My Tuesday Chavruta

Yom shlishi, 5 Kislev 5769.

Every Tuesday, I am blessed to sit in the well-windowed dining room of an intelligent and spiritually sensitive young woman, who patiently listens to me butcher the ancient language of the Babylonians.  Over cinnamon chai tea, we study Sefer Daniel.  As she is learned enough to read and translate the Hebrew commentaries,  I get the task of dragging us both through my version of the Aramaic, followed by my more adept reading of The Stone Edition English translation.  (It doesn't matter to me that this was the language of the Galut of the time.  Hebrew is hard enough!  My poor chavruta suffers gracefully through my reading AND my whining.)

It's interesting stuff.  Nothing Hollywood could produce holds to this a candle for the weaving of dream and reality.  (Apologies to my friend, R.Y.)  There is a gigantic and terrifying statue of gold and iron and stone. We witness survival in impossible situations, from fire and wild beasts. A meteoric rise to success and power is followed by the utter desolation of the thundering fall to disgrace, penance, and renewed greatness.

The lessons our sages learn from this incredible story are extremely timely.  Amazing how the words of Tanach seem to be coming true -- a veritable road map through the politics of the days before the coming of the Moshiach (bimhera v'ameinu).

When she leaves the table to bring our other chavruta to the learning, I stand and look out at the beauty that is her back yard.

There is much comfort in gazing out toward the Mediterranian Sea, dreaming of our Avot, as they faithfully made their way north toward the Holy Temple.  Our history is so palpable here, as is our future.  ("Someday, My son, all of this will be yours...")

The young Torah scholar joins us, and the learning is enhanced.

Watching the faces of little future talmidei chachamim during learning is instructive.  Is it my imagination?  Or does my young friend seem to be remembering some of the Torah he and the angel studied together, before he left the safe shelter of his mother's womb?

I am certain he understands more of this than I do.  There are so many questions I would like to ask him.  But the irony is that when he is articulate enough to give it over to me, he will still be in the process of re-learning it himself.

And so it goes...

May our learning be ilui nishmat HaRav Daniel ben HaRav Chaim HaLevy, and l'refua shelaima l'Tehila Sara bat Yocheved.

Big Toys to Push Away Big Worries

Yom shlishi, 5 Kislev 5769.

This post is dedicated to boys. Mine in particular; and everyone else's in general. Because I need the therapy today of focusing on the simple stuff boys love.



With love, to a little boy named Moshe, who needs simple things to smile about.

With love, to several big boys, who still stand with rapt fascination, whenever a big rig is moving the world around.

"May we sing for joy at your salvation..."

Yom shishi, 1 Kislev 5769, Rosh Chodesh.

Yesterday evening, when the news reports out of Mumbai were looking hopeful, I saw the following quote in a story that had reported the hostages rescued from the Chabad house: 

"The terrorists who were holed up in the city's Chabad House had offered to negotiate with India's government for the lives of the Jewish hostages they are holding, but the government said, 'No deal.'"

I subsequently commented to friends:

If this sentence from the Arutz Sheva news report is accurate, Israel and the West could learn a lot from India.

Let's listen to the music, boys and girls. It's about time that the so-called civilized countries on this planet start to ask the Mujahedin to protect themselves from us. It is about time the people of Islam and the Arabs should be expected to be apologetic for their crazy brothers. The wrong people are cowering in fear. The wrong people are walking the streets without concern.

Negotiating with evil brings more evil, because evil doesn't play by the nice guys' rules.

As we continue to daven for the safe rescue and return of Gavriel Noach ben Freida Bluma and Rivka bas Yehudis, and their colleagues, Aryeh Leibish ben Elta Nechama Maltshi and Ben Tzion ben Elka, among all of the other holy captives of Hashem's enemies, let us not turn away from that fact.

And as we sit, wondering how we can stop the madness from our kitchens and cubicles and classrooms around the world, let's take a brief glance at the Shir shel Yom for Yom Chamishi, the day this most recent horror seems to have begun:

"If only My people would heed Me, if Israel would walk in My ways.  In an instant I would subdue their foes, and against their tormentors turn My hand."*


*Artscroll translation of the Song of the Day for Thursday

My Little Red Convertible

Yom shlishi, 27 Cheshvan 5769.

The subtitle of this post is: "You do your mid-life crisis your way -- and I'll do mine my way."  Here is my little red sports car with her top up, for inclement weather.  Lotsa room in the boot for the groceries.  No room to shlep the kids, of course; but that's the point of a tiny roadster, isn't it?

And here the little baby is with her top down, for sunny days like today. 

No need to be jealous.  My other car is an "Egged."

Whatever gets the shopping done...

Nineteen degrees is nice in Neve Daniel. I'm just saying...

Yom sheni, 26 Cheshvan 5769.

Today is one of those days that reminds me of some of the physical aspects I love about living here in Israel, especially on "my mountain."  (Even though there are no Cascades or Rockies here, Neve Daniel -- at 997 meters above sea-level -- is the highest-elevation community in the country.)






