” of daily life continues.

The whole deal lasted about fifteen minutes. People missed their buses. Some came late to appointments. Life stopped temporarily because someone may have put a bag filled with explosives with the intention of spilling Jewish blood.

Such is the Land in which I live.

I live in a Land that we must go through metal-detectors to enter most malls, groceries, theaters, and of course any government buildings. I must pass through a checkpoint on the road going to my little settlement. Threats by my enemies to destroy my Land are heard every day. Many of my people have been slaughtered by enemies who are living in our midst. Bombs have been detonated, rockets have fallen, guns have been fired, and we are forced to live with the painful reality that some of the people who you see one day may be killed the next.

I live in a Land that is condemned by the world media. Even right now, there are many who believe where I am living is the “obstacle of peace” and I should leave. My Land is under constant pressure from the U.N. and the West.

I live in a Land that it is not uncommon to come home to my weeping mother who says pain-stricken: “We lost another Jew today.” As she utters these words I am forced once again to ride the “emotional rollercoaster.”

First, I will feel pain. Pain for the loss of yet another Jew; then there is rage mixed with hatred almost uncontrollable. I’ll try and cry but instead just punch the wall and curse the terrorists. Sometimes it can destroy my day and sometimes you just take it in like a weather report.

I’ll hate myself for not feeling the pain. How can I laugh at a time while the blood of the murdered is still wet? Yet, here I am smiling as if nothing has happened. I’ll wonder if I have become completely callus unable to feel anymore sorrow. I will become sickened by my feelings of apathy.

Then there are the rare times where they get inside of me. I’ll become filled with fear as the lights go out. I will lay in the dark, fists clenched, attentive to every sound. I’ll say the Shema with extra concentration, asking G-d to protect me even though I’m undeserving. I’ll try to convince myself that it won’t be me next, only to realize that the holy victims more than likely thought that too.

Such is the Land in which I live.

I live in a Land where sweet young fathers walk around with a gun at all times because the threat of an attack on their family is all too real. Parents warn their kids about hitch-hiking for the enemy has been known to dress up like a Jew in order to kid-nap one.

Our enemies rejoice when we are murdered. We can hear them when they dance over the deaths of Jews. We can smell the smoke as they burn our flag. I live completely surrounded by a bloodthirsty enemy who will give the lives of their entire family to kill a Jew. There have been nights I have heard a sound and leaped out of bed and grabbed the closest weapon available.

Such is the Land in which I live.

My Land is Eretz Yisrael and I will never leave. I live with a constant threat of death and it only makes me stronger. They will never break me. For 2000 years I was kept from feeling her soil beneath my feet. For 2000 years I couldn’t taste her air. I couldn’t swim in the Kineret, hike her beautiful hills, and see the sun set over her beaches. For 2000 years I wandered. Now, I have returned and my love for this Land is far greater than the enemies’ hatred for me and my people.

I am overjoyed to be living where my forefathers walked. I am excited to protect her borders from our enemies. I am proud to know that I am a living protest to all the anti-Semitism throughout history. I am strengthened by the many others who marched fearlessly into battle sometimes sacrificing their lives to defend this Land.

Most of all however, I am happy to know that when my grandchildren ask me if I was one of the Jews who came to this Land before it was safe, when there were people dying, when others were too afraid to come, I will be able to tell them: Yes. When they ask if I helped build the country and protected her I will be able to say: Yes.

I will tell my grandchildren stories of the courageous Jews who stayed here throughout time and fought for our homeland. I will tell them of Yonatan Netanyahu and of Roi Klein. I will tell of the simple Jews who after burying their murdered brothers and sisters would only strengthen their faith. I will tell them of the children who decided to continue to dwell in this Land even after their parents were slain. I will tell them about all the heroic Jews both in and out of uniform who, in the face danger, screamed “Am Yisrael Chai!”

I will know as they listen that they will also be proud of me…

Such is the Land in which I live.
Posted by Exiled Warrior at 1:33 PM

We know that your grandchildren will be proud of you, young Soul Warrior. We already are.