At a crisp 66.2 degrees Farenheit, it is a good day to have a bite of breakfast outside. 

Dear Baltimore Homies (who have not yet decided that it's time to be moving to warmer climes):

Is that YOUR house going up in my back yard?  Looking forward to seeing your name beside the door.

 Time to sit outside and learn a little Mesillat Yesharim with my best friend.  Join us for coffee and a learning seder soon?

A Cornucopia of Commentary

Yom rishon, 25 Cheshvan 5769.

This week's rich harvest of opinion and reportage is in.  Look at some of the wonderful writing for which we can be grateful.  Heveil Havalim #192: The Thanks and Giving Edition is up at Ima on (and off) the Bima.

A hearty welcome aboard to my dear friend, "Dr. Aliyah."  Her writing about her love for Eretz Yisrael and her longing for the Geula always inspires me.  If you haven't yet visited her blog, now is a chance to do so.  "Waiting For The Other Shoe To Drop" puts some perspective on the global financial crisis, and how it effects at least one family's outlook on aliyah.

Whether Thanksgiving is your thing or not, it never hurts to be reminded that hoda'ah is the key to contentment.  Hodu Lashem ki Tov, ki l'Olam Chasdo!

Sunday Sojourn #1

Yom sheni, 19 Cheshvan 5769.

In 1991, the Dearly Beloved took me to Israel for the first time.

He wanted to show me all of the tourist sites that he remembered from his visits in the '80s.  But I already had the seeds of aliyah sprouting in my soul; and I told him I wanted to spend our time experiencing the life of the residents.  He's an understanding fellow; so, instead of showing me Masada, he let me drag him to the makolet.  Instead of visiting the banks of the Yarden, we were sent from teller to teller in the banks of Yerushalayim.  We visited families, and listened to them talk about what real life in Israel was like.  It was just as beaurocratically ridiculous as everyone said.  It seemed like an interesting challenge.  When we got back to the States, I told my husband that I would take the time to be a tourist when I lived in Israel. 

Over Shabbat last week, the Dearly Beloved informed me that it was time to make good on my 17-year-old promise.  And that Sundays would be "tiyul day" for the two of us.  After all, the kids get to go on tiyulim through their schools.  It's not our fault we're too long in the tooth for yeshiva.  And now we have these special bus passes for olim, that allow us to travel anywhere in the country (except Eilat) for a very reasonable price.  Why not use them?

The first stop was a visit to one of our favorite bakeries, very near the tachana.  The pastry is as good as is pastry everywhere in Israel.  What makes this bakery special is Amir, who makes a great cup of cafe shachor, and treats everyone like a mentch.  (Throughout my marriage to the Dearly Beloved, the guy who gets our money isn't always the cheapest.  He is good at what he does, and treats us the way he would like to be treated.)

After that pleasant visit, we added another photo to our catalog of the "Most Exhaustive Photo Essay of Every Possible Angle of the 'Bridge of Strings'".  This project has picked up a more feverish pace since the new mayor-elect, Nir Barkat, has expressed his desire to tear the thing down.

In 2005, I sat at my computer and watched, day after day, as the soap opera that would become the nightmare of Gush Katif unfolded.  It was a surrealistic time; and the only people with whom I could relate on the subject lived in Cyberspace.  More accurately, they lived all over the world; but we shared the need to "live" the Gush Katif drama at a depth most people around us couldn't seem to fathom.  So we became an internet support group, holding virtual hands throughout the trauma.  The Gush Katif Museum is tucked into Agrippas Street.  We discovered it quite by accident.  It is a stop we would recommend for every tourist.  We expected a small museum, filled with facts and photos.  There were those.  The time line makes it painfully obvious that Israel has built herself, only to tear herself down at the world's insistence, many, many times.  My favorite photos were of children.  One was holding orange ribbons in each hand, stretched out to invisible hands outside the left and right frames of the photo.  Another shows rows and rows of young soldiers.  In the foreground, his back to us, is a tiny boy, offering a few cookies to the tenderly smiling soldiers in his chubby hand. We did not expect the poignant paintings, full of the intensity of the youth who stood their ground.  Nor did we expect to spend an hour sitting together and crying.  Whichever side of the argument you fell out on, you will find that the film is a fair representation of the good and bad on both sides of the struggle, and of some of the pain each side endured. I don't usually suggest that people take time to be sad...  but there is a time for everything, as the wise king said.  And there are, unfortunately, more events in Jewish life to which the expression "never again" must be appended, and repeated to ourselves, in full video sound and fury.

Well, after that, a little fun was certainly called for.  We stopped into Emek Refaim at one of our favorite restaurants.

  After I seasoned both our dishes of Temani Meat Soup with a little charif, the Dearly Beloved said that he would prefer to handle this task for himself in the future.

 

Look.  My main job in this climate is to get a lot of water into each member of my family every day.  You can see, by the empty water bottle at his right, that I was very successful.  

Next week:  Tel Aviv, and the quest for the wily Dancing Camel pub. Stay tuned